[color=598527][b]In the murky waters of Far Harbor...[/b][/color]

[i]“It doesn’t look like much, does it?”[/i]

[i] “Trust me cap’n, them Commonwealth crates will be in port. Jackson saw the same ship back in Salem. Pennsylvanian trade touches even tiny places like Far Harbor.” [/i]

[i] She lowered the ‘scope she’d been looking through. “I believe you, Levi. Get on dock ahead of Locke’s boys and commandeer the vessel.” Her face twisted into a sour expression as she once more drew on her old rage. “The Quaker cargo is our rightful take and I don’t want them interfering.” [/i]

[i] He nodded as he always did. “Aye, Sarah” [/i]

The last conversation he’d had with Sarah fluttered through his mind as he glided through the cold murky water towards the Far Harbor docks. Of course, only he was allowed to call her by her actual name. It was only on account of him being her First Mate and last friend from the old days. Most men could only refer to her as “Captain”, “Captain Clarke”, and she would allow them to whisper the infamous title “Green Widow”. She wasn’t one for theatrics, but she knew the use in letting legends grow. He was usually called First Mate Bradshaw, and he couldn’t help but like his moniker: “The Bearded Ghoul”. A lifetime ago, he had to shave all the time. Now, his sturdy, braided, and grey beard stuck with him through his mutation.

Though it was what once cursed him, the radioactive water now strengthened his desiccated body. It also soothed the painful patches of skin that sometimes regrew on his cancerous body, only to fizzle with pain on his brownish flesh. With powerful and skilled strokes, he pushed silently forward through the water to the dock. Five of his best men followed his lead through the harbor. As they rapidly approached the dark shape they knew to be the dock, a glowing shark passed under him. The light it gave off revealed the savaged flesh of the beast, hinting towards much larger creatures lurking in the depths of the brooding and diseased sea. It was deep enough to not raise the alarm, but it was a sign that Locke was moving quicker than they had figured earlier.

When they reached the dock, his men and him all swam to different points around the dock. He quietly pulled himself out of the water for a quick peek before swiftly getting down. Three Harborguards were lazing around, sitting on boxes playing a card game and occasionally glancing up at their surroundings when they fancied it. There was little moonlight tonight, so the senseless guards used their lanterns to illuminate their cards. Despite their relaxation, it would be hard to kill all the guards silently with them in a circle. And the dock was a tiny thing, near enough to the town that if the alarm was raised or an attack was detected a horde of armed fishermen would come running. They had to be quick. He made a specific series of tiny, nearly imperceptible, splashs to signal his men to go ahead. He almost felt sorry for the boys on guard as three near-skeletal beings rose silently up from the water, clutching wicked knives and silenced junk pistols. The guard stood no chance as the ghouls dashed to their prey, faster than the men could process the strange shadows they saw behind each other in the hazy lamplight. All at once, bony hands covered their mouths and unceremoniously slit their throats. The lamps were snuffed out. While the three ghouls clutched at their prey as it died to keep it quiet, he and the two others wasted no time. 

He rose from the water and dashed to the Commonwealth ship. The wooden steamship was conspicuous amongst the ramshackle vessels used by the desperate locals. As he watched, his other two men skillfully scaled the ship and took care of the one guard on the boat and went to the crew cabins to exact a bloody toll there. He boarded the gang plank and went to the captain’s quarters, assuming that the ship layout would be the same as other vessels of this type they’d raided. It was, but the captain was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the local tavern sleeping off his drunkenness or balls deep in a serving wench. The Quakers abroad were like that, abandoning their precious biblical code the second they were away from their homeland. 

Just then, the faint sound of a foghorn went off with a long wailing cry. He cursed under his breath. Mordred Locke was coming with his all-out attack and if they didn’t move quickly they’d be caught up in the chaos. He ran down to the cargo bay and it was just as they expected. The ship had come in late and the captain had decided to put off unloading their cargo. The captain and half the crew was probably asleep in the local tavern. He went up to driving cabin to see if he could start the vessel. The steam engine would take more time to start, of course, but he needed to see if the captain was as stupid as he suspected and left the key in the cabin. After sifting through drawers, he found the keys. The next minutes were occupied with the ghouls flying around the ship, getting it ready to sail. Despite the steam engine remaining hot from its prior voyage, it was in no condition to leave immediately. Rather, they’d have to take advantage of the wind and tide and the engine would kick in at some point. Risky balances of oil soaked coal were being tossed into the engine to make it start quicker, but any riskier and they would explode. Soon enough, a favorable wind and somewhat favorable tide came. They all thanked their choice of drowned deity and started to depart.

It looked as though they would get away scot-free in perhaps one of their most triumphant raids yet. Then, as he and one of his crew went to lift the gangplank, there was what sounded like a mighty explosion. The shoulder of the man next to him shattered into bone fragments and blood and he dove behind cover.  His first thought was that it was the engine going off, but he soon realized it was a Harborman on the dock wielding a lever action, firing high at the crew. And he started shouting.

“Mainlander pirates are coming to take wha-Ahh!”

He didn’t finish his sentence before Bradshaw lifted his silenced bolt action pistol, aimed, and fired. He could tell his shot merely wounded the bearded man (OOC: Allen Lee). The two others on deck hissed and fired as well, but the man had taken cover. He spared no time for the injured man as he had to move and one of the others would see to him, but he felt the man would live with an arm replacement. They pushed the boat off and sailed away from the impending struggle. They had put the town on alert and Locke would be none too happy about it, but from his view it mattered little. The eerie glowing fleet was already nearing the sleepy town of Far Harbor, he could see the mutant horde crowded on the decks as they passed by, ravaged faces of ghoulish pirates and other mutants twisted into grins. They showed the proper hand signals and weren’t blown out of the water or harpooned. As they passed by numerous ships, speed boats, and skiffs with their prize already won, he felt the rush of victory that sustained him through all the years. He twisted the wheel and guided the stolen ship towards the dark flotilla on the shadowed horizon as the blazing glow was left behind them in Far Harbor.