Jack's Last Message

A smallish, travel weary man opens the door just enough to look inside, his body tense and ready to bolt if necessary. His difficult journey almost over he considers this his final obligation to the dead man left behind.

It’s fairly quite inside the Inn. A few customers either sit at tables or stand near the bar. A serving wench carries a large platter of food and drink toward the back. The rotund Inn-keep behind the bar absently polishes a glass mug with the edge of his apron, eyes resting upon the man as he enters. In one quick wave the Innkeeper motions him over.

The little man swallows nervously quickly covering the distance until he stands close by the Inn keeper. "You Willem," he asks in broken English, "I’ve a message for Willem McDough and no other."

"Aye, ‘tis me, I be the owner of this Albatross, what have ye to tell?", comes the reply.

"I come at request of Jack McBain, ye know him?"

"Of course, I know Jack", retorts Willem with a snort. "He should be returning from an expedition to the Spanish Main any day now…. wait, what you have to do with Jack?" The Innkeeper’s eyes narrow as he looks intently at the man standing beside him. Suddenly there isn’t much about this little man he likes.

"Aye, I know.. err… knew him. He be dead a fortnight and a day now. Taken by malaria is what happened to him. Before he died he asked me to make way to Martinique find the Albatross Inn and tell the innkeeper what happened, he did. Said you’d give me two pieces of gold for me troubles, he did." With that he holds out his dirty hand rubbing his thumb and index finger together as he looks the old innkeeper in the eye before dropping his gaze to the floor.

Willem ignores both the man and his outstretched hand as he absorbs the news. A flash of images shift rapidly through his mind of the young Scotsman he knew as Jack McBain. The Scotsman had made port not more than six months ago and instantly became Willem’s friend. He feels genuine sadness at the news of Jack’s passing. ‘Hmmm, Ah’ll need to get word to the confederacy and his kin in Scotland’, he considers somberly.

The traveler is still standing there, his eyes downcast, his hand out. As Willem reaches in his apron for the coins to give he mumbles, "Did ye see that he had a Christian burial, man?"

"Aye, he received Last Rights and a proper burial in Guadalajara. He’s final words were to ask you to sell any assets he’s left behind and see that his Da get’s what money is left." With that, the Spaniard bites into both coins to confirm their value, tips his hat to the innkeeper, turns and leaves.
Willem returns to his never ending task of drying glasses, his mind still lingering on thoughts of his departed friend.

[ooc]
To the officers and members of The Highland Confederacy,
Willem has just learned of Jack’s recent death from Malaria.
The truth is RL has made dedicating time to PotBS extremely problematic for
me and I can no longer justify the commitment I would like give to either this society or this game. I feel the best course of action is to resign my commission as an officer and to end Jack’s role in the Highland Confederacy.

I have enjoyed this society a great deal, and wish you continued success. As time goes on I am hopeful that I will be able to once again have more time for such pursuits. If so I intend to quietly reintroduce a new character to HC and hopefully achieve a lower level of interaction that is mutually enjoyable for all.

Thank you for the privilege of having been a part of this noble society.

In kindest regards,

John,
[/ooc]

When a man of great reputation who is beloved by all who knew him passes, new of such matters does n'ere remain contained. Word of Jacks passing spread quickly and upon hearing it, Bishop McDermott cancelled his days agenda and shut himself away for a time.

"Goodbye dear friend" Aidan sighed and continued with his prayer.