Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Thoughts: Piracy through the ages


Pirates. As long as there’s been people to obsess over them, these nautical ne’er-do-wells have pillaged, shot, and sailed their way into both our hearts and our wallets. I thought I’d veer from my usual inclination today and talk a bit more in-depth about these dastardly lads. This decision sparked when a former associate of mine remarked ‘It sure would have been nice to be free like the pirates past.’
So, while he roasts over an open flame I thought I’d venture out onto the network of ignorance and make sure people know what’s what. Because I’m such a good guy. On with the show!

Nothing quite like a bit of a history delve, and what better way to start then by going all the way back to..



The Antiques

I don’t mean your grandmother’s old vase, though it may certainly apply as a pirate’s treasure by itself. No, I mean much further back then a simple purchase at some lofty old store.

While we can assume piracy has been around since man first discovered that sticking a sail on a long floating piece of wood made it float faster, the first recorded acts of piracy came from no other place than Greece.

Yes, Greece. Those freedom-loving democrat city-states that spent all day making assumptions about what sort of grape a man should eat to be at his best intellectual state were hardy pirates.

The Romans weren’t far behind, when it became time to unify the land under a single despicably organized banner. There was quite a bit of piracy going on in the Mediterranean during the rule of the various emperors, and we can only assume they had the same die-hard strategic cunning as their soldier counterparts on land.

Where did they all operate then?
The Mediterranean mostly, looting and pillaging the many coastal towns and the ships that desperately needed to transport goods from one dysfunctional city to another for the whole idea at a whole to work. They were to be found along every roman supply line however, and as far up as what was then called Britannia (Guess where it is.) was raided by Irish pirates, which I assume looked badass.

Natural predators?
Naturally, hehe. Their own people seems to have actually been their worst fears and best place of recruitment at the same time! In fact Julius Ceasar, the famous emperor himself was captured by the scurvy seadogs in 75 BC. He upheld a calm and polite attitude with his captors, and had supposedly become quite friendly with them to boot! When they set a ransom for 20 gold to release him, Ceasar himself suggested they raise it to at least 50, which the hapless pirates did. The ransom was paid, and the now released emperor raised a super-army of vengeful soldiers to destroy the pirate fleet he'd made good chums with prior to their inevitable demise. Maybe they weren't so dangerous after all.

Like this, but with more pirate.



The Vikings

Now we're talking! I know what most of you are thinking; Vikings aren't pirates, they're badass religious warriors that rape and plunder, and travel over the seas spreading fear. Oho, yes indeed, and that is exactly why they're pirates. They practically flew over the seas in well-crafted, fast and sleek ships to bring themselves over almost all of the then explored old world, and garnered a reputation for kicking ass and making killer drinks.

So where did they operate?
All over the western world. They reached as far as Africa, and they brought their skullkicking with them wherever they went. Fearless savages whom invoked the powers of long forgotten gods, and chances are their gods were pirates too, if the stories of their ventures are to be trusted.

Natural predators?
Their wives. While piracy was and likely still is a profession sorely dominated by men needing to extend their ego beyond their pants, it's likely these burly scandinavian warriors were whipped when they got back home. Women ruled just about everything in the private home, just like any man who's seeking to prolong the time he is allowed to touch his wife will argue is what is good for everyone. Imagine being a boisterous brawler of the seas, feared in every country and praised by your own, only to come home and get hit over the head because you didn't bring enough gifts for your children. Now that is scary. Other than this possibility however, Vikings did have one large predator. Christianity. The new modern thing surged up into Scandinavia and quickly became the new rage. Suddenly you didn't have to keep track of the droves of gods anymore, and all you had to do in return was put the battleaxe down and ask for forgiveness.


I would forgive this guy any day. Just look how happy he is.




Golden Age of Piracy

This is where it's at! When colonies came to the American continents, and the spaniards, dutch and british really started to settle down, a notorious rise in piracy began, and thus started the glorious reign of buccaneers and majestic pirates whom we today look up to and love, regardless of movies with Johnny Depp in them! Here come the intriguing legends of so called great pirate captains like Blackbeard and Bartholomew Roberts and those other guys I cannot ever be bothered to name. They were also decidedly 'free-spirited' and 'idealistic' if today's pirate-loving youth is to be trusted.

