The Aquatic Misadventures Of Captain Lovejones, MD

The Quest Begins

2006-05-04T21:30:00.000-04:00

Part The First

Book One: The Attack of Kaili Wu

Sing for me, O sacred historical muse,
Of the great Captain, so unjustly used.
Charged by the goddess of truth and wisdom,
To quest upon the great aquatic kingdom.

Sing for me, Calliope, from your tablet of wax;
Don for me, Melpomene, your dark and tragic mask;
For what began as a simple quest for home,
Has become the subject of this epic tome...

O my friends, how can I even begin to tell you the tale of woe that has befallen your beloved Captain? For in this short year I have suffered all that a man can suffer: scorned by a lover, nearly murdered by a friend, prevented from returning home by the most terrifying beast of the sea, my ship destroyed and my crew devastated, nearly drowned, forced to sacrifice my free will by the most powerful of the goddesses, fought an army of the undead, matched wits with the Sphinx, stole the lyre from Orpheus' sleeping hand, and escaped from Nullus Subterlabor, the island of no return.

Perhaps to help you wrap your feeble minds around the magnitude of all that has befallen me, I shall begin where we last left off...

Corsica was as beautiful as any place on earth in the summer. Leelanda and I basked in the radiant rays of the Mediterranean sun and in the passionate glow of our erotic love. We left the bustle of Port De Bonifacio and moved into a bungalow in the lush hills of Sartene. We lived happily for what seemed like an eternity, but one night it all came crashing down at the hands of a man I once called friend.

It happened sometime in August, after a long day of decadent leisure (and an even longer night of decadent drinking), as I lay resting atop the white cotton sheets of our bed. The night air on this fateful eve was thick with heat, and even the quiet breeze billowing through the curtained windows was not enough to move the stifling air. As I lay dozing somewhere between waking and sleep, I felt a presence in the room that turned my hot sweat cold. I propped myself up with one arm and gazed sleepily into the shadows, and yet I saw nothing. Knowing from years of experience to always trust my instincts, I lay back down and feigned sleep while slowly sliding my hand around the polished wooden handle of the flintlock pistol stashed beneath my pillow. Awareness of the room's silence was deafening as I extended my senses out in search of the slightest tremor. Suddenly, from a dark corner of the room, I heard a quick movement and in response I shot up and fired my pistol into the dark. In the brief second of light caused by the flash of the powder igniting, I saw something that bled my flushed skin to pallor: Kaili Wu, the world's deadliest assassin.

I knew instantly that my shot had missed him, so I lept from the bed and lunged toward my shamshir. I heard the first of his throwing stars hit the pillow where my head had been, and knew that I had only a second at most before the next was in the air. I grasped the jeweled handle of Xerxes' heirloom and spun around, sending the sheath sailing towards where I thought Kaili might be. I must have been close because I could hear the ping as his second star deflected off of the sword's golden sheath and I heard the thud as it embedded itself in the wall beside my left ear.

There are some things you should know about Kaili Wu before I can continue with this story. The first is that Kaili Wu only carries five throwing stars with him, because Kaili Wu only needs five throwing stars. He is the single greatest sword fighter I've ever seen, he excels at hand-to-hand combat and psychological warfare, his agility is unmatched, and he is probably the coldest killer you'll ever meet. I mean that literally, for if you meet him, he will be the last you ever meet. The second, and perhaps most significant, is a story that I have kept from you my faithful readers. In my profile to the right of these words I mention a certain island where I was once stranded. Well, perhaps "stranded" is a bit of a misnomer, for you see, my friends, I was not alone. There were four men and a monkey on that island. One was me; one was Captain Kidd; and one, naturally, was Kaili Wu. I have no interest in reliving the terrible tale of that island, but I will say this: it was only through the friendship of Kaili Wu that I made it off of that dreadful isle.

Now here he is before me, stepping out of the shadows into the light from the pale moon that was filtering through the wisping curtains, with three deadly stars left; one of which had my name inscribed upon it's jagged, jeweled teeth. I knew my only chance was in getting to that window and out of the room. A difficult prospect, with a ninja standing between me and that uncertain freedom. There was no way I could reach the door in time and calling for help would only get someone else killed too. No, I definitely had to get to that window. Kaili Wu has only one weakness, and I am one of three living people who know it. How I managed to get to the window sounded a little something like this:

"To what do I owe this honour?" I asked with feigned confidence. "It has been a long time."

"It has indeed been too long, but, you are mistaken, Jonas. I believe this honour will be all mine, for it is not everyday that one can say that they have killed the infamous Captain Lovejones. Sorry, that was incorrect, for I'll be able to say that everyday after today. What I meant to say is that it is not everyday that one gets to kill you. Nonetheless, I thank you for the flattery. How are you Jonas?"

"I'm okay. I haven't been sleeping well."

"Really? That's a shame. Why would that be?"

"This heat makes comfortability an issue. Maybe I just miss the cool breeze of the night sea, but it seems to me that this heat is intolerable for man. Then again, others has his own opinion."

"Oh Jonas, I see you still have no idea as to the necessity of pronoun agreement. It would have been far better to say something such as: we all have our own opinions."

"Why is that?"

"Well, first of all, you used a definite pronoun, "his", in the singular to refer to the indefinite pronoun, "everybody", which is singular. You see, pronouns should agree with their antecedents in order for the the sentence to make sense. Aside from the fact that you used gendered language, which is boorish in this age of enlightenment, you confused the number-"

"What's an antecedent?"

"Well, look here and I'll show you."

With that he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out his copy of The Wordsworth Book of Usage and Abusage, and I took a header out the window.
I hit the grass with a thud, and as my eyes refocused after the impact I could see another throwing star embedded in the grass mere centimetres from my nose. I pushed myself up from my prone position and ran towards the stables, whistling wildly for Alsvid. The horse, seeming to feel my urgency, stepped from the stable and began pawing the ground in expectation. As I neared I shouted for Sol, the night-time stable hand, to bring my bow and arrow. As I cast my leg astride Alsvid's muscled back, I took a quick glance back towards the house. I could see nothing, and what had been panic instantly turned to terror.

"Here you go, Jonas" Sol said softly as she handed me the bow and quiver with a golden smile. I leaned down and quickly kissed his cheek farewell. When I pulled up, the young man collapsed to the ground; a star shimmering from the back of his skull. I spun Alsvid around and whispered "tölt" hoarsely into her ear. Needing no other encouragement, she broke into a full gallop.

I'm not sure how much you know about Icelandic horses, but let me tell you why they're special. Aside from the aesthetic value provided by their flowing manes and tails, which is a must for an esthete such as myself, the Icelandic horse has 1,000 years of phenomenal breeding that provides each horse with a smooth gait, nimbleness over any terrain, and a legendary disposition. Unlike the bone-jarring gallop of your common horses, the Icelandic has a smooth rolling gait that is as soft and comfortable as an evening by the fire with a twenty-year old Brazilian. The Icelandic is the Rolls Royce of horses, my friends; and when I heard the high whine of a Japanese street bike break through the thick night air behind me, I was pretty happy that I had one.

I tried to stay off of the roads as much as I could, hoping that the lush terrain would slow down his bike enough that I could stay ahead of him. He stuck mainly to the winding roads, but sometimes leapt off onto the fields I was racing across (and getting a little too close for comfort). Downward towards the coast we raced, and I knew that I had to keep him on the defensive. Having turned myself in the saddle, I began firing arrows towards his headlight. I knew he was in no danger of being hit, but Alsvid's flying gait allowed me enough stability to keep the arrows close. As he weaved his bike around whizzing arrows, he slowed enough for me to stay ahead. Then, at last, I could see the lights of Ajaccio rise before me, and the cool, ink black waters of the Mediterranean spreading out beyond them into the night.

I reached a large sloping field that ran alongside the road. The cobblestone road wound its way around the field, finally intersecting the point at the bottom of the hill where the field gave way to the outskirts of Ajaccio. I leaned over and yelled "Tölt! Tölt!" to Alsvid. Recognizing the urgency in my voice, that beautiful animal responded with everything that she had. I could hear the engine of Kaili's Suzuki Hayabusa scream louder in response. As Alsvid and I raced across the field toward the intersection, I watched in horror as Kaili gained ground on us as he raced his bike at full speed around the enveloping road. His small headlight illuminated his position to our left just enough that I could see that he was going to hit reach the intersection at the same time that we would have to cross the road. I reached back in my quiver and pulled out my last arrow. Drawing back the bow, and taking a deep breath, I tried to stready myself enough to get a reasonable shot. I emptied half of my lungs, paused, then let loose my arrow into a night sky screaming with the echoes of hoofbeats and engines.

Nothing. Not a damn thing. His bike didn't hesitate or waiver from its course in any way; he just kept coming. We had neared the bottom of the hill, so Kaili was essentially driving right at us. I looked up to the starry sky, swore my fealty to Pallas Athena, cast aside the bow, drew my sword from its saddle sheath, and held my breath as we sped towards the street.

As I had guessed, Kaili Wu arrived at the intersect point at the same time as Alsvid and I. Although his headlight blinding, I could see that he only had one hand on the handles; the other was holding a kitana blade low and ready to strike. As Alsvid leapt across the street, I turned in the saddle and swung my shamshir high over my head and down towards him.

There was a bright flash as our blades struck together. Alsvid had cleared the road and Kaili was aiming to chop me in half from behind as he passed. Having deflected his slice, I watched as his bike raced onward; the scream of his engines growing quiet. I let out a sigh of relief, but I knew this wasn't over yet. The road he was racing down lead right back to the docks, and to the Mithridates.

As I raced through cobblestone streets filled with curious onlookers, my thoughts began to turn to Leelanda. Surely if Kaili had discovered my location, he would also have discovered who I had been living with. I raced through the gates to the port, Alsvid's hooves echoing loudly upon the stoney ground, until I caught sight of Swabby and Sol talking to the harbour master. I reared Alsvid to a halt, dismounted, and handed the reins over to Sol with a nod. I grabbed Swabby and ordered him to get the ship ready and set sail immediately. I warned him to perform a full sweep of the ship, though I didn't tell him who to look for. To say the name of Kaili Wu is to have your crew abandon you.

