Dorian Lasseter

Cap'n Bo... Yer lookin' ta do something of this nature... Which can also be done with just a rod put through the base of the cone/attachment cup... I would suggest you do that to your boar spear before going hunting with it... I know of cases where after stabbing a boar, it continued up the spear shaft and attacked the wielder... I've seen examples of boar spears with a pistol barrel attached near the tip, with either a pull cord to fire it, or a pressure type trigger that would fire when the spear was thrust into the animal...

Soon after The Lieutenant and his Sergeant had departed, Durand finished his brandy and set the empty glass aside. Dorian noting this also finished his and returned his glass to the table as well. William who had not partaken of his brandy now did so as Durand took his time in relative silence to continue dressing. He splashed some water on his face and ran a critical hand across his cheek before toweling off, deciding that the slight stubble could wait to be removed at a later time. Once dressed to his own standards he looked to the woman who still remained in his bed. His jaw tightened for a moment as he glanced at the two captains. He pardoned himself from the two men and approached the bed, speaking so low she alone could barely hear his words. He took up one of her hands and kissed the back of it, causing her to blush slightly. He straightened and turned back to the men. “It is time we returned to your ships, captains.” He held his hand out in a gesture towards the door, and both William and Dorian took the cue. Once outside the room Dorian turned back and noted Durand had left a small pile of specie on the table next to the brandy. He turned away quickly as the tall man settled his sword into place and took up a significant walking stick, heading towards the door. He walked past the Captains and led the way. As they walked down the hallway from the rooms of Monsieur Durand, Captain Lasseter mused on the situation just passed. He was surprised no blood had been spilled, frankly. As they walked down the hallway, only the sound of their footfalls commented their passing. Once they reached the common room, the veil of silence again surrounded them as all in the space stilled their tongues and movement. The proprietor approached with apologies to Durand who silenced him with a look and slight nod. Dorian and William exchanged looks, both knowing Monsieur Pommier was on the loosing end of a deal, and to keep good faith with Durand began to offer certain ‘services’ at no cost. Again a severe look from Durand silenced the round proprietor, for good this time. Soon the three of them were in the streets, headed back to the wharf near Fort Royal.

Hmmmm..... yes....

That's pure evil... I'll take mine with some french vanilla ice cream on the side...

1.Aye, the ribband does a nice job, that pistol happens to belong to BlackJohn, I have a similar one with a belt clip. 2. Thankee kindly, since that event I've added a navy blue sailors short jacket to my kit. I was dressed in my best at that event. 3. Ah, the right coast has good stuff, but the left coast has happenings years round I believe, whereas we have 'seasonal' events... so, give and take...

Take a look here... http://www.piratebrethren.com/saintmarys07...07/smc0704.html You'll find an image or two (of me) with a pistol ticked into a belt, with a ribband around the handle... Hope this helps...

Well, this is just so wrong, but funny as hell... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lcmNaXmjvs

Blind? thot ye were Blonde? Blind in one eye, Blonde in ta other... (I c'n say that... I's a blonde m'self...)

Watching the scene play out in front of them, Dorian could do no more than fix as pleasant a look on his face he could. It was quite difficult, because he wanted to laugh at the Lieutenant and what Durand had done to him, and imagined what he would do to him. He even held his breath at one point to keep himself quiet and was relieved the William spoke for them both on the subject at hand. He did manage a slow nod at appropriate times in the exchange between Captain Brand and Monsieur Durand, hoping to add credibility to William’s words. Dorian also caught that Turcotte seemed to regain some of his ego as Durand smiled at what William said, however he did not add his thoughts to the dialog, He held his tongue, for once being smart and remembering the promise Durand had given about removing said tongue. At one point while it was quiet, Durand continued to dress while thinking over the facts given to him, Dorian looked over to the bed where the one woman had remained, covering herself with the sheet. He gave a brief smile and nod, to which she cast her eyes down, so he turned back to watching the Lieutenant and Durand, wondering if both would exit the room intact.

Can't get th' noggin ta yer noggin? Mayhaps we can find a small piece o' bamboo.. hollow it out... might just work... Or, th' good doctor might find another use for a syringe? *shudder*

Oi Cap'n Sterling! Don't you go bustin' yerself up b'fore we have a chance ta cross blades!!! On a serious note, all kidding aside, I hope it's not too bad, maybe just dislocated or a strain, putting things out of sorts... Get Well Soon!!!

http://www.masquerademaskarts.com/memes/pe...culiartitle.php His Grace Lord Dorian the Superficial of Kirkby Overblow or Earl Dorian the Bloody of Fishbourne Sneething

As both he and William answered the many questions of Turcotte, Dorian felt the tension rise ever so slowly. The Lieutenant still held them both in some sort of contempt. When Turcotte said they would accompany him to ‘fetch’ Monsieur Donatien Durand, Dorian watched as the colour drained from Sergeant Charron’s face. Having spent quite some time in the presence of Durand, Dorian had a feel for how much he did not enjoy Turcotte and his whims. This actually brought a smile to Captain Lasseter’s face. He settled back in his chair and took a drink from his almost empty tankard. “Do you think it wise for us to visit Monsieur Durand at this hour?” Dorian knew this would push the Lieutenant to do just that, to push the envelope of his presumed control and power. They would be in Durand’s home this late evening. You could count on that just by the look on the Lieutenant’s face as Dorian drank the dregs of his small beer.

