There had never been any doubt. No questions or uncertainty.

Jolly Roger knew why he existed and had known from the moment he stepped out of his packet.

If he ever paused to think about it, it was only to take a moment with the salty wind and the wooden deck of his ship, to breathe in the essence of the ocean (or the lake, as was their usual haunt) and to listen to his crew members as their voices rose in a brilliant sea shanty. Then he felt proud, the feeling warming his heart and making him almost give one of those terribly rare smiles.

Jolly Roger was a pirate.

From now until the end.

For better or worst.

Through pillaging and plundering.

A pirate through and through.

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