With Swabby off and preparing the ship and crew, I ran back to Sol and lept into Alsvid's saddle. She looked up at me and whispered worrily, "Jonas, my brother's journey is almost complete. Soon Skoll will wake from his slumber and begin his chase." I nodded in understanding and spun Alsvid around. With a mad dash we raced along the harbourfront, towards the Cock O' the Walk, and a terrible destiny.

When we reached the front of the tavern, I didn't even wait for Alsvid to come to a halt before I lept off of her. I threw open the door and began scanned the room breathlessly for a glimpse of Leelanda. What I saw, my friends, ran my ardent heart to ice.

O cruel, pernicious Fate! There she was, my lady love, Leelanda Erenca, in the arms of the fourth man from that fateful island, the Baron Bartholomew Rackham! I staggered backwards towards the door as I watched the two laughing and carousing about. Suddenly it became quite clear how Kaili Wu had managed to find me...he didn't have to search at all.

I backed out of the tavern before either of them saw me, pushing my way through a swarm of rum-soaked sailors. I stepped through the doors and into the night air, which had suddenly lost all of its former heat. I collapsed against the tavern wall as emotion began to overwhelm me. I won't pretend that I have ever been fully satisfied with my life, for a man whose goal it is to be morally good and to live a gentleman's life can never be truly satisfied, but I will admit that I was beginning to grow pretty happy with that girl. If there was one thing my life had been lacking for sometime, its the deep bond that can only exist between an individual and one he or she is deeply connected to. I had begun to take down my walls and to actually allow somebody to come in; only to have that person turn around and betray my affection by telling a ninja where I was sleeping.

I was snatched from my melancholy by the gutteral growl of a motorbike engine. I peered around the corner of the tavern and saw Kaili's bike slowly rolling through the streets in search of me. I ducked down behind the railing as he rolled by; his black, visored helmet hiding piercing eyes scanning from side to side as he passed. When he had turned the next corner, I lept up from my spot and, jumping over the railing, and ran at full speed towards Alsvid. I lept onto her back just as I heard the sound of Kaili's engine scream with speed and the cold light of his headlight spread over me light a cold winter wind.

Alsvid and I raced down the narrow road towards the gate of the port. The whine of Kaili's engine filled the alleyway, pulling the run-down buildings clausterphobically together. As the buildings gave way to the wide expanse of the docks, I screamed for the gatekeeper to open the now closed gates. The man stepped sleepily from his booth and began to wave me off.

"The gate's closed," he yelled. "Someone's gone and put gum in the locks."

Alsvid veered to the right and began to run alongside the fence towards the other gate. To my right I could see flashes of Kaili as he appeared between the gaps in the houses that were separating the grassy knoll we were on from the parallel street that he was racing down. To my left I could see the Mithridates as it made its way slowly through the channel towards the open sea.

Not stopping to even bother with the next gate, I urged Alsvid onto the narrow peninsula that fingered out into the sea. I heard Kaili's bike turn off of the road onto the grass behind us, but I didn't bother to look back. I held as tight as I could to Alsvid's reins as she pounded her hooves across the soft ground. We were parallel to the Mithridates now, and I could see Swabby and the men watching our race from her deck. The end of the peninsula was coming closer - thirty yards, now twenty-five yards - and I could hear Kaili's engine gaining on us from behind - fifteen yards back, now ten yards back.

I leaned over and whispered a farewell to Alsvid, and pulled myself up until I was standing in the saddle, crouched low for balance and to avoid the last star that would be coming my way soon. Suddenly the precipice was before me and Alsvid and I were floating down through the air to the dark sea below. I hit the water with a crash that becam muted as the water's silence enveloped me. I kicked as hard as I could with my legs towards the swath the Mithridates' hull was cutting through the sea's surface.

I broke the surface with a deep gasp and with four deep strokes I had reached the Mithridates' wooden hull. Swabby threw a rope ladder over the side and, catching hold of one of the lower rungs, I hauled myself out of the water. I quickly scaled up the ladder, finally grabbing hold of the deck's railing. I could feel a sudden dearing pain in my hand, and when I pulled myself up I saw kaili's last throwing star; firmly embedded in my hand.

I looked back towards the shore as I swung my legs over the railing, and saw a solitary Kaili Wu standing next to his bike, his helmet cradled at his side by his left arm. He watched as we sailed out of the port and back out to sea, then put his helmet back on and kicked his leg over the bike's seat. Swabby moved in next to me and followed my stare.

"There is a legend about a man,
Who deals out death from a distant land."

"Yes, I know it well," I replied, clasping my broken hand.

"They say he weilds a most deadly knife,
Which means you're lucky to have your life."

"No. I'm not lucky. Luck had nothing to do with it." I turned my face back to the shrinking island of Corsica, as the hills of Sartene coldly floated by. "His heart wasn't in it."

And as Sol and Alsvid fled across the sky from that never-tiring wolf, bringing light to all below as they flee, I was struck by a loneliness I had never experienced before. Watching the sun rise over Corsica with a cold wind flapping against my still wet clothing made me sure that I couldn't feel any lonelier than I did at that moment.

I was about to be proved very, very wrong.

A Corsican Interlude

2005-05-03T00:14:00.000-04:00

The Captain has returned, my faithful readers.

The voyage to Corsica has been a weary one indeed. The Mithridates was beset on all sides by foul tempests and unnatural gales. Ever since our bow broke into the wine-dark Mediterranean Sea, we have witnessed storms like I have not experienced in all my years atop the sea.

I have not been able to communicate with you before now because an electrical storm knocked out the Mithridates' solar panels, and we have been without power for close to fifteen days. Naturally we men of the deep are used to living without such amenities, but I must admit that it has been more than unpleasant these past few weeks, as Swabby tends to get cranky when he can't watch America's Next Top Model.

Worse than that, although Swabby may argue this point, was the tempest that battered us as we sailed past Sicily. The storm seemed to come from nowhere. One moment the sea was calm, the next moment the sky was a doomy grey and a gust of wind blew in from the south that was so strong that the Mithridates rolled and creaked before its breath. Within minutes all the sea around us was black and torrents of rain began to assail our deck. I called for the men to drop sail and prepare to ride out Zibelthiurdos' wrath. Before Swabby could gather enough men to loose the lines, Zeus cast down a spear of fire and split the mast asunder. Crippled and without our sail, I ordered the men to their rowing stations and began to drum out a timing beat upon my Odaiko drum. I pounded out a rhythmic thunder as the vengeance of the gods rained down upon us. I called on Amphitrite to come to our aid, as my men strained their backs pulling the oars through water that seemed to hate our very presence.

Yet call as I would, nothing came to us but rain, wind, and fear.

We were unable to make landfall in Ajaccio because of the damage to the Mithridates, so we have found shelter in Port De Bonifacio. We will dock here for several nights, while the Mithridates is being repaired. Swabby will be in charge of rounding up some sea-worhty Corsicans to fill out the losses our crew has suffered as of late. As for me, my fine land-loving friends, I have a date with a Corsican beauty...

Calm Seas and a Troubled Heart

2005-04-13T15:38:00.000-04:00

Ahoy!

The Mithridates' sails are billowed full and Palinurus is guiding us through the Suez canal ahead of a steady Northwestern. I am sitting atop the Mithridates' poop deck in my crush red velvet lazy boy, watching as the coasts of Egypt and the Sinai Peninsula slowly roll by. It is strange, usually this journey is a very pleasant sail in which I am allowed a brief respite from the demands of captaincy and high adventure, but this journey seems...different.

My stomach is anxious, and my mind returns again and again to the old man in Kidd's compound. I have questioned Swabby so much about what he found among Kidd's records that he seems to be avoiding me.

Who was he? How did he know that my salvation would come on winged flights?

Looking back upon it now, I feel that there was something familiar about him, a sense that I have known his voice and mannerisms from somewhere before. Yet, try as I may, I cannot cull a memory of him from my sorted past. If only I had gotten a good look at him...

There is also a longing in my heart for home. It has been two years since I last brought the Mithridates to port in Isla Asilo. Would that I were there now, walking along its golden sands, hiking up a gentle hill covered with lush jungle, exploring her many caves, swimming in her freshwater lagoon, or diving along her coral reefs and into my hidden underwater treasure cave. I long to see her shape approaching from the horizon like a cardinal longs to be the next pope. There is nothing that can soothe a weary heart and mind like home. Yet we are almost 5,839 nautical miles from there, and right now, that seems like an almost unattainable distance.

My heart is heavy today, my faithful readers, it weighs me down like an anchor. We are sailing for the French island of Corsica, where we will make landfall in the western port of Ajaccio, and fill out the crew for the long journey home. I am hopeful that this time we will indeed pass through the Straits of Gibraltar and at long last begin the journey across the mighty Atlantic, and home.

Yet as my face rises from this keyboard and the warm Egyptian air breezes across my unshaven face, my heart grows dark again. For there are ominous clouds gathering aloft the bow as we cross into the Mediterranean. Why have these clouds massed on the height of heaven? What tale of bloody destruction am I to sing of next?

Father Neptune, what are you brewing for us?

The Captain's Reprisal

2005-04-11T17:05:00.000-04:00

Thought you'd like to see what William Kidd's talwar looks like (I cleaned all the blood off for you). Maybe the fool will think twice before he has the audacity to manhandle the Captain while he's courting a lady again.

Yeah, that's going to look real nice on the wall of my Rumpus Room back home.

