Ok this is for fun, and i wasn't quite sure where to put it due to my eventual aim of making things that happen in the game get reflected in the story. This is the opening chapter of my characters adventures through the build13 game <img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/smile.gif" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="
" border="0" alt="smile.gif" />
Note: Iestyn - is pronounced 'yes-tin' and 'ap' in a welsh name means 'son of' - it was the origonal naming method before we lost our struggle <img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="
" border="0" alt="wink.gif" />
<b>The tale of Black Bart</b>
Newport had grown alongside its docks, with the trade ships came money, but also the less desirable. The night of October 13th 1689, was a foul one. Thick fogs crept from the brackish waters of the Bristol Channel, and were mixed with the moor mists that broiled down from the mountainsides. Rain, ever the rain, fell in that light constant manner that would soak a man to the bone who was foolish to dwell long in it.
Through the murk of that night a lone figure, hunched into the protection of his outer cloak, stumbled over the cobblestones; feet seemingly unsteady in the slick dampness.
Iestyn ap Roberts screwed his eyes up against the advances of the drizzle; his head was pounding with the ale and grog he had been drinking all afternoon down the green gizzard tavern. In his drunken numbness he somehow managed to be heading in the direction of home. Thoughts of a warm bed and the welcome of his betrothed kept his course steady.
His way soon wandered of the lit main street; these back lanes were etched in his mind from his days as a child, days when he would rush down to the harbor to watch the incoming ships and their sometimes exotic cargos.
Now in the comfort of his memories he didn't pay much attention to the sounds of boots on stone behind him, it was probably nothing just some other pub happy drinker heading home. The footsteps grew closer, measured in their approach. Iestyn half made to turn around, careful to not move quick lest he unsteady his footing, a growl arose in his throat,
"Be gone stranger! ye'll find nowt but bruises on this un!", his fists started to raise as his fought to focus on the shape behind him.
"We'll see who has the bruises taff.", an englishman's voice answered and at the same time a raised arm fell, with it the sound of a heavy blow and Iestyn's bark was cut short as he bowed and sank onto the ground.
Just before he lost consciousness he could see the two pairs of booted feet that belonged to his attackers, the boots they wore he recognized as the issue of sailors, sailors in the pay of the crown.
****************
It was the motion that finally woke him, for a long while he imagined he was being rocked in the arms of his beautiful Jessica, his head rested on her lap as he looked up into her sparkling eyes. But now he could smell sweat, and vomit, and fear; and the warming image that had seemed to linger over him vanished to be replaced by a sense of dread.
His shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, it hurt and he gingerly felt for the raised welt where that blow had landed - it was indeed he who carried the bruises. Around his hands and feet were rust worn chains, and he knew with a sinking feeling what this meant. Slavery, and he was on a slaver bound for some far-flung god-forsaken hellhole.
In the gloom of the deck he could make out other men, most lay still and silent, a few murmured in unknown languages.
"How long have we been at sea?", he asked of the fellow next to him.
A blank stare was his only reply.
*****************
Jessica was beside herself with worry. She had rushed down to the quarry when she had awoken in the morning to find Iestyn not home. His boss had asked a few of his work mates if they had seen him, and ended with a threat of docked wages if he didn’t show. He had been seen in the tavern but had left early, around ten, from what the others could tell her. Some even offered to search for him later if he didn’t show.
"He had a good ol soak about im, prolly j'st be sleeping it off dear, he'll show give him time", one kind old man had offered.
Still as she left the quarry site behind, a terrible sadness seemed to reach right inside and grip her heart; she knew it would take something awful to keep her love from returning. In a growing daze she headed to the green gizzard in the hopes of finding him. <i>Please be drunk in a corner my darling</i> was the only thought she could cling on to. That and the hopes of a search party being organized by the town at the end of the day.
*******************
The fight had been brief, but violent. Blood caked the deck of the 'Sea Spray' and those that had fought to free themselves wore the faces of desperate men.
