Pirate Game Fan Fiction

Well this is brilliant. Absolutely stunning. Way to get yourself into this one, Finch. In the corner of a dirty wooden cell on a vast Armada ship sat a surly teenage girl with a bandana on her forehead and absolutely stinking nothing on her hip. She had a sword before, but the Deacon had confiscated it…right after he arrested her for treason.

Finch—for that was what she was called, having no first name of which to speak—had been found by a crew of Wharf Rats raiding a burning ship that had been shot down by the Armada when she was only a baby. Her parents were long dead when the rats got there, and after her rescuer, Milo Greytail brought her back to Scrimshaw, he called her the only thing he could—the name embroidered on her father’s greatcoat. Finch.

While the other rats took a while to get used to her, Greytail raised her like his own daughter, although she was a human and not a rat. He taught her from a very early age how to pickpocket and steal, which was, after all, essentially the only way to get along in Scrimshaw, especially among rats. By the age of seven she was notoriously good at what she did, and Greytail could not be prouder. At ten years old, it came the time for him to tell her of her real parents’ fate.

Finch was crushed at the discovery that the Armada—the group advertising all over the world of the protection of the people—had killed her parents and left her to burn in the ship. Enraged, she vowed to get revenge, but it was only Greytail who convinced her otherwise.

“Take it from a wisened ol’ bilge rat like me’self, Finch,” he had said. “Revenge don’t lead nowhere good, leastaways not when it’s done willy-nilly like. You need to be crafty as a rat to get what you want.”

And in this manner, she made up her plan. When she told it to Greytail, he was less than enthusiastic, but agreed to give her his blessing for the trip. He lent her some old clothes and a weapon and sent her off on her trip, to enlist as a Privateer for the Armada and get her way inside from the outside.

Recruiting was a little hard, especially for a girl who didn’t think it was natural to wear shoes. None of the rats ever did, anyway, and she’d grown up barefoot as well. It got to the point that they called her “Rat Child” around town, and when she went to the recruiter’s office, this is exactly what she told the man.

“The name is Finch,” she said, her rough, thick Scrimshaw accent coming on strong. “Rat Child Finch.”

He eyeballed her. “What did you say your name was, girly?”

“Rat Child Finch, sur.”

“….R Finch. Well, then, Miss Finch. Welcome aboard.”

And that was all it took. It was surprisingly easy. She was on a real live Armada ship by her twelfth birthday, and spent four long years working for the people who had killed her parents all those years ago. She spent those years planning and calculating for just the right moment, and then, one day, it came.

She heard some pirates were going to be in the area, and thought that if any day was good for mutiny it would be this one. Instead of putting on her fancy dress uniform, she put on the clothes Greytail had lent her all those years before, and put the sword at her hip. Confidently, she marched up to the deck and stood in a line.

“Finch.”

“Yes sir?” She didn’t bat an eye.

It was the Deacon. He eyeballed her through that creepy white mask of his and stepped a bit closer. “Take off that ridiculous outfit,” he demanded. “It makes you look like a pirate.”

Finch fell silent, letting her steadily burning gaze do the talking.

“Ah,” sighed Deacon. “So it is to be that way.” He came very close and leaned into her face. “May I remind you, Miss Finch, that disobeying direct orders from the Armada is treason. And treason is a crime punishable by death.”

“I’m mighty sorry sir,” said Finch. Once again, her Scrimshaw accent (which she suppressed most of the time) came through strong. “I can’t obey a liar.”

“Liar?” The tone of his voice was dangerous.

“Yes, liar. You say you fight to protect the people—”

“I do.”

“—But all you really do is fight to protect yourself. You say there’s a huge pirate problem—it probably has something to do with the Armada attacking any ship that looks at them crossways! Or arresting dissenters. Or placing those high taxes on things people need. The poorer citizens of Mooshu can’t take it. And the thing that really gets me—the thing that I cannot stand…” Finch took a breath. “You killed my parents sixteen years ago and left their infant daughter to burn.”

“Your parents,” he said in a calculated, even tone, “were ruthless pirates. Who knows how much damage they caused during their lives? It was time to rid the world of them.”

“And me?”

“…Casualties of war, Miss Finch.”

“I can’t believe you!” raged Finch, drawing her weapon and winging it at his face. She held it very, very close to the mask. “I ought to do you in right now.”

There was a very long pause as Deacon looked down the steel of her blade. “Very well,” was all he said at last.

She lowered the sword a bit. “What…?”

