Tired Of Death

Gary and Ron were dressed in traditional pirate sailor gear. Ron had his usual striped black and white top and faded blue pants on, which flapped around in the wind about his ankles. A sabre hung at his waist on the left side, so he could use it with his one good hand, the other being a dull metal hook. His feet were barefoot, and long overdue for a good scrub. His friend, Gary, was in similar attire, only one pant leg was cut short, to allow for his wooden leg. Both men had wild dark hair and sported a number of gold earrings. Gary had an eye patch for good measure.

The third man though, was dressed in a nicely cut black jacket that he wore over a clean shirt with a ruffled maroon cravat about his neck. Dark britches were tucked into white silk stockings that covered whole, healthy legs. His footwear comprised of sensible black shoes, polished to a bright shine, now sadly tarnished by the wet sand. He did have dark hair, but this was neatly trimmed and was partially obscured by a tall round hat, perched on his head at a carefully calculated angle. He didn't seem to have a blade, though he was holding a suspiciously thick looking cane with a golden handle. All in all he looked more like an office clerk than a pirate.

"I am merely stating the obvious," the neatly attired one pointed out. "Blue sent us on patrol because we have no current assignment on a sailing vessel. Besides, someone has to guard the perimeter."

"I don't be understandin' half yer talk," sneered Gary, directing his frustration at the logical target. "Yer bring shame on the pirate way yer do. I should gut yer where yer stand." He tugged on his sabre

"Very well," said the third man, whose name was Reginald. "However, perhaps we should investigate yonder small boat before we engage in violent contest." He pointed his stick out to sea.

Dirty Gary looked around, to see a small row boat drifting towards them. Several lumps could be seen inside. "Arr! Someone's come a cropper."

"Look like there be bodies," said Ron, peering out. 

They watched as the vessel floated slowly along, drawn in by the rising tide. When it was closer Ron waded out to it. Grabbing a line he hauled it to the shore, where the other two helped pull it up onto the sand.

"Urg. Been a while at sea I'm thinkin'," said Ron, examining their find.

"Yer be havin' the right of it," Gary agreed, wrinkling his nose. The boat held five bodies, all which looked the worse for wear. Obviously they'd been dead for some time, and the elements had been at work on them. The smell made him step back a pace.

"The wench could have been a looker mind," said Ron wistfully. 

"Yer welcome to 'er," Gary chuckled, showing the shining pirate wit he was famous for. He started to walk away, Ron close behind.

"Wait! Shouldn't we search them?" Reginald was peering at the corpses, holding a kerchief over his nose to void the odour

"Yer mad man?" asked Ron. "Stir up their spirits? I 'aint be doing nothing o' the kind."

"Come now. Silly superstition, nothing more. They are dressed well enough, could be coin in their purses, and that sword looks like it's worth a measure of gold."

The mention of loot brought Gary up short. Greed warred with superstition. "I 'aint be so sure…"

"Plus Blue wouldn't be happy if it's found later and we didn't report it. Think of that." Reginald nodded.

"Mebe we should be checking it out," Ron said, edging back a little. 

That made Gary's mind up for him. No way was Ropeburn beating him to the booty! He stepped forward importantly. "Ay! Yer be right. Let's see what we have here then."

Holding his breath he leaned over and picked at one of the bodies, which promptly giggled. "Hey stop that! It tickles!"

"Spirits!" Gary leaped backwards as another of the corpses spoke.

"Well, so much for that. Plan B it is then."

One of the dead rose up and drew its weapon. Gary's eyes went wide as the blade was thrust forward with blinding speed. He looked down at the black sword that had stabbed him through the midriff. A cold sensation spread throughout his body, and he thought he could hear a voice inside his head.

"Blllooood! Feeeed meee!" The words seemed to be coming from within somehow.

Dirty Gary tried to speak, but his mouth opened and closed in vain. Finally he managed to croak something out.

"Arrr," he said.

