In the world of Arcadia, there are several different pirate crews. Each crew gives their little group, their clan, a name. Just as Dyne is head of the Dyne Family, Gilder is the head of the Royal Flush. Let's start from the beginning...

"Still think ya can beat me scrawny?!" The big guy practically screamed over the crowd.

The two men were in a horribly made fighting ring, penned in on all sides by jeering and rowdy people.

Probably waiting for some blood to be shed, the young man mused as he watched. He looked no younger than twenty, with light brown hair sleeked back behind his ears. He wore a plain white cotton shirt, the kind preferred by sailors, with baggy sleeves, tight fitting cuffs, and a wide collar. Because it had no buttons, the top portion of it was open and gave a glimpse of the lightly toned muscles that lay underneath. The middle of the shirt was clasped together with a skull shaped pendant, and the ends were tucked into the young man's black leggings. He wore a plain belt with an attached gun holster on his right side, a bullet holding case on his left, and he had brown leather boots.

The young man gazed at the two men in the ring with his hawk-like brown eyes, a bit of a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. On his shoulder, a brightly colored parrot wearing goggles gave an impatient screech.

"I know you're rearin' to go, Willy, but you're just gonna have to stay put awhile. He won't join us if we interrupt his match."

The bird went silent, staring at the two in the ring: one, an extremely muscled dark skinned man, and the other a scrawny one with a tan. It was obvious from the bruises and dirt that the latter was losing.

"Don't insult me!" The scrawny man spat at his opponent. His light tan suggested he was a native of the Red Moon. "You're talking to the future chief officer of the Royal Nasrean artillery! The jewel of Nasrad! Kazim!"

"Strivin' to be an officer? BWAHAHAHAHA!" The big man roared, blocking another feeble attempt from the scrawny Kazim. "Ya got 'bout five years o' a work out ahead o' ya if ya even want to make it to border patrol!"

Kazim was enraged by this, and charged straight at the big guy screaming "Dhabu scooper!"

The big guy, still smiling, blocked his attack, grabbed Kazim's scrawny wrists with one hand, and landed a punch right in the poor man's stomach. Kazim sputtered out blood and fell to the ground, much to the frenzy crowd's delight. A shady man appeared from out of nowhere, declared the winner, and handed the big guy a sack of gold as his reward. The spectators were practically in a fight themselves as betting money and curses were exchanged. However, they were more than happy to step aside for the big guy as he left the ring, as they were too afraid to deny him passage after his performance.

The young man with the bird followed him to a nearby alley where he saw the big guy counting his earnings. Now that he was closer, the young man could see his short, black hair as well as the multiple scars of various shapes on his back. He wore brown boots, a worn pair of patched up green pants, and had a brown pack tied to his leg, which the young man knew contained a pair of iron knuckles. Though the big guy was only a few years older than Willy's master was, he was quite a few inches taller than him, and his bulging muscles suggested he was stronger too.

"Andy! I see you're doing well for yourself." The young man said. The big guy looked up from his well-deserved loot and grinned.

"Well I'll be damned. If it ain't Gilder! How ya doin' my man? They still call ya the Stormin' Sailor?" Andy asked, slapping the young man on the shoulder in greeting.

"Not after today they won't. I left the crew."

"What?! Left the crew?! Ya the best damn sailor I've ever met, and I heard ya were makin' a good bit o' coin doin' it too! A real ace! Why the blazes did ya leave?"

"How bout I tell you over a drink? Dansid's, and its on me."

"Ya askin' me if I want a free drink? What makes ya think I'd ever say no to that?" Andy chuckled. The parrot whizzed around his head in annoyance.

"Raawk! Give food! Raawk! Give food!"

"Well hey there, Willy! Looks like ya as happy as ever. Ya smelt this, huh?" Andy offered up bits of crackers from his pant pocket. "Thought I'd have a little snack after the fight, but I guess it didn't stay much in one piece! Much like that wannabe soldier I had to knock out."

Willy landed on Andy's wrist and proceeded to eat out of his hand. Gilder smiled and began to make his way down the streets, with Andy lumbering beside him.

"So how's your father doing, Andy? Still itching to get into fights with you?"

"Naw, he died. Valuan Influenza toke him out."

Gilder shot him a shocked look. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Naw, it's all good. Ya should have seen him. Always preachin' 'bout it was his time and such. Wouldn't take any medicine, 'spite the fact that I worked my ass off over it. Kept sayin' he wanted to join my ma."

"Did you try forcing it into him?"

Andy burst out into helpless laughter. "Ya know him, Gilder. Ya know I could never hold a candle to him. He always beat me when it came to brawns. Always. Bein' sick wasn't an exception. Practically knocked me out cold when I tried getting' near him with the drugs. Sayin' all the while 'Now don't ya try to stuff that crap down my throat, Andy. I ain't takin' it, and there ain't nothin' ya can do about it.'"

"Hahaha. Yep, that sounds like your old man. Well, at least he died happy."

"Yeah. Laughed the whole way."

The two smiled and the parrot screeched as they made their way into the crowded bar.

Emana: Don't go anywhere, reader. Things are just about to get interesting...