Dorian Lasseter

Well then my dear man... Now you MUST retell the tale of OFM! Since you have lived past your experience...

Exactly... Been there, done that... In many cases you would have both ends of a piece of slowmatch in you linstock lighted, just incase of such a situation... There have been many occasions where weather conditions caused issue, along with the vent-blast blowing the coal off the end of the match...

She were a fine Brig... Built strong and fast... Had fourteen or more great guns of brass mounted... Not counting the swivels...

Captain Lasseter had busied himself by preparing some things for Preston’s care. Some blankets were added to the seat of the stern bench along with two ticking pillows at one end. He had briefly exited the room to the deck and retrieved a gun bucket, placing it on the wardroom deck near the pillows. He had stopped to wipe his brow as the heat of the day was further heightened by the humidity. Dorian was about to prop open the side windows when a knock came. Turning to the sound he bade them to come in. Charlie had Preston there, still clothed in his soiled shirt. The Captain drew out a chair for Preston to sit and once he was comfortable had Charlie go fetch clean clothes for the man. Dorian freshened the basin and brought it to the table along with several pieces of cloth. He helped Preston get his shirt off and dropped it in the gun bucket with a wet ‘plop’. Charlie returned with a set of clothing and placed them on the table and was given leave. Soon the Surgeon returned with her pack of medicines and Dorian took the soiled clothing out on deck in the gun bucket. This he sat on deck and took up another gun bucket to replace it with in the wardroom.

Dorian stood silently for a moment before answering Preston. “No Lad, not to worry…” He turned and stepped from the cabin and leaned on the nearest bulkhead. “Gu sealladh saelbh oirnn…” Finding the two marines he had left as guards staring at him, the Captain straightened and gave orders. “Go find Mister Tucker, have him send some men here ta clean up Master Whittin’ferds cabin wi’ mops n’ a mix o’ seawater an’ vinegar… “ Both men, happy to be released from their post made haste from the space below. Dorian headed back into the cabin. He looked at Maeve and did not hesitate. “We’ll clean him up and put him in my quarters… Have th’ stern bench made up comfortable…” Turning back to Preston, Captain Lasseter hoped he would understand what was to be done. “Master Whi… Preston… You are relieved of duty until your health is returned. Until you are declared as such, you will take your ease in the wardroom.” Not waiting for an answer, Captain Lasseter removed himself from the cabin and with haste headed to the Wardroom. He headed directly for the stern windows and leaned out and down, emptying the contents of his gut into the sea. When there was none left to wretch up, he pulled himself back onto the stern bench for a moment to catch his breath before heading to the basin to clean himself up.

As Miss Ashcombe went about the cabin, Captain Lasseter stood slowly and walked the handful of paces to the basin she had refreshed with clean water. As he bent closer to cup his hands in the water, the wound across his back along with the other hurts of battle and fatigue made their presence known. Dorian did no more than clench his jaw and bear the pain as he drew the water to his face. The coolness of the water both revived and refreshed him to a degree. After repeating the process several times, he stood and let the water drip off his face back into the basin as he leaned on the sideboard. Dorian let the conversation regarding Preston repeat in his mind, wondering truly what might be the way of things. He could not have his Ships Master return to duty until he was sure of his well being. Another would have to be temporarily appointed until that time, but whom? The Captain could not think clear enough as he had not slept for what felt like a fortnight, but was only closer to two days time. All he wanted was to be able to rest knowing the Lucy was in good hands. A loud knock on the door from the hold shattered his thoughts. Straightening and taking up a towel to wipe his face, Dorian turned to the offending port. “Enter.” The door opened to reveal Master Flint. As the Captain was about to scold his officer for disobeying his orders so soon after they were given, Bill spoke gravely. “Captain, tis Mister Whittingford, ye best come quick.” Without a word Dorian quickly wiped his face and headed to Preston’s quarters.

Allow me to introduce myself...

