Discovery Gaming Community

Joining the fight against the Gallic Hoard for some, is not easy. Criminal records, age restrictions, physical impairments or mental problems are reasons to excluded people from the ranks of the BAF/BPA, as unfit for duty. For those Bretonian Patriots still willing to fight, but not able to join her majesties armed forces, the only option is to make contact with a faction of the Privateers.

If you have made it to The Stede Bonnet, then you are one step closer to joining the fight against Gallia, but be warned, first impressions count. The place is dimly lit, and conversations are done in whispers. The regulars tend to be suspicious of any new face that shows up. Any misstep could lead you to being found face down floating in the New Thames River.


//ooRP
Screen Shot of Neutral/Friendliness to Bretonian Privateers required in your first post. Tell the Bartender "Thomas Tew" sent you, Thomas Tew being the discription to the link of the Screen Shot of your ship rep.

It is a quiet night in The Stede Bonnet. The air is thick with smoke and the conversations are hushed and in groups of no more than three people at each of the tables spread around the small, dimly lit but agreeable warm Pub.

At the end of the bar, a gruff man raises his hand. "Three more Liberty Ales Jack if you please."

One armed Jack, turns away from a worn out computer screen at the opposite end of the bar, gets up and proceeds to pull beers out of a floor cooler. His movements are difficult and labored from injuries sustained during the war with Kusari. He does not complain and actually feels lucky. Many others he has known never made it back planet side.

He opens the bottles one by one, grabs them all with his one remaining good hand and takes them to the end of the bar and sets them down.

"Any news from Leeds today Jack?" says the gruff man in an almost whisper.

One Armed Jack hesitates, and looks the man in the eyes and nods a negative. "Usually no news is good news, ain´t a runner been by here in over a week, so it must be bad getting in and out of there."

The three men stare out into their own thoughts for a few seconds, as Jack walks away. One of the three raises his bottle and says "To death to all Frogs", to which the entirety of the bar patrons join in with the response "May they burn in Hell". Bottles are heard clanking against each other, and the room goes back to its hushed conversations and somber mood.

A young man opens the door of The Stede Bonnet and walks in, swiftly moving towards where One Armed Jack is sitting at his computer screen. The Pub patrons all recognize the insignias on his uniform, a BMM communications lieutenant. They discretely watch as he leans over and whispers into the ear of the one armed bartender.

"What do you think it is about?" ask one of the three at the corner of the Bar, a tone of dread in his voice.
"I´d say it can´t be good news, otherwise he would have changed out of his uniform." responds the gruff man. " I gather we will know soon enough."

The whispering finishes, and the liutenant hurriedly walks to the Pub door and opens it, leans his head out looking both ways up and down the narrow street, having made sure his path was clear of anyone, he leaves, the door closing slowly behind him.

A few long seconds pass, the men at the corner of the Bar watch as One Armed Jack, reaches for a small shot glass and then to the top shelf for a bottle of good Whiskey. They were all surprised to see this as Jack was known for not drinking alcohol.

"Aye there Jack, something to celebrate yea?" ask the gruff man, a smile starting to form on his face.

"it is the Frogs, they have offered up terms of surrender." Jack says as he downs his shot and starts to pour himself another.

"Oiii did ya hear that boys...." The gruff man raises his voice with excitement. "The Frogs are surrendering."

The bar is overcome with muffled conversations and a few seconds of excitement at the possibility of victory and an end to the war.

One Armed Jack, finishes pouring the booze into his shot glass, drinks it and immediately throws it across the room, the glass smashing a picture on the wall and shattering itself on the floor. The brief excitement is crushed by the sound of the breaking glass and the actions of the bartender.

"SHUT it up you FOOLS, they have asked the Queen for OUR BLOODY SURRENDER."

A dreadful silence comes over everyone.

The door opened to The Stede Bonnet, a few of the bar patrons take notice of 4 men walking in, three of them with 2 cases each of what they supposed was alcohol. They looked rough and hardened.

At the Bar, One Armed Jack, gets up from his corner "office" behind the bar. He recognizes who it is immediately. "Gent´s, give them boys a hand if you please." He says to the three silent somber men sitting at the corner of the Bar. They get up, and walk over to the newly arrived group and help the men with the cases of booze and guide them towards the bar´s store room, while one man keeps walking towards the Bar.

One Armed Jack, gives the man a small smile of welcome, reaches for a whiskey tumbler, then opens his ice barrel and flicks in two ice cubes and proceeds to fill the glass with last bit of the best whiskey he has in stock. "Frank, I hope you brought more of the stuff you like, this is the last of it I have on hand." He says to the man he has come to know as Frank Gambit.

Over the past long few months, Frank Gambit had been a frequent visitor to the Pub, basically any time he was dropping off refugees and casualties, he would stop by and give the bartender the latest info on the situation on Leeds. For a Libertonian, he was more than well liked and trusted. One drunken night, before any at the bar knew of him very well, he became the instigator and financier behind their now common effort to help fund the resistance on Leeds and fight the Frog Hoard.

