Dice, Daggers, and Rum

In Port Royal’s tavern, Black-Eye’s crew drinks away gold until fists and steel fly.

The tavern roared with laughter, clattering mugs, and the stench of spilled rum. Pirates from the Devil’s Mercy tossed coins across the bar like kings, their gold buying endless drinks, roasted fish, and the company of any ear willing to hear their tales.

Black-Eye Blackburn sat with his back to the wall, a mug in hand, watching the chaos unfold. The mutiny was behind them, yet distrust lingered like smoke. Gold had a way of making men reckless.

At a far table, a sailor slammed his fist down. “That’s cheating, you thieving bastard!” Dice scattered across the floor as he lunged at his opponent.

Chairs toppled, blades flashed, and within heartbeats the tavern became a storm of fists and broken glass.

Black-Eye rose, cutting through the melee just as a pirate swung a bottle at his skull. He caught the man’s wrist and drove his knee into the fellow’s gut, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. A second blow caught Black-Eye across the mouth, blood on his tongue, rage in his eyes. He answered with a hook to the jaw and a cruel kick to the man’s babymaker, leaving him groaning on the floorboards.

The door burst open. Captain Scarlett strode in, her scarlet coat blazing through the smoky haze. She paused, watching the chaos with narrowed eyes, before stepping beside Black-Eye.

Wiping blood from his lip, he growled, “This is what happens when you throw coin at drunk fools.”

Her smile cut sharp as a blade. “What did you expect?”

The fight raged unchecked. By the time the guards came, the crew would scatter into Port Royal’s alleys with purses lighter.

Scarlett leaned close. “Tonight we drink. Tomorrow, we plan. This port won’t hold us long.”

Black-Eye nodded, gripping his dagger. Trouble was never far in Port Royal.

Word Count: 300