Dorian Lasseter

Dorian looked down from the deck of the Watch Dog at those men who had deigned to pick this moment to bother with superstitious and dangerous talk. He was beyond exhausted, and this display of near insubordination caused something to break inside of him. His calm had been disturbed by a farce. He leaned over the rail as close as he could so they could see the anger on his face. “Damn the both of you. Damn you for thinking it your ‘duty’ to spread such vile an’ contemptuous shite! Wot, ye wanna take a man, one o’ yer own crew, an try him as if he were a witch? You think him possessed by Lucifer himself? Well now…. Wouldn’t that be just the thing, as yer aboard a ship given such a name ta glorify Old Scratch himself! If I hear any of this again, any bit of filth of this nature, I’ll have you both on the gratings! Do… I… Make… Myself… Clear…” Captain Lasseter’s blood was boiling by the time he finished. Not a sound came from the deck of the Lucy. Hudless opened his mouth as if he might say something, but was elbowed in the ribs before he uttered a word. No one else dared to speak, which was actually a bad thing as Captain Lasseter was waiting for a response. “God Damn You! I say, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!” Every man assembled jumped and in concert knuckled their brows. “Very good… Now get back to some work… Master Johnson! Give these men a job, if you please!” The Master Gunner was forward some and nodded to Dorian. “Aye cap’n, You lot! Get yer arses here, now!” Under Dorian’s scowl the men moved off. The Captain turned back to the deck of the Watch Dog and calmed himself as best he could, straightened his coat and looked up to see several of the crew staring.

Back a bunch of years ago, we did an ECW battle at Marrietta Mansion in MD. My lads (Blackwell's Regiment) decided to make things a bit more realistic and have some fun with the crowd at the same time. Our regimental surgeon set up just inside the barriers with some of his instruments. As the battle progressed, one of the lads took a hit. As he went down, he burst a blood pack under his doublet. A couple of the others hauled him over to the surgeon, where they held him down. The surgeon dug in the bloody shirt and doublet with forceps and pulled out a musket ball. Under the blood pack was a piece of soaking wet sole leather. Surgeon pulls out the bullet, clang! into the tin basin, pulls out the cautery from the charcoal burner and presses it onto the wet leather. Lots of steam, smell of burning flesh, and Wylie is writhing and screaming like a madman. Lots of white faces among the crowd, 2 or 3 running away, and they got a lot better idea of the reality of the battlefield. Hawkyns Just had to put in a personal note here... excellent thread/topic! Hawkyns, I was there in the ranks at that event in Levin's (sp) reg. of foot under Justinian Sykes... When Wylie got hit and all that happened... That made the event. See, That's where I started in reenactment/living history, doing ECW. F&I came along as there wee more events to go to. Al of which have pretty high standards, BUT, I've been lucky enough to get into the groups who do it right in my opinion. Help the new person, lend some kit out til they can get their own up to standards and everyone enjoys it, learns from it. As much as many have said the purists are uptight and snotty... I've only run into one person in all my years that was like that. Everyone else I've talked to have been laid back, unless you get on a topic that gets up the blood. I don't mean they would get snotty or nasty, just very enthusiastic, heh, almost fanatical...

The consort ships closed and soon lines were thrown across and drawn tight, bringing them together closely. Not much could be done to the shattered side of the Lucy with the tow ships together, but it was not something that would be dealt with at the present. Once the lines were secured and sails dowsed, Captain Lasseter did his best to walk without a limp to the waist. There he met those officers who were available, namely Mister Brisbane and Tucker. The three of them would cross to the Watch Dog, leaving the Lucy in the care of the Master Gunner. Dorian addressed his officers informally. “Nigel, Lucky Tuck… I see yer luck has held, look ta nary have a scratch on ye.” Tucker turned a shade of red before mounting a protest. “Sir, it weren’t fer tryin’, I was at m’ duty an…” Lasseter smiled and waved away his protests, slowly shaking his head. “Come lads, we’re ta see wot Cap’n Brand has a want t’ know… Though… I’m in want of a meal an’ a bed… hell of a fight, aye?” “Aye, sah!” With the ships secured and the sea in a relatively calm state, it was now time to climb up the tumblehome of the Watch Dog to her deck. Captain Lasseter stepped close and put a hand on her side, looked at his officers and gave a sniff. He drew in a sharp breath and quickly climbed up and over the rail, though it did cost him slightly. Both the Coxswain and Boatswain followed easy enough and were standing on the main deck of a familiar ship, one they had called home not so long ago, looking at the man who captained her.

