Pew

Ye Olde St. Pyratesburg Gov'nah: Captain Jim Able Seaman: Jack Roberts Artist/ Engraver/ Printer: William Red Wake Barber-Surgeon: Mission(?) Boarding House Owner: Lady Brower (her handyman: Jas. Hook) Cooper/ Boatbulider: Cross Explorer: Capt McCool Farmer/ Poetic Waxer, errr: Quartermaster James Fur Trader/ Smuggler/ Fringe Societist: Capt Bo, Animal, Patrick Hand Nautical Acquisition Specialist: Red Handed Jill, bloodyblade, Ransom, Red Cat Jenny Ordinary Owner: Silkie McDonough Pub/ Brothel Owner: Hawkyns Seamstress: Lady Barbossa, Black Syren Ship's Captain/ Plantation Owner: Capt. Sterling, Capn Rob Tavern Keep: Pew Trader: Ivan Henry aka Moose Woman About Town/ Unofficial Mayor-ess: Rhumba Rue

These shots were taken on the battlefield in Gettysburg on Halloween. No rain, dust , or wind anomalies. The first set were taken in the 'Slaughter Pen' between Devil's Den and Little Round Top: The second set were taken just to the right of the Slaughter Pen towards Warren Ave, between Little and Big Round Top. Camera worked fine all evening, but took this negative image and then right after took a 'normal' pic: These were taken in the Wheatfield just above Devil's Den. My wife felt a touch to her shoulder as she was snapping these photos. North of town, we visited Barlow's Knoll where a cavalry charge occurred early on July 1st. Just below the Barlow's monument, there is a small 'Potter's Field' where we were looking at the small headstones of the poor whom were buried there. I felt a 'tap' to the shoulder standing alone in the cemetery. The pictures turned up nothing, but it fet 'wierd' there nonetheless. Orbs? Spirits? Water drops? Whatever they are, they were interesting to see when we looked through the pictures later. A very neat weekend to spend in Gettysburg.

A very low-brow Tavern owner. I grew up near this place and have always loved it: Fine dining for the aristocrats upstairs: The Ram's Head Pub in the basement for the common man:

English and History Teacher during the week, Pro-Am Offroad Racer on the weekend . . .

x2.

By the time the alarm had been raised, the carrion had done their best to consume the corpses. The stench of rotting flesh emanated from the mansion and had begun to cross the point towards the harbor. Whispers and muttered undertones flooded the wharf. Stories of savages still living nearby were the main topic over tankards at the riverside taverns. Regular patrols of armed militia had spent the late afternoons and evenings of the past days searching the countryside for any evidence of indian incursions. None were found until they reached the tavern in Fort Landing. Even weeks later, hordes of black flies still covered the windows so thick that they were doubled and tripled upon on another, causing the black mass to move as a single entity. Several men refused to enter the dwelling, citing bible verses for those who were brave enough to do so. Those with the fortitude marched past those without and promptly bludgeoned down the door. The thick smell of sulphur still clung to each room within the ordinary. Upon reaching the kitchen, it was there they stopped. A body was never found save for the half eaten entrails and organs left to rot upon the butcher block. When word finally reached Edenton of what the militia had found, susurrations of what was living among them now became more than idle chatter.

Weeks had passed. Thom was able to pass himself as a dockworker in Edenton. The feelings, ever so fleeting, had come to rage their grasp upon him again. He had struggled to keep them at bay, but had to release the urge soon. Eurynome had met with him nightly. Short dinghy rides across the harbor had found them in midst of Edenton's elite. Those whom had not met pain and torture . . .yet . . .

Thom Garrity pressed his thumb against the spine of the blade. He walked purposefully into the main room. A subtle reflection from the burning embers placed a narrow band of light above him. Thom stopped abruptly and looked the man over. The inn keep had deposited the remains of his bottle upon his rapidly expanding shirt. Thom couldn't tell if vomit had intermingled with the rum, or if it was a previous meal seeking absolution from imbibement. One hand had fallen to his side, while the other remained upturned in his lap. A pair of rope sandals protected his feet from the exposed wood and dirt floor, while a pair of tattered slops did little to contain his lower limbs. Garrity stepped closer to the man. The innkeep's head had tilted back exposing his wide neck. Thom moved to stand behind the man. Reaching round his head with his right arm, Thom grasped the handle of the long narrow blade in his left hand, tighter and tighter. Thom instantly looked up. The smell of sulphur nearly overpowered him. A pair of crimson eyes pierced the darkness in the corner. Garrity watched as the creature scampered across the floor to get a better view of the deed. He knew it was time. The demon had arrived. Thom Garrity placed the man's head in a small tight cradle between his open palm and Thom's own chest. He tilted the head to his right and slowly but forcefully plunged the blade into the man's neck, severing his throat and his jugular vein. Thom now sliced the knife forward spitting flesh and blood across the room. A cackle erupted from Thom's side as an eerie hiss followed each breath from the creature. Even if the man wanted to scream, he was now physically unable to. He would be dead in minutes.

