Stranded(open for now)

It had been one hell of a storm.

Yakuba, a former slave turned assassin, opened his eyes. He heard shouting, the waves crashing, and crying. He blinked, and sat upright, and took in his surroundings. A fresh shipwreck. On a beach. Only island in sight. He stood up, but fell onto one knee, but grunted; he had a 6 inch-long wooden splinter in his side.

Obi Yakuba, who was technically free, was on a merchant ship back to Nassau, all the way from the coast of modern day Brazil. There were merchants, mercenaries, assassins, and a few noblemen. A storm hit, and that sent their ship crashing into an unknown island.

From the start, the people on the ship gave him a hard time; racial slurs, dirty looks, and there had been a few attempts at murder. Yakuba was an assassin, so this was of no burden.

Yakuba took another step. "Hello?" He called out, and saw around 20 other people alive, some looking at the shipwreck, some consoling others. Yakuba still had all his weapons, as they never left his side, and he took his hood off, to reveal a mocha face with dreads.

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard "You filthy black animal! God reigned this terrible misfortune on us because of you!" Yakuba barely had time to duck as a rapier passed over his head. He rolled forward, wincing, and drew a harpoon off his back. There he faced Snatcher, a notoriously racist mercenary/pirate. "Please, Snatcha, stop this." Yakuba pleaded, blood running freely from his wound. Snather snarled, and thrust his sword at Yakuba. He easily parried with his harpoon, but he was slower due to his puncture.

A young woman had been watching from the bushes, carefully examining the situation. She was short on crew after a run in with the British, and was looking for new men. She heard the racist remarks from the man identified as Snatcher, and when she saw him poised to kill, she knew she had to take action. The young woman took aim with her rifle, and pulled the trigger, Snatcher falling immediately.

She emerged from the shadows, her black robes fluttering as she walked. The design of her robes showing that she was of high rank, perhaps a Master Assassin. She made her way to the young black man, lowered her hood, and held out her right hand to help him up; she wore the ring of a Master Assassin on her index, and a burnt Templar Grand Master ring on her middle.
"Are you alright, brother" the woman asked with genuine concern in her voice.

Yakuba winced, and offered a smile. "I tink so, m'lady." He grabbed her hand, and stood up. "But was it necessary to kill h-" He saw the ring of the templars on her hand, and almost frowned, but said nothing. "w-was it necessary to kill him? Surely jail would have been a suitable punishment?" He joked. "Obi Yakuba. And who is ma savia?"

"I do not tolerate racism, and it looked like he was going to kill you. My name is Elizabeth Shay, and I'm not one of them." Elizabeth thought for a moment, his name was familiar to her for some reason. Her father, Edwin Shay, a Grand Master, had been murdered by his own order for freeing the slaves he was meant to be trading, as well as marrying an Assassin. She looked him over, and saw his wound. "Come with me, I'll see to your wound."

Yakuba was hesitant at first. It was possible that she was an assassin and she killed a templar, or, perhaps the other way around. Nevertheless, he had no choice but to trust her; he was stranded on this unknown island, and he had a large puncture in his side. He nodded. "Thank you, miss, but it is no trouble for me to tend to myself, " he added, trying to be polite.

"Just let me help you" Elizabeth said with a sigh. Her men started coming out of the bushes, helping the wounded, and leading them through the bushes, while others carried off any loot they could find. There were a few black men, and two women. Some wore robes of the Assassins, others wore common sailing clothes. "I've got ointments and herbs that'll prevent infection, and some that'll help the pain. I'll stitch you up good and proper, and treat your wound."

Yakuba noticed the helping hands, and grew wary, but held his composure. He bowed his head. "Thank you, m'lady Shay. There are good people on that were on this boat." He felt a little more comfortable that there were assassins around him, but if experience had told him anything, it's that help comes at a cost. "My name is Obi Yakuba," He said in his deep voice.

"Tell me, mister Yakuba, were you freed by a man by the name of Edwin Shay about fourteen years ago" Elizabeth asked curiously as she examined Yakuba's wound. Her hands were callused from hard work, and a Templar Cross was branded on her hand. She didn't act like a Templar, she was too kind to belong to their Order.

Yakuba shook his head. "I am not sure. We were on a plantation in Nassau, and from what I heard, there was some sort of commotion. Perhaps a raid. My brother and I took advantage, and escaped." He paused. "I think it was your father. Some of the slaves said there was a man with a red cross. A templar. But we were captured by templars, so that didn't add up, " he added, as he watched Elizabeth examine him, and ran a hand through his dreads. "And you are correct, m'lady Shay. 14 years ago."

