Marcel was halfway to Vulcano when he became caught in a hurricane . The fierce winds and hellish gales from the storm made him lose his course. Marcel practically scrambled to get back when suddenly, a crack of lighting hit the crows nest, causing it to break from the main mast. It landed right on top of the pirate, knocking him out.
When Marcel awoke, the storm had long since passed. The sky was clear and bright, the waters were calm, but something didn't seem right. He sat up and groaned. "Damn. How did I manage to stay outa the locker?" He got to his feet and looked towards the main deck to see the damage. "Merde..." he muttered. The main deck was reduced to a cavern. The sails were shredded. Marcel made his way to his cabin only to find...dust and cobwebs? The room looked as if it had been uninhabited for years. Everything was out of sorts from the storm and there was evidence of mold slowly creeping up the corner of one of the walls. Marcel returned to the main deck and went to the wheel that had miraculously stayed intact.
Hours passed. Finally, at sunset, Marcel spotted land. He didn't know what island it was and he didn't care. He knew there was food and a careening place and that was all he cared about. He reached land after nightfall and careened The Spectre on the beach. He hopped out and went in search of food.
He hadn't gone far when he came upon a clearing. There was a recently extinguished fire in the middle and three huts that had evidently been made in haste. There was a collection of firearms next to the third hut and a tattered flag mounted on a stick. As Marcel got closer, he saw it was English. "Well well well. Three servants of the Royal Swine, ay? Where there's pork, there's food." Marcel crept toward the first hut and slowly drew his sword. He stealthily opened the door and looked inside, expecting to see a dirty soldier asleep on a cot. Instead, to his surprise, there was not one cot, but FIVE. Each containing a small child. Marcel nearly dropped his sword.
He closed the door as quietly as he opened it and moved on to the next hut. He was greeted by the same sight, only this one had a small candle lit. From the dim light, Marcel could see that this hut was occupied by young girls, about 4 to 8 years of age most likely. Finally, he checked the last hut. "If it's another set of em..." he mumbled. He opened the door and found five cots but only four were occupied. Marcel drew a sharp breath, then relaxed. What was he scared of? Fourteen children and one adult? He remembered killing more men than he could count in one battle. After all, he WAS un-killable. Marcel laughed softly to himself as he closed the door.
Marcel suddenly had the funniest feeling of being watched. He kept his sword close, ready to strike. One would normally ask questions first and stab later but Marcel was a rebel. He learned the hard way that not everyone likes to be patient in these situations. He tried to pinpoint where his opponent might be and made sure he would only be seen from the back.
The soft sound of approach crept closer and closer till Marcel began to see his shadow grow from the dim, golden light of a lantern. His grip tightened, his breath went still.
Now.
Marcel whirled around to face the mystery person. He raised his sword to strike and was greeted with a high-pitched shriek and a small push from equally small hands. He grabbed one by the wrist with his free hand. With a quick jerk, he made the attacker drop the lantern and fall to the ground in pain. The chaos over, he knelt down to finally get a look at his prey.