Britain, Trammel, Chesapeake (PaxLair Times) – April 7, 2011 – by Ashlynn – Whilst imbibing vast quantities of a strange green drink in one of Britain City’s seedier dives, I was approached by a scruffy man in his fifties with a glass eye and a large dirty-white beard. Claiming to be a sailor on board the merchantman Demeter, he said he recognized me as the infamous reporter from the Times and having read a recent article about Captain Blackfoot, wished to relate a tale to me.
Ahoy there Cap'n Blackfoot!
As it went, he and his crew had just picked up a few more “crimps” in Jhelom and were heading north to Britain and then onwards to Vesper. The sailor (I never did get his name) was up on deck enjoying something called a nipperkin before retiring for the eve when off in the distance amongst the broken coast of Southern Britannia, he was sure he spotted a small yawl pulled up onto a beach. Taking out his trusty spyglass (it had a name though I can’t remember what it was but I spent a good half-hour trying to get him to simply say spyglass) he took a closer look and “by the gods!” as he put it, “That there be ol’ bastard Blackfoot!”. And he was burying treasure too!
So of course I tried to get a location out of the old sea dog, but apparently he was so loaded to the gunwhales (whatever that means) that he couldn’t remember where exactly it was. But he was certainly sure of what he had seen. Buying the man a few more drinks didn’t help either and the last thing I remember was the old mariner passed out over a table perhaps choking on his own vomit. It was all a bit hazy at that point. Well, I must confess at just about every point, but ne’ermind.
Assuming the veteran buccaneer isn’t dead, perhaps one of my readers can get a little more out of him. You’ll probably find him getting drunk in Britain’s Salty Dog Tavern. That’s if he hasn’t gone on the account or something.