Heh... don't take this the wrong way.... but the shark finally got him... if you look at it in an odd way..... In the original story, Jaws, Sheriff Brody is the only survivor...

The Cox’n continued to stifle his yawns as he did his duty, walking the deck and making sure all was well. He’d had two tankards of the rich coffee that Mister Marsh had brewing, it seemed an endless pot and Nigel wondered how much coffee they had left onboard. He yawned again, a huge yawn that he could not suppress. Once he gained control he shook his head hard, trying to clear it. No use. He needed to get some sleep. Nigel began looking for the Ship’s Master so he might turn over the deck to him formally. He found Mister Pew forward, the Carpenter just heading below. “Mister Pew? Permission ta retire fer a wee bit? I been walkin’ th’ decks since returnin’ from shore-leave.” Pew looked him over, noticed the bags under his eyes and surmised he’d had a very good time ashore. He scoffed and shook his head. “Alright, Mister Brisbane, go b’low, but ye best be ready an’ topside if I calls ya.” “Aye Sah, I will be… Thank ya, sah…” Nigel knuckled his brow and Pew returned it, so the Cox’n turned away and headed to his berth, checked on his rats to be sure all was well, and climbed into his hammock. He was fast asleep and his snores could be heard on deck until another crewman elbowed him in the ribs and he quieted down.

La Montre De Nuit As Dorian watched, William wrote out a short letter and let the ink dry before folding and addressing it to one Lieutenant Turcotte of the Fort Royal Garrison. As that dried Dorian took a sheet of parchment and his own quill. William raised an eyebrow to his as he began to write. “Ta Preston… need ta let ‘im know th’ situation…” He dropped his voice some and added. “Need ta let ‘im know we might have a man aboard capable o’ back stabbin’ an officer... let him know of Den Oven, just ta be careful.” William nodded and Dorian continued writing. Once finished both letters were sealed and given to two different young lads with coin and instructions. Captain Brand’s letter to be given to the man directly and the boy to wait for a reply. Lasseters’ to be delivered to the Lucy’s Master and that was all. They sat in the drinking house and relaxed, if you could call it that. Both men were quiet for a time, internalizing their thoughts of the recent turn of events. When the woman came back for an order, both men took their time to order something light, not needing a heavy meal and actually not needing anything more to drink. Once the woman had gone, Dorian excused himself to use the privy, which turned out to be not more than a trough in back of the establishment. He returned shortly and settled himself just as their drinks were delivered. Once alone it was William’s turn to use the necessary and Dorian warned him of its openness. All they could do at the moment was wait. Wait for a response, wait for the next thing to happen…

Sunday... http://www.eonline.com/news/article/index....66-163345cc5114 That makes two of the three... Robert Shaw in 1978 were th' first...

After questioning the guards and finding very little out, Dorian’s mind was exhausted. None of what the guards said the two men looked like bore any familiarity to him or William. Finally they left the prison, William having what Dorian hoped was an epiphany of a sort. Once through the outer doors of Fort Royal his mind cleared some and began working again. Had Den Oven and his conspirators found passage on a ship outbound? Had they found passage across land, having a carriage at their disposal? He hoped the others who were out this night on errands were more fruitful then they had been thus far. Dorian found that his earlier anger at Dufour was settling and being replaced with the need to find out where those men were who had falsified papers and taken the Kapitein from the prison. He had violent thoughts of what he might do to those men. At one point he realized his inner thoughts had caused him to slow his pace and when he realized this, William was some twenty paces ahead of him. Shaking his head, Captain Lasseter picked up his pace and caught up to Captain Brand. “Where are you of a mind ta be going Will?”

The Fort Royal Prison While William had given a tongue lashing to Dufour, Dorian had looked to the guards who had the sense to move just far enough away to be able to claim no knowledge of what came to pass. He gave a wry grin and turned back as Captain Brand had finished. The look on the Frenchman’s face was a mixture of anger, fear, and embarrassment. He stood there, trying to regain his former aloofness, tried to calm his nerves and act the man in charge, but to no avail. The charade was over in front of the two captains. Dorian looked around the room and spied the spirits cabinet. He walked over and opened said cabinet, selected three small crystal goblets, then selected a bottle, rejected it and selected a second. Filling the glasses he set one on the desk in front of Dufour and handed the other to William and kept the third himself. As he passed by the cabinet he took up the bottle and set it on the desk, with the intention that the man would need a second or even third drink.