Once he had been bandaged snuggly, Dorian thanked Jenny and accepted the fresh clothing, carefully pulling the shirt over his head. Now covered, he bent down as best he could and pulled off his soggy shoes and began to untie the ribbands to remove his stockings. Again Jenny helped when prompted. The bandage was tight enough that he couldn’t quite manage removing his stockings, so she did so, revealing more wounds of the like on his arms. Those were taken care of in the same way and fresh stockings helped on and tied. Dorian took up the remaining half dram in the glass and finished it before unfolding his fresh slops. Another awkward pause stopped him for the moment. “One more thing from my chest… I’ve a blackthorn walking stick in the lid… if you would, please…” Jenny nodded and went, doing so slowly as she knew he might need the time to first remove and then don the fresh slops. He did so as quickly as could be, causing himself some minor grief. It took her a moment longer to remove the stick, as it was tied in place tightly amongst some two swords in the deep lid. The walking stick was light, yet felt solid in her hands as she turned slowly to the Captain. He was just buttoning the top of his slops and reaching for his belt as she took the handful of paces to him. “Thank you kindly... “ He took the stick and stroked the handle a moment before setting it aside and putting his shoes back on. Lastly he took up his old coat, Jenny helping him slide it on carefully. He stopped a moment and looked her over, noting the stains and grime on her clothes. “I beg yer pardon Miss Ashcombe… in all th’ hustle… were you at all injured in th’ action?” Dorian looked downright embarrassed, not seeing if she was alright until now. She gave him a half smile. “None so much as yourself, sah.” Lasseter sighed and shook his head. “Please, clean yerself up in here, an’ see the Surgeon if necessary. No questions, tis an order.” The smile reappeared and she knuckled her brow. Dorian nodded to her, again looked over with concern. Sighing again as he heard the calls on deck that they would be soon lashed to the Frigate, he took up the walking stick and his hat. Testing his left knee, he used the stick to steady himself, gathered up his cutlass and belted it.

As he looked at his arms, Dorian wondered what the rest of his body looked like. There were more scrapes and bruises than he remembered receiving in the fighting. Noting where Jenny set the whiskey, as she fetched some cloth he downed the dram and refilled the glass and drank only half of it, saving the other half for the moment. His back burned and was sore in places and he knew the shirt was stuck to those wounds there as well. Looking down at his legs, his stockings were stained with blood and had some tears in them. “I look a damned ragamuffin… ripped n’ torn everywhere…” Miss Ashcombe was back and took up an arm, wiping down his wounds, cleaning off dried blood. The Captain directed her on occasion, not wanting her to rub too deeply and open up freshly scabbed over cuts. Once his arms were dealt with, the arduous task of loosing his shirt from his wounded back was at hand. Again she poured small amounts of fresh water on the dried blood and slowly pulled the fabric away. The ball that had passed through and made holes in three garments and given Dorian a fine flesh wound. It had not actually gone into his back, but more skipped through it. Once the linen was free, he undid his belt and Jenny helped him pull the tails out of his slops. Dorian moved to pull off the shirt but stopped. “Miss Ashcombe… I… need you to go into my chest, find a fresh shirt, slops, stockin’s…. I believe my older coat is hung near by… If you would… so I might…” It was awkward as he had not had a Steward before, let alone a woman to help him with such things. Sensing his discomfort, Miss Ashcombe turned away to see to his needs. With a breath of relief, the Captain slowly and with effort pulled his shirt up over his head, removing his neckerchief at the same time, feeling the burning of the wounds fresh again.

He slowly shook his head at Miss Ashcombe. “No… th’ Doctor has ‘er hands full wi’ th’ Master-ta-Arms… I’m but scratched n’ bruised in comparison… I would have you help me get my wesket off so I might put on something dry… and freshen up some ta meet wi’ Cap’n Brand…” The Lucy’s Captain did all he could to remain stoic, to remain in that place that all captains are presumed to be. Yet in trying to stand again, he faltered, sharply drew in breath and cursed under it. “I’ll need a bit of strong spirits, if you please… just to… take th’ edge off…”

Mister Tucker had been employed at the helm of the Lucy as the snow passed to the depths, and the aftermath of getting the Lucy to the side of the Frigate. He had a commanding view of the deck and all that had happened and watched as his captain headed below, guessing he was near exhaustion. He and Nigel and their mates would have no problems following the orders given, however he wondered if the Ships Master was fit enough to command the deck. By Nigel’s word he knew Mister Whittingford had been wounded, but it sounded none too severe, yet he hadn’t seen him since the battle. Whatever the case, he’d know in time, but right now orders were to be carried out and hopefully some down time would follow.