Which wasn't much of a last word really.

~ * ~

Dreth pulled Darkblood from the body, and whirled around to face the second pirate, but Percy was already sitting on top of a bloody corpse and munching away gruesomely on the face, tearing off the skin and splattering blood over the sand. As he watched, the zombie s.u.c.k.e.d an eyeball out with a slurping sound. 

Dreth instead turned and faced the third, who backed away, holding up his hands.

"Please! Good creatures! Spare me, I beseech you!"

"What kind o' pirate be you?" asked Hooks, climbing out of the boat and looking the man up and down with scorn. 

"I'm Reginald Harkworthy. Please, don't drag me into the spirit realm oh dead one!" the pirate babbled.

"Yer what?" Hooks looked down and realized he was still wearing the corpse illusion disguise that Frumble had cast on them. "Oh. Wizard, yer can get yer spell off now."

The mage, who had fallen to the ground and was hugging the sand, stood up slowly. "Very well. It served us well enough until we got here I suppose."

Indeed it had. Several pirate sh.i.p.s had seen them as they drifted towards the island, but had veered away once the contents had been spotted. 

There was a pop, and the devil appeared in the boat. "Are we here then?" it asked. It looked around with some distain.

"I told you to stay hidden," said Dreth. "Oy! Where do you think you're going?" He pointed his sword at Reginald, who had started to edge slowly away.

"Ah, my apologies Mr. Corpse, I just thought that if you'd finished with me…"

"Not by a long chalk," said Dreth. "You stay there, unless you want to meet my blade up close and personal."

"Aye aye," said the man agreed, miserably. 

"Here," said the dwarf, handing Dreth a hook from the pirate he'd killed. "Yer can wear this." He indicated Dreth's arm, which had grown back down to the wrist. "Disguise like." 

"Oh, that'll make a big difference," said the devil, watching as Dreth clumsily attempted to attached his new appendage.

Frumble chose that moment to finish his dismissal spell, and the illusions wavered and vanished, though Percy remained remarkably unchanged. 

"Captain Mad Redbeard Hooks O' the High Seas," gasped Reginald, as their real countenances reappeared. 

"Aye, the very one yer scurvy dog, an' don't yer be fergetin' it," said Hooks, shaking what would have been his fist.

"But Blue…"

"Yer never you mind about old Blue," said the dwarf. "I be dealing with Cap'n Crazybeard in me own good time." He turned to Percy. "Take his rags too." He gestured at the clothes. "Make yer blend in some."

"How come pirates lose so many limbs?" asked the zombie, tugging at the man's striped top. "You lot barely have a set between you, except for this character." He pointed to Reginald. 

"That be the pirate way," Hooks replied. "How be people to know who yer are if yer don't have a hook or a stump or the like?"

"The ship with the black flag isn't enough then?" the devil interjected.

"How about me? Do I get a disguise?" asked Frumble, watching Percy try on his new attire.

"Can't you just conjure one up?" asked Dreth. 

The Wizard sighed. "I'll use all my magic up," he said. "Still, I suppose so…" The Halfling thought for a moment, and then started to mumble an incantation.

"What about ye then?" the pirate asked Emerald, who had remained quiet, sitting on the boat whilst the others stood about chatting.

"You're not cutting any of my parts off!" she said, jerking away.

"It be alright, yer can just be a pirates' wench. Mine me'be?" He winked with his good eye.

Emerald scowled. "Just remember we're acting the part. One wrong move and you'll have something else chopped off. Now, are we going to just stand about all day chatting?" She looked about, trying to locate some clue as to which way they should be heading. 

"Ay, wench alright," said Hooks. "Come on then. Pirate Town be this way," he indicated a direction inland. "You! Reginald or whatever yer miserable excuse fer a pirate name be. Yer lead on, and yer try anything and me sword'll feed on yer liver right quick."

"Aye aye Captain."

The group set off, practising their pirate lingo as they went.