Bloody Slaughter and a Mountain Escape

2005-04-10T23:54:00.000-04:00

Sorry about the delay my faithful blog-addicts, I hope that the delay didn't arouse fears in your fragile hearts that Kidd's men had caught up to me, for that was hardly the case. The truth is that my time on the computer in Rahji's Cyber Cafe in Mumbai had run out, so I was going to lay some more of my hard-earned doubloons down on the table so that I could finish my tale for your reading pleasure, when I started talking to the very attractive young lady working the counter. Her name was Ahimsa, which curiously enough means "non-violent virtue", and we spent the last three days making sweet love in a small loft above a restaurant in downtown Mumbai. Let me tell you, if there's one thing hotter than April in Mumbai, it is definitely passionately making love to a beautiful young Indian woman with the smells of curry and other fragrant spices wafting through an open window during April in Mumbai.

Alas, Swabby ended up tracking me down and Ahimsa and I were forced to part by the greater destiny that pushes me forward like winds to a sail. So I sit once again upon the deck of the mighty S.S. Mithridates, laptop in - well, lap - as I watch my crew bustling around the deck, hoisting lines and drawing anchor, with Swabby calling out orders while our prow of the Mithridates dissevered the water before us. The air is warm above the Indian Ocean this night, and as I watch the lights of Mumbai roll slowly away while Night veils the world around us with her robe of shady dark, my mind once again turns to those terrible events atop the mountains of Kashmir, and of the bloody devastation the Fates had spun for man that day...

(When we last left this terrible tale, I had just halted the Kidd lineage with one slice of my curved blade, and the Shamshir of Xerxes had reclaimed its rightful spot astride my hip.)

After I had slid the Shamshir of Xerxes back into its jeweled sheath, I turned to where Kidd was attempting to rise to his feet, his hand attempting to dam the flow of blood unceremoniously spilling from below his waist. I strode victoriously by him, stopping only to pick up his talwar as I walked by; yet another guerdon of conquest for the Captain.

I took a quick look down the hallways before stepping out from the study. I moved quickly down the halls, my eyes constantly moving back and forth, scanning for trouble like a schizophrenic in a crowded elevator. I passed into a pillared megaron that must have been some sort of masturbatory throne room for Kidd, complete with a throne fashioned of gold sitting before two huge banners of brightly coloured silk. I was immensely jealous. The room was spectacular, and the sound made by the water splashing down through the roof echoed through the room like a beautiful symphony. The sounds of gunfire also came storming in through the opening in the middle of the room, where a trio of guards armed with scimitars were talking frantically in what I immediately recognized as Urdu.

Knowing from the gunshots that thing were about to get sketchy, I wasted no time. I still had Kidd’s talwar in my right hand and I drew the Shamshir of Xerxes with my left hand as I crossed the marbled floors as quickly and quietly as possible. The air blew cool across my face as I rushed towards the three in near silence. By the time the farthest guard had noticed me, I was already swinging the talwar with full force down onto the shoulder of the nearest, and raising my sword to deal with the second guard. As the first guard fell to the ground with a piercing scream and a spray of red, I spun around and liberated the second guard’s head from his body. I ran the third guard through the heart before the head, expression of surprise frozen upon its lifeless visage, had even touched the ground. I didn’t even have time to finish my “yeah, that was damn cool” pose when I heard a shout behind me as another group of guards spotted me. I was chased from the room by the barking of the lead guard’s machine gun, and the holes it was trying to put into my skin.

I passed through a doorway and into another hallway, which I ran down like a runaway Amtrak. I reached the bend in the hallway and turned to see a small platoon of armed goons running towards me. When we noticed each other, everyone stopped; then realizing how outnumbered I was, the platoon began to quickly cover the ground between us, its sergeant calling in Urdu for me to drop my weapons and lay down on the floor. I looked out the window behind me and saw Swabby and a few of my other men crossing beneath the window’s threshold. Directly below the window was one of Kidd’s men, picking off several of my men with a rifle. I turned back to the men in the hallway, who were getting nearer, put my left foot forward and pointed my sword directly at them, while raising Kidd’s talwar to my forehead in salute. A mischievous smile crossed my lips as they approached, and I watched a look of confusion spread across the sergeant’s face as I leapt backwards through the window. The window had no glass, so there was nary a sound save for the whistling of body as gravity pulled me towards the earth, and the rifleman towards his doom. I pointed Kidd’s talwar towards the ground and ran him through as the unlucky fool broke my fall. As soon as I had stopped my downward motion with the soldier’s crumpled body, I somersaulted off of him and into the shelter of a doorway, just as a rain of bullets came pouring down from the window above.

I poked my head out of the sheltered cubbyhole and gathered my bearings. I was standing at the head of an oblong courtyard. Men and gunfire seemed to be coming from every direction, and it was impossible to tell who was who in the heat of this madness. I spotted Swabby standing behind a tree to the right of my position, firing arrows from his longbow into a crowd of oncoming guards. I slid my sword back into its sheath, slid the talwar on the other side between my doublet and my belt, and picked up the rifle the poor sod lying crumpled before me was no longer in any shape to use. I fired a few rounds into a soldier that was lining up a shot at my First Mate, and then made a mad dash across the dangerously open courtyard to wear Swabby stood, snapping arrows off in an almost continuous stream.

He spun towards me as I neared and aimed an arrow between my eyes, but silently swung back to his previous target and continued to fire when he saw that it was me.

“Where are Nisus and Euralyus?” I asked, not seeing the reinforcements that the whole escape depended upon. “You’re not going to hold off these men with the two dozen arrows you’ve left in your quiver, and I don’t know how many more bullets this rifle has. Judging by its weight,” I said as I balanced the rifle gingerly in my palms, “it isn’t many.”

Suddenly to our left, across the courtyard, an explosion erupted in the middle of a squad of men I hadn’t even seen approach, sending man and dirt soaring through the air at the head of a ball of fiery smoke. I watched as another two sparkling sticks of dynamite arced through the air to a reinforced barrier that a number of Kidd’s soldiers were hiding behind. As the men ran from their cover to avoid a percussive death, Swabby and I laid them low with arrow and lead. I watched as Nisus and Euryalus emerged from the very shadows that had hidden my frame just moments before, large Kevlar shields painted with the very flag you, my uber-fans, chose as our new standard. They crossed over the courtyard as Swabby and I attempted to lay down some covering fire, but the numbers of enemy soldiers were beginning to swell beyond our ability to control. The two men, out of breath, by still smiling with the joy of seeing their Captain free and fit, gave me an account of the situation.

“We’ve lost at least twelve men by the barracks,” spoke Nisus, wasting no time with greetings, “and Palinurus and his men are pinned down by the southern gate. I don’t think they can get us, Captain, and Pallas is still holding by the western pass, as you ordered.”

I’ll be honest with you my friends, at that very moment the Captain’s destiny seemed grim indeed. We were trapped in an almost open position, Nisus and Euryalus were protecting our flanks with their shields, but we were trapped in a vulnerable position by angry men hemming us in from all sides. I had three, maybe four shots left, Swabby was firing with less frequency as he was now down to less than a dozen arrows, and the dynamite was going to become useless once Kidd’s men closed in on us. I looked around for any source of cover for an escape, but all I saw was smoke, and men thirsty to drain the blood from beneath our very flesh. I looked down at Euryalus, at his young face and a strange feeling came over me. He was a boy really, fresh-faced and at the very bud of his life. I looked at him and a black rage came over me the likes of which I had never felt before. This boy was kneeling before me, his shield pockmarked with bullet dents, his life in the greatest of peril, and all because he loved me. I looked to Swabby, firing his arrows through throat and mouth, his face calm; aware that this would be his end, but happy to be here beside the men with whom he had seen such adventures that the average person could never know. My eyes, tearing now, passed down to my old friend Nisus, with me since I was rescued from that wretched island so long ago, as he lit another fuse and tossed another stick of death into another throng of men. I looked at these men, and thought of the others, dying upon this wretched mountain so far from their homes, and I knew what I had to do.

“My gear, men, hand me my gear; the last light calls the conquered. Let me take up the combat once again, for on this day, we will not die alone. If this is the destiny you have spun for me, o’ cruel Fates! If this is the day when the thread of life you have spun for me is to be cut, then I shall ride a river of blood down this mountain, and into the very fires of Hades themselves!”

With that oath bellowed into the clouds above, I took my shirt of mail from Euryalus, who was pulling my armour from a bag he was carrying upon his back, and slid its shining links of steels o’er my head. Next was my shining cuirass with its intricate carvings, fashioned by the hands of the great Athenian sculpture Daedalus. Over my legs I placed my golden-plated greaves, with the face of Ares wrought into the hard-forged steel to protect my knees. On went my cod piece, my Pauldron, and my gauntlets, all shimmering with gold and bronze so to be dazzling to the eyes and heart; the whole suit made impregnable by a bath in the river Styx. Last of all was my helmet; Corinthian in style, all shining steel with tall, terrible plume of crimson red; which I slid o’er my heard with steely resolve.

I wish you could have seen me then, my fans; I was terrifying in my dazzling beauty. I drew my swords, along with a deep inhale of courage, before I was to step out from behind the tree.

“I will draw their fire, find any left alive and make for the western pass. Save your selves, while I taste this fate the gods have laid out for me. Know that I love you all, and that I died happy knowing that I was able to lead me the likes of you. If you see my love again, tell her that I died in such a way that the gods themselves will honour my name for years to come.”

With those final words I stepped out from behind the tree and charged towards the largest throng of men, my shamshir raised and the talwar tense and ready. I let out a bellow that rumbled across the courtyard and ran full steam ahead. Then, in a moment that will always well the tears in my eyes when I recall its beauty, I saw Euryalus and Nisus emerge from my right flank, their shields held high and their cutlasses drawn high over their heads, matching my mad dash into death step for step. Over my left shoulder I could hear arrows whiz by, and watched as they stuck their death into the men ahead. The three of us crashed into that wall of men - their swords, axes, and weapons drawn, but their bodies frozen in awe at the audacity of our bravery – with such a force that the very earth beneath our feet did seem to shake in terror. The details of what took place in that courtyard in those bloody moments I cannot recall, for it was all flashes of blades and terrible screams. I swung my swords with a fury that bordered on rampaging berserk, while hot blood sprayed my face and spoiled my armour with its colour. I felt a blade pierce through my chain mail at one point, but no pain did I feel, so I swung my blades of death with even greater fury. I knew that the rest of the soldiers would be collapsing on out flanks at any moment, pinning us in deathly valley from which there would be no escape, but I cared not a whit. I was going to fulfill my oath and take as many of these pirates, soldiers, and other unlucky men with me as I left this earthly plane. I looked up to see another wave of men rushing in to replace the ones we had cut down, and as I swung up my sword and let out another bellow, I saw the whole front line of them fall beneath a volley of arrows. I turned behind me and saw my helmsman Palinurus emerge from behind the courtyard’s head row of columns with two dozen of my men, armed to the death and rushing to join the fight. I turned back to face the rest of the coming enemy, hundreds of them, and I called out encouragement to Nisus and Euryalus, both fighting with strength and valour.