Dorian took in and blew out a deep breath before answering. He almost wanted to just drop all sail and let the crew rest, picking up the work after a watch had passed. “Aye-aye William! We shall be alongside soon!” Turning inboard, the Captain made to shout those orders, but found Nigel at his side, fresh out of the shrouds. “Ah…. Nigel m’boy… Have th’ lads get our poor ship alongside th’ Watch Dog, eh?” Nigel, seemingly unaffected by the fight and work, appeared well rested and smiled as he knuckled his brow, turned away and did the Captain’s shouting for him. Lasseter stepped back over to the gratings and began to kneel down and all the injuries he had suffered in the battle made their presence known. Had he not had his cutlass in hand he surely would have fallen to the deck. Instead he used it as a cane and lowered himself to one knee. There he bowed his head and mumbled to himself. “Bill… She’ll make ye right… If she don’t hurry, I may be layin’ next ta you soon.” Raising his head and slowly looking about, Dorian felt the weariness begin to settle into him. Mustering his strength, he stood back up and walked aft and into the Lucy’s ward room. Nearly tripping down the stairs within, Dorian used his sword and chairbacks to help him along and to the sternbench where he sat heavily.

Dorian stood over him Master-at-Arms waiting for the Miss O’Treasaigh to appear and assess what was to be done to keep the man alive when he heard Captain Brand hail the Cutter. Turning towards the Frigate, Dorian stepped to the shattered rail and looked for William. There he stood amidships amid a throng of sailors facing the Lucy and searching her for her Captain, so Dorian assumed. “Ahoy Cap’n Brand! What news, sah?”

The Lucy had rolled to Starboard when the rigging was freed from that of the snow, then as the snow settled further and made contact again, the cutter rolled to Larboard. Wood was heard to crack and snap, as well as lines groan and crack like whips when they parted. All those aboard who were on deck and able, moved Starboard to keep away from harm. It was as if the snow was a drowning man trying to save himself by grabbing onto anything he could to keep from going beneath the waves. Or, maybe liken to a man succumbing to death and trying to take who or what he can with him. Whatever the case, it was not working as the deck of the snow began to flood. Her stern quickly dropped beneath the water and she tossed about violently. Her masts whipped over to the Watch Dog and gave her a sound rap before swinging back towards the Lucy once more. As a final act, her mainmast came down on her longboat that had been taken by the Lucy’s sailors and pulled it under. As her mastheads slipped under it was eerily quite for a moment. Someone coughed, and shifted about, and young Mister Rowan appeared on deck and seeing the Captain announced that the Doctor was on her way. This caused the rest of those on deck to spring to life and continue working to square away the Lucy.

All the idiots are gone... Thank the heavens... I believe the last to leave last night was the Japanese representative, after he threw the first ball out at the baseball game... Tham Japanese, they love their baseball! Hehehehehe...

Got this in an email today; Irish Design Center We say no to anarchy! We are open today from 10:00 'til 5:30 Dear Customers, As some of you will have read or heard, last night about 10:30 one of our front display windows was smashed. We cleaned and boarded up into the early hours. The glass wil be replaced by lunchtime and we are now open for business. Thank you for your support. Paul This is a nice little shop in Oakland, near Pittsburgh... So last night, after the protesters were disbursed, they headed down the street and broke 10 windows; One in Paul's shop, two banks and every window in a Quisno's sandwich shop... Boy, they really showed the G-20 Conference goers something, now didn't they! Idiots...

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090924/ap_on_re_us/g20_summit_protests

http://news.yahoo.com/s/time/20090924/us_time/08599192561100 http://news.google.com/news/more?um=1&ned=us&cf=all&ncl=diX0roIOGFb40ZMQnzRfIbHcdVkkM

