The young marine gazed into the mist, knowing that out there somewhere pirates lurked.
Blackbeard, Barbossa, Sparrow, the very names caused him to shiver, despite the warmth of the Caribbean night. Then, hearing approaching footsteps he turned, fumbling for his musket, but as a figure appeared from the gloom, his challenge died on his lips... it was Him.
The Last of the Originals stepped forward, the flickering firelight revealing a sergeant's redcoat, worn and faded, breeches yellowed with age. He spoke, his voice hoarse after years of silence.
“Aye sarge,” replied the private, adding nervously, “They’re... coming though aren’t they?”
The sergeant looked at the young marine’s perfect uniform and pale skin, yet to experience the horror and glory of combat, and thought back to his first battle...
That vicious fight to drive the bluecoats from Eldorado had been followed by years of skirmishing against pirates, smugglers and cannibals. He remembered the prisons he’d escaped from, the women he’d rescued and the taverns he’d celebrated in... before the dark times. Abandoned, forgotten, comrades disappearing one by one until he was the only one left. No more adventures, only darkness.
Until finally, a ruthless new breed of pirate saw him recalled to duty. Now with fresh enemies to fight, monsters to face and men to lead, his life has a purpose again. Starting here.
Looking back at the young marine, his yellowed, weathered face split into a grin, “Aye lad, they’re coming but we’ll face them together, side by side and teach ‘em to fear us Redcoats.”
Hearing these words, the private’s fears seemed to evaporate and he stood taller and prouder.
Saluting, the sergeant turned to continue his rounds. As he walked off, a moonbeam pierced the mist and something glistened on his cheek. He wiped it away.
Edited by greg3, 09 July 2011 - 10:12 PM.