Iestyn had counted the days, two weeks since he awoke to find himself a slave; and now he had taken back what had been stolen from him. Those that had stood in his way he had bludgeoned using all the strength of his quarryman physic.
He had worked for countless days at the rusty shackles that bound him, using a nail he had pulled from the ships timber by his own hand. After he had sprung the slaves lose they all looked to follow him, maybe out of thanks for their freedom or maybe simply because he told them his plan.
Now as he stood on the deck, the eyes of the other freed slaves on him, he looked over at the remainder of the ships crew,
"So what’s it t' be lads, will ye work for me or shall I let them go at thee?", the petrified look in the sailors faces, as they scanned the crowd of slaves told him all he needed to know.
"Good. Master navigator..", he beckoned over one of the sailors, "tell me what place are we heading and how long till we land?"
"Its th' new world....and we're on course and rationed for 5 more days, if the weather holds......captain." he nervously added the formality.
"So no way but to go onwards....", Iestyn mumbled under his breath.
"Very good," and he raised his voice for all to hear, "A weeks sail and then when we land, we all land as free men, any trouble during that time and I’ll deal with the person myself" he growled at the sailors.
"Johno" , he nodded towards a tall Cornishman, " make out a watch roster - we'll need a constant guard over the coming days". Around him the new crew of the 'Sea Spray' got to work.
***********************
The journey was over, those crew that had wanted melted into the colonies population of Isla Muelle. A few days later Iestyn had taken the 'Sea Spray' with its new crew and a new cargo of leather, paid for by selling the arms on the ship, to the French port of Falaise de Fleur and into the new world.
Those former slaves that had wished to remain had given him the nickname 'Black Bart'. They told him it was after his family name and the dark thunderous expression with which he helped them fight for their freedom.
Now his task was to make enough money, and maybe his fame and fortune, before being able to head home to Wales and his precious Jessica.
<img src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p199/BlackBart06/IestynAdventure2.jpg" border="0" alt="IPB Image" />
A ship(the Cutter in the background), some cargo, a beard and a new adventure starts.
" border="0" alt="smile.gif" />Note: Iestyn - is pronounced 'yes-tin' and 'ap' in a welsh name means 'son of' - it was the origonal naming method before we lost our struggle <img src="style_emoticons/<#EMO_DIR#>/wink.gif" style="vertical-align:middle" emoid="
" border="0" alt="wink.gif" /><b>The tale of Black Bart</b>
Newport had grown alongside its docks, with the trade ships came money, but also the less desirable. The night of October 13th 1689, was a foul one. Thick fogs crept from the brackish waters of the Bristol Channel, and were mixed with the moor mists that broiled down from the mountainsides. Rain, ever the rain, fell in that light constant manner that would soak a man to the bone who was foolish to dwell long in it.
Through the murk of that night a lone figure, hunched into the protection of his outer cloak, stumbled over the cobblestones; feet seemingly unsteady in the slick dampness.
Iestyn ap Roberts screwed his eyes up against the advances of the drizzle; his head was pounding with the ale and grog he had been drinking all afternoon down the green gizzard tavern. In his drunken numbness he somehow managed to be heading in the direction of home. Thoughts of a warm bed and the welcome of his betrothed kept his course steady.
His way soon wandered of the lit main street; these back lanes were etched in his mind from his days as a child, days when he would rush down to the harbor to watch the incoming ships and their sometimes exotic cargos.
Now in the comfort of his memories he didn't pay much attention to the sounds of boots on stone behind him, it was probably nothing just some other pub happy drinker heading home. The footsteps grew closer, measured in their approach. Iestyn half made to turn around, careful to not move quick lest he unsteady his footing, a growl arose in his throat,
"Be gone stranger! ye'll find nowt but bruises on this un!", his fists started to raise as his fought to focus on the shape behind him.
"We'll see who has the bruises taff.", an englishman's voice answered and at the same time a raised arm fell, with it the sound of a heavy blow and Iestyn's bark was cut short as he bowed and sank onto the ground.