As Captain Lasseter watched his men in the shrouds fight to cut away the yard tangled in the Lucy’s rigging and watch the snow settle further in the water, a noise like no other he nor any other aboard had heard came from the Lucy’s deck. It so startled Harold Press that he nearly jumped out of the shrouds and became a windmill of arms until Jerrod Styles was able to grab him and haul him to safety. Seeing this, Dorian turned angrily to where it had come and roared at his men. “Wot th’ bloody hell was that an’ who made that noise! This ain’t no bloody time fer such tom-foolery!” As he marched woodenly across the deck he saw Cyrus in a heap and Patrick O’Hara looked as if he’d seen a banshee. All the rest of the crew looked as bewildered as Dorian and had no notion what had made or where the sound had come as they were either stowing the goods brought aboard or watching the snow die. The Captain stepped over to Patrick and shook him by the shoulder, causing the man to jump. A moment later he was staring at Bill Flint lying on the gratings. He pointed a shaky hand. “Twas h-him that made that wail, sah! Sat up from th’ dead and-and, Devil’s possessed ‘is body, sah!” He began to back away and fell over a bail of some sort and went sprawling. Dorian shook his head and leaned close to the form of Master Flint and noticed some fresh blood on his mouth. “Wot in hell?” He put his hand to Bill’s cheek and he was warm to the touch. “Damn me! Get th’ Surgeon! Damnit! Now! Here! I dunno how but he has life in him yet! Damnation! Fight for it Lad! Hold Fast, damn you!” At that moment the yard let go and freed the dying ship from the Lucy. As the yard came free, it spun about crazily while the masts of the snow dragged down the Lucy’s larboard side.

Yep, the 'festivities' also known as 'idiocy' has started.... http://www.flickr.com/photos/greenpeaceusa09/ More to come, well until I get disgusted with it all...

Aye GoF, I did the same... and, same deal... I sent off my trade item, he received it and gave such praises and promises... Same result, I never received my box. $60 from you Midnight, forget the box...

Interesting. It looks sort of like their carronade, but yours doesn't have the cascabel ring, does it? Special order? Hawkyns its a 3/4 carronade which has no cascabel ring when me and kenneth recieved them we were woundering what the f..k was going on so we called and asked. And whot was their answer? If I might ask...

All the best to ye...

Dusting off his hat after retrieving it and smashing it onto his head, Dorian was in agreement with William. “Aye! Abandon ship indeed!” Captain Lasseter made to pull his cutlass from its scabbard but the coating of gore held it in place. Taking hold of the throat with his left hand he forced the blade free with a sickly sucking noise, as if it was being withdrawn from a body. “Everyone off! Off this ship I say! Go now all o’ ye!” Dorian acted as the herder to his flock of sheep, calling out and waving his arms as if driving them. The snow lurched again in the process and the sound of more lines parting filled the air. The snow had shifted to starboard, as if trying to dump Captain Lasseter onto the deck of the Lucy. In doing so the standing rigging of the mainmast began to give way. Where a roundshot had weakened the mast, the crackling of wood could be heard. Dorian ran across the deck shouting as loud as he could. “Cut th’ lines! Cut ‘em away now! Cut th’ lines away!” Axes were at the ready and soon the lines were being chopped away. Dorian made the rail as a large crack of wood was heard and a yard fell from its hamper. Had it not been for the ratlines of the Lucy, the yard would have caused great injury to those on deck. Instead it tangled there, connecting the two ships together as the one died. All the lines were chopped away from both ships and the wind allowed some separation of the crafts as the snow began to settle deeper in the water. Press, Styles and Brisbane had made their way into the lines and were trying to free the yard from the snow. William and his crew were busy fishing those man who went over from the water and could do no more than watch. The snow rolled harder to starboard and threatened to tangle herself even worse into the Lucy.

As it was, nothing more could be done for the man and all haste was needed to save what could be had off the snow. Dorian had crossed himself and now wore a pinched look on his face as the thought of how the Monsieur Lefevre had been crushed. Back to the binnacle and gathered up what he could carry and made his way to the Lucy, all the way into the Ward Room to lay the brass and wooden pieces. As he lay them on the table, Dorian noticed his coat that he had deposited on a great gun of the snow was now hanging on his chair. “How in blazes did that get here? Miss Ashcombe? But no… ah!” The Captain threw his hands up in the air, no time to worry about how it came to be there. Back out on deck and across to the snow to again retrieve all that could be had. His back was beginning to ache from both the exertion of the battle, his wounds, and the aftermath that now consumed all hands. As he came over the rail of the snow, two great guns were lifted off their carriages, one by the Watch Dog, the other by the Lucy. Just as the one cleared the rail of the Frigate, the snow lurched and some lines parted violently. One line had parted near where the men of the Lucy were hauling the tackle and whipped two of them. They all dove away and let the gun crash to the deck of the snow. Curses were shouted at man and equipment. Dorian boldly walked over and cut the gun loose. “Leave it! We’ve not the space in th’ hold nor on deck!” Men reluctantly followed the order even as Master Johnson cursed some more and looked to the gun as if he was loosing a child before stomping across the deck grabbing all the gun tools he could carry, yelling for others to pick up what he could not.

