William Brand

Have you ever tried your hand at mortuary swords?

It is always a pleasure to see another craftsman aboard. Welcome.

Welcome aboard, Mate.

Welcome aboard.

Well...I'm close and also nowhere near you. I'm landlocked in Northern Utah. This puts me closer to some pirates in California, so I wouldn't call it close. Still, welcome aboard.

July 31, 1704 - At the Chirurgeon's Home William awoke to the hushed sound of women's voices, and while he was awake rather quickly, he found that his legs remained fast asleep. He was forced to turn himself to either side by leaning in the chair until his legs woke up in slow, painful bouts. After a time the blood began to flow to his feet and he gritted his teeth at the discomfort. This was not improved by the ache in his back or the unpleasant knot at the base of his neck, but he bore all of this with relative patience. After all, not just a few weeks before, he had been in a thick stew of bilge water, blood and his own filth bound for England and the noose. Remembering this, he bore the ache of the chair with a more sober aspect. While he fidgeted, Claude Marchande awoke, and having slept much better than the others, and also longer, William sent him with purse and script to fetch back hot food and drink for the themselves and the two ladies. Claude slipped out quietly at once, leaving William to pace about on his newly resurrected legs. While Claude was gone Dorian awoke long enough to say something incomprehensible about Gibraltar and the "open roads of Spain", but when William tried to question him he realized that Dorian had never been awake at all. He smiled to hear the man talk in his sleep, for he had never known him to do so and William had always secretly delighted in hearing such nonsense from slumbering people. William's thoughts had been on Spain much of late, and the mention of it caused him to look out the front window at streets that looked nothing like Spain at all while he thought on villas and olive orchards. "Good mornin', Captain Brand." Maeve said from the doorway which separated the two halves of the shop. William turned and bowed graciously enough. "Forgive our impertinence, Miss O'Treasaigh. We could not keep from our friend's side." Maeve seemed to care not at all. In fact, she smiled a smile that he had not witnessed before and wondered that he should have noticed so many variations of it in so short a time. This caused him to smile in return and he was fairly certain that no matter the outcome with Mister Pew, he and the lady chirurgeon would remain comfortable friends. Her smile seemed to say likewise, and he both hoped that he was right and prayed that he was wrong at the same time.

Welcome aboard, Miss Kildare. We hope your stay is a long and happy one.

July 31, 1704 - Aboard the 'Dog Between one and two bells of the Forenoon Watch The hours slipped by both ashore and aboard the three ships at anchor. Morning came and passed with its usual rituals of mess and work. Just another morning in the life of the 'Dog and the Heron. Tudor Smith had come and gone from the quarterdeck, lending as much attention to her post as she might between sleep and fatigue. She enjoyed the quarterdeck and anyone who watched her there could see the delight she took in it, despite the circumstances which had brought her there. Boats which had not previously visited the frigate came by to pay their respects throughout the early hours of the day, as they had the evening before, and most of these were merchants eager to purchase goods from far away in exchange for Martinique sugar and rum. Many of these men were surprised to find a woman on the quarterdeck, but more surprised still to see that she was more than a pretty face among the rigging and railings. Indeed, she proved to be a good barterer, trading out some small trinkets for large quantities of rum and the white gold refined from so many of the island's plantations. One particular fellow took an impertinent stance, utilizing poorly chosen words, and an overconfidence in his own charms, to 'woo her' to a better deal. She sent him away smarting of words and more than a few laughs from the larboard watches. No one else dared to treat her in such a manner thereafter, though she did note a distant onlooker from the great merchant ship laying at anchor not too far off from the 'Dog. The unknown and removed observer seemed interested in her or the ship to the extent of spending long moments watching her and the crew by use of a spyglass. She made a point of not noticing him too much, all the while as she examined the onlooker peripherally. She managed a to send word up to the larboard marines high aloft to make note of the of the marked voyeur. She did not like being watched by strangers with so many of the crew gone and under such uncertain circumstances. "Look on stranger..." she muttered softly. "...and mark my many guns."

Donatien Larue Durand stood regarding the closed door but a moment before returning to his new environs. Clearly he had traded down in comforts, for the new room with its broken door was almost half the size of the one he had slept in the night before. Also, the bed was smaller, and for a man of his stature it presented itself like a coffin. He made a dismissive sound and kicked off the heavy boots which had served him all day in the jungle. He also shed the heavy night coat and his brace of pistols. He worried his good eye with the heel of his hand, yawning as he did so. He undressed to the waist and bathed his face in fresh water. Then he appreciated the nearly blackened coals of the fire a moment before measuring himself against the bed. It was half a foot too short. He chuckled again, sober enough to wonder if he would remember all of this in the morning. Then he remembered the door and he got up to push a heavy chair against it for the night. This served to keep it closed, and satisfied that it would offer privacy if not security, he went to bed. He was rewarded by bedcoverings recently occupied and comfortably warm, though with the night as warm as it had been this was not the reward that greeted him with the most delight. Instead, it was the subtle perfume on the pillow which caused a smile to spread across his face. It was not a strong or heady perfume, as a woman of high status might have worn. Artificial. Costly. No. This was the gentle, clean, soaped skin scent of a more approachable woman. Humble. Genuine. Real. "Parfum de chair." he said quietly in the dark and thanked his lucky stars to have been a fool.