He turned to some of the guards. “Arrest this pirate and throw her in the prison ship. Her execution will be carried out immediately upon return to shore.” Those blank black eyes bored into her skull.

“No!” shouted Finch, but it was too late. A pair of Armada guards had rushed over and grabbed her arms, taking her sword away. They led her to a lifeboat and rowed to the nearby prison ship, marching her roughly down the stairs and shoving her into a cell. As soon as it was locked, they began to snicker, placing her sword just out of reach.

“What’s the matter, little pirate?” taunted one. “Can’t get your precious sword?”

“Yeah, what’s the matter, Rat-Face?” teased the other. “Didn’t the Wharf Rats teach you to pillage and steal your way around this?” They laughed and laughed, walking back up the stairs and leaving her to listen to the moans and cries of the other prisoners.

Hours passed, and Finch managed to drift into a sort of half-sleep until she was rocked by a cannonball hitting the side of the ship. She immediately started to plan, cogs turning round and round in her mind as she tried to think of a way to make this work for her. But the cannonball had no effect on her side of the ship—she was still stuck! Frustrated, she sank lower in the corner, cursing her own stupidity for getting herself arrested in the first place.

And then she heard the voices.

“Get down, she’s gonna blow!” Something exploded—probably a gunpowder keg—and the speaker started coughing and wheezing. The voice got closer. “It’s one of these prisoners.” He coughed again. “Check the ones down there, monkey.”

“I’m on it,” replied a heavily accented voice. There were some footsteps and crashing around before a bearded, heavy pirate and small refined monkey—probably from Monquista. The monkey looked her up and down, and turned to the pirate. “Is this the prisoner we’re looking for?”

Finch scooted back in her cell. She wasn’t sure whether these people were come to help or harm her, but the Wharf Rats taught her to never trust a Monquistan. Too prissy, Greytail had scoffed.

“Hard to say,” mused the pirate. “You there! You’re standing on my blind side. Are ye a boy or a girl?”

“Uh…g-girl,” Finch managed to say. She forced her accent down in case the old pirate was hard of hearing, too. Scrimshaw accents were notoriously hard to understand.

“What’s yer name, pirate?” asked the old man with a nod.

Finch tilted her head. “I do in right truthfulness say, I’m the Ruthless Rat-Child Finch.” This time she paid no mind to her native accent.

“I told you,” said the monkey airily. “She is the one.”

“Hmm,” grumbled the pirate. “Maybe so.” He spoke then to Finch, a twinkle in his one-good-eye.

“If ye are who you say ye are, prove it. We know you’re an orphan. How’d you lose your parents?”

Finch wondered how they knew, but answered truthfully in case it would help her. “They were shot down,” she said quietly. “By the Armada.”

“Blasted by the Armada, were they?” It didn’t seem to bother the old pirate at all. “No shame, no judgments. You just earned yourself a point, actually. So, then, who raised you instead?”

“Don’t push her too hard, Boochbeard…” warned the monkey. “Can you not see that she is—”

“Oh, hush yer gob, Gandry,” grumbled Boochbeard. “Can’t ye see I’ve got questions to ask?” He turned to Finch. “Well?”

“I was raised by Milo Greytail,” said Finch with a hint of pride. “In Scrimshaw.”

“In the filthy streets?” guffawed the pirate.

“They were a bloody lovely place to live and I wouldn’t have it any other way!” snapped Finch. “Easy, easy,” Gandry said. “You are doing just fine. We are going to get you out of here. Just one more question so that we’re sure you are who you say you are. Why were you arrested?”

“Treason,” spat Finch.

“She’s the one, she’s the one!” cried Gandry! “She’s the one we got the message about!”

“All right, all right,” said Boochbeard, opening the hatch. “I just wanted to check. You’re free now, Finchy. Go on, we have to get off this ship.”

Finch reached to the ground and picked up her sword, grinning madly. “I’m ready when you are.”

They ran down the halls, and were almost to the deck when a voice called to her from another cell. “Hey—hey! M-miss Finch!”

Finch stopped. “What?”

It was a grey goose with tall wooden sandals and a long robe. “I found your deed on the ship today much rewarding and honorable. I…I am Egg Shen, warrior of Mooshu. I would be honored to accompany you as your companion.”

“It would not be a bad idea,” offered Gandry.

Finch took Boochbeard’s tool and cracked the lock. “All right, Egg Shen, you can come along.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the goose said with a bow, snatching up a spear and following them out.

“Okay,” said Finch. “Let’s get ready to rumble.”

Pirate Game Fan Fiction Index

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