“Let your hearts rise up, brave warriors! Palinurus has arrived and the clouds of doom are in retreat! Fight on my brothers, and we may see the sun rise yet again!”

I swung my swords left and right, my strength renewed by the prospect of sweet life. I cannot say how many men I sent lifeless to the earth that day; hundreds, maybe more. They seemed to come in endless waves, from every direction. I felt swords and axes glance off my armour, I heard the sounds of bullets ricocheting off my head. Screams and the sounds of metal clashing upon blood-soaked metal rang up through the air like some terrible orchestra led by Ares, god of war.

After what seemed like an eternity in this orgy of death, the tide began to turn on us. Wave after wave of Kidd’s men fell upon us. Men from Palinurus’ unit fell and our numbers began to dwindle as their numbers continued to swell. I stray bullet grazed my left leg; not bad enough to wound seriously, but enough to send me down to one knee. A shadow fell across my gaze and I looked up just in time to deflect a blow that would have cleaved my head in two, helmet and all. I pushed my way back to my feet and stuck the fiend in the stomach with the talwar to its very hilt. As he doubled over, bleeding his life out over my hands in a wash of red, I saw Pallas charging in from behind the enemy ranks, dazzling in his armour, leading two dozen of my men with their swords drawn and glinting pale death beneath the Kashmiri sun. My weary arms sang out with joy as I knew this hell was soon to end. Young Pallas and the rest came rushing in like a river bursting free from a dam, and what was left of Kidd’s men in the courtyard were crushed in a vise of steel and men. When the last man standing had tasted Kashmiri soil, I extended my back to its full height and pulled my blood-soaked helmet from atop my sweat-drenched head with my battle-weary arms.

“We can not tarry long here. We must make quickly for the western pass before more come. Pallas, is everything ready?”

“Yes Captain,” he replied, wary that I was upset that he had left his post.

“Good, good. Fear not, young one, I will forgive your leaving your post seeing as it saved our lives.” I clasped his shoulder beneath my gauntleted hand in reassurance, “But do not make it a proclivity.”

When the men had rested briefly, we quickly made our way through the rest of the compound. There were a few minor skirmishes, but there was nothing that posed more than a nuisance to a band bent on freedom. We passed through the southern gate and onto a troop transport that Pallas had commandeered from an Indian patrol point along the Line of Control. We hopped in the back as Pallas and Nisus leapt into the cab of the old truck. We could hear the shouts of Kidd’s men still coming from the compound, and I knew that we were far from safety yet. There was also the problem of the Indian and Pakistani patrols that could spot us at any moment. A band of pirates covered in blood, driving a stolen Indian army truck, and being lead by a Captain dressed in the full regalia of a Roman Centurion is not a sight easily explained in the mountains of Kashmir. I mean this is hardly Toronto.

As we apprehensively made our way down the winding road to our destination, my mind returned to the old man in the cell who had spoken so accurately about a future that should have been hidden. Who was this man, and did he have the sight of Apollo and be able to know the cloudy futures of men? Swabby, as if reading my thoughts leaned over and whispered in his hoarse rhyme:

“No record found I,
Of another guy.
The prison was meant to be bare.”

These thoughts continued to trouble me as the cold landscape turned white with snow as we raced up the mountain, and away from Kidd’s compound and the military checkpoints on the bottom half of the road. Pallas wheeled the truck off of the road and onto a snow-covered side road, where the truck skidded to a halt. We leapt from the back of the truck, and circled round to the other side, where Swabby was supposed to have snowmobiles waiting for us. Instead, I came round the back of the truck to a pile of blue crazy carpets.

“What is this!?” I yelled, “I said Motorized Toboggans, not sheets of plastic, you damn fool! What happened, you couldn’t think of a word that rhymed with Bombardier?”

Swabby simply shrugged, and my sword was half out of its sheath when a shot rang out, and we turned to see a patrol truck roaring up the road towards us, a soldier leaning out the window, his gun spitting hot fire. I threw my helmet back over my head, picked up a crazy carpet, gave Swabby one last look of death, then took a running start and leapt over the snow bank and onto the snow-covered side of the mountain.

I must admit, mad as I was at Swabby, it was a pretty damn thrilling ride sliding down that mountain on a smooth piece of plastic. I also have to respect Swabby’s commitment to the environment, I should have known better than to order the same man who wept for seven days when the S.U.V. was introduced, to purchase snowmobiles.

We raced down the hill, past guard posts and barracks, Pakistanis and Indians, soldiers and civilians like a pack of deranged tweens celebrating a day off of school. I was in the lead, my armour (where not stained with blood) shining, the wind cold and biting on my blood-soaked face, my crimson plume fluttering as I cut through the mountain air like shark through water. We finally reached a point low enough that the snow no longer was, so I waited till the rest of the crew joined me, and we strapped on the hang gliders that I had Swabby pick up in Mumbai before moving into the Vale of Kashmir. They have hang gliders there too, but you just can’t find the kind of quality that you get from Bombay Charlie’s. So downward we continued: floating o’er towns and roads, rivers and fields, like a flock of giant birds…giant, human birds. We all set down along the banks of the Indus, where Bombay Charlie was waiting with boats to take us home. Now that’s a hang glider dealer who knows how to treat his customers properly!

Eventually Bombay Charlie dropped us off at a railway station and we bought tickets to Mumbai. It worked out really nicely because we got a group discount and didn’t have to bribe too many people to ignore the weapons and the blood soaked armour, which can be a problem in some countries.

When we arrived in Mumbai, I gave Charlie his usual tip: “don’t run with scissors,” then I ordered Swabby to prepare the ship to sail, then headed off to find a stiff drink and a computer to spin my tale for you.

The rest, as they say, has already been posted.

I Sing the Fates of William Kidd

2005-04-04T01:52:00.000-04:00

Avast Ye!

The Captain is back you adventure-thirsty land-lubbers! I haven’t much time, for I am in an internet café in Mumbai (that’s Bombay for you uneducated dogs), and I fear I may not have shaken all of Kidd’s henchmen from my trail.

Have I got a tale for thee!

There I was, taking a leisurely stroll through Morocco in search of stout and able men to join my crew of merry privateers, when, for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, the crowded streets parted and there she was. It was as though I had spent three days drinking in a dingy bar (which I had) and emerged into a radiant sunrise that lit the sky with such a hue of pink that even the hardest of hearts would weep at the beauty of it. Yes my friends, it was her, Carissa Killigrew. Pirate Queen and daughter to such a legacy of piracy that it makes my rogue’s heart swoon. I straightened out the creases of my crimson doublet and strode towards her with an outward swagger, but internally as confident as a man about to dance the hempen jig. As I neared another surge of Moroccan citizens swarmed before me and she was gone.

I scanned quickly and frantically in every direction, all the while muttering a string of curses even my mother wouldn’t be proud of. My keen eyes finally fell upon the name of a local speakeasy. Knowing the Killigrews to be fans of the drink, I pushed my way through the crowds that seemed to be swelling with the afternoon Mediterannean heat and entered the bar. I immediately headed for the bar in order to give my eyes time to adjust to the change in light, as well as to not give away the fact that I was a man on a search. I knew if she was in there, she would be watching me like the foxy hawk that she is. I strolled on over to the bar and wrapped my legs around a sturdy old stool and ordered myself a Canadian Club and ginger ale. When the barkeep brought me my poison I swung around with a silky smooth movement that just screamed sexual prowess and gazed around the nearly empty room. I spotted her in a far corner with her back to a wall and her face to the door and I met her inquisitive stare flirt-for-flirt. I slid off the stool, tossed a gold doubloon over my shoulder to the barkeep and thanked him for the drink and strode on over to the far corner where she sat. I could feel my heart beat faster with every step closer to her and the adrenaline was pumping so hard through my veins that I would swear she could see. It was all the more intoxicating by the fact that her eyes never left mine the entire time. She just met my gaze like I was nothing, and I’ll tell you this my adulating fans: I absolutely loved it.

When I got within five paces of her I slowly broke my lips with a smile that would have secularized a nun; and that’s when I felt the hand upon my shoulder. Intensely annoyed that some matelot had the audacity to interupt my dance of seduction, I whirled with malice aforethought and found myself face to face with a Jack O’ Swords that was at least three hogsheads wide. The Captain’s been around, my friends, and I immediately knew that this one was going to be trouble so I didn’t waste a clock hand’s swing before I slid my sword from its skin in such a way that the hilt slammed its jeweled head into the gargantuan’s sweating stomach. I rolled to the side as his hulking frame doubled over, drawing my sword and swinging the hilt down onto the back of his head and sent him down upon the deck with a such a crash that a canon master would have been startled by the sound of it. I looked up at Carissa as I grasped my sword with a second hand and met an approving look that was accompanied by a raised glass and the slightest of nods. That woman moves me in ways that would make my mother proud.

Hearing a rush of footsteps behind me a was forced to tear my eyes away from that ravishing woman of the sea and turn to face another two sons of biscuit eaters rushing me with daggers drawn. The look of cold murder in my eyes must have gave them second thoughts about their abilities with those knives, for they both started long enough to allow me to step in with a figure-eight slice that sent both of their shades to the underworld. I heard a shout from the doorway, although the adrenalin pounding in my ears made it unintelligible, and with a smile on my face and my sword held in one hand at my side I strode towards the backlit figure like some angel of the apocalypse. I quickened my stride as I neared him and raised my killing steel overtop my head, and that is when I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye and hear the click of a flintlock’s hammer locking into place. I froze like a shy schoolboy about to get lucky on prom night.

