Fedaloup!

Since becoming the official lore-maker for the Black Sails, Enekos had access to restricted parts of the ship. On his many walks and chats over rum and other questionable juices, he’d found an old storeroom in the stern. It had a window – a real glass window. Quite large which suggested it was on the corner. A perfect writing space, where he could be left alone and far from the hustle and bustle of pirate life. Indeed, anyone seeking him out so far back from everyone else would need to navigate a series of twists and turns, undocumented crates and would surely have a good reason to be there.

Being so far back, Enekos missed much of the fighting. The battle cries would reach him. He’d react, by safely stowing his parchments, grabbing sharp pointy things and navigating said maze of corridors and undocumented crates, climbing stairs, and emerging into the end of a battle, whereupon Arcturus would often hand him a mop.

The moon glistened through the window of his chambers: the ship moored in a quiet cove, while groups of pirates disappeared to find fresh meat, vegetables, and rum. On the beach, campfires arose and flickered showing palm trees and the silhouette of a rock arch. This would be a pleasant place to wake up to – although the sight of 75 pirates armed to the teeth would probably raise questionable reviews in popular travel journals.

Enekos gathered his notebook, a quill, and some fresh ink disembarked, and headed for a campfire near some caves. As he approached, reflected fire bounced off the armour of some of those gathered. Three of them – each engaged in small, but seemingly important tasks. Enekos nodded, sat down on a log, and observed. After a few moments, another figure in armour approached.

“Fedaloup!” A voice erupted from one of three as the figure approached. It stopped and returned the greeting: “Fedaloup,” to which muffled laughter echoed from behind the other helmets. The man sat down and began showing some cards to the others. Rum was handed to Enekos who politely accepted and placed the mug to his lips. Enekos wasn’t a drinker for personal reasons, but he was also not about to disappoint his hosts – especially considering their battle armour and fearsome reputation.

“May I write your lore?” Enekos asked.

“Ah you honour me pirate Enekoth,” rasped one of the helmets. “I am Tirke dream land. Last of my clan. I am pirate from the begin. I do not remember life before. Flint bring me here. And I enjoy. So many bad people to kill. So many bags of gold to count. So many skulls to gather. So many to plunder. To take. They hate me lot. Ha ha ha ha.” It wasn’t a laugh, more of a statement.

Tirke continued: “Here is great atmosfere. People are very frendly; very active. Help each other. Help Tirke. I am rewarder. I first to war. Pay more to help. I advise of stabbing. Nothing interesting. Ha ha ha ha!”

Another of the shiny figures leaned forward and offered a card. “I am Tsar. Tsar IYI. I do not plunder. I snipe. From a distance and I take. I take quickly and silent. No one know I was there. No one knows how quickly I was there. I have secrets. I have unknown ways. This is my house. You like?”

Enekos studied the card. The house was sketched and appeared to be a collection of skulls. Enekos look back at Tsar, the fire crackled and any sane person would have been terrified. “It’s beautiful,” Enekos began which seemed to please Tsar immensely. “The skulls of mine enemy. Many I kill and they make my home.” Tirke and the others now offered their cards – each depicting different styles of skull homes.

Tirke continued: “Dis is … Darth. Darth is doctor. Darth help people die quick. Darth is good man. Dis is Omni. Omni is silent. Omni kill many!”

Behind him, Enekos heard the approaching shrill voice barking orders. It was unmistakably Bia and as Enekos turned to see the unfortunate manservant receiving a deluge of tasks, it struck him that Iansuv also wore the same armour.

“Fedaloup!” shouted Tsar, the rum making him sound much bolder and deadly.

Bia and lansuv stopped – the latter looked confused.

“Fedaloup,” offered Tsar once more. This time his hand moved towards the hilt of his sword. Iansuv looked briefly at Bia whose eyes were wide with a simple telepathic thought akin to “Say something, you idiot”.

“Fedaloup!!” Tirke was now standing.

Iansuv wasn’t sure what was happening, looked at Bia and back at Enekos who mouthed the word Fedaloup and Iansuv’s mind finally caught up. “Fedalup” he offered. You had one job Ian, thought Bia. One job.

Tirke looked at Iansuv and then at Tsar. He turned to Darth and Omni and repeated: “Fedalup” to which all four shiny metal killers laughed. They laughed so hard that Tsar fell to the floor, scattering the fire. Despite the heat, he lay there laughing and repeating “Fedalup.”

“Come my friends. We have to honour our god.” Tirke suggested that all the metal monsters, Enekos, Bia, and Iansuv follow him into the cave. It was lit by two flickering torches aside a painting surrounded by skulls. As his eyes became accustomed to the new light, Tirke, Tsar, Omni, and Darth kneeled before the altar and began chanting “Feh-dah-loup. Feh-dah-loup. Feh-dah-loup.”

Bia poked Iansuv in the ribs and gesticulated that he should join in. He kneeled and began chanting in chorus with the others. Enekos’ eyes fixated on the painting of the god. Hues of pinks and blacks of a maniacal looking being with… with… with…. Were they playing cards? Oh my god…. thought Enekos.

________

On the deck, Mr. Chief was huddled with Mr. Flint and Mr Leaf. Mr. Flint spoke first. “What do you know about our new visitor Iansuv?”