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<insert name here>, and please enjoy its content!
I was born in a quiet little village in Oranjestad, Aruba on February 9, 1714. The town was very close to the sea, as was our little dwelling: a small, log cabin with a fireplace and two bedrooms. It was a cozy little place, baking in the warm Caribbean sun. In fact, it was so close to the sea, we were hit with the occasional wave. Camaago Bay, as it was called, was mostly away from civilized ports, though we would often travel up to the more civilized areas of Oranjestad to trade with the merchants for food, giving apples and coming home with a nice dinner of smoked meat and water. That was the one thing we did have an abundance of: apples. A plantation owner had come here back around 1690 and planted an entire orchard of apples. Apparently, his slaves escaped and, well, it didn't end so well for him. We and all the other nearby dwellers had been living off them ever since, which is one of the reasons I love apples today. For meals, it was always apples and smoked meat, apples and fish, and so on. When going to the merchants to trade, we often bought corn as well. Fortunately, the entire island loved the apples and would trade just about anything for a bushel, from meat to parts for a vessel. I was born to sail the sea, my parents said. I spent most of my childhood playing in the warm saltwater with my siblings—Matthew, Sadie, and Savannah. I was the oldest, though only by a year. I guess you could say we were pretty fortunate, and I guess you could say we were pretty poor. Either way, I loved it there, and still sail there to this day. It made any passers-by smile: two blonde-haired boys and two girls playing and swimming and laughing in the ocean: myself, William, Sadie, and Savannah. See, I had some pretty unique parents: my father was an outlaw fleeing the Dutch West Company, and my mother actually came from Royal Dutch Lineage, but never spoke of it to anyone. It was only late one night when I had heard she and my father discussing it. Apparently, she had been exiled to Aruba because the man she loved had committed numerous crimes against the Crown. They had barely escaped to Oranjestad. Authorities followed them fall the way from Europe, but finally gave up. They found a log cabin nobody lived in near a large orchard of fuji apple trees, and that was when all the kids were born. Camaago Bay was in great danger of a hurricane, but the family took no heed. We got lucky. James Bane, as my father was known, though his real name was James O'Connor, taught his children how to fight in case authorities ever found us. This would prove necessary, later. He taught us how to fire a musket, how to use a cutlass, and how to throw daggers. He especially trained me with a sword, as I excelled at wielding the weapon. Finally, at 11 years old, James gave me my first cutlass. It was a rusty old thing, but it was sharp and affective, and I still have it to this day. Ironically, the day I turned 12, the hurricane hit: right in the midst of the celebration, my parents had us take cover in an old, underground rum cellar we used for storage. Sadly, both my mother and father were killed that day, and from that point on, being the oldest (though Matthew was 11 as were the girls) I took charge and managed the family. I got a job in town as the blacksmith's apprentice, as I was skilled in that craft because of my father. The blacksmith, Lawrence Roberts, had been a close friend of our parents, and was heartbroken to learn that they had died and the four children needed money, and a place to stay, as the cabin had been destroyed in the hurricane, and took them in, letting them stay in his house and gave them money for helping him with his blacksmithing work. He taught all four of them the trade, and soon enough his smithing shop was booming with business, with the finest wares available. One day, the authorities found where they were hiding, and had Roberts jailed. They fled on his father's ship, the Bane Pillager, from which they took the family name "Pillagebane". When sailing to Port Royal, their ship was attacked by the pirate: Captain Benjamin Hornigold. They fought fiercely, and killed 20 men, but it was no match. They were overtaken. At the time, Savannah and Sadie had been below decks sleeping, and the pirates did not find them. That was the last time I saw either of them for three whole years. Matthew and I worked as powder monkeys aboard the ship, serving faithfully as we feared they would kill us if we did not. We served for several years, until I was 15 and Matthew was 14. One night, there was a mutiny, and a crewmember named Edward Drummond, later known as Blackbeard, was elected Captain. We were well-known among the crew as excellent fighters and great sailors by now, and participated in sea battles. Finally, when the crew dropped anchor at Port Royal one night, Matthew and I deserted the vicious man and his crew. We had learned the pirate trade, and now needed to continue for money. They stole a large pouch of coins from an official, went to the shipwright, and bought a light sloop, calling it the Bane Pillager in honor of their father's old ship. She wasn't much, but at least she was new, right out of dry-dock. The little ship had eight cannons, four on each side, and was one of the quickest vessels in the Caribbean. They quickly created a very unique pirate flag: a black background with a depiction of a hurricane, specifically the hurricane that had destroyed the cabin and taken their parents. They sailed as pirates a long time, eventually obtaining a much larger ship and an even larger crew: a Frigate called the Renegade Mercenary. One day, when they had ported at Curaçao for supplies, they met none other than their sisters! They had seemingly matured a bit, but everyone broke down when they saw each other, the groups of two telling each other everything that had happened in their time apart. They divvied up the plunder amongst he crew and went to live on a large town full of miners: an island called Emerald Isle. Upon tying up there, they were greeted by a kind, sizable man named Benjamin Clubheart who led them to an empty house they had constructed for new residents, of which there were clearly few. They lived there and loved it for several years, and, after a while, Sadie and Ben Clubheart were married. A year later, a boy named Jason arrived. He looked much like that of Matthew and myself: blonde hair, fair skin, and a kind face. It was February 23, 1729 that he was born, and I was nearly 20 years old, Matthew at 18. When the boy was about 8, I taught him to fight as had my father, and gave him his first cutlass at 9. I began to paint portraits of both the island's residents and passing-by ships, giving them to anyone who wanted them. Everything was perfect. Until the raid came.