"My father was a Templar, Grand Master of the Irish rite. Murdered by Torres when I was seven because he freed slaves, and married and had a child with an Assassin." Elizabeth wiped a tear from her eye before putting on a plastic smile. "Let's head to my ship so I can tend to your wound."

Yakuba nodded, but made no mistake; this woman was obviously trained. The rifle shot, the templar background, and the fact that she's still alive, made her dangerous. "If it weren't for your father, I doubt I would be alive today. I honor him," he said as he stood up, grimacing. He could see the pain in her eyes, but only because he wore that mask as well. "So, are you now a pirate? Or still a templar? Or perhase...?"thing else...?"

"I am a pirate, and a Master Assassin, I never was a Templar. There are quite a few Assassins who don't like having the daughter of a Templar amongst their ranks. Most of 'em think I'll betray them" Elizabeth said as she led the way to her ship. The ship was a grand brig with a black hull, gold finishes, and blood red sails. The flag at the top depicted a dragon skull crushing a human skull. Some of the men that had been rescued had decided to sail with Elizabeth, the rest would be dropped off at the nearest port. Elizabeth disappeared into her quarters briefly and emerged with a small chest a few moments later. "Please, take a seat" Elizabeth said as she gestured to a barrel in the corner before opening the chest and finding the things she needed to take care of Yakuba's wound.

Yakuba sat down, and looked around at the ship. It was very grand indeed. He watched the crew, and decided that the people around him were of no harm. He also realized how odd he looked, a 6 foot thick man sitting on a barrel. He chuckled quietly, and brushed the dreads out of his face, wincing.

Elizabeth cleaned out Yakuba's wound, carefully removing any debris before pouring some alcohol over the wound. She carefully threaded a needle and began stitching up the wound. Elizabeth rubbed a strange ointment on the wound, and placed a bundle of herbs against the wound before applying a bandage.
"Should be good in a few days" Elizabeth said before sterilizing the equipment, and putting everything back in the chest.

Yakuba put his robes back on, and bowed his head. "Tank you, M'lady." he flexed his abdominals under his robes, it hurt. He sighed, and looked around the vessel. "This is quite a ship you have, as well as the crew. How did you come by them?"

"This was my father's ship, stole it from a Templar about a year back. Some of the men sailed with my father, some were freed by my father and decided to sail with me to honour his memory, and the rest were just good men looking for jobs" Elizabeth said proudly. She was proud of everything she had achieved, having literally worked her way up from the bottom. She would never forget her days living in the swamps of Nassau, fighting to survive, and the cruelty she had endured at the hands of the Assassins. "You are welcome to sail with us, or we can drop you off at a port of your choice" Elizabeth said as she fixed her hair, and put on her black leather tricorn hat with red lace trims.

Another unordinary day has passed in Dewl's ever so complicated life as a newly appointed Grand Master of the Templar Order. He had just finished a top-secret mission in Brazil involving a dirty nobleman, a barrel of rum and a vial of homemade experimental hallucinogen that he concocted this morning out of pure boredom and curiosity. The result of the whole ordeal had the right amount of absurdity to it, in which Dewl greatly takes pride in. Basically, the target had a bad habit of drinking too many rum in his spare time. Why? Well nobody knows for sure. Perhaps the stress of his work can only be relieved by the bitter taste of alcohol, or maybe he's just an unprofessional idiot who just likes to slack off. Either way, he got what he deserved. Hours before he starts his routine, Dewl expertly tampered with the nobleman's private barrel of rum. He mixed it with the experimental hallucinogen and then set out to find a vantage point from which he can see the effects of his handiwork firsthand.

"I cannot believe he died while f-ing a tree in open view."

Dewl said to himself while shaking his head in disbelief. He must have put in a much bigger dose of the rare psychotropic herb than expected. There was a 20 minute delay before the effect started to take hold of his target. He calculated that the man had probably already drank around three glasses of rum by then. Lucky guy, he thought. To die high and drunk as a kite is a much better way to go than being stabbed or shot in the head, right? It redefines the art of killing (and dying) and avoids the cliche. His target had thought that the tree in front of his house was an angel sent from God to provide him with a new kind of pleasure, a heavenly one. Unfortunately for him, the hallucinogen had a time limit and while he was on the brink of ejaculating, his heart stopped due to the clogging of the blood in his arteries. It takes a decent knowledge of chemistry to know the mixture that can contain a viper venom long enough before spreading it slowly around the body midway through the hallucination... or just pure luck. But a job well done is a job well done.