Just before he lost consciousness he could see the two pairs of booted feet that belonged to his attackers, the boots they wore he recognized as the issue of sailors, sailors in the pay of the crown.
****************
It was the motion that finally woke him, for a long while he imagined he was being rocked in the arms of his beautiful Jessica, his head rested on her lap as he looked up into her sparkling eyes. But now he could smell sweat, and vomit, and fear; and the warming image that had seemed to linger over him vanished to be replaced by a sense of dread.
His shook his head to clear away the cobwebs, it hurt and he gingerly felt for the raised welt where that blow had landed - it was indeed he who carried the bruises. Around his hands and feet were rust worn chains, and he knew with a sinking feeling what this meant. Slavery, and he was on a slaver bound for some far-flung god-forsaken hellhole.
In the gloom of the deck he could make out other men, most lay still and silent, a few murmured in unknown languages.
"How long have we been at sea?", he asked of the fellow next to him.
A blank stare was his only reply.
*****************
Jessica was beside herself with worry. She had rushed down to the quarry when she had awoken in the morning to find Iestyn not home. His boss had asked a few of his work mates if they had seen him, and ended with a threat of docked wages if he didn’t show. He had been seen in the tavern but had left early, around ten, from what the others could tell her. Some even offered to search for him later if he didn’t show.
"He had a good ol soak about im, prolly j'st be sleeping it off dear, he'll show give him time", one kind old man had offered.
Still as she left the quarry site behind, a terrible sadness seemed to reach right inside and grip her heart; she knew it would take something awful to keep her love from returning. In a growing daze she headed to the green gizzard in the hopes of finding him. <i>Please be drunk in a corner my darling</i> was the only thought she could cling on to. That and the hopes of a search party being organized by the town at the end of the day.
*******************
The fight had been brief, but violent. Blood caked the deck of the 'Sea Spray' and those that had fought to free themselves wore the faces of desperate men.
Iestyn had counted the days, two weeks since he awoke to find himself a slave; and now he had taken back what had been stolen from him. Those that had stood in his way he had bludgeoned using all the strength of his quarryman physic.
He had worked for countless days at the rusty shackles that bound him, using a nail he had pulled from the ships timber by his own hand. After he had sprung the slaves lose they all looked to follow him, maybe out of thanks for their freedom or maybe simply because he told them his plan.
Now as he stood on the deck, the eyes of the other freed slaves on him, he looked over at the remainder of the ships crew,
"So what’s it t' be lads, will ye work for me or shall I let them go at thee?", the petrified look in the sailors faces, as they scanned the crowd of slaves told him all he needed to know.
"Good. Master navigator..", he beckoned over one of the sailors, "tell me what place are we heading and how long till we land?"
"Its th' new world....and we're on course and rationed for 5 more days, if the weather holds......captain." he nervously added the formality.
"So no way but to go onwards....", Iestyn mumbled under his breath.
"Very good," and he raised his voice for all to hear, "A weeks sail and then when we land, we all land as free men, any trouble during that time and I’ll deal with the person myself" he growled at the sailors.
"Johno" , he nodded towards a tall Cornishman, " make out a watch roster - we'll need a constant guard over the coming days". Around him the new crew of the 'Sea Spray' got to work.
***********************
The journey was over, those crew that had wanted melted into the colonies population of Isla Muelle. A few days later Iestyn had taken the 'Sea Spray' with its new crew and a new cargo of leather, paid for by selling the arms on the ship, to the French port of Falaise de Fleur and into the new world.
Those former slaves that had wished to remain had given him the nickname 'Black Bart'. They told him it was after his family name and the dark thunderous expression with which he helped them fight for their freedom.
Now his task was to make enough money, and maybe his fame and fortune, before being able to head home to Wales and his precious Jessica.
<img src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p199/BlackBart06/IestynAdventure2.jpg" border="0" alt="IPB Image" />
A ship(the Cutter in the background), some cargo, a beard and a new adventure starts.
" border="0" alt="icon_mrgreen1.gif" /> thanks guys.