With his rogation complete, Thom looped two of the large hooks into his belt. He removed the hog sticker from the blade rack. Garrity ran his thumb slowly down the blade. Unknowingly, Thom had created a small incision upon his finger. He glared at the slow trickle of blood now oozing. Garrity could see in the low light how dark the fluid made his hand now appear. He had seen this many times before, but only now realized how darkness flowed within each one of us. He smiled again. Thom Garrity wondered if the demon Eurynome would join him for a feast again.

Fort Landing, NC 1698 Thom walked into the back room. The coals in the warm brick hearth were still glowing red from the early evening’s meal. With just enough light in the large room, Thom was able to find a lantern and light it. The soft glow from the panes of the shaded flame cast an ironic glow to the now visible implements hanging on the wall. Placidly, Garrity ran his hand down the handle of each blade; a cleaver, at first, then a long narrow ‘hog sticker’, a thicker bladed skinner and an exceptionally sharp butcher’s knife. As his finger caught the tang of the latter, he smiled. Thom removed it from the hook. He placed the lantern on the large butcher’s block below the blade rack. The shadows of the blades now danced on the ceiling, a dance of the macabre, a glorious worship and celebration of death. Thom found the larder nearby and searched for any cordage available. Several large hooks and a bale of heavy sisal was tucked into a crate in the back corner of the small closet. He looked for any canvas, but only found a large sack of burlap still nearly filled with rice and now weevils. Garrity removed the sisal and placed it on the butcher’s block. He cut several lengths of the cord and laid them across the large table in the kitchen. The sharp staccato of a dog barking in the distance caught Thom off guard, but caused him no concern, he was in his place now, a being with a finite end. Thom glanced out the window only to see a few lights barely visable now in the thickening fog. He returned to his silent search within the kitchen. The means for his disposal was a now empty crate and a small barrel of large beer still fermenting. Thom Garrity smiled. He knew he had a long night ahead of him.

A light fog had grown around the peninsula at the late hour. The light from the moon was contained by the thin clouds gradually darkening the swamp. Thom Garrity negotiated his way from the dock to the inn by way of the old man's instructions. Once through the hummock, several buildings with lanterns set outside were seen near the dirt path into Edenton. Completing the impression of decay, the tavern-keep did not arise when the front door crept open. Once inside, a small fire was alight in the hearth, just enough the tear away the late fall chill. Thom checked his belt again, subconsciously feeling for his dagger. Garrity removed the cloak from his shoulders and hung it neatly from the hook behind the door. He watched the man sleep from his overindulgence and debated heavily. Thom went through a door to the back room and began his litany.

Alligator River, North Carolina, 1698 The rythmic dip.....dip......dip of the oars was interrupted only by the creak of the oarlocks on the dinghy. Two long canvas bundles lay across the thwarts on the boat. Sitting in the stern, a single match flared giving a burst of light to an otherwise moonless night. The passenger looked at the oarsmen instantly and found only pale eyes staring back at him. The blind man continued the pull, rowing the craft further into the swamp. The man felt the bundles, 'Still warm' he thought to himself. He prodded the canvas until he felt a wet spot. Dragging his hand across the wraps of rope, he felt the spot slowly growing. He looked into the river and could see glowing green eyes just perched atop the water. He smiled. He reached forward and placed his hand on the oar to signal the old man to stop. He knelt in the base of the dinghy and rolled the first bundle into the water. A slight splash was heard as it floated and then slowly disappeared from sight. A loud slosh was heard on the bank followed by another. Rolling the second body from the stern, the dinghy instantly regained her true waterline. The man sat again on the stern and placed the oars back into the oarsman's hands. He patted the man twice on his forearm. The craft slowly turned and headed back in the direction from whence it came. A violent explosion of foam and water could be seen just yards from the deposit. Settling again into the stern of the dinghy, he slowly drug his hand into the water washing the blood from his fingers.

