In the grand scheme of things, purchasing a pirate ship is a relatively simple task. You find some pirates, you haggle, you gesture, you threaten, you drink ale, and finally hand over some agreed upon amount of coins. I’m quite capable in this regard.

Taking said ship and docking it at your place of residence where we hit the tricky bit. In all the excitement, I turned a blind eye to a few key details.

Since my companionship with water has only consisted of a frolic in the bath or hot tub, and only on full moon Saturdays, whether I need it or not, I had neglected to recall that I do indeed get seasick.

This lead to the further oversight in that I am reminded I never mastered the art of using a bucket as a privy while on board a vessel. A bit of sneaky use behind the pub has never been a concern however.

I also failed to engage the services of a crew. I am multi-talented and multi-faceted in that I can dance and not spill my ale. I can kick and stab. I can run and scream. I can even bob and weave. However, I cannot steer and raise a sail at the same time. That is simply asking too much. It was therefore necessary to take on the pirates of Penmawr Island themselves, which unto itself wasn’t bad, except they tried out a variety of pirate names on me during the voyage.

Several of their choices were rather ridiculous. A handful were a dash insulting. And a couple were downright lies and a total fabrication of the truth!

They eventually gave up on choosing a pirate name, commenting that no one would every surrender to me, no matter what I called myself. They then turned their enjoyment to making me walk the plank for my every misuse of nautical terms. I lost count of how many times I went overboard.

After nearly catching my death and almost being eaten by a shark, they put me below deck and told me to string hammocks. On the bright side, I have learned a new skill and found a new hobby.

Lastly, and perhaps this should have been noted first, Stinging Tree Hollow is indeed a hallow. It is not Stinging Tree Isle, or Peninsula, or Bay, or Key. We have an admirable river, but having a river is not the same as having a navigable tributary.

Taking these into account, I see some flaws in my decision making paradigm. I may have embraced the pirate life a dash prematurely.

Alley listened to my clever plan to raise the water level of the Hollow to a sufficient depth for sea faring travel. Finding several flaws in my scheme, she opted for a different choice.

Alley is a genius when it comes to use of the block and tackle, the swing arm construction crane, and the scaffold.

After taking many measurements, adjusting for unusual angles, and the clever use of some leftover barrels, the somewhat rickety craft was skillfully guided over land and through the narrow waterways so that it is now properly dry-docked where I can undertake the necessary repairs to make it shipshape and bristol fashion. This will also allow me to take the time to engage the services of a proper crew that will listen to my orders and not cast me over the rail. Not to mention some lessons in the use of the bucket.

In retrospect I should have spoken to Anton and made arrangements in Kingsport, but the deed is done and there is no looking back.


Yes, it does have a few leaks, has been shot at, does show signs of some fire damage, has some stains of an origin I am unable to identify, and emits an odor that must be dealt with. But, when these minor sticking points are resolved, all shall fear the Marea Foetidissima.


Crikey, this is really high.


More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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