“Hello Jonas. Let the sword go - I’m hear for the bounty on ye head and no more. We needs not be makin’ any more blood upon this poor shopkeep’s floor than ye already ha’e gi’en, him do we?”

I let the sword go and heard its point stick in to the wooden floor. I looked over at Carissa, who was now smiling with amusement at the free show she was getting, and asked her if she was going to lend a gentlemen a hand. “I sailed 1,000 leagues to have this whiskey, you wouldn’t interupt me now, would you?” she asked, and as annoyed I was that what could have been a delightful evening was so piggishly interrupted, I could not help but break a smile as another large goon pushed me towards the door. I faked a stumble ahead and turned to catch a glimpse of my flintlock carrying captor, and was not surprised to see the clean-shaven face of the notorious Captain Kidd bend into the light from the doorway and pull my sword out of the floor. I knew right then that Kidd was not about to turn me over to the authorities for some piddly bounty when I was worth ten times that in black market bounties. I also knew that I was bound for India. What I wasn’t ready for was where in India.

The voyage to the Red Sea was relatively uneventful. Kidd came down to the brig once to politely ask me if I was willing to buy my freedom with a percentage of my hidden treasure, to which I asked him if he was willing to let me go if I promised to only cut off a quarter of his sex. He thanked me politely for my frankness and I was left to my own thoughts for the rest of the journey. I don’t know where in India we landed, but when I was taken off the ship we were in a small fishing village somewhere on the northeastern coast. We travelled north on a private train, then by donkey into the Indus Valley until we reached the banks of that river along which great Alexander’s army trekked after defeating the great Indian great king Porus. From there we took a boat until we reached a hidden inlet east of Kargil, at the base of the montains just south of the war-torn Line of Control. I was brought aboard a gondola and taken high up into the mountains. Kidd’s private mountain fortress was impressive, if you go for sparse interiors and cheap carpeting, but the architecture and sheer expanse of it all was breathtaking.

My cell was cold and empty – well, almost empty. Kidd personally escorted me to the earthen floor and cold plater walls that were to be my home for the next two weeks, and summarily threw me to the floor. I rolled over and with a great deal of self-restraint told him that I would be taking my sword back from his lifeless hands. My boldness, or the string of curses that followed it, aroused a hearty laugh from a dark corner of the small cell. I turned in the direction of the hoarse laughter as the door slammed shut and the metal locking bolts slid harshly into place. I stood myself up and brushed the dirt from my doublet and pants, all the while keeping my gaze locked on the shadowy figure sitting in the corner. Seeing that he wasn’t moving, or saying anything, I took a quick look around the room to size up the situaton I was in. The windows were large enough to fit through, and the screens covering them looked easy enough to bypass, but I knew the guards outside the door were there to reinforce that situation.

“How long have you been here old man?” I asked, still unable to see his face, but able able to see the age of his bare feet and hear it in his raspy breathing.

“Far too long, my young friend. But you, what brings you to this mountain sanctuary?”

I chuckled at his sanctuary reference, but quickly realized it was not a joke. “I seem to have wandered into the wrong bar, I guess,” was my response.

“You are wrong young captain. You are here for the same reason as I; because the Fates have willed it to be so.”

I must have given the old man a look of annoyance because he stayed quiet for a few minutes although I could see his smile through the shadows. I neared the windows and began to check what views each one offered in hopes that I could discern the guards’ routes and stations. That’s when the old man piped up again.

“Its not a guard you should seek, but the downy wings of a bird. Your escape is destined to be upon the wings of a bird.”

I told him that it would have to be a pretty damn big bird to fly me out of there, but the old man just kept going on about it. When I asked him how he was so sure, he just sat there and smiled. Just then there was a loud clank as the guards slid the bolts open and the wooden door swung inward with a groan. As it did, two pigeons flew in over the guard’s head and, after circling the room several times, found a perch on a far window near the old man. The guard stepped into the cell and moved torwards the birds, but then thought better of the risk and called for the second guard. I cursed silently for the lost opportunity, but then quickly realized an alternate plan. The guard was trying to catch the birds when I reached into my pockets and pulled out the last of the gold I was carrying.
“Hey,” I called out, “that old man is looking a little thin. Why don’t you stop running around like a damn fool, take this gold and you and your friend can get drunk while the old cook dines on pigeon tonight.”

Like all men, the guard’s eyes lit up at the sight of the yellow coin glinting even in the shadows. He looked up at the fluttering birds and made up his mind; he grabbed the coin and informed me that Kidd wished me to know that he was going to ransom me to the highest bidder. Thinking about how many betrayed husbands would pay a pretty penny to see my throat strung up with hemp made me swallow, and the guard left with a chuckle. As soon as the door was shut and bolts slid back into place I recomposed myself and called to the nearest bird. It flew towards my outstretched arms and I looked down at the old man and asked him if the Fates also had the foresight to spin me up a pen and some paper. He laughed hoarsely and pointed to an ancient scroll hanging on one of the walls. I hadn’t noticed his laughter stop as I gleefuly ran to the scroll, plundered its paper and its wooden ends for a pen, but when I turned ‘round again, the old man was gone.

Two weeks later the moon had reached its ripened fullness and I gave one last whispered oath that if Swabby failed me on this one, I would cut his rhyming throat. It was mid-afternoon and I sat against the far wall of my now empty cell and stared intently at the door. The guards switched shifts at noon, and the real guards were replaced by two young boys (albeit armed with very mature looking machine guns) for their lunch break. Within five minutes of the shift change I could heard the muffled sounds of a struggle, then the bolts being slid open and the sweet sound of freedom that came in the form of a creaky wooden door.

“Is it Captain I see? For it Swabby be,” is what I heard from the figure in the ninja outfit standing in the now open door, and I swear to Poseidon I would have kissed that man if he hadn’t gotten weird on me that night we got drunk in Calcutta.

I leapt to my feet and grabbed the pistol and sword that Swabby tossed me as I sprinted for the door. Timing was going to be everything in this escape and we didn’t have a moment to lose. We threw the guards into the cell and locked the door.

We quickly snuck around to the centre of the compound, and Kidd’s private fortress. Swabby and I grabbed a covered position behind some crates of spice Kidd had lifted from one of his raids on East India Company ships, and I went over the plan with him. He assured me that all the men were in place and that the skis and the boats were ready to go. I sent him on to his next task, which was to check the records room and see if he could find out who the old man in the cell with me was. I, ladies and gentlemen of the internet, stood up and walked right through the front door of Kidd’s compound with one thing on my mind: pulling my sword out of Kidd’s immotile heart.

I made my way quickly through the dazzlingly decorated rooms and hallways, through Kidd’s atrium and sauna rooms, passed his arcade and what appeared to be a giant statue of Tom Selleck, and finally unto what I knew had to be Kidd’s study….mainly because of the sign on the door, which clearly read: Kidd’s Study. I took a brief listen at the door, and it was a good thing that I always duck low, because two pistol balls smashed through the wood above my hear after their preceding claps of thunder. I kicked the double doors in with my powerful left leg (its my door-kicking leg, so it gets worked out more) and rolled into the room with my pistol screaming down some covering fire. I quickly leapt to the right as another volley from Kidd’s handguns sought to kiss my brains, and flipped over the table that I landed behind for some extra shielding.

“I told you I’d be back for my sword William,” I shouted over his exploratory firing. He may have called me to come and get it, but I couldn’t hear his taunt over my returning fire. As my bullets kept him pinned behind his huge oaken desk, I quickly strode across the room and took up position behind a pillar. I knew that I had maybe four more shots left before my pistol was turned inanimate again, so I decided to appeal to Kidd’s baser instincts.

“William Kidd, captain-turned-pirate-turned-pirate-hunter. You seem to me a man of taste and culture. I have no use for these pistols of modernity; they are cold and clumsy, and a monkey could fire one. What say you pull that sword down from the wall behind you and we do this with dignity? I have heard of your skill with an Indian Talwar, and I know you are well aware of mine with a Persian Shamshir. Let us cross swords and let the Fates decide who shall keep the Shamshir of Xerxes. Do you agree?”

I had to wait but a moment before I heard the pulse-racing sound of steel being drawn from its sheath. A warm smile pulled my lips and bared my teeth and I threw my pistol aside. I stepped out from the opposite side of the pillar in case Kidd tried to play me cross, but when I stepped out he was standing at the ready in front of his desk, his talwar in hand and adrenalin in his eyes. I crossed the threshold of the room in three quick strides, and swung my steel down hard from atop my shoulder. He countered gracefully and the dance began.

Strike, block. Counterstrike, block. Arund the room we spun and swung, the air alive with the clang of metal upon metal and our deadly edges slicing through the air with their whispered breaths of eternal sleep. The rumours of Kidd’s mastery with his eastern weapon were certainly not unfounded, but then again, there’s a reason the bounty on my handsome head is as large as it is! I feigned a stumble and Kidd’s quick instincts sent his curved blade up, and in that single ephemeral drop of time’s sand I spun my back to face Kidd and swiped the blade of my sword from behind my back and over my shoulder until its bloody blade was again in front of my eyes. I stood slowly and turned to Kidd, now laying on the floor with only three quarters of his manhood intact and writhing in pain. I kicked his sword away from his side and placed the tip of my sword atop his jugular.

“I consider us square for the insult you have given me, but if you feel my revenge was excessive or unjust then we will meet again. However, next time I will not be so easy to handle.”

With that I walked away from him, stuck the sword that had severed his sex into the top of his desk, and pulled my shamshir off of his wall and slid it back into its jeweled sheath. This sword was once held by the great Persian king Xerxes as his men fought those valiant Spartans at Thermopylae, and it deserves to be in the hands of a man-slaying conqueror, not on the wall of a traitorous villain and failure of a pirate.