So where did they operate?
Absolutely everywhere. Pirates were now spreading freely with the rise of ever bigger and sturdier vessels. The most affected area in the world however, is said to have been the Caribbean, where there at times seems to have been more pirates than actual traders according to the stories, though such rumours are probably (sadly) hyperbole.

Natural Predators
Their diet. Now more than ever, with the coming of ever longer times at sea, came the lovely disease known as scurvy, which does nasty work to your body, including your teeth, forever ruining your chances at becoming a moviestar like every pirate secretely wants.

Other predators include carpenters, whom would reportedly hack the legs off of unwitting sleeping pirates and replace the demolished limb with a piece of wood for the laughs, every other pirate out there, and hatmakers, who put the kill in skill, at least as far as hats are involved.

Without a hat, parrot, and leg like this, you are not a proper pirate. The gun looks pretty sissy though.




Modern Piracy

So now we went past the whole phase that'd sooner or later evolve into something you'd apparently want in your bed more than when they forced their way in there. However as time went on and the Old World started getting guarded by big battlecruisers with the ability to shoot anything larger than an average-sized european swallow carrying a medium load out of the sky and/or sea at the drop of a hat. And boy did hats start dropping. So much in fact that pirates started to use other headgear like bandanas or, believe it or not, nothing at all.

So where do they operate?

Unguarded waterways, mainly, though you likely find some greedy seadog stupid enough to attack the coast of Germany, or some other super-powered meganation head on. The largely uncontrolled seas surrounding Somalia are particularly affected, and the rather frequent luxury liners seem to have a penchant for sailing straight into a heady pirate with an AK-47.

Natural Predators
Increasing oil prices. Military vessels. Tanker boats large enough to just ram them into the sea. Though personally I suggest not going there on pleasure cruises, and eventually they'll just get bored and work at McDonalds instead.


Yarr! Ye scurvy landlubbers be no match for my repeatin' blunderbuss!


Pirate Democracy

So what's all this about freedom, then? Contrary to popular belief, not even in a crew were pirates free, though they usually held to their own ways. To this day most pirate crews have their own version of democracy onboard, with both voting up a Captain, and making certain people get what they want. I can't wait for election day, right?

Pirates still had it pretty terrible, and the choices weren't many. You either voted forward the guy with the biggest smile and the quickest get-rich-scheme, or you stuck to land and got hung by the authorities for being a seadog. In fact mutiny was pretty frequent, so this democracy gig can't have worked very well.


Net Pirates

In our entry into the information age, we deal with a new type of seaborne predator, the net pirates. These former landlubbers are devious experts at their craft, and will sharply destroy anyone who gets in their way. There is no cure, though every government and corporation tries their best. There is no stopping them from stealing copyrighted material, and sharing it to their evil pirate buddies in perverse and charitable gangrape of the dubious morals the corporations are so intent to claim they have.

Where do they operate?

The Sea of Information, the Great Web of Lies, Cthulhu's abode, Internet, Lolcat domain of the Stars.

Natural Predators

They have none. In their natural, virtual habitat they are unstoppable, and just at that, will stop at nothing to destroy everything you hold dear in the name of twisted liberties associated with their ruleless internet. Protected by anonymity and terrible spelling, these scurvy dogs are a terrible presence in our lives.

However, should you stumble on one in person, just ask him what he thought about the Emperor destroying the Death Star in 'That Star Trek Movie' and punch him in the face while he huffs angrily over your provocation.

This ferocious criminal will rape your homes and burn your women if given the chance.


Future Piracy

Yes, even in the future piracy will be common as dirt. In a society where everything is readily supplied at the easiest of notions, where energy is free of charge, and where the cities are all super-powered utopias run by multi-national corporations, pirates will still find some way to thrive. It's likely that when derived of their wants to be free, and plunder the needed resources, only one thing will fuel their rage. They will think it's funny.
The future generation of sea-raider will do it all to get a laugh out of it. And there's nothing we can do to stop them.

Artists rendition of the future pirates.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Short Story: Sanguine Breath by Wee Coo Beastie

Drip. Twenty seconds left, give or take a few breaths. I know it. I can feel it in the simple, fierce heat that numbs my skin as it burns. Drip. It'll not be long. I don't know how deep that spear went, but I can't feel my ribs any more. Probably a blessing, really. I wouldn't like to feel it. Drip. That red stream several feet above me.. below me? I know that's my blood. But I'm looking at it as if I'm looking at a flickograph back home. Drip. That sound, is really getting to me. Every few seconds, I can hear my life thudding into the ground. It had begun as a steady stream, now just blobs onto the ground in spheres in a volume so loud it hurts my ears. Drip.

