It was a dark and stormy night.

The airship droned through the sky, propellers thrumming as it sought its prey, the distinctive sound of its workings covered by the noise of the wind and rain and thunder.

They were above the clouds, and so spared the worst of the storm. It was by no means comfy, but it was survivable.

Well, most of them were above the clouds.

“Haul him up!” bellowed the captain, and with two pairs of yipping shouts, four of the crew literally hopped in place, then dashed over to the starboard winch, and hauled for all they were worth.

It took a while. They weren't worth a lot, when it came to raw strength. None of the crew were.

But that was fine, they had other talents, and Captain Anne knew how to use them to her advantage.

The winch turned, and the rope wound, and from below the clouds, dangling like a lure from a deepsea fish, came a wicker basket. Water sluiced from it as it rose for it was below the clouds, and in the full brunt of the rain. And when the crew had got it up next to the deck, a figure swathed in layers and layers of oilskins gave a mighty leap and bounded over the railing.

“Permission to come aboard, mom?” the figure saluted, his voice muffled.

“Granted, me boy!” Captain Anne said, ignoring the fact he'd already done so. If it had been any of the rest of the crew she'd have shot them for their insolence. But this one was different. He was special.

“We've got a galleon sailing with a small escort,” her boy said, mopping water from his oilskins. “Two quarteons and a pinteon.”

“Only two quarteons? That's not enough for a galleon!” Captain Anne bellowed.

The crew flinched back, and she dialed her voice down. Too used to dealing with landlubbers in loud bars, these days. She didn't need that here, even with the storm. Every jack tar of them had good ears, after all.

“What do you think, Captain?” asked her first mate, Harey Karey, squinting at her through spectacles thick enough to stop an arrow. “Be this a trap?”

Captain Anne considered, then shook her head. “Nay. Tis the off season for the molasses mines. They're likely trying to sneak one last small shipment to market before the year starts in earnest. But they made a mistake!”

The crew leaned forward, grinning. They knew what she was going to say.

And she did not disappoint! “They crossed paths with the Cotton Tale, and the Dread Pirate Anne Bunny!” Captain Anne roared. “Now get ter yer stations and dive dive dive! We're takin' that Galleon, and anyone else that dares to sail against us!”

And as they went, Anne assembled her party, called her boarding bastards up from below decks, and chanted her litany of buffs and preparatory skills, the ones laid down by her ancestor decades ago, chanted in a rising crescendo of glee. “Lay of the Land. Ambush. Do the Job. Fight the Battles! Sea Legs! Show the Colors! Swinger! YARRRR!!!”

“YARRRR!!!” the crew screamed back.

Yarrr!!! was a useful skill, and the first one any true pirate learned when they got the job. It basically increased their luck when performing stupid but flashy stunts. Like for instance, trying to swing on guidelines down from a moving airship onto the deck of a galleon during a heavy thunderstorm.

The Cotton Tale dove from the clouds like a bird of prey, its lift engine stopped, and gravity doing the work. A few crew were blown away by the force of the wind, flying off and down toward the ocean below to a certain death and Anne laughed, laughed in the face of gravity as she clung to the wheel and steered it toward the running lamps of the squadron of ships ahead.

She could hear bells tolling, heavy bells, even through the rush of the wind and the storm. The Cotton Tale's flag was on full display, thanks to her skills, visible even through the dark night and filling their prey's crew with dread. A simple symbol, really, a skull with rabbit ears.

The Dread Pirate Anne Bunny had come to thump some heads!

The force of the wind blew her scarf from her head, and her ears flapped free, then straightened, as she held them firm. Unlike most rabbit beastkin she was decently strong, her human parent's half helping to mitigate rabbity weakness, and her years of grabbing booty and sending foes down to Gravy Jones had only made her stronger.

And to her extreme disappointment, the galleon's captain knew it.

“Captain!” her second mate called back, straining to shout over the rushing air. “They've struck their colors!”

Anne's whiskers wiggled. Her nose twitched. And a scowl crept across her face, as irritation filled her lean frame. “Blast and bedamn!”

“What do we do, captain?”

For a moment she wanted to ignore the surrender.

For a hot minute, she held silent, wanting to drop and rip and tear and take heads clean off at this blatant act of cowardice after she'd gotten her blood up.

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But then she felt hot eyes on her back. Her son's eyes.

What legacy will you leave behind?

Anne ground her gold buckteeth. “We. Honor. The. Code.” she snarled, and jerked on the wheel. “Engines to full! Propellers to half! Take us in slow.”

And a few minutes later they were boarding the enemy vessel, a horde of bunny beastkin, and every jill of them female save for one. They yarr'd, they strutted, they slapped around the prisoners, but did no real harm as they filtered down into the hull of the galleon and started hauling up barrels of raw rum.

The lone male in the crew, still shrouded in heavy robes, patted his mother on the shoulder.

Well, he tried to. She caught his hand and threw him on the deck before she realized it was Stormanorm the Third.

“None of that now,” she snapped. “Mommy's working.”

Though she wasn't, she really wasn't. She was just standing on deck, glaring down at the cowering captive crew, and mentally counting the barrels drawn up from the hold. Not enough. Not nearly enough for the effort. And not satisfying.