At two bells of the Afternoon Watch, the meal had concluded, Master Flint gone to the surgery not ten minutes before. Nathaniel Brocke took his leave as Acting Master-at-Arms and all that remained in the Wardroom of the Lucy was the Captain, his Steward and Miss O’Treasaigh, the Surgeon of the Watch Dog on loan to the Lucy. All three looked to be ready to fall fast asleep, each owing to a different reason. Dorian wished to dismiss both of the ladies and allow all three of them some much needed rest, however the pressing matter of the Ships Master had to be addressed. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his right hand and stifled a yawn before addressing the women. “Well… much as I’d like ta send all of us to find rest… I am ne need to know of Preston… What is his condition Ma’am?” He fought back the urge to close his eyes and lay his head on his chest, or worse, on his arms crossed on the table. Instead he motioned to Miss Ashcombe for a cup of coffee. Words deserted him but for an ‘If you please.’ While holding up his empty china cup.

Here's the official website; http://www.qaronline.org/ And a 'Friends of the QAR' site; http://www.friendsofqar.org/ There's a special program run down there that you can dive on the wreck-site... a friend of mine did it this past summer, said it was awesome!

Hmm.... I see this as a perfect port; Put a bunch o' great guns on the island outside of the harbour... Aye, this is an actual place on the island of Madagascar... used by many a 'man of fortune and adventure'... Here's a modern look at the place... http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&client=firefox-a&channel=s&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&um=1&q=Maroantsetra%2C%20madagascar&ndsp=18&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=il&tbo=0 I was originally looking at Ile Sainte Marie for the best place... edit: There's a 'pirate graveyard' on the Ile http://www.pbase.com/errorist/image/35374859 http://www.exploremadagascar.co.za/sainte_marie_map.html

Soon to be drinking some home made Irish Creme.. Slainte!

Shall we re-name it... Amity? Beware of the sharks...

Huh... In need of an Harbour Master, and/or Pilot, aye? Hmmmmm... M'brother Angus might help yer out there... mebee...

My sympathies to those people... And I applaud all those who have donated... My money will be going to relief funds to help folks here in the states, like the folks STILL suffering after Katrina...

Happiest o' Natal Days to ye!!! Agreed, and many more to follow! Slainte!

Well... A nice, fast French Corvette... And either a rented room at Pew's establishment, or... A fine Cape Cod right on the water... That'll do me fine...

Had what Master Flint said been the ravings of a man out of sorts, Captain Lasseter might not have given a second thought to his words. But they were well thought out and respectful, so Dorian again studied the man. He let his eyes search over Bill, touching on the Native tattoos that peeked out from under bandages and clothing. Dorian had only once come in contact with the Red Men of the Americas, and it was a brief encounter, but in that short time he had made a keen observation. Of course those around him did much to put them down as ‘heathens and wild savages’, Dorian had kept his opinion of them as one of a people much truer to themselves than any Englishman he knew. What the Captain knew of Bill Flint, that he was a colonial and had lived among the Red Men, for how long he didn’t know, but from what he had just said he had taken their beliefs to heart. The Captain looked at the others present to see what their reaction was. Brocke looked to be in mild disbelief, and he could not quite read the faces of the two women. “This tomahawk… the one you carry… you say it must be returned to its rightful place and that happens to be Manhattan?” “Aye Sar.” Dorian nodded but once as he noticed Nathaniel put a hand across his eyes and start to shake his head. “You are correct that I cannot answer where our next port may be… We can discuss such soon enough with Captain Brand. I shall make a note of it.” As he spoke the final word, Dorian turned in his chair and stood, stepping over to his desk and opening the ships ledger. He took up a pen and inked it, writing a note to himself in the margin. He left the book open and placed the pen in the crease before returning to his chair. As he sat he gave a nod to Bill. “Thank you, sar.” The meal was continued in silence for a time, then the simple small take slowly returned, though somewhat hesitantly from some. As Dorian took a drink from his glass he wondered if any of those present might think him mad for taking the request seriously.