The leaves are covered in it. I can't move my arms any more, and I can't tell if it's loss of blood, being hung upside down, or because they cut me too deep. For a while, I'd been able to wiggle my toes too. But, that'd gone as the rope cut off circulation. I wonder where Jones and Newman are? Drip. Far away from here, I sincerely hope. It's strange. After the panic and the mind numbing fear, I'm calm. Okay, I'm talking to myself in my head, so surely I've flipped my lid, but I'm calm. Maybe I'll go to heaven. Drip.

There it is. That feeling just before passing out. Like I'm suddenly looking through a tunnel, and everything's far away. From here, my arms look like skinny trees with red ribbon trailing from them. And that noise...where's the whistling coming from? Like a kettle but much...higher pitched. I feel like I'm being picked up, though I'm numb everywhere and...i can still see the ground. There's a light, now.. it looks..warm. Inviting. It's getting closer. Am I hall...ucinating? Or is this it....? It.....-is- warm..... ..... .... Drip.


This was written by Wee Coo Beastie in a cruel attempt to cheer me up. Since it worked, it begs the question what sort of person I am. (A very nice and also generous one, my assistant will back this up, at least after a few lashes of the good old whipmachine.)

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Short Story: A Cold Fate (Part 1)

'Hold the blighted line!' The call runs through the quivering ranks bolstered only by fresh recruits and wounded men just as fresh off a stretcher. Coldflame and the plague wasn't what he'd expected when he signed on for yet another tour and declined further rest as his status freely supplies him with.

Another dragon made solely of bone and dark magic passes above, a searing wave of cold obliterating another newblood unlucky enough to hold his head up over the trench. Each death cut into the raven-haired man's soul with biting fury, a heckling of life. Were they not careful, they'd fight their own at sunset.

'Get your ass back down, Sergeant!' A sharp tackle of forged metal smashes into the distant man as his Captain shoulders him to the ground. A numb pain, almost a salvation in itself from the icy cold. It was the desert all over again, only now his friends lost themselves in the snow, and not the sand. Glazed eyes scan over his already rising superior, stunned to see him care for anyone but himself.

Cassian scrambles from the ground weakly, the armour offering a measly assurance of protection from the weapons of mortals only hampering him further as it had this far. The only reason to wear it was paltry shielding against the bites of the unliving, and even then you'd manage just long enough to have your face torn off instead. Chaos surrounds him entirely. They're not even truly in combat, and they're facing heavy losses. The sweep of bone dragons above, and the occassional swarm of living corpses still carrying the insignias that mark them out as Cassian's old friends and companions. Barely anyone was alive that he knew. New faces came every day, and vanished just as fast. This is hell, and we're not even close to any 'Gate'.

That he was alive was a mere stroke of luck. There was no being exceptional in these cold wastes. No heroes from the south as he and his friends had been told they were. Certainly, when they came in on the boat, the already present took to a morale boost, and you'd find the occasional soldier who asked about the legendary 7th who'd staved off the end of the world before, assumingly.

It faded just as quick however. Recruit or veteran, you fell to the cold. The unnatural breaths of the sky-kings. You too, would rise as a soldier in the army you fight to destroy, the moment you gave up. And everyone gives up. In this place, your spirit falls the first day. Cassian shudders, another breath exuded slowly. Not even a day of warmth and comfort would save him from returning to this.
Warmth. The mere word makes his stomache churn and his throat yearn for something other than water that'll freeze your veins solid. The keep they had left behind them in the safety of the mountains, a whole town built in the icy north, seemed so far away, long lost to the storming winds and the hidden glaciers trapping them ever further north. That their maps were blank didn't exactly help either.

'Incoming!' A young soldier screams at the top of his lungs, trudging through the heavy walls of snow before the trenches in an effort to cast himself back into safety. Cassian only finds him with his eyes in time for the youngling to see his call rewarded by a sweeping shape from the sky, another black monstrosity hidden in the deadly winds. Claws and bone clasp onto the helpless man, and his screams for help vanish into the howling night before anyone can truly muster some sort of defence or aid. Cassian's greatest fright comes at the notion that he'd expected it well and truly.