Jenny was in her new apartment but a moment, when a knock, polite but with an air of irony, came at her new door. She opened it once more to reveal her recent assailant who wore the smile of the apologist. "Vous...demander pardon..." he said, gesturing to several parcels tucked away at the window. She understood at once and allowed him entrance to fetch his things. He did this with a grace previously lost in drink, gathering up everything in his arms and going out again. Then he paused and turned in the doorway. "J'insiste sur le fait que vous dinez avec le demain." he stated, and it was not a question. "Par des...excuses." he explained.

"Je suis désolé, jeune fille. Je ne suis pas où je devrais être." he said as graciously as possible, bowing low, though his good eye gleamed as much as the glass one. His smile was that of the surprised rogue then and he went to remove a hat from his head, but finding none, he made a clumsy gesture with the hand still holding the battered key. Then, noting the damaged casement of her door, he straightened again, facing towards the door opposite hers on the hallway. "Ahhh." he said aloud, as if an idea of surpassing significance had revealed itself to him. He stepped over the lantern and slid the key into the lock there. It clicked so effortlessly that he gave over to another chuckle and turned to her again, brushing the opposite door open as he did so. "Votre nouvel appartement, jeune fille." he said, gesturing to the newly opened room. "Je prendrai la porte sans surveillance"

The man stepped into the room almost at once, leaving the lantern where he had set it outside of the room. This left him even less illuminated than he had been in the hallway. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, and he listed as if unsteadied by drink. He was heavily dressed, wearing many inner and outer raiments. His head was unadorned, even by hair, but the only immediate and discernible feature, even in the near dark, was the absence of his right eye. There wasn't anything particularly amiss about that side of his face, but even in the shadowy light his features seemed diminished by a solitary orb. This was not made obvious by any cavity there, but rather for a gleam that shown unnaturally from that side of his face. There was something almost animal-like about it and it had a mesmerizing quality that was disconcerting at once. "Que nous ont ici ?" the man slurred, though he seemed to be sobering rather quickly to his surroundings. "Qui êtes-vous ? Venez, venez...Parlez vers le haut." The man noted the woman's urgency to arm herself, though his bafflement seemed unabated. He looked down at the key and to the door itself, and back once more to Miss Ashcombe. Then he chuckled. It was a good sound. It rose from somewhere deep within him. Still, Miss Ashcombe seemed more drawn to the brace of pistols he carried with him, so he put off laughing at once. "Mes excuses, manque. Il s'avère que je suis perdu..."

July 31, 1704 - The Chateau Anse Eight bells of the Mid Watch Miss Ashcombe's temporary lodging was as still and quiet as the rest of the inn, but for the fiddling of a key in the lock of the door. This small, but persistent sound continued as she slept, gradually altering from persistence to aggravation, for the person attempting to gain entrance to the room seemed undaunted by the fact that the lock and its tumblers were not giving over to the turn of this particular key. Jenny stirred more than once, due to this small disturbance, but only enough to escape those dreams she was privy to, not enough to wake. And still, the key rattled in the lock. After a time, the interloper at the door began to press upon the door with some earnestness, hoping to do by force what the lock would not allow by finese. The door shuddered ever so slightly as the insistent individual threw a shoulder against it. Jenny woke up in the dark, and for a moment she could register nothing amiss, but for being awake. The person at the door had halted the attempt to gain access, but only long enough to find better purchase. The pause between the first assault on the door and the second one was just long enough for Jenny to turn again from the door when it burst upon its framework. Miss Ashcombe was as suddenly awake as she had been asleep, for looming in the door was a very befuddled looking man armed with a bottle, half drained, and an abused key, standing in the low light of a lantern set upon the floor of the hallway. "Qui ou qu'êtes-vous ?"

Delicious. You can cut down four people with lead in a boarding action before drawing steel, provided that you have one for each hand of course.

No really...I do.

Thank you, Fayma. Persons with first aid experience are highly encouraged to make themselves known to the camps. Since the fort is a state park, they are required to have first aid kits available on site, but Harry has made it known to me that he doesn't mind additional and knowledgable people on site during the festival. Rather, he encourages us to have more first aid available rather than less. Have you considered playing a sawbones? Do you have period bandages and ghastly instruments?

I am suddenly reminded of the fellow at PIP 2005 that kept loading the cannon from the front instead of the side. He made the frustrated cannoners very nervous.

I am a fine shade of green at the moment.

With the camp size growing, and divided as it is between multiple camps, it might serve us well to have volunteers from each camp. With Harry in charge of the Redcoats, that would leave us with a volunteer from each of the other camps. Captain Sterling could appoint one of his own to be in charge of the Archangel crew. Callenish could cover the sutler's camp and we could choose one from among the Mercury Careening camp. All of these 'safety people' would then report to Braze and Cascabel who in turn report to the park.

Black John. Captain. Privateer. Castrato.

I hear that someone got stabbed in...well...how shall I put this? Their nethers.

The idea of a morning meeting in regards to safety is a good one, and it can't hurt to have knowledgable people in all camps. Historically, Braze and Cascabel have been in charge of the battles, so please keep them in the loop as we go along. Callenish is also well experienced in the use of black powder, as is Patrick.

I came across this by accident this morning... http://www.fao.org/docrep/field/003/L3251E...51E11.htm#draw2 Not longboats, but some interesting free plans just the same.