The anger that raced through Dorian was of such speed that his mind caused him to speak in his native tongue, which might have been for the best. “Ciach ort! Ní mórán thú! Damnú ort! D'anam don diabhal!” His rage spent enough to regain control, Captain Lasseter realized he had been so close to the Frenchman’s face his hat had been pushed off. He took a step back and smoothed out his coat front, reached down and picked up his hat, brushing off the dirt towards Dufour. “Go n-ithe na péisteoga thú, Cac ar oineach…” It was then that he realized that he was not speaking a language those around him understood. Taking in a slow breath, he put his hat on. “Monsieur… I know not who these men were… you have poor eyes for the man in charge…” He noticed that Dufour was sweating and had turned pinkish. Dorian was sure his own face was red with the rage he had just put fourth. He further checked his anger and looked to William. “My apologies Cap’n Brand…”

As they followed Dufour to the office, Dorian ran what he had just been told over and over in his mind. False papers used by some men to take Den Oven from the prison. They reached the office of the Commandant and as they entered, Dorian stopped in the doorway, blocking the guards from entering, so only Captain Brand and Monsieur Dufour were inside. The Frenchman found the books he was after as William glowered at him as he paged to the entry. “Ah, here…. Monsieur Leveque…” He looked up a moment with a triumphant look. Before William could utter a word, Dorian scoffed. “You imbecile… What made you think this man was of our ships? Did he speak with airs that impressed you? Or was it Scymmelpenninck? How did they persuade you so easily? A wave of parchment and you were otherwise occupied? I should send for your superior right now for your idiocy…” Dufour stood speechless for a moment before his voice found him. “How dare you?!?!” Dorian was on the man in an instant. “I dare because a fool should not be left in charge of such responsibility!”

Captain Lasseter was brought from his thoughts abruptly by the shouts from Captain Brand. “Den Oven is Gone!” Dorian’s brow creased as he tried to surmise what exactly he meant by gone. Had the man gone to his maker? Or had he escaped? Been removed to another part of the prison perhaps? As William came into the light, dragging Dufour by the collar, Dorian took that he had escaped in some way. “He’s escaped? How?”

This news of the late captain Stoneburrows took Dorian aback. He closed his eyes and tried to replay the scene in his head, when he had boarded the ‘Heron’ and found the man in a state of near death. He had not been right near the man when death had overtaken him. In afterthought, the man was insulting to the last. Many of the men aboard the Heron were Irish and from what gossip Dorian had heard, the Englishman was as many others towards his brethren. None that returned to the service onboard the cutter could find kind words for Stoneburrows. He now wondered if one of the men who now served him had done the deed. He took in a deep breath, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do, for it brought the stench of death and disease into his nostrils. His eyes opened quickly and he tasted bile. “Beg yer pardon, Gennelmen…. I…” He turned and left them in the dark place, not at a run, but a controlled quick pace until he came out into the fresh air of the night. He gulped in the air and calmed himself, but the thought of one of his men stabbing their former captain in the back was unsettling, even if the man was of poor character. Dorian looked up into the dark sky and wondered how he might find out the truth.

On Deck of the Lucy Nigel Brisbane stood on the quarterdeck and once again surveyed the deck and rigging of the Lucy. He tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but all he did was prompt a yawn. The yawn turned into an almost visible shake of his body, and when he stopped he grimaced and even growled. “Damn… need some coffee ‘er somat…” He worked his legs up and down a couple times and swung his arms about. This time he stifled a yawn and clenched his teeth. Nigel paced aft and turned at the rail headed forward and down the stair into the waist. There he found Godfrey and Wayne practicing tying knots with some thin line. He gave a harsh smile to them. “One o’ you lads, fetch me a coffee from b’low…” Both boys jumped up and knuckled their brows and called out in unison. “Aye-aye sah!” Nigel held up a hand. “Slow down lads, I just need one cup o’ coffee. Just one lad needs ta go. You, Godfrey, if ya please.” Patrick knuckled his brow again and was gone in a flash while Geoffrey slowly sat back down and picked up his line. He looked crestfallen in the darkness, and seeing this Nigel sighed. He knelt down and picked up the other line. “Wot knot were ya workin’ on?” Geoffrey shrugged and fumbled with his line before answering. “We was workin’ on a clove-hitch, sah… I almost got it figured…” Nigel smiled and quickly worked his line into the desired knot and hooked it over a belaying pin, securing it. The young boy’s mouth popped open in surprise. “How’s ye do that so fast? Ah, Sah?” Nigel worked the line apart and pulled it from the pin. “Here… here’s a trick to it…” He went on to show the boy his trick to a fast clove-hitch and Geoffrey had mastered it just before Patrick returned with the steaming coffee for the Bo’sun. “Patrick! Look wot Mister Brisbane showed me!” He exclaimed and showed off his new learning. Nigel ended up spending the next hour tutoring the boys between drinking his coffee, and stifling yawns.

Aye! I'll raise a glass of port to th' Cap'n!!! Happiest o' Natal Days to Ye!!!! And many more to come!!! Slainte!!!