Dewl was now walking towards the port where a merchant ship will be waiting to take him to Nassau. It's a very unimpressive vessel, no eye catching decorations, no intimidating ship captain with a black long beard, no attractive Hispanic women who can dance as elegantly in the pub as they are in bed, nothing. This high and very unrealistic expectation had caused Dewl to unconsciously let out a deep sigh. "You can't have everything," he said under his breath "but at least you'll get paid." After a few minutes of mindless staring at the open sea and the occasional daydreaming, the first mate finally called out from the deck, he was telling all the people who were going to Nassau to get on-board immediately as the ship was about to leave. "Well, it's finally time for me to get some rest." Dewl straightened up his overcoat, hanged his cane on his shoulders and went up the wooden pathway towards the, again, very unimpressive vessel.

Shortly after the ship had begun its departure, Dewl entered a mild sleep-like state. It's the kind of sleep where you keep on shifting between the realm of dreams and reality, which in turn creates a very unpleasant sensation when you wake up. He can hear and smell everything that's going on around him, but the visions in his head were as vivid as the murky waters of a lagoon. A few hours later, he felt water dripping onto his skin at a stable rhythm, this didn't bother him one bit and he continued his half slumber. Then in a span of a few seconds, it abruptly changed into a barrage of tiny irritating droplets. "Oh for f-cks sake!" He cursed loudly as he woke and wiped his face with the collar of his overcoat. "Give me a bloody break will you God?!" The rest of the crew were understandably terrified of the thunderstorm at hand, they were also very confused of how Dewl doesn't seem to be showing any sign of fear in his eyes like the rest of them. Their consensus was probably that he was borderline crazy, but that wasn't true at all. He was actually just sleep deprived.

Thunders growled, winds howled, people rolled, everything was turning into a disaster. The ship's sails began burning after being struck by a stray lightning and the wood tiles on the deck began to peel off as it's blown away by the harsh winds. All the while Dewl was still cursing at God from the center of the ship, holding on as tightly as he could to his cane as it attaches itself to a pillar nearby. "In my last dying moments, I hope and pray that there'd be no afterlife." A man next to him prayed. Dewl took a good look at him and with a confused look and asked "That doesn't make any sense. How can you pray for no afterlife? It's quite contradictory, don't you think?." Caught off guard by Dewl's words, the man realigned his train of thoughts and realized his folly. He decided that he will now only hope for the absence of an afterlife, not pray for it.

KRATOM!

Another lightning has struck inches away from Dewl's face, he can feel a tingling static sensation coursing through his back. This odd stimuli that's being experienced by him was unfortunately cut short, for what was once the center of the ship was now a giant hole and they were now all sinking into their demise. Dewl managed to let out one final word before going unconscious from the lack of air going through his lungs as he goes deeper and deeper into the deep blue. The word was a simple one, "Bollocks!"

*Cough* *Cough*

Dewl took a long deep breath, water was pouring out of his mouth like a form of clear vomit. It took him awhile to readjust his breathing pattern to a steady state, but after a few tries, he was finally able to do it. Dewl started to look around at his surroundings. He analyzed every corner, every item, every detail that he can set his eyes on. This was definitely a brig and quite a familiar one as well. The black, gold and red color palette, the dragon skull crashing a human skull flags, the ironically easy to spot Assassin insignia. This was definitely the ship of the famous pirate assassin known as Elizabeth Shay. He had read much about her in his spare time, though he could never have imagined to cross paths with her under these peculiar circumstances. For now, it is safe to assume that the assassins do not know of his true identity. His Templar cross on his sword is safely hidden behind the obsidian sheath that is his cane. He doesn't have it with him now though. He must've lost it after he drowned, carried away by the harsh waves. If the crew of this ship happened to stumble upon it, Dewl hoped that they didn't bother to examine it to great detail.

Dewl slowly rose up from the floor he was laying on and approached one of the crew members nearby. "Excuse me, my name is William Dosset, a merchant from Bristol. Would you happen to see or acquire one of my belongings? It's an obsidian walking cane. As you can see, I am quite old. So it is rather hard for me to walk without it." This was it, he put on his best sad old man look and hoped for the best.