Pyrat XO, neat.

Has anyone heard from Capt Eisley lately? I know Jill mentioned she was busy and wanted to do one more piece, but that was December first. We need to work on getting these books back to their home ports folks.

I have a bottle of that as well. Maybe we should start a new tradition. As for me right now, meh, Bud Light . . .

Charlie Goddon had spent the better part of his watch topside assisting Mister Tucker's minions in repairing those stays that had been shot away. Enough had been bandaged to get the Lucy underway, but a proper overhaul of those cables was needed. Charlie peered up into the ratlines to see where he should next attempt his splice. He felt a tug at his sleeve just as he set a foot upon the rail. "Mister Goddon, sah." Charlie looked down to see young Patrick Godfrey calling him closer. "Mister Goddon, sah, Liam overheard some o' th' men below. Well, sah," "Spit it out boy," Charlie huffed. "Th' word is Mister Whitingford had gone mad . . ." Charlie put his hand up to stop the boy. "He killed four men by his own hand sah." Charlie cocked one eyebrow. Stories during battle of one's man's heroics or even madness were not new to him. Tall tales were what he expected after several tankards of large beer or bottles of Madeira at the town ordinary, but not here, now. "Come with me Patrick." He grabbed the boy by his shoulder and they moved further to the bow out of earshot of the other crew. "Tell me what you heard, exactly." He put extra emphasis on the final word of his order. Patrick nodded and began to tell what he had heard. As the story went on, Charlie's forehead deeply furrowed as he found the tale too unbelievable. He quickly stood up and headed aft. "Sah, I meant no harm," Patrick tried to explain. His voice trailed off as Charlie Goddon went to find the Ship's Master.

Any more updates?

Pirates of the Caribbean DVD game Bottle of Pyrat XO rum Best yet: Pictures of us swimming and snorkeling in the Caribbean under the Maya temples

Thank you all! Sorry for the late reply, but we were r-n-r'ing at the Mayan temples in Mexico. Great to have such good shipmates! Slainte'!!

Updates?

Ho-Lee-She-it. That's not fair taunting me from afar . . . I thought chainshot didn't like the microbrews. More for me I guess. . . .

Sounds interesting and in a different vein from POTC, should the movie come to fruition. A synopsis for those interested: "The Caribbean, 1665. A remote colony of the English Crown, the island of Jamaica holds out against the vast supremacy of the Spanish empire. Port Royal, its capital, is a cutthroat town of taverns, grog shops, and bawdy houses. In this steamy climate there's a living to be made, a living that can end swiftly by disease—or by dagger. For Captain Charles Hunter, gold in Spanish hands is gold for the taking, and the law of the land rests with those ruthless enough to make it. Word in port is that the galleon El Trinidad, fresh from New Spain, is awaiting repairs in a nearby harbor. Heavily fortified, the impregnable harbor is guarded by the bloodthirsty Cazalla, a favorite commander of the Spanish king himself. With backing from a powerful ally, Hunter assembles a crew of ruffians to infiltrate the enemy outpost and commandeer El Trinidad, along with its fortune in Spanish gold. The raid is as perilous as the bloodiest tales of island legend, and Hunter will lose more than one man before he even sets foot on foreign shores, where dense jungle and the firepower of Spanish infantry stand between him and the treasure. . . ."

Congrats on the Pens win last night DL. Currently imbibing a fine glass of Cab Sav . . .

12/1/2009, 6:30am EDT update: BLACK= Book is confirmed in artist's possession RED= Where the books should be. I went back a few pages and tried to sort things out. Does this look correct? PEW: V Matusalem: , Callenish Gunner, Matusalem V withoutaname: withoutaname V Callenish Gunner: Kate_Souris, Lady Seahawke V Lady Seahawke: V Kate_Souris: V pyrateleather: pyrateleather V Ransom: Patrick Hand, Ransom, Red-Handed Jill V Patrick Hand: V Red-Handed Jill: V Cpt Sophia M Eisley: Capt Sophia Eisley, Pew As head whip-cracker, we started this project back on August 1st; it is now December 1st. We have overshot the runway by 3 months. Please forward the sketchbooks.

Any more updates?