At the time, Gambit had come back from a run into Leeds, visibly shaken up by the events and in trying to drink it out of his memory challenged the 30 or so patrons of the bar to do more than just sit on their asses and sulk in stupor. He stumbled around throwing credits at everyone, yelling at them and shaming them with a whole slew of phrases best left unsaid in decent company, the gist of which was if it was money that would motivate them, then he had plenty of it, but that as he said at the time, "I dare any man to try and clean off the blood you see on my shoes, it belonged to a man I did not know, a fighting man...who is now dead, but who I respect a hell of allot more that you lazy bums." right before passing out and falling face down on the floor of the bar. He had won the all over right then at that moment.

"Jack, no worries my friend, I got enough of what the Pub needs waiting for pick up out at the docks, import tariffs paid for." he says. "As for you..." he reaches into the side pocket of a new and stiff leather flight jacket, and pulls out a three ounce package of weed, "this should help with your aches and pains." he says as he tosses it on the bar.

He picks up his half full tumbler of whiskey and takes a drink. " I got the transmission you forwarded to me, what is it them fracking bureaucrats want now?"

One Armed Jack, discreetly pulls the bag off weed off of the bar and tucks it into a shelf underneath it. He begins to pull out six beers out of the cooler and open them, placing them slowly one by one on a round serving tray. "Well, they seem to be asking, as to why we cannot server the realm as Merchant Marines or in the Medical Corps, and are somewhat inclined to be worried that we would be using children in some sort of way."

He pauses, and motions to one of the men who had helped the ones that came in with Frank, to come and pick up the tray full of beers. "Plus, we have gotten word that the damn frogs have asked the Queen for our bloody surrender or face the consequences... and they seem intent on wanting a name to put behind the face of the privateers." He stops talking, as a man comes and takes the tray of beers away.

One Armed Jack, reaches for a knife he has in a leather sheath hanging from his belt, opens it and kneels down underneath the bar for a few seconds. He gets to his feet again and puts some of the herb on the bar along with a pack of rolling papers. "Do a one armed man a favor, and get a spliff started for me and seeing as you are the brain child behind this fracas, what do you want to do Frank?"

Frank picks up the weed and papers and starts to twist up some pain relief for the old man. He thought about it for a few seconds as he did.

"Tell them what you think they need to know. That we are low down dirty bunch of rotten scoundrels, but that we are their scoundrels. Tell them you are the point of contact person and communications lead, that Elaine Dunn is our logistics and operations person based on Ironhead Industries and that I am....the money man."

He finished the spliff, lit it and took a drag, then passed it over to Jack. "Best stick to the truth as much as you can, from the hubbub I heard walking over here, it does not sound like they are in a position to turn anyone down who is willing to fight, the New London space port looked liked the last day of the vacation season on Curracao, everyone trying to beat the heavy lane traffic out of here. Anyways, there still an open cot in the store room? I need to get some sleep."

Jack took the spliff, and nodded a yes to Frank, and with that Frank headed off to the store room to try and get some rest.

Between tending the bar, and typing up a response to the "Privateer Administration", Jack´s one hand had grown pretty tired, arthritic and stiff. He was lucky to have the medicinal "Herbs" Frank had brought him. He packed more of it into a small wooden pipe and lit it. He looked over at the man standing by door to the storeroom.

"Frank still sleeping?" he asked, watching the man slowly open the door to a crack and peak in, then closing the door and nodding an affirmation. One Armed Jack, pulled a beer from the cooler and without opening it, tossed it to the man standing guard, making sure Frank got some needed rest while he could. "Wake him in three hours if he is not up."

"YOU wake him in three hours," said the man as he grabbed the bottle of beer on the fly and proceeded to open it with the edge of a lighter he pulled from his pocket. "I do not want my head shot off, Franks is not an agreeable bear to wake and he sleeps with a pulse gun in his hand."

Frank had gotten some very needed rest while waiting for a response from the Bretonian Government. The few days waiting had given him time to think of the next moves he would need to make.

He sat at the bar looking down at the document that gave them a pseudo sense of legality in being able to do things not quite legal in the effort to fight the Frogs.

He looked up from his seat at the corner of the bar and smiled at One Armed Jack. "Well, seems the hard part is over with, damn bureaucracy.." He tossed The Letter of Marque on the bar. "Make sure every ship gets and keeps a copy of this on board. I might be gone for a few weeks Jack."

He saw the puzzled look on the old bartenders face that seemed to asked where and why. "Easy there Jack, I am going out to try and make some new friends, we are going to need them. In the meantime, you keep things steady here, and Dunn seems to have a grip on things over at Ironhead Station, so there should not be any problems."

One Armed Jack, reached for two shot glasses and a bottle of Molly Brown. "Well, I guess it is best not to know all the details..." he said as he poured out the two shots. "..but it would be nice have a hint of where you are headed." He finished pouring and put the bottle of whiskey away on it top shelf.