#daysofgold

It must have been weeks since the young Edward Newgate last set foot on land. Food was depleted to mere crumbs, a mere drop of drinking water rolled in his canister, and a scorching sun mercilessly pelt his already burnt shoulders. Despite a few weeks of hunger and dehydration riding his back he still seem in great spirits! This suffering was merely a lack of preparation, and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to die over an empty stomach. Maybe if that tidal wave hadn’t knocked most his hall overboard he wouldn’t be in this situation; ah well, he’d make do!

Feeling land was too close to flee into the cool innards of the ship, he kept on deck with eyes flicking from one side to the other. Hours had elapsed, yet solid ground did not emerge to offer him sanctuary. A sigh left him, and he stole a glance to the tattered sails that eased the sloop along so painfully slow. To add to the damage, there were splintered boards-- some missing in a great many places along the upper deck. Even port and starboard-side were looking disheveled. Another wily storm and there wouldn’t be a ship to sail; and it’s not like he could swim. At one time he was a powerful swimmer, able to stay afloat for days on end thanks to his excellent stamina.

Unfortunately some fruits aren’t meant to keep scurvy at bay. Not that he regrets his ability, it only made him more of a threat. A monster, the World Government described him. Spouting stories of his bloodthirsty nature, how he was merciless and decimated entire villages. Slaughtering man, woman, and child in his wake. Such boisterous claims were an attempt to scare the civilian population-- there were many, hundreds, who had seen the good of the great Edward Newgate. ‘Whitebeard’ as many came to call him. The World was growing to fear him. That was fine. He would sort through the faces, seek out those worthy and just. Whoever sought freedom, to run the seas with him; he would call them son and in return, they would call him father. The Government was wrong. He didn’t want power, he wanted family-- he was a monster, yes. And when he finally found the ones he’d cherish, he would protect his family as the only thing he could, a monster. Yet he would love them as a father, as a man.

Finished with looking the sloop over and fixing the worst, or so he hoped, his attention turned back to the sea. To all sides he looked, yet noth-- wait. Was that?

Land. 

“Gurarara, ‘bout time!” Boomed the man, tapping the base of his polearm so heavy against the floor it wound up breaking through. Another laugh, and off he went to make preparations for port. Once close enough, he began pulling sails tight and tying off ropes and strings. Anchors were at the ready as he made his rounds of the ship. He pulled right into the town’s port, weighing anchor without the slightest hesitation. Already those on the docks were giving him looks. Not only was he alone, and a big man, his ship lacked something to be desired.