Kent puffed a thick cloud from his pipe and set it down on the table. The poor thing had ghostly embers, moments before being quenched by the humid air. It was beautiful to watch it die.
To see its final remarks upon this world, to feel them at least. He didn't just smoke it to get some nicotine in his stream. It was the process that led to the end that he strived for.
Birth and perishment, happening right before his eyes, in such a trivial and seemingly unimportant manner. It felt, refreshing.
The wave flung their ship to the air. For a moment he felt weightless, along with everyone and everything on the ship.
In his ten years of duty as a pirate captain, he had never experienced such a vigorous wave. That wave hadn't experienced The Triton either. Apparent from its arrogance.
The wave thought that it could wreck, damage or even scratch her. The Triton was the invincible ship made by the Gods themselves. Or at least that's what Kent says to the crew.
Superstitions among sailors... help, a lot.
The wave passed and the sea grew calm. Silence loomed over The Tritons dark wood. The night troubled with fog frowned deeply at them. He could feel it, something was coming up.
Kent got up and reached for his pipe. The damned thing was lost, swallowed by air. Not even a trace of tobacco or ash could be found in the Captain's quarters. *knock knock*
'The door is open.' he calmed himself. It was just a pipe, no reason lash out at your quartermaster for his indecent timing.
'Good evening sir. A man-o-war with tattered sails is approaching, appeared out of nowhere. We think one hundred to one hundred and twenty cannons mounted with no visible crew.
It carries no flags, just a completely black piece of fabric flapping about at the top. It is odd, even under the fickle moonlight, its blackness makes everything else seem bright.
' Mused his trustworthy Quartermaster. He liked his remarks on events, which was the main reason he kept Boris around.
'Probably the Celts. Our agreement with the Republic kept them from chasing us long enough. They came hidden this time. Make sure you grab their flags from wherever they hid it.
We can't let these sneaky bastards have another shot at something this stupid.' Kent replied.
He was not sure if it was truly the Celt folk who were chasing them. After all him and his crew were feared and hated all around the world.
It was a great social lubricant though, universally common hate made way for some great conversations. Wasps, Mondays, Too hot weather, too cold weather... The Triton.
Anyway, the crew hated the Celts the most. Then their prey would be the Celts without a doubt. What if it turned out to be Lykians? Too bad, but hey, at least you are alive.
This guy lying here can't feel disappointment, in fact, he can't feel anything. Rejoice in this consolation and enjoy the spoils.
The ship was slowing down, direction changing, guns locking and loading, a rush and thrill, smell of adrenaline filling the foggy air. His bones shriveled, his heart started going crazy.
Kent grabbed his hook-blade and his pistol, then kicked the door open.
'These motherfuckers think that we are stupid, that The Triton is nothing but a piece of floating wood. They don't agree that we are blessed by the Gods to purge and balance the seven seas.
They see us as savages, cold blooded primates and murderers. Blood-thirsty killing machines with no mercy.
Well? What the fuck do you think? Are we really Blood-fucking-thirsty killing machines?' Kent roared with all his might to the crew. All the heads attended his voice right from the first word.
He talked, they listened. It was just the way things were, how nature ran her course.
'No! no no? yeah? NO!' confused murmuring was present among the crowd, people scratching their heads looked at him.
Awaiting the definite answer that would clear their feeble, incapable minds for the fight. To give them the desire and the sense to die in the name of, nothing.
'We are if that's what they want to think. We will show them how fierce Triton can be. How savage we, can get. They won't enjoy the satisfaction from us proving them right.
All they feel will be our sharp steel, clawing away their souls. Claiming them for The Triton, returning them to the deepest core of hell to repent.
Oh they have sinned by coming here brothers for they have broken the holy pact made with the Republic. It is our duty to realize their demise.
' Kent bellowed his last sentence even louder until his vibrating throat went numb. He would need some warm, salty water to gurgle after this. His vocal chords agreed.
The crew was cheering for a fight that wasn't even won yet, not even began. Yet they were sure that they would prevail. The captain was watching over them.
Even death seemed less scary than a ship without Kent, without purpose, only mindless raiding. Ended most probably with a rope tied to a tree, people throwing rocks at you for being a thief.
Shaming and torturing your soul even before it rises from your body.
They knew a guilty soul would be tortured endlessly after death, yet they were so impatient to make them suffer at the moment. To see a glimpse of what happens when a soul is in pain.
What real pain was like. No one in The Triton would ever experience real pain as long as they were loyal. But tonight, the intruders would know, The Triton would show them.
Kent heard Boris shout, followed by the first line of cannons blasting, Triton swaying with its force. He wanted to feel the rush and took a step to participate. Yet something was keeping him.
Someone was. His thoughts became all blurry and confusion enveloped him in its head splitting shroud. Everyone was struggling to load up the cannons once more. But they were having so much fun.
Skipping around, laughing, dancing. So much happiness, in a happy little crew.
Kent smirked. His smirk turned into a smile. Smile turned to a giggle. Giggle morphed to a twisted cackle. Cackle turned into uncontrollable, unstoppable terror inducing laughter.
They were dying, all of them. But he couldn't understand the reason. His pipe tobacco died because it burned all of its leaves away until reduced to nothing but ash. Fire was the cause of death.
When a man died, anything could be the cause. Maybe he fell down the stairs, hanged, shot, sliced open... Kissed, loved. Laughed at a joke perhaps, woke up, slept.
Lived? Those weren't reasons why men died.
Why would anyone die from being loved or laughing at a joke? Why, in the hell, would anyone die from being executed or shot? Those were all normal things that happened everyday.
Death itself was a daily occasion. So, why would anyone die from dying? A flash of violet light forced him to gather his thoughts, before rendering him completely useless.
Everything happened incredibly fast. A Spectral violet ship was inside The Triton. Two ships perfectly synchronized and incorporated within each other, giving a faint, cold glow.
They looked beautiful. But the process was missing all the time. Everything just started and ended, ends connected by, nothingness. When something happens, the happening involves the process.
Did these events really happen in that case? Was he even using the right words in his mind? Perhaps the words weren't his. Maybe, Kret was going mad. Who the hell was Kret? He was Kent.
The fabled captain of The Triton, the mighty hammer of Ganthos. It seemed so meaningless now that he thought about it. And also kind of hilarious. A funny name for a funny man.