To live the life of the [Pirate] is to have a thousand stories, and never get to tell any of them. Fowler Brownrig could fill a thick book with each year of his life, and each of them would make even Sir Elatore's adventures seem humble by comparison.It was a shame that so great a life would be lost to history, but he had no intention of ever writing any of it down. Though, once in a while he gave himself a good chuckle at the thought. “Hi, I'm Fowler Brownrig and here is a list of my crimes.” No, successful pirates were never famous pirates.It didn't bother him much. His stories were good and fine as they were, even if they belonged to him alone. His very favorite stories were the ones that ended right as a new one started.For example, when he'd taken that smuggler vessel, killing all hands, he'd thought that his story was done. He'd finally made it rich and now it was time to quit. Then the Westward Daughters had come and slaughtered his crew and engaged him in a tense three-hour stand-off that exhausted every Skill and trick Fowler had and a few he’d never even known he had. They hadn't been interested in the loot at all--they'd come for the killing. After giving them the fight of his life, they'd seemed impressed by his ferocity and decided to leave him alive. Not that it was much of a mercy; the battle had left holes the size of rowboats in the hull and it was taking on water fast.He'd done the only thing he could think of doing. He'd got down on his knees and begged them to bring him along with them. So strange. So foreign. Did they even know what he was asking? It turns out they did. Apparently, that was the established method by which a fellow could join the Glorious and Victorious Daughters of the Great Green Mother They Who Seek Always the Setting Sun. And that was the end of that story, and the start of the next one.Today looked like it was one of those fateful days, because Swinton was quitting the Karth. It was (...)