Men clamored all over the dying snow as ants over a dead beetle, tearing it apart and taking the pieces back to the mound. Dorian directed this ‘dance of death’ from anywhere and everywhere on deck. Everyone was moving to and fro, carrying what was salvageable. He had directed those marines of the Watch Dog and Lucy who were holding those prisoners left from the battle to move them to the forecastle of the Frigate, lest they go down with her. At one point the Master’s Mate of the dying ship protested to Captain Lasseter about what was taking place. Dorian didn’t even look at the man, but to the nearest marine. “You there, if this man gives ye or anyone else any guff, Ya have my permission ta shoot him, now get him off this ship!” Not waiting for a reply he turned away and headed across the deck to help remove a swivel that two of the powder monkeys were trying to pull from the rail. He stopped short when the snow groaned and the hull settled some three inches, grinding against the ‘Dog and Lucy. He spotted a group of sailors headed back aboard and grabbed them. “Get some stout line and lash th’ Lucy an’ Watch Dog to th’ snow! Pull th’ grapples off so we don’t loose ‘em! Quiclky now!” The group scattered to do his bidding and as he paused to catch his breath and wipe his damp brow with an even damper sleeve, he noticed Miss Ashcombe holding his coat. Lasseter walked over to her with a determined step. “Miss Ashcombe, what ever are you doing?” She hesitated a moment but held her head up before speaking. “I came to find you, to see what you would have me do to help.” Dorian thought a moment and nodded. “Aye…” He turned about, scanning the decks of all three ships, finally spotting who he was searching for. “Miss Smith! Come here!” Turning back to Jenny, he pointed aft. “You and Miss Smith will remove any and everything of value from th’ Ward Room and Officers quarters, whatever might be left o’ them. If ye need help, ye two have my permission ta haul a crewman off th’ deck ta help… If it ain’t nailed down, it goes, and if we got time if it is nailed down we’ll pry it loose an take it. Understood?” Miss Smith arrived just then and Dorian addressed her quickly. “You an’ Miss Ashcombe are on a mission, go now an she’ll explain.” “Aye, sah” Dorian gave a flash of a smile and headed off to see what else might be salvaged as the ship groaned yet again.

On September 11, 2009, Disney announced that in the summer of 2011, the fourth installment in its wildly popular Pirates of the Caribbean movie series will be subtitled On Stranger Tides. It is fueling speculation that the movie will follow the plot of Tim Powers' novel by the same name, with Jack Sparrow replacing Jack Shandy as the main character. Found on Wiki... take it as you will...

Your Etsy link doesn't work...

The call went out for all hands not occupied to begin transferring all stores from the snow onto their ships. This brought Dorian out of his weariness as he found the order odd and somewhat alarming. Crossing hastily to the snow, he ran into Mister Franklin and asked why the quick offload was needed. We drove in her stern heavily, Sah. The carpenters are workin best they can but I cant say they can stem th tide. Dorian thanked him and without thinking headed below. He could easily follow the sound of the carpenters working and soon arrived at the head of the ladder to the after hold. Here other men were employed with buckets, ferrying them as quickly as they could and dumping them overboard. They paused in their work and the Captain made his way down the ladder into the water up to his knees. Sloshing further aft he found the carpenters and those chosen as mates hard at work, forcing planking back together, reinforcing all they could to hold the water back to no avail. Captain Lasseter stepped close just as a repair burst again, soaking him. He put his hands to it and helped force the lumber back into place. Additional hands pushed as well, a new plank held over and nails driven into already weakened wood. You men! Head topside! Shes lost to us! Time ta cut the losses! Help offload all ye can wi th others! Go now! The men with the buckets abandoned them and headed above as the carpenters and company collected their tools. Dorian made sure all were out before heading up himself. The dousing had awakened Dorian further and he was all action again. As he came topside he saw Captain Brand and Jim Warren standing with the officer of the snow who surrendered to him at the muzzle of his pistol. William seemed quite casual as he read through a ledger. Dorian slowed his pace, adjusted his coat and sword before approaching. Capn Brand, Master Warren… He looked the officer of the snow up and down indifferently and turned back to William. Shes quite stove in below, Ive sent all hands at work there to help wi transferring her goods to our ships. Shell hold, but not for much longer I fear.