Chapter Two: Traug

Traug looked out of his broken window. "Look alive, scum! You wanna live, then keep working!" he shouted at his crew. They, too had been at sea far too long. The Marauder's Solitude's nearly empty hold was beginning to fill with seawater, but none of the addle-brained oafs he had search below deck found a leak.

He thought of himself as a pirate, though the crew considered themselves raiders. What the difference was, he didn't care. Dressed in a loose, faded blue tunic. Balanced on his ears was a red hat that had a bite taken out of it. Traug was not the image that the word 'pirate' usually conjured, but it was good enough for the ferret. Several earrings of gold clattered together as he swiveled his head. A snake's skin belt, from which dangled his trademark sword, was lazily put in the general area of his waist. An assortment of daggers hung on a matching belt, thrown across his narrow chest. The captain glared about the deck, adjusting his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes.

One bold weasel answered his ferret captain's call. "What, while you sit around and watch?" He dropped the rope he had been holding, and watched a bucket of fresh water spill over the deck. "All we do is work, and all you do is nothin'! And you want me to keep doin' this?" The weasel spat in the puddle, and kicked the bucket at the ship's wheel. It bounced off and fell with a splash into the sea.

Muttering under his breath, Traug opened his door meekly. He walked slowly to meet the rebel, shoulders slumped, casting nervous glances at the crew. They had stopped to watch, and see what their captain would do. The weasel sneered a the pitiful image the ferret captain took on. "Oh, so this is our captain now? Pulled out for a fight, and look at 'im! Not so– "

The rebel's sentence was cut off as Traug slammed him into the mast with one arm. With the other, he pulled out his sword, a jagged gutting weapon on one side, saber on the other. The weasel gulped. "Whatcher name?" barked Traug.

"Ragul, s-sir..." he answered nervously, eying the weapon mere inches from his exposed throat.

"Well, Ragul, what was that you said? Somethin' about me watchin' you work?"

Ragul improvised. "Well, I w-was just thinking... you never do–"

The weasel never finished his sentence. Traug slit his throat without a second thought, and tossed the body overboard. Menacingly, he turned back to face his crew. "Anybody care to join ol' Ragul? Looks like 'e could use some company..."

Nobody moved, hoping that their captain's gaze would pass them by. "Nobody? Then GET BACK TO WORK!" he shouted. "You want to make it to that island o'er there or not?" The crew gave him a group look of surprise. One particular rat spoke up.

"Island? What island?"

"That one, peabrain!" said Traug, pointing with his dripping sword. As he said, a dark smudge against the pre-dawn sky loomed in front of them. "I say half day's sailing with all canvas, and that hunk of rock is ours."

Fueled by this new idea, they eagerly went about their duties. The Marauder's Solitude was sailing towards land once again.