A simple pirate? Ye dare call me simple?
Commandin’ a pirate ship be no lazy stroll across the poop deck. ’Tis runnin’ an enterprise tighter than a Spanish treasure hold under royal inspection. I knew the tides and the stars, the moods of the sea and the temper of every man aboard me vessel. I balanced provisions and powder, schedules and sleep, reward and discipline—without ledgers, lawyers, or landlubber boardrooms to hide behind. One miscalculation, one weak decision, and the sea claimed us all.
And when battle loomed, I weren’t merely shoutin’ orders like some drunken deckhand. I became the maestro of mayhem—orchestratin’ cannon fire, reload timing, sail angles, formations, and morale in a deadly ballet of destruction. Every broadside had purpose. Every maneuver carried consequence. Fear had to be mastered, not avoided. Chaos had to be ridden, not resisted.
So call me ruthless if ye must. Call me dangerous. But never—never—call me simple. For while kings ruled from thrones and merchants hid behind contracts, I commanded men, steel, wind, and fire…
and lived.
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