Eye Larp and FilmSim events proudly presents
Buccaneers of the Damned
Episode 13: Respite
10th-12th May 2019
£75 early bird ticket till February 28th 2019
£85 ticket price from March 1st 2019 or FREE to CREW
Full catering available – Menu and Prices to follow.
The Welsh Drive, Eversley, Hampshire
Capped at 70 player places and 40 crew.
As the dust begins to settle on Culloch’s Fall, normality returns to this isolate region. Recently, the location of strange happenings, the annual celebration and commiseration of ‘The Long Night’ takes its toll on the current incumbents. Ghosts, long-dead; suffering at the hands of the French rise from their untimely graves to relive the atrocities afforded them. In the midst of the chaos, dark and untoward occurrences drag this quaint celebration of memorial into a much more sinister light.
Those who liberated the town some weeks passed, on envoy from Logan’s Bay now find themselves at a crossroads; between stagnating on Salvation, or the potential of more elsewhere. The portal, temporarily obscured over the previous night, once again reveals itself – an ominous portent of possibility; a new start, a new location; hope. Rumour spreads among those gathered, murmurs of Frontier; that un-tamed beast, a promise of possibility, of untapped resources, of the unknown.
A vote is held, so customary in democracy; the vote is split. Tension rises as a valiant few step through this doorway to another world. A momentary respite, a breath of fear; thoughts turn to pressing matters – the threat of Cortez, the war for Salvation, the Iron Fist – Better the devil you know? Those few who remain, look to each other for a sign of clarity, their wounds fresh, their numbers severely dwindling – best to linger in uncertainty?
Questions begin to race as the night draws near, the smell of sulphur and gunpowder still fresh on the cold-air. The blood of friend and foe still wet on the ground, beads of sweat quenched in winter-chill.
Away in the distance, along the north road towards White Back Bay; figures begin to amass. Hundreds, thousands – so many figures the narrow passage is blotted from view, as the road swells with occupants a cry is heard from within the town; “Sails!” – a familiar ship pulls into the harbour a few miles East; Blackbeard’s Ship. Those fording travel to Frontier aboard his vessel gather their belongings and vital supplies, hard fought for the journey ahead. Those staying behind consider their choice, as the road shrinks under the bare of so many people moving ever closer.
The sky, now awash with the purples and reds of the setting sun, the chill in the air grows coarse, exhalations turn to mist on the air. Still the figures grow, several miles out – marching, onwards, closer.