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Aug. 11th, 2009 09:53 amDreamt last night that I was the captain of a ship--not a pirate per se: we had letters of marque and reprisal, and since we were repelling folk who were trying to overtake our nation, we had the full support of what little government remained. (ah, yes, letters of marque and reprisal from a government that may or may not survive the night. Maybe we were pirates, but at least we were loyal ones. Privateers? Corsairs?)
Apparently, the East India Company--not Britainnia herself, but the EIC--was attempting to conquer the US (probably other places as well but we had all we could handle trying to defend ourselves). They'd already waged some odd shadow war that left the economy in shambles and the government as weak as termite-ridden wood, and now they were presenting themselves as our brave saviors, come to put a chicken in every pot and keep the peace in every town.
On one side? Nobody was fooled; they all knew the hand that gives was the hand that took.
On the other? Baby, it's cold outside. Accepting the EIC's deal wasn't the BEST solution, but it was the only solution that would offer stability NOW.
My crew (and probably other crews; we didn't feel unique, but we were autonomous. Privately owned, privately directed.) were there to disrupt the EIC's trade and supply lines at sea. On land, we didn't bother with pitched battle--we were sailors: our "ritual movements" involved running the ship, firing the cannons, and boarding other ships. In a fight we were on our own. Instead, we would find the homes of the "oppressor"'s commanding officers, break in while they slept, and kill them.
Then field dress them like deer or wild pigs.
Then leave the entrails where once the officers had slept and pack the meat home with us to butcher, share out, and eat.
Lather, rinse, repeat, until the local garrison was gone.
Because war was hell, our world was splintered and broken, and our relatives were hungry.
What's grimly funny is that we weren't at all quiet about this practice. We used it as intimidation.
Alright, Mr. Man, you're the EIC's official watchdog here? Great to meet you. Here's a bottle of wine from my first mate's father's vineyard. A wonderful vintage, I would drink it myself. Why don't you and your men linger over it, maybe find a nice book, and let this little hamlet run itself? You just disappear and live; the people will take you in if you behave.
No?
I'll be having that bottle back then--we'll want it for your marinade. ~snaps teeth, knifes man~
The only flavour I can remember, though, is blood.
Eeh.
~headshake & shiver~
Apparently, the East India Company--not Britainnia herself, but the EIC--was attempting to conquer the US (probably other places as well but we had all we could handle trying to defend ourselves). They'd already waged some odd shadow war that left the economy in shambles and the government as weak as termite-ridden wood, and now they were presenting themselves as our brave saviors, come to put a chicken in every pot and keep the peace in every town.
On one side? Nobody was fooled; they all knew the hand that gives was the hand that took.
On the other? Baby, it's cold outside. Accepting the EIC's deal wasn't the BEST solution, but it was the only solution that would offer stability NOW.
My crew (and probably other crews; we didn't feel unique, but we were autonomous. Privately owned, privately directed.) were there to disrupt the EIC's trade and supply lines at sea. On land, we didn't bother with pitched battle--we were sailors: our "ritual movements" involved running the ship, firing the cannons, and boarding other ships. In a fight we were on our own. Instead, we would find the homes of the "oppressor"'s commanding officers, break in while they slept, and kill them.
Then field dress them like deer or wild pigs.
Then leave the entrails where once the officers had slept and pack the meat home with us to butcher, share out, and eat.
Lather, rinse, repeat, until the local garrison was gone.
Because war was hell, our world was splintered and broken, and our relatives were hungry.
What's grimly funny is that we weren't at all quiet about this practice. We used it as intimidation.
Alright, Mr. Man, you're the EIC's official watchdog here? Great to meet you. Here's a bottle of wine from my first mate's father's vineyard. A wonderful vintage, I would drink it myself. Why don't you and your men linger over it, maybe find a nice book, and let this little hamlet run itself? You just disappear and live; the people will take you in if you behave.
No?
I'll be having that bottle back then--we'll want it for your marinade. ~snaps teeth, knifes man~
The only flavour I can remember, though, is blood.
Eeh.
~headshake & shiver~