I was painting a portrait of Ben and Sadie together when I heard a loud crash. Not another mining accident, I thought. They had gone through 8 in the last month, almost all resulting in injuries or deaths. He put the brush down and put on his hat. "I'll go check it out," I told the duo. "Hurry back," replied Sadie. He exited the Clubhearts' tavern, at which I was set up and regularly painted, and went outside. What I saw shocked me: a massive British First Rate Ship of the Line was heading towards the island. It had a black-and white pattern on the sails: it was headed here under the orders of Lord Cutler Beckett; East India Company. It dropped anchor and was sending out longboats filled with armed men to shore. They were storming the beaches and advancing like mad. A commander approached me. "May I ask what you are doing here?" asked a miner named Edward Brittles, sometimes called Crazy Ned. "We are taking the island," the man replied without even looking his way. "Why? We are but a simple town of miners," I said. "Don't lie to me, boy," he replied, grabbing my collar and throwing me to the ground. I got up and watched him march off, soldiers following. "Nothing less than the truth." He shot me but missed after hearing this. The bullet hit a wooden board behind me. He cursed and marched on. The Ship of the Line was bombarding us now, a rain of fire, cannonballs, shrapnel, and wounded innocent folk arose. I sprinted into the tavern. "Get into the cellar, now," I told them. "Why?" they replied. "For the sake of your child, just do it," I said, running out to inform the rest of the town. I first ran to Madam Zigana, then Señor Fantificó, and all the other residents. I looked out to the massive British ship, and almost fainted at what was next to it: a massive vessel that looked like it had seen the bottom of the ocean, with wood so rotten that it had turned green, rusty cannons, sails torn to the extent that I wondered how it moved, cracked masts, hundreds of barnacles latched to its sides, and men with naught but a skeleton, with torn clothing and rusty, jagged weapons and massive blunderbusses. At the helm was Jolly Roger himself: a legendary creature so evil that he would kill his own men if he saw fit. He rose the dead from their graves, turning them into hellish fiends with only a skeleton that served him until their second death. I saw Jason, just lying on the beach, about to be hit by a cannonball. I couldn't just sit idle, obviously, while an 8-year-old was attacked. I (quite dramatically, I may add) jumped in front of him, baring my teeth as a cannonball struck my legs. I limped over to the tavern carrying him, and, with my last bit of strength, ran to the cellar and brought him to his parents. I passed out from the pain, but awoke several minutes later. I remembered the sloop I had tied at the docks at the back beach. I informed Ben and Sadie. "Take Jason, we need him to be safe. We won't all make it!" "But..." I said, stuttering. "Just please go!" said Sadie. "Ok." I took Jason, who was asleep, and carried him the half-mile to the back of the island at the dock. Most of my lgs had had to be removed, and I was just getting used to the metal contraption keeping them together. It was covered by my breeches, of course, though. (Later on in my life, the metal pieces just grew to be a part of my leg and skin regrew around it.) Dodging dogged demons and musket-bearing navy men, I ran toward the northernmost docks. Ever since I had been a powder monkey aboard Hornigold's ship, I had been able to run at speeds that were abnormal. I had a theory it was because of a large, bright red jewel I found in the powder one day. It had shone brilliantly in the light and I'd had a strange, warm feeling when near it. I now kept it as a necklace. I ran to the docks, and ran, and ran. When I finally reached them, I hacked at the mooring line keeping it tied to the docks, and climbed aboard via the gangplank, which I took n shortly after. After all, I thought, I doubt I'll be coming back anytime soon. I made full sail, scrambling to weigh anchor with the little strength left in me. I noticed massive flocks of ravens flying in the hundreds together everywhere just then, voraciously gnawing at the dead bodies that littered the ground. Goodbye Emerald Isle, I thought, hello Raven's Cove. (This was eventually how it got its name.) I set course for the French port of Leogane where his uncle lived. He checked in on the defenseless little boy: asleep in the bed in the Captain's Quarters. He knew Jason would be safe there, at least for the time being.
Note: This is not part of the story; it is simply screenshots of some of my outfits, loot, and other, errm, things.