The warning rings true, however. Silhouettes begin to make their presence jarringly known on the closeby horizon at a steadily nearing pace, sending a wave of determination through the demoralized defenders. Cassian casts himself back down into the trench, hiding himself from view to tug at his sword. Tightens his fist around it. They usually never got this far back in the trenches. That is, until his companions in the first trench rose to unlife, and Cassian and his secondary row of defenders would be the new frontline.

Short Story: Lost and Found (Part 1)

Were there air to support it, the pathetic hyperspace enginges on the rickety old craft would leave a massive bang in the area as the engine tore a hole in time and space, finally emerging at it's new location. Heavily fallen into disrepair, laser turrets refitted on the old cruiser to work as mining tools instead, the old spaceship was nothing but a true hunk of junk. Still it seemed fit for flight.

"Report, Master Pilot Xrii." The commander gives, their native language a series of clicks and wheezes supported by the black toxin masks they wore for safety.

"We are still approximately seventeen years away from the Fleet, Commander. With no homing beacons powered, it is not even certain they're there when we-.."
Could his eyes be seen behind the jury-rigged pilot mask, they'd be narrowed, his tattered comm device picking up something on wavelengths long abandoned.

"Speak, Master Pilot. Do not disgrace yourself with silence."

"Listen for yourself, Commander."

The young pilot offered over the dated headset, a furious Commander hoisiting it to his ear.

"What is it, Master Pilot?"

"I believe it's a distress signal, Commander."

The Commander wheezed an angry sigh, discarding the headset swiftly. "Out here? Open the scanning devices."

A quick pull of a rusted lever sees the front of the ship slide away it's main hull, revealing massive, shaded windows. The two men stared out into the reaches of space before them, entirely shocked as a conviniently derelict-looking vessel sweeps before their puny ship.

"A ship! Hail them, Master Pilot!"

A rasping clear of the Pilot's throat before he records the message to be sent in broken English.

Unknown Vessel
This is the Feirz Mk V. We intercepted your distress signal. Please respond.


------


Screeches quickly returned into the weary old headset attached to the far too dated communications system installed on the aged rig, Xrii quickly swept the headset from his frail ears, crying out in agony.

"What are you doing, Master Pilot?!" The Commander demanded angrily, lifting the headset from the floor.
A chatter of immense magnitude bleeds into the maladjusted system, and for but a moment, a painful jolt of agonizing screams fall on frequencies the two cannot fully hear, bringing them both to their knees. A silent pop, followed by a burst of fire, the tortured headset springing into flames at the overload, the communication system fried. "What in the-.."

"I detect strange energy outputs in the region, Commander. We are no longer alone."

"I knew I should've sold this ship and stayed on Tessla Prime. Very well. Did you get an answer from the distressed ship?"

"No, Commander. Should I perform routine procedure?"

"Yes, Master Pilot. Kill all functions except the ropecannon, we'll jump over. Hopefully we'll be out of here before anyone finds us."

Soon enough, a small hookshot fires from the underside of the dented vessel, a pathetic attempt to latch their vessel together with the massive, derelict ship,the both of them acting against better judgement when faced with the possibility of treasure.

-----

Tearing out the broken communication system from it's holder, the Master Pilot gave a wheeze of a sigh.

"It's fried, Commander. We cannot hail or recieve messages. Whatever that was, it burnt out every circuit. I have a bad feeling about this."

"Nonsense, Master Pilot! We are obligated to help the distressed, communication or no. We will make do without the translator. Is the ropeline attached?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Excellent, let us scale across."

A small hatch manually opened on the rickety old craft, sending what little air held inside out into the reaches of space, the two scavenger pilots heartily protected in their custom masks and flying gear. Fortunately seeming to have missed the frightful display before them, the Commander climbs out on top of his spaceship, attaching a small hook to the line.

"Bring the AK-56's, Master Pilot. We do not know what is beyond."

"One day, I'll buy you something else than this kinetic crap."

"Stop whining and get up here."

Xrii follows behind, another wheeze of a sigh parted over the rudimentary comm channel built into their masks. Pressing the sturdy yet ancient firearms in his Commander's grubby arms, he too attaches a hook in preparation.

"I don't know about this, Commander. I didn't even have time to get a response. What if they're all dead?"

"Then we'll sell the ship for a spot of money."

"You mean -you- will."

"Just jump already, Master Pilot. This is a waste of my time."

With that, Xrii stepped off their own little craft, protected from gliding into space only by the heavy duty rope shot out against the derelict vessel.