My time on this computer has ended, so I will relate the rest of my daring escape to you when I have returned to the Mithridates. For now rejoice. Your Captain is free, the Shamshir of Xerxes at its rightful place across my hip, and the crew of the Mithridates preparing the ship for our voyage home.

The Captain is back, my adoring fans, and he is ready for whatever the Fates decide to throw at me next!

The (Other) Lion of Kashmir

2005-03-28T17:06:00.000-05:00

The Rescue Has Begun

2005-03-24T10:58:00.000-05:00

Hold On Captain We're Almost There!

A Chance For Thee To Know Swabby

2005-03-24T10:22:00.000-05:00

[My name is]: Swabby
[In the morning I am]: Still Drunk
[All I need is]: The Captain, Sugar Smacks, and Lord Byron
[Love is]: Loving Someone Selflessly in Spite of the Restraining Order
[I'm afraid of]: The Captain
[I dream about]: The Captain and Homo-Erotic Hugs

FAVORITES

[Colour]: Taupe
[Number]: Zero, Because Zero Doesn’t Judge Me
[Clothing brand]: Torn Rags Soaked with Brine and Rum
[Shoe brand]: Jolly Rogers Deck Kickers
[Sport to play]: Catch the Bar Wench, Mahjong
[Drink (non alcoholic)]: Rum (It Counts as Non-Alcoholic When You’ve Built Up Tolerances as High as Mine)
[Drink (alcoholic)]: Strawberry Stoli Cosmopolitans
[Animal]: Parrots
[Favorite line from a movie or song]: "Fishing boats sail past the shore, no singing may-day any more. The sun is shining, the Water's clear, Just you and I walk along the pier.”

WHO?

[Gives you a funny feeling when you see them]: Clowns.
[Has a crush on you]: Prundella

DO YOU EVER?

[Wish you were a member of the opposite sex]: Only When I Wish It Was Socially Acceptable for Men to Wear Silk Dresses.
[Fallen for your best friend]: Every Single Day.
[Been rejected]: Continuously and Viciously.
[Rejected someone]: Have to Have Someone Actually Like You Before that Can Happen.
[Been cheated on]: See Previous Answer.
[Done something you regret]: Probably, But Fortunately the Excessive Drinking Seems to Have Blacked Out the Memories of Them.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON?

[You talked to on the phone]: I Don’t Use Phones, I Think its Wrong to Trap People Inside Tiny Headsets and Make Them Talk to You…People Have Lives to Live You Know.
[Hugged]: The Captain, but Sadly Only in My Dreams…
[You instant messaged]: The Captain, Although I Don’t Consider Carrier-Pigeons to be ‘Instant’.
[You laughed like mad with]: Tony the Oarsman; We Had a Delightful Conversation about Cod.

DO YOU/ ARE YOU?

[Smoke cigarettes]: Only When They’re Lit.
[What's your favorite food]: Macaroons, Vegetarian Chimichangas.
[Fruit]: Anything to Get Rid of This Damn Scurvy.
[Drink alcohol]: Oh Yes, My Friends, Oh Yes.
[Like watching sunrises or sunset]: I’m Usually Too Drunk By Those Times to Notice Either of Them.
[Know what hurts the most]: Unrequited Love and Waking Up Inside the Garbage Pit Behind ‘Bertha’s Brothel and Kosher Deli’ in Calcutta.

NUMBER

[Of times you've have had your heart broken]: Just Once.
[Of drugs you've taken illegally]: I Don’t Take Drugs…Well, Except for the Opium.
[Of CD's that you own]: You Don’t Need CD’s When You’ve Got a Lyre, an Empty Whiskey Jug, and Prisoners Willing to Do Anything for Their Freedom.
[Of scars on my body]: Lets Just Say I’ve Lost Count.

PICK ONE:

[1 or 2 pillows]: Oh How I Have Dreamed of the Velvet Luxury of a Pillow! But Swabby Happy With the Floor Must Be.
[Winter / Spring / Summer / Fall]: Its Pretty Much All the Same to Me…Crappy.
[Gloves or mittens]: If I’ve Never Known the Feel of a Pillow Beneath My Brow, What Are the Chances That I Can Answer this Question?
[Dressed or undressed]: Undressed; I Like The Feel of Morning Dew on My Exposed Buttocks.
[Bunk or water bed]: Well, I Don’t Know What this “Water Bed” You Speak of Is, But I Once Slept In A Puddle And I Would Say It Was Surprisingly Uncomfortable.
[Ocean or pool]: Hmmm…As a Sailor I Like the Ocean, But There’s Just Something About the Way Chlorine Burns Your Eyes and Skin that Gives a Pool That Extra Little Something Special.
[Love or lust]: I Have Known the First Only Once, and the Latter Far Too Much.

IF YOU COULD

[Meet one famous person]: Gloria Estefan, So I Could Ask Her All About Those Crazy Years in the Miami Sound Machine.
[Name one thing you love]: Alas, There is Only One Thing That I Love, and She is Lost to Me Now…. I Still Miss You Mother!!
[Name one thing you hate]: The Captain
[Name one thing that embarrasses you:]: My Complete Inability to Control Myself Around Spinach.
[Do you like school]: No, But I Like Taking Others To It…Oh Yeah!
[Do you like to talk on the telephone]: Wasn’t This Question Already Asked? Why Do You Make Me Repeat Myself, Mystery Survey Creator
[Do you sing in the shower]: What Is This Shower Thing You Speak Of?
[Do you think cheerleading is a sport]: Oh Yes. Its Hard Work Coming Up With Words That Rhyme With Quarterback.
[What's on your ceiling]: A Picture of The Captain (He Put Them above Everyone’s Bed So That We Know He’s Watching Over Us as We Sleep).
[What are you listening to right now]: A Group of Prisoners Giving A Jug Band Rendition of Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler.
[What's the hardest thing about growing up]: Having to Face the Fact that Bed Wetting is No Longer Acceptable.

Another Message From The Captain In Captivity

2005-03-23T16:38:00.000-05:00

High-Low!

A Second Bird Came Through The Sky,
Its Downy Wings Did Catch My Eye.
Upon The Deck This Bird Did Land,
With Note Writ In The Captain's Hand.
So As We Cross This Ocean Blue,
His Words I Here Set Down For You:

Hello faithful friends and staunch admirers! Fear not, for the Captain is being treated well by his foul captors, and besides, the plan I sent to Swabby along with my blog's password is sure to catch fools such as these completely unprepared. So I shall soon be returning to you and to my command atop the deck of the S.S. Mithridates. In the meantime, a small survey was being passed around this mountain prison and I thought that you, my fans, would enjoy the opportunity to learn some personal information about the great Captain you so adoringly worship. Also, I know Swabby loves these damn survey things, so I've given hime permission to add his own...I apologize in advance.

[My name is]: Captain Jonas J. Lovejones, MD.
[In the morning I am]: Woken up by Man-Servants and Hand-Fed My Breakfast With Golden Forks/Spoons.
[All I need is]: My Ship, My Crew, and My Brilliantly Clever Mind for Piracy.
[Love is]: Seeing Your Own Beautiful Face Reflected in the Shiny Surface of Someone Else’s Gold.
[I'm afraid of]: Prundella.
[I dream about]: Gold, Ship-to-Ship Fighting, Gold, Parrots, Eating Fruit to Stave Off Scurvy, Gold, Leelanda Erenca (the most beautiful bar maid in the breadth of the seven seas), Gold, and Carissa Killigrew (daughter of Elizabeth and Sir John, and the most breathtaking pirate I’ve ever watched disembowel a British Trade Commissioner).

FAVORITES

[Colour]: Gold, Sweet Shimmering Gold.
[Number]: 13,793,436.45 (it’s the total count of the treasure I have saved up in my secret pirate island’s subaquatic treasure cave).
[Clothing brand]: Savary De Mauleon (they make wonderful capes), Cosimo dei Medici (the finest in Italian-made doublets), Carlisles (http://www.carlislesonline.com/), and Pantaloons Inc.[Shoe brand]: Jolly Rogers Deck Kickers (it’s the only shoe I’ll allow on my boat because of their patented no-scuff soles).
[Sport to play]: Shoot the Fleeing Briton, Ramses’ Plunder (basically consists of seeing how many settlements you can loot and destroy along the north Egyptian coast before the Pharaoh sends his army), Jenga.
[Drink (non alcoholic)]: Pomegranate Juice (it has really high levels of anti-oxidants!)
[Drink (alcoholic)]: Rum and Canadian Beer.
[Animal]: Parrots.
[Favorite line from a movie or song]: "There’s a man who’s been out sailing, in a decade full of dreams. And he takes her to a schooner, and he treats her like a queen. Bearing beads from California, with their amber stones and green; he has called her from the harbor; he has kissed her with his freedom; he has heard her off to starboard, in the breaking and the breathing, of the water weeds. While she was busy being free.”

WHO?

[Gives you a funny feeling when you see them]: Leelanda Erenca, Carissa Killigrew.
[Has a crush on you]: Swabby.

DO YOU EVER?

[Wish you were a member of the opposite sex]: Every Time I Look in the Mirror.
[Fallen for your best friend]: I No Longer Have Any Use for Best Friends. Lovers, Sailors, and Prisoners Are All the Company That I Need Now.
[Been rejected]: You Obviously Haven’t Seen What I Look Like.
[Rejected someone]: When You Are as Handsome, Dashing, and Debonair as the Captain is, You Have to Learn How To Let The Ladies Know That Just Because They Wants Me, It Don't Mean They Gets Me.
[Been cheated on]: Not By Any That Lived To Speak Of It.
[Done something you regret]: Of Course, But Each Morning I Breathe Out The Regrets of the Previous Day With the Warm Ocean Breeze.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON?

