“Come, come now friends! There’s no need to be bored at this late hour, won’t you stay a while and listen? I have heard tell, and seen of things in my youth that even I could not believe if not for my own senses!” -Oliver The Orator

The warm fire illuminated the interior of The Hearthside with a golden glow. It reflected a childlike wonder on every face that sat around to hear Oliver speak. His cheeks were rosy, red, as well as the tip of his nose, his face was full of joy and excitement as he had just filled the room with his infectious laughter.

Raising his hand in the air to grasp the audience’s attention he at last spoke, with an almost hushed tone, as if he was sharing a secret among friends. “Have I ever told you about the Tale of the Mysterious Piper?”

The Patrons looked to one another and shook their heads and spoke quietly among themselves in question. Oliver could barely contain his grin as he imagined their minds and imagination captivated for a moment in time.

“Well then, allow me to tell you. . .” He sat back in his chair and opened his arms with an affectionate gesture for the story to begin. His eyes moving over their glowing faces as he spoke seemingly to each and every one of them personally.

“One evening by the Hearth a traveler had rested his soul at ease in this very chair! The crowd carried on, not unlike yourselves at this hour, speaking of the current events that hung a black curtain over their lives. From the mire of their still present came forth the most beautiful sound! It bloomed from a mysterious wooden flute, that some say was once in possession of the Pied Piper!”

“The one from Hamlin?!” A young man cried out to which Oliver replied assuredly.

“Indeed, it may have very will been!”

Bringing his hand to his ear, Oliver continued to convey the tale.

“The flute was rumored to have been magical, and with the music that came forth it gradually brought the Cafe to a still silence. Not unlike the lot of us now. All I have to do is be silent for a few seconds and you will experience it as they did…!”

Lowering his heavy arms Oliver commanded silence in the Cafe, it appeared that even the outside world had paused but for a moment in time. The interior could have served as a crystal ball floating in embers of fire and mystery, until at last he spoke.

“The eyes of the men and women stared at the lone figure by the roaring fire, while the sound of his flute carried away every ear to an unknown world that could not be conveyed even by myself. To call it sound I dare say would belittle such an event, and yet to call it music, no. . . It was something more!”

Oliver’s eyes widened intensely, drawing in the ever curious of what he would say next.

“It evoked the human spirit to the inner core itself. . . The hardest of men appeared lost in their own eyes as they could not look away, and the women filled with vanity were removed from themselves and questioned something they could not even understand!”

Shooting his arm out he pointed to the people enthralled the most by his tale, speaking carefully, yet his words cut sharply like a surgeon’s knife.

“The guilty felt uneasy, and the innocent drew from themselves an inner peace they had not felt in their most recent memories! Then as all things come to an end, so did the stranger’s magical recital. The crowd turned to one another as he had placed his wooden flute back in its strange case. He did not ask to quench his thirst as he walked towards the door.”

Oliver shot a hard glance from left to right, reflecting confusion on his face.

“The people became confused, and inwardly distraught to see him suddenly leave. The lot of them felt like children whose parents depart, and know not if they will turn. . . Their baffled nature served only to squelch them as he at last left the Hearthside. . . Never to return. . .”

. . . . .

“The Pied Piper of Hamlin had taken one hundred, and thirty children with him hundreds of years ago. Was the man who entered through those doors him? I dare not say. . . What did he take with him? I dare not even suggest. . .”

Olivers eyes wavered back and forth feigning nervous thoughts.

“Perhaps it is a pessimist that takes stock in what has been robbed of him, rather than what has been given. The night he appeared after all, was the evening of Le Jour du Chagrin Terrible.”

The Last Pirate Of The Seven Seas.

One early morning a young sailor of unknown rank and experience wandered into the Hearthside. His raincoat dragged across the floor as he made his way to the bar. He called for a stout, barely able to catch his breath. After a glass was brought to him his hand shook upon grasping it, spilling its contents along the bar.

The Barmaid was alarmed which drew the attention of the regulars who cautiously approached him to hear what he might have to say.

“I was rescued just yesterday and brought up the Seine by a small fishing boat. I lost consciousness as my ship tore to splinters around me… The Last thing I remember I was falling into the darkness. . .”

“What happened lad?” Bosco who within the crowd inquired.

“It was terrible. . .” The man’s hazel eyes appeared as windows looking into the past, reflecting what had occurred only some time ago.

“We had witnessed a ship, not quite the size of a galleon off our port bow, it was an unusual design from the likes of which I have not seen. I had signaled with my lantern as it was dark, and before I knew it a large crash sounded just below us. . . The jolt caused me to lose my lantern. In its descent I saw the illumination of several massive harpoons in our ship’s hull that were linked by massive chains. By the time the alarm was beginning to sound several more crashes were heard all around us!”

The men started to scream in the dark as I heard a command in the distance. Then all at once our ship began to buckle and break apart.

“It was the most horrific sound, as if Hell was breaking loose around us all!”

. . . “You speak, sir, of The Four Winds!”

Oliver exclaimed at the foot of the staircase.

Though he was not accustomed to being awake at such an early hour, there he stood in his nightgown as if Fate roused him from his sleep and commanded him to go before the Patrons and listen.

“I too have encountered such a thing twenty-and-seven years ago!”

Bringing himself to the bar he rested a hand on the young sailor’s shoulder to set him at ease.

“Long ago in the Caribbean off the port of Anguilla I encountered such an event. Though it was daytime so me and my men could very well see what was coming our way. A single large vessel approached us on the horizon, and after a few moments it divided into four. At first, we thought they were simply following in a straight line, but we learned that this was not the case. The ships gradually scattered out and began to circle us as sharks do.”

“We had to think fast, if we raised a merchant’s flag, we could clearly be robbed of everything, the British flag, or the flag of any Royalty, then we would risk the ire of some rebel soul or another. Then we had almost decided on the brand of the Gearsmith, which is not commonly known, however from a previous adventure I had the benefit of acquiring such knowledge.”

“Before I raised our flag, I had a gut feeling. . . to take the brand of the Gearsmith and create a red dye and mix it with oil. We painted a giant red X over it.” The Gearsmiths were not aggressive, but to do something so outrageous could only compel the curiosity of our enemies.”

“At worst we would be arrested, but not attacked. At best we could easily explain that it was a ploy to save ourselves from a sudden assault. It worked and for some reason they did nothing, and slowly departed from us and allowed us to continue our journey.”

“I have heard rumors of these four ships though, I had not thought to inquire fellow Captains about such an event until I had encountered it myself. The four ships as it would appear, serve as multiple vessels that form into a much larger Juggernaut class vessel. They attack by circling their victim and unleash a torrent of massive harpoons into the ship’s hull, and slowly rip it to pieces. This has only been the case if demands are not meant, I fear for many lives if the Commander of these vessels attacked indiscriminately!”

“Aye, he certainly did!” Replied the sailor who nursed his stout, more for comfort than thirst.

“Do you know who the Captain of such a ship would be?!”

Oliver nodded his head. “That my fellow, would be Captain Silverbeard, the last Pirate of the Seven Seas.”