James Edwards woke up on the shore of the sandy Caribbean island beach. The side of his face was wet and covered in sand, the sun smoldering his tan English skin. Edwards flopped onto his back and coughed up some water.
James Edwards was a vicious “privateer,” a merciless ship captain who took mighty risks when it came to epic loot. He stood, scanning the beach for any sign of his crew, but nary a man to be found, only the piece of driftwood he floated from the wreckage on. He feared the worst for his faithful crew of cut throats and degenerates, even Edwards was surprised he made it out alive. In the vice grip of the beast of legend, not many a man can make it out.
James felt weak, if he were to survive, he needed to scout out the island. Edwards started towards the tropical forest behind him, but as soon as he took his first step foward a sharp pain overtook his body, bringing the captain to his knees. He threw his hand to his side, feeling a tremendous pain, yet not feeling the warmth of his blood running through his fingers. He poked at his bare chest, trying to find the origin of the stinging He poked his lower left rib cage, and the pain overtook him. He was brought to his knees coughing and hacking, shooting off his mouth, as bad as the sailor he was. “Its just a little pain, James,” he thought to himself, “you’ve had worse.” He lifted himself up, fighting the pain of his shattered ribs, moving toward the forest. He trudged through shrub and branch for a good mile, Edwards was thirsty, tired, wounded. He started to shuffle his bare feet, barely lifting them from the ground, eyes closing, drifting away. The pirate suddenly slammed into a piece of wood. No not just wood. This was a wall. A wall with a window? “A building?” Edward asked himself aloud, not expecting a response.
But what he was not expecting, he got in a gruffy british voice. “Aye, you’re in New Iguana, mate.”
Edwards looked over to see a large man with a thick black beard, armed to the teeth, pointing a gun at him. James jumped back, in alarm.
“Relax, I ain’t gonna kill ye,” the man told him, unconvincing to Edwards, whom the man was still waving a firearm at, “I heard you coming for half a mile, thought you may be British Navy, but you don’t look live Navy.” Edwards, still untrusting, remained silent. “Are you Navy?”
Edwards refused to speak, he couldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, and judging by the man’s brutish size, and James’ current condition, didn’t seem like it would be very far.
“Names Thatch,” He holstered his weapon, “Edward Thatch.” He put his hand out, Edwards remained cautious. “What’s your’s, mate?”
“Edwards,” He said with some reserve, “James Edwards.” Thatch let out a loud airy laugh, lowering his hand.
“Aye a pirate! I’d shoot ye if I weren’t one meself.” He said, letting out another laugh. “I’ve heard of you lad, the fearsome pirate captain who took a man o’ war single handed down up in english waters, ain’t ye?”
“Aye.” Edwards said.
“Excellent! You’re a real beast ain’t ye Edwards! You even look like you crawled out of the jungle, mate. Let’s head to town shall we?”
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Edwards and Thatch sat in the New Iguana tavern, Edwards all cleaned up and in more acceptable clothing.
“So what is this place?” James asked.
“This place is a haven,” Edward responded, loud music and ruckus from the tavern causing him to speak a bit louder than when they first met, “this place is freedom, freedom for us pirates to rest, sleep, eat, drink, away from British rule.
“Which begs a burnin’ question in my mind, why are you here, mate? I know you didn’t just dock at the back of the island, and judging by how ye looked when I found you in the forest back there, whatever happened wasn’t pretty.”
“We were sunk,”
“An awfully lucky place to wash up ain’t it?” Thatch laughed and took a swig of his rum.
“I wasn’t finished, we weren’t sunk by British or Spaniard, nor pirate or bounty hunter.” Edwards said, looking down at his drink, before downing it in one gulp.
Thatch leaned in, “then what were it, mate?”
Edwards looked Thatch square in the eye, and said the one word every seafaring man or woman feared the most, “Kraken.”
“Kraken?” Thatch was surprised. “In the Caribbean? Did you lose your mind while driftin’ out there, lad?”
“No, it was the beast, here, just a couple hundred knots out of Kingston, me and my boys were headed there when we were attacked.”
“And you were the only one who survived this, Kraken attack?”
Before Edwards was able to answer a man broke down the door to the tavern, calling for Thatch. He was a young tan man, presumably a crewman on one of the ships.
“Captain! A man just washed up on the shore of the docks, we don’t think he’s British.”
Thatch stood from his seat, “Well this little conversation will have to wait won’t it?”
Edwards stood, and they walked out of the tavern.
They walked down the sunny little haven of New Iguana, to talk to the drifter. They were walking at a hurried pace. “Could he be one o’ yours?” Thatch asked Edwards, maintaining a brisk pace.
“What are the odds of that, mate?” James responded, doubtfully. Thatch made a noise in response, though Edwards couldn’t make out what it was. When they made it to the docks, the sheer amount of ships beckoned James’s attention, but one particularly caught his eye. A large merchant ship, equipped with at least forty cannons, with a cursive name plastered on the side, alas James couldn’t read cursive so he wasn’t about to strain himself trying. He made the assumption it was Thatch’s, the brutish, black bearded man. Thatch appeared to be the governor of the small tropical island, though Edwards wasn't entirely sure New Iguana were governed.
Edwards’ thought was interrupted by Thatch’s voice, “Well the lads alive at least.” Thatch pointed at the tan young man with long black knelt down on the beach. There were four other sailors circled around him, weapons all pointed towards him.
“Let me go you bloody morons,” the boy taunted his captors, “I’m not British.”
“Save it for the Cap'n, dog!” The largest of the four men yelled, yet nowhere comparable to Thatch in size or ferocity.
Thatch and Edward’s approached the huddle, and Thatch barked at the sailors to move. The captive saw the rugged men, and locked eyes with Edwards. “Ah, James, fancy meeting you here.”
“James, ye know this man?” Thatch asked.
“Aye, he’s my first mate.”