The Letter

[Snarlin]

Found tacked to a post at the docks of Port Royale...

Campeche be no more.  In t' year o' Our Lord, 670AD, t' Pirate vessels "The Pride", and "The Fall" left these shores an' set sail for parts unknown.  Our war wi' Aidern is over.  We be tired o' fightin'.  We wish only t' sail t' seas, an' find our fortune where'ere the wind may take us.

Lafitte

[Snarlin]

An unpredicted and deadly storm system moved through the outer banks last night.  The vessels "The Pride" and "The Fall" disappeared beneath the waves.  No survivors have been found.  All hands are presumed lost.  May God have mercy on their souls.

[Capsavian Hopewell]

Mushir ChevDustfeather, field marshal of the Dernish forces stationed in Tortuga, read the scrawled parchment slowly for the third time.  The messenger who had delivered the weathered note was road-weary and sweating profusely.  Much as his mount was nickering tiredly from the hasty journey they shared by way of the coastal town of Port Royale. 

The gathered soldiers at the makeshift headquarters broke out in celebration when the Mushir read the note aloud.  Their elation was muted quickly by their leader's upraised hand, and his somber pronouncement:

"Today, we are the conquerors in a strange land.  We are the vindicators of our fallen comrades.  This day, we have avenged the Hennan people."

The Mushir paused, his tired gaze meeting those of several uncertain soldiers.  He stood upon the planks of that mostly-destroyed granary, the tri-leaf flag casually hanging above the doorway, longing for a breeze to lift it. 

"There will be no grog tonight, no whiskey or whoring," Mushir ChevDustfeather continued.  "Tonight, we remember those who have fallen.  We will pay respect to the pirate hordes for the blood they spilled defending their homes.  We will sharpen our pikes and repair our shields, for our campaign is not yet finished."

A murmur arose from the throng of Dernish warriors, their celebratory moods defeated soundly.  The harbinger of their disquiet waved his lieutenants to follow, and unceremoniously departed into the ruins of the granary to make plans.  If the war-weary soldiers were seeking affirmation, they would not find it here.



OOC:  good game, Snarlin.  Wish you the best!