As the silence that followed Master Flint’s statement lengthened, Captain Lasseter did no more than study the man. He saw before him someone who very well may have died and been sent back to his mortal body, for it was not yet his time to sing with the angels, or, dare he think, with Old Scratch. As the seconds passed, Dorian finally moved, just slightly. He nodded ever so slightly and slowly blinked as he thought over what might be said about such thoughts. Looking to the others present, he took on an aire of understanding, for in essence he did understand what Bill said, what he had experienced. “Aye… Master Flint… Seems you have been on yer way ta th’ Great Beyond, only ta be snatched back to yer mortal coils… Not your time ta depart this world… And since that be th’ case, I expect you ta take yer ease under th’ care of our Surgeon or whomever she see fit to watch over you until you’ve regained your former self… That’s an order, sah…” Dorian had changed his demeanor to one of business, all understandings aside. His Master-at-Arms was presumed dead aboard the snow, having been shot so many times, and now restored to life, but with enough blood lost to stop the average man. Time to rest, time to heal is what was required right now and he’d be sure to see that Bill got what was needed. A new silence began as what the Captain had said sunk in to everyone's minds, only to be shattered by the sound of the ships bells being rung to change the Forenoon to the Afternoon Watch. Eight Bells of the Forenoon Watch, Afternoon Watch begins. 7 August, 1704

The Captain had straightened upright when the Surgeon had entered and stayed as such since she did not allow herself to sit. “Please, Mum… sit and break your fast before getting to the business of Preston. It will keep for that much longer…” Again he offered a chair at the table, and also entreated the others to join as well. It had been a long, long night and new day for one and all. In some way he also did this to delay what news of Preston she had to give. The look on her face as she has spoken when she came to the ward room said volumes, yet until she had given her report Dorian would not assume anything of the mans’ condition. He even went as far as pulling a chair out for Miss O’Treasaigh, hoping she would take her ease and fill a plate from the platter of fare that was offered.

Dorian’s brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together. News travels fast aboard a ship, bad news doubly so, however he had not expected questions about the Ship’s Master to be asked so soon. Especially since he hadn’t had his own questions answered about the man. With a slow, steady intake of breath, the Captain relaxed his face and spoke. “Never you mind about Preston… He suffered some injuries durin’ the battle and as soon as I get word from the Surgeon… we hope ta have him back.” He stood slowly and took his hands from the table and unbuttoned his coat, hoping to convey a bit of informality to the two men and woman in his presence. “I know that is not the reason you brought yourself here… Come now… Out with it…” Dorian saw Master Flint flick his eyes towards Miss Ashcombe and he gently cleared his throat. The Captain smiled thinly and placed his hands behind his back before addressing what was holding the Master-At-Arms’ tongue. “Master Flint… In this room what you say is held in confidence to all here. Unless it is something so desperate that it is for my ears only, I expect you to be able to speak your peace.” Dorian put a neutral expression on his weary face and leaned forward on the table, waiting to hear from his officer.

Captain Lasseter had taken his time heading the short distance to the Ward Room. As he opened the door into the space he found it already crowded with some of his officers, along with his Steward. One of those officers was his Master-at-Arms, whom was so recently come back from the dead. The Captain’s fatigue hid his mild shock at seeing the man alert and animated in conversation. The talking stopped and Mister Brocke stood quickly, knuckling his brow and began helping Mister Flint to his feet when Dorian waved him down. “No, stay at rest Master Flint, I know not how you’ve come to be here from the sick ward so soon after such injuries. And since you have come, I assume it is for good reason for you should be at rest in care of others.” Lasseter slowly and deliberately walked across the wardroom to the table and sat with care in his chair. Miss Ashcombe attended and poured a glass of wine as he took his hat off and handed it to her as she finished. He placed one hand flat on the table as he took up the glass in his other. Holding it up in a toast he looked to his two officers. “To good health, may it ever be present in us all…” They held their mugs aloft and accepted the toast and drank. Dorian set the glass lightly on the table and placed his other hand flat before speaking again. “Please gentlemen… if you have a matter to report, do so…” He had a suspicion as to what they might have such urgent need to speak with him, but he wanted them to have their say before he made any judgments.

To a fine gentleman who tells it like it is... I wish you the happiest of Natal Days, and many more to come! Breithlá sona duit! Sláinte chugat! Dorian

Happy Natal Day to ye Lass!!! Slainte!!!

Here's a couple I've used... As I was not taking pics of the linstocks, the quality of the images aren't the best... The last is an early version, carved to sort of look like a dragon I believe... Master Hawkyns would know best... and might be able to get better images...