Post by James Vaughn on Dec 4, 2021 2:03:29 GMT
TAG: i have sworn
TO DO VERY FOOLISH THINGS
Vaughn was completely in his element. This was precisely what he had been missing. The thrill of it coursing through him, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The moment he had seen the approaching ship, he was prepared. It could be a response to the duchess they were holding captive or, they could just have happened upon the same waters. But judging with the speed and direction, they were heading straight for them. And it looked intentional indeed. But they were not foreign to this. In fact . . . it was quite literally what they did for a living. Only this time, they were the pursued, not the pursuers.
Amidst the air of chaos, commands being yelled, men getting in position . . . it was not long until the battle commenced. Shots fired and the cries of it all. . . quite literally for their lives. The navy undoubtedly made a valiant effort, but Vaughn knew men like that. He had worked with and for men like that. With one glaring difference: he and his crew -- unlike the others -- were not restricted by honor. They used whatever means necessary to meet their end goal. They did not have code of conduct when it came to warfare, or diligent structure they need follow. It was all kill, or be killed. And nothing, felt more glorious. Especially when victory was there. They had boarded the ship, killing any men that lay in their path and once the threat was secured, raided whatever items of value they found aboard it. Once done, Vaughn watched the enemy ship sink, pieces of wood floating in the open waters. Once standing a strong seemingly formidable ship, was no more.
Despite any money they had from the monarch to fund such escapades . . . they were not victorious. And it was quite exhilarating. They only lost a few men in the process themselves. A reasonable price to pay. "Captain!" Vaughn heard his title being called and he turned around to see a couple of men brought to deck. Unlike their privateering days, Vaughn held no interest in having prisoners of war aboard their ship. It was too costly and too much effort. Besides, a message had to be sent. It was bad enough they had that noble wench in the cell below deck. He looked at one of the men who had a bullet in his arm. Vaughn could put the man -- and himself -- out of misery, or . . .
"Toss him," he casually commanded, two of his crewmen hauling the man towards the edge of the ship before tossing him overboard to the sharks, or drowning. Whichever came first. This brought Vaughn's attention to the other man. Now . . . this man, was not uniformed like the others. Vaughn looked at him up and down, smirk playing upon his features. "Now who is this sorry bastard," he questioned, though somewhat rhetorically. Two of his men each had an arm of the man, holding him in place, as Vaughn took another step closer to him. "You look far too delicate for this place," he said with clear mocking in his voice.
Amidst the air of chaos, commands being yelled, men getting in position . . . it was not long until the battle commenced. Shots fired and the cries of it all. . . quite literally for their lives. The navy undoubtedly made a valiant effort, but Vaughn knew men like that. He had worked with and for men like that. With one glaring difference: he and his crew -- unlike the others -- were not restricted by honor. They used whatever means necessary to meet their end goal. They did not have code of conduct when it came to warfare, or diligent structure they need follow. It was all kill, or be killed. And nothing, felt more glorious. Especially when victory was there. They had boarded the ship, killing any men that lay in their path and once the threat was secured, raided whatever items of value they found aboard it. Once done, Vaughn watched the enemy ship sink, pieces of wood floating in the open waters. Once standing a strong seemingly formidable ship, was no more.
Despite any money they had from the monarch to fund such escapades . . . they were not victorious. And it was quite exhilarating. They only lost a few men in the process themselves. A reasonable price to pay. "Captain!" Vaughn heard his title being called and he turned around to see a couple of men brought to deck. Unlike their privateering days, Vaughn held no interest in having prisoners of war aboard their ship. It was too costly and too much effort. Besides, a message had to be sent. It was bad enough they had that noble wench in the cell below deck. He looked at one of the men who had a bullet in his arm. Vaughn could put the man -- and himself -- out of misery, or . . .
"Toss him," he casually commanded, two of his crewmen hauling the man towards the edge of the ship before tossing him overboard to the sharks, or drowning. Whichever came first. This brought Vaughn's attention to the other man. Now . . . this man, was not uniformed like the others. Vaughn looked at him up and down, smirk playing upon his features. "Now who is this sorry bastard," he questioned, though somewhat rhetorically. Two of his men each had an arm of the man, holding him in place, as Vaughn took another step closer to him. "You look far too delicate for this place," he said with clear mocking in his voice.