[You talked to on the phone]: Some Telemarketer. You Know, You Try and Be Nice and Tell Them That When You Steal For A Living You Don’t Need A New CIBC MasterCard, But They Just Don’t Seem To Listen.
[Hugged]: The Cooling Corpse of My Best Friend. I Will Say No More of This, As I Have Said Too Much All Ready.
[You instant messaged]: Swabby, Probably.
[You laughed like mad with]: Leelanda Erenca Last Month at the Crock O’ The Walk.

DO YOU/ ARE YOU?

[Smoke cigarettes]: No, I Don’t Like Having the Ladies’ View of Me Obstructed By Even the Thinnest of Smoke Screens.
[What's your favorite food]: Feta Cheese Pizzas from ‘Slice’ in New Orleans (its vegan dough!), Vegetarian Futomaki.
[Fruit]: Grapefruit, Pomegranate, Tomato (it’s a damn fruit and anyone who claims otherwise will feel the wrath of my blade).
[Drink alcohol]: Do I!
[Like watching sunrises or sunset]: I Try to Catch Both Every Day So That I Make Myself Aware of How Precious Life Is, and How Little Time We’ve Got To Live It.
[Know what hurts the most]: Yes I do, my friends. I most certainly do.

NUMBER

[Of times you've have had your heart broken]: Once, and I’ll Only Allowed It to Be Broken Once. No One Will Ever Get That Close Again.
[Of drugs you've taken illegally]: Too Many... and Too Repeatedly.
[Of CD's that you own]: I Don’t "Own" Them As Much As I "Stole Them off LimeWire"; Hey, I’m A Pirate, What’d You Expect?
[Of scars on my body]: If You’re a Lady, I’m More Than Happy To Show You. If You’re a Man, Then Rest Assured Its Enough To Prove I’m More of a Man Than You.

PICK ONE

[1 or 2 pillows]: I Don’t Use Pillows. I Sleep On Big Sacks of Money and Bundles of Plundered Silk.
[Winter / Spring / Summer / Fall]: Doesn’t Matter. The Weather is Always Nice Somewhere.
[Gloves or mittens]: Sometimes I Just Use The Pockets of My Doublet or Brave It Like A Real Man... Other Times I Wear My Silk Mittens.
[Dressed or undressed]: The Captain Always Sleeps In The Nude.
[Bunk or water bed]: Don’t Need A Water Bed…I’ve Already Got The Motion of the Ocean.
[Ocean or pool]: Do You Really Have To Ask, You Horse’s Ass?
[Love or lust]: I Gave up on the First, and I Give in to the Second!

IF YOU COULD

[Meet one famous person]: Carissa Killigrew. Oh, How I Long To Spend Just One Evening Talking The Night Away About Plunder, Murder, and Drunken Debauchery… What a Woman She Be!
[Name one thing you love]: Myself.
[Name one thing you hate]: John Jennings.
[Name one thing that embarrasses you:]: Not A Damn Thing, But I'm Perfect, So Its Understandable.
[Do you like school]: Yeah, I Do. It’s a Great Place to Meet Girls.
[Do you like to talk on the telephone]: I Do If It’s a Lady!
[Do you sing in the shower]: I Don’t Shower, I Bathe. I Bathe in a Golden Bathtub Filled with Purified Water Made from Freshly Fallen Snow Imported Daily from the Swiss Alps. The Water Is Then Heated To A Balmy 89 Degrees In A Brass Cauldron Over A Fire Made Only From The Finest Logs Culled From The Old Growth Forests Of Northern Nepal. These Logs Have Been Cut Down By Women And Carried To Port On The Backs Of Small Children... That Is Why I Sing When I Bathe, My Friends, Because Those Kids Haul A Damn Fine Cedar.
[Do you think cheerleading is a sport]: No, But that Hasn’t Stopped Me From Subscribing To The New Cheerleader TV Digital Channel.
[What's on your ceiling]: A Mirror…You Know How The Captain Does It!
[What are you listening to right now]: Amos Lee (he's opening up for the Bob Dylan tour right now).
[What's the hardest thing about growing up]: “Playing Doctor” Takes On a Whole New Meaning That Has Very Little To Do With My Interest In the Medical Profession.

The Captain's Been Kidd-napped!

2005-03-20T13:01:00.000-05:00

High-Low!

The Name of Me It Swabby Be,
And A Message Of Gloom I Have For Thee.
The Captain Was Ashore A Searching For Men,
But Did Not To The Mithridates Return Again.

We Searched High And Low in The Port Of Morrocco,
But No Trail, Sign, Or Clue Before Our Eyes Did Show.
We Sat Broken Hearted For A Week, Maybe More,
Till Word Finally Landed On This Rocky Shore.

A Small Little Pigeon, In Wing-Fluttered Flight,
Made A Quiet Deck Landing Late In The Night.
A Message Had She, Wrapped Tight Round Her Leg,
So We Unfurled Its Paper And Discovered Its Dregs.

The Captain's Been Taken By The Dread Pirate Kidd,
A Nefarious Villain And Man Most Wicked.
Pirate Hunter Is He, Though Pirate He Be,
And He Plunders And Steals Our Hard-Earned Booty.

With Plans For Ransom The Captain This Villain Doth Hold,
But The Captain With Pigeon Delivered A Plan Most Bold.
So Now We Set Sail For The Port Of Bombay,
For It Is In India That Kidd's Made His Stay.

A Dangerous Journey And Hard War Lay Ahead,
But We Will Not Rest Till This Vile Kidd Is Dead,
The Captain Returned, And All Set A Straight,
So Be Rest Assured And Prepare For Fate.

2005-03-04T11:57:00.000-05:00

Option #5: Dancin' The Hempen Jig

2005-03-04T11:55:00.000-05:00

Option #4: The Grip of Davy Jones

2005-03-04T11:54:00.000-05:00

Option #3: Black Jack

2005-03-04T11:49:00.000-05:00

Option #2: The Captain's Privateer

2005-03-04T11:48:00.000-05:00

Option #1: The Dagger of Doom

The Captain's New Flag Contest

2005-03-04T11:32:00.000-05:00

Ahoy Mateys! The Captain has had to take a few days of quiet sailing to recuperate from the physical and mental wounds suffered during the fight with the Berserker. My medical degree can take care of the broken arm, but its going to take sometime to heal this broken heart of mine, so I've decided that we will set sail across the Atlantic and head for the Carribean, and home. I'm still down to about half of my regular crew, but hopefully we can pick up some worthy sailors in Morrocco before we pass through the Straits of Gibralter and head out on the long trek ahead. During this lull period I have decided that the S.S. Mithridates is in need of a new flag to go along with the repairs that were needed, including my new Captain's Quarters (this new shag carpeting feels great on the toes after a hard day of plundering).

So I've decided that I will let you, my adoring fans and loving friends, have your say into what flag the Captain will be flying high above our masts. So send me your opinions on the flags ye be seeing above, and you can have your say in which flag you think the Captain should be using to strike fear in the hearts and minds of lesser men. Until next time, this is the Captain wishing you calm seas, good rum, and favourable winds of Fortune.

A Black Day in the Black Sea

2005-03-01T22:05:00.000-05:00

It didn't take me long to regret the decision to pass through the Bosporus this day my landlubbing friends. The Captain's troubles began yesterday afternoon while we were plundering a French millionaire's yacht off the coast of Greece; my First Mate "Swabby" came up to me while I was overseeing the "requisitioning" of around thirty loaves of French bread, forty cheese wheels, and about 170 cases of red wine (which was strangely all that the ship had in terms of lootable loot), and began to excitedly tell me about something. Now, Swabby's got a bit of a lisp, and by 'a bit of a lisp' I mean he is completely incomprehensible to the human ear (although parrots and some small woodland creatures seem to understand him fine), so I was having trouble understanding what the damn fool was getting his long john silver's in a bunch over. He pulled me over to the map room after about fifteen minutes of ineffectually spitting on me with his slurred gibberish and even more incomprehensible mime, and began to point to a spot just north of the Georgian city of Bat'umi. I managed to calm the kid down with what I had thought was a lethal dose of Thorazine, and he began to tell me about some book he was reading about these Greeks who went up into the Black Sea to try and steal a sheep's fleece that was made entirely of gold. Well I'll tell you this friends, when that fool said the words "golden" and "fleece", well the Captain's eyes lit up like a Chinese fireworks factory with substandard safety regulations. Maybe it was the four bottles of wine or the six wheels of cheese clouding my judgment, but I broke one of the Captain's cardinal rules: never dance in Russian waters.

Well, before I came to my senses we had set the French millionaire loose and headed up the coast of Greece with a barrage of French curses that would have made a bartender blush assailing us from the back. We stopped off briefly in Istanbul so Swabby could achieve his lifelong dream of using a Turkish toilet. Sometimes I wonder how I ever imagined that a rodeo clown from Alberta would make a good First Mate; it’s a damn shame what three litres of Captain Morgan and a fistful of Percodan will do to a man's judgment, I tell ‘ya, a damn shame. So anyways, once we had bribed the Turkish officials to drop the public indecency and destruction of public property charges against Swabby, we continued on our way. We passed through the Bosporus with relative ease and made our way around the Northern coast of Turkey towards the Georgian coast. When I looked over the sea-worn faces of my crew, I detected a sense of apprehension and cold unease. I knew that I had to ease the burden on their simple minds so I asked Swabby to come up onto the bridge and repeat to the crew what he had told me of the defenses this King Aiates had protecting the golden sheep skin that was the prize of our journey. Of course no one understood a damn thing Swabby was saying, so we brought out our steersman’s parrot Keelhaul to translate for us. To my utter dismay, the parrot began horrifying the crew with his talk of fire-breathing bulls made of bronze, giant snakes, and an army that springs from the ground. I’d have killed that dog Swabby right then and there, but the Captain is a man of justice and I could hardly blame the poor fool for my mistaking “bulls of bronze” for “pools of prawns” and “giant snake” for “China steaks”. Besides, the kid bakes the finest marzipan I’ve ever eaten.

Needless to say, the crew was near mutiny by the time we reached the Isle of Ares, so I decided it was a good time to pull ashore and enjoy a nice light brunch. We were sitting around a nice midday campfire enjoying a healthy share of our French plunder when Swabby finished his book and told me, through the parrot of course, that the fleece had been captured by some scoundrel named Jason and taken back to Greece 2,500 years ago. Swabby gave me a good run for about half an hour, but I finally caught the dog while he was trying to scale a rock face and crying like four-year old child who’s just had his birthday cake stolen by a gang of defrocked Irish priests. I was about to run the rogue through with my blade when I spotted a ship sailing eastward off the north coast of the island. Thinking that maybe I could salvage this fiasco after all, and of how much I would miss Swabby’s marzipan shaped like famous world leaders, I sheathed my sword and rushed back down to the beachhead. I gathered up the men that were still relatively sober and we carried those who were already passed out back to the rowboats. The thrill of the chase, and probably the cheap buzz provided by the wine and the brie, had the boys rowing faster and harder than I had ever seen them go. In no time we had reached the S.S. Mithridates and had her sails up and bellowing in front of a stiff Nor’ Easter. I rushed into my cabin and grabbed the telescope I won from Captain Kidd in a drinking contest (I had found out earlier that the man had no stomach for Grappa), and rushed back to the deck to spy myself our prey. When I leveled that unblinking eye on that ship’s mast and flag, however, my heart sank like a sailor off a plank and I felt my skin turn scurvy pale, for the flag flapping on the galleon’s mast was a purple rose on scarlet red silk: the flag of Olav the Berserker.

I turned and yelled at steersman Roberts to turn her hard to port, but when I raised the eyeglass to Olav’s galleon I could see that it was too late. The Berserker had spotted us, and his ship was turning to meet us. Now the Captain is no coward, my internet-surfing ne’er-do-wells, but I’ll admit that at that moment I felt as though I could teach them man who invented the retreat a thing or two about retreating. Yet I have a reputation to uphold, a crew to keep in order, and you, my adoring fans, to entertain; so I steeled my resolve and gave the order to man the cannons and prepare for the attack. Roberts deftly maneuvered the Mithridates into firing position and we fired off a quick volley before the Berserker’s ship even had a chance to line up his cannons to do the same. Unfortunately, Swabby gave the order to fire to the wrong side of the ship, and the volley was fired in the opposite direction than the Berserker’s galleon. I had time to slap Swabby only twice before the first volley from the Berserker sent an eruption of water over our starboard keel. I took command of the attack myself and readied the starboard cannons to fire. This time both ship’s cannons erupted at the same time. The water sent up from falling cannonballs sprayed a cool salty mist across my face, but before my eyes were blurred I saw that two of our shots had made direct hits on the Berserker’s deck. I turned to cheer on my men with the report of our direct hit and noticed that the top half of my cabin had been ripped off by some of the Berserker’s cannon shot. I stared at my destroyed fortress of solitude and drinking for what seemed like an eternity as the salt water dripped off my unshaven face…and that’s when I got mad.

I turned to Roberts with murder in my eyes and fire-flushed cheeks and without saying a word he knew what I meant to do. He swung the ship back to starboard and lined the Mithridates up for a ramming run. I yelled at the crew to hoist up the other sails and to insert the ram into its cradle at the fore of the ship, above the intricately carved statue of Julia Roberts that formed the nose of our vessel. I calmly strolled up to the shorn off door to my now roofless cabin while the men readied the ship, and I tossed aside the wreckage that had buried my private chest. I threw open the heavy oak lid with one hand and with the other pulled out my war cutlass, my muskets, and my lucky vest. I threw on my warrior’s mantle and weapons, pulled my bronze shield off of the wall (which was now lying atop my bed) and stepped out onto the bridge gleaming like freshly-washed cutlery at a Denny’s. As I set my unwavering eyes on the Berserker’s ship, which had now come about and was bearing down on us, Swabby handed out cutlasses, daggers, and muskets to the men. When the Berserker’s galleon had closed to within one hundred yards, I spoke out words of encouragement to my crew to steel their nerves and fill their hearts with the fire they would need to survive the dark battle that loomed before us. “Brave men of the S.S. Mithridates,” I called out to them, “do not fear. For you are led by Captain Jonas J. Lovejones, MD.” Unfortunately, my rabble-rousing speech seemed to have little effect on their apprehensive faces, and in truth seemed to only make things worse. Thankfully there was no time to worry about my inabilities for public speaking, for the Berserker’s giant ship was now so close that I could smell the lavender body spray that was rumoured to be the Berserker’s trademark. I gave the order for the boarding crew to ready their hooks and cables, and at the last second before the head on collision I gave the signal to Roberts to steer her hard to port. As we slid past the Berserker’s galleon, I was close enough to see the whites of the Berserker’s eyes, or rather I would have been able to see them if the Berserker’s serious drinking problem hadn’t left them permanently red-rimmed and bloodshot. I gave the battle cry and my men sprang up from the keel walls and the air was filled with musket smoke, grappling hooks, and the terrible screams of death and murder. I gave the order for a cannon volley that tore up the side of the Berserker's top decks, than grabbed my trusty rope, pulled out my glimmering cutlass and swung across to the deck of the Berserker’s ship.

It was difficult to see at first amidst the smoke and carnage, but soon my ears and my eyes adjusted to the madness and my cutlass began to cut me a swath towards the bridge as my men began to pile over the side of the ship and join me on the deck. Words could never possibly express the sounds of war, my devoted readers, and I would never expose your virginal ears to such horrors, but as I slaughtered my way towards the Berserker my heart was almost broken at the senselessness of it all. Then I spotted that hulking beast Olav and the vision of my cabin’s beautiful fake wood paneling being splintered by cannonballs sent a black rage coursing through my veins. I let out a cry that would have chilled the heart of Achilleus himself and charged madly towards the giant Russian pirate. I watched as he turned towards me and readied his giant wooden club and leather shield, but I did not turn away or slow my course; I charged faster and faster towards him with my cutlass raised and spraying blood into the wind and my bronze shield held before me to deflect any shots or sword thrusts sent my way. I finally reached the Berserker and swung my cutlass towards his massive trunk with a mind to end his life. The giant deftly deflected my deadly swing and countered with a thunderous swing with his oaken club. I managed to swing my shield round to block the blow, and the massive club shattered across my bronze protector. The tremendous impact tore my shield in two and shattered the bones of my arm. I quickly leapt to my feet and thrust my blade towards the Berserker’s neck, but again with his shield he glanced my blade harmlessly away. He made his way through a crowd of fighters and grabbed one of my nearest crewmen, and before I could reach him, had choked the man’s life away between his giant calloused hands. The Berserker grabbed the man’s sword and wheeled to face me. I continued to send deadly swipe after deadly swipe towards him, and he continued to deflect deadly swipe after deadly swipe away from him. My more agile frame was easily able to avoid his slow and cumbersome counterthrusts, but I knew that with a broken arm I would need to find a flaw in his defense if I had any hope of surviving this terrible battle.
The Berserker began to laugh a deep and rumbling laugh as I circled around him looking for an opening through which to send his shadow to the bottom of the deep. “Your men are losing this battle,” he ridiculed as he waved his giant arm towards the battle around us, “and you yourself are already half defeated. Give up this foolishness and resign yourself to your fate. There is no shame in death at my hands.” Here, my friends, is where the Berserker committed the err that would loose the life from his very lips, for when he waved his arm with his showy airs, he left his shield-side open and as the word "hands" passed from behind his yellowed teeth I lunged forward and plunged the glimmering steel of my cutlass through his very heart. I leapt backwards as the Berserker let out a giant roar and took a deadly final swing at my golden head as he crashed to the deck. I heard footsteps running across the deck towards me and I wheeled and drew my muskets. I fired two rounds into the scallywags running towards me, tossed the guns aside and picked up their swords. By this time, with their leader slain and their ship in ruins, most of the Russians had either surrendered or perished so it was not long before we had taken control of the ship and the battle had ended. As my men began to loot the ship of goods and weapons, I walked back to the giant corpse of the Berserker and with heavy heart withdrew my blade from his now silent heart. With a closed eyes I drew a deep breath of lavender from his still frame. I looked up as I heard a shout of joy from one of my men and was angered to see him dragging out a treasure-filled chest from the Berserker’s cabin. I thrust the tip of my blade towards the dog’s throat, stopping just short of his skin, and warned him that no man was removing the belongings of such a valiant man from his own ship. When the rest of the food and weapons had been loaded aboard, we unlashed ourselves from Olav’s galleon and sailed a safe distance away. With tears in my eyes I gave the order to open fire on the empty, smouldering ship, and with three volleys we sent her and her noble captain to the bottom of that cold black sea. I poured a libation of wine out the back of my ship to that worthy adversary as we sailed away, and I vowed never again to return to these cursed waters and the sorrows that the golden sun brought to us upon this black day.

2005-02-27T20:26:00.000-05:00

The Only Known Extant Photo of the Elusive Captain Jonas J. Lovejones, MD (circa 1978).

This Be My First Post, Ye Scurvy Web-surfing Dogs

2005-02-27T20:11:00.000-05:00

Greetings from the Captain's Lounge of the S.S. Mithridates, riding high atop the white-crested waves of the sweet flowing seas of Fortune.

I, of course, am the nefarious rogue and pirate of the high seas known only as Captain Jonas J. Lovejones, MD...mainly because that's my name. I invite you to journey along with me and my band of merry privateers, as we sail the sometimes calm, sometimes ghoulish seas of life, love (in the non-monogamous pirate sense of the word, of course), adventure, and misfortune. If ye be liking what ye be reading, leave the Captain and the boys a comment; if ye be hating what ye be reading, please forward your insults to my ex-wife Prundella (she collects them for future court use).

My First Mate "Swabby" has just spotted a cruising yacht off the coast of Samoa so its time for me to make with the plundering, but always remember that sometimes the sea gives you high tides, and sometimes she gives you low; but Captain Jonas J. Lovejones, MD is always riding on.