Norm sighed, and rose to his long feet. “Sorry, Mom. I know you wanted a battle.”

“Been wanting a fight for months now,” she groused. “Yer mother's got needs, and there's been no good violence since we put the Dead Pirate Roberta back into her grave.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be apologizing, me boy,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder and almost knocking him to the deck again. “We'll haul this rum to Barobadass, have some shoretime for wenching and menching, and see about scraping up some caper that'll be full of glory, adventure, and blood.”

But...

...she wondered about that.

These last ten years, ever since she'd hit her fifth year and come of age, she'd carved her legacy across the sea of the Carob Bean, raided all up and down the coast of Datland, and managed to recover one of the lost Wholly Gnoman airships in an epic adventure that started with the tale of a dead man.

What was left?

What was left to add to the legend of Anne Bunny?

She'd finally managed to get out of her grandfather's shadow, but at what cost? Nothing was satisfying anymore.

And worse, she was worried about the effect it was having on her children and her crew, (most of which were one and the same.) Was she making them soft? Were they coasting on her name? Sure, a few of them died every now and then, the weaker ones getting weeded out, but...

It just didn't sit right with Anne. She'd grown up hard, and become awesome by the power of her own hoppy thews, by her own blood, sweat, and ears. But already age was chasing her. Rabbit Beastkin had a good twenty years, before old age started its march, and it was a rare that one, even one with human blood, lived past thirty.

Soon she'd be old.

Soon she'd be weak.

And then, by the code she swore to and the rules that she'd made herself, one of her daughters would step up to claim the wheel from her trembling, wasted hands.

That was fine with Anne Bunny. She wanted a good challenger to take it, when she wasn't fit to be a captain anymore.

But she didn't want her replacement to be weak.

The second she was dead, the other top pirates of the Carob Bean would be swarming to attack, coming to take the prize that was the Cotton Tale. And a weak heir would mean an end to the legacy.

There had to be an adventure out there to grind out levels for her daughters. One that she could share in, and make sure that they were being proper pirates about it all.

Two nights later, with the Cotton Tale parked on the outskirts of Barobadass, Anne found herself in the Black Spot tavern, staring at an old man in a dark corner.

And just like mysterious old men in taverns all over the world, he was doing what mysterious old men were supposed to do and offering her a map and a quest.

The glint in this one's eye, though, that put her on guard. It was the glint of a man who knew things, and wasn't impressed with her name or deeds. Her gut wasn't saying treachery, which was good for the old man because she'd have shot him through the heart if he gave even the slightest hint of that. But it was saying that there were things going on that a clever hare might do well to suss out later.

Still, it was a new adventure.

And one that promised to be a challenge.

“So let me get this straight hyarrr,” she drawled, as she looked over the map. “Ye want us to fly all the way over to Disland? And then a good ways inland? A journey of weeks, that. And for what? One little magical trinket?”

“More than a trinket,” the man said. “This one won't want to go. It's animated, you see, and quite powerful in its own right.”

“Treasure that has legs of its own to run away,” Anne mused. “Fast booty. That would be a switch, 'tis true... But still, how powerful are we talkin', me lad? Mighty Wizard that can crack the world with magic? Dread Cultist callin' up the unspeakable horrors o' the deep? Or even... a tax collector?”

She spoke that last one with a hushed voice. No sense in causing a public riot and panic over those most feared of mythical creatures.

“Not quite. More like a head of state,” the old man smiled. “Though that might be changing soon. Some magic, some martial skill, but just a person at the end of the day. Be wary for unorthodox tactics, and this should be within your skill level to handle.” He stretched out a hand. “Unless you'd like to pass on the job...”

His fingers grazed the map, and he stopped, staring downward at the rapier held to his sternum.

Anne was gratified to see his eyes lose that glint, and she gave him credit for bravery as he froze, considering the situation, then her, with new assessment.

“I didn't say no. And I didn't say ye could take this back,” she said, and as he pulled his hand back she pulled the rapier back at exactly the same speed as his retreating digits. “Tis just a matter o' price, ye understand.”

That was a lie. Anne Bunny was intrigued, and though she haggled well and for a good fee, it was more over the principle of the thing. And at the end of the bargain they spat, him in his hand and her in her paw, and shook. It was the most legally binding an agreement got in Barobadass.

And the very next day, after the crew got their respective drinking, wenching, menching, and puking out of the way, Anne assembled them on deck. “We fly east! Toward the sun and the ocean! Quartermaster, load us up for a long trip! First mate, recruit more bunnykin as needed!”

“Already done Mom— er, ma'am! Had a score offer to join up the second they heard we were in town!”

“Grand! Any lubber who wants out now walk, or yer in on this caper 'till the end! Jump now and leave with peace, or jump when we're at four thousand feet and leave in pieces!”

“Mom?” Stormanorm asked, as the crew cheered and hopped to their tasks. “What exactly IS this caper? What did you get us into?”

“Well, this should be up yer inlet, me boy,” she said, as she pulled out a map, and a wanted poster. “You remember when you were a wee baby, and pouting because I wouldn't let yer play with dollies?”

“You were really pretty regressive and gender-toxic there, ma, yeah,” he folded his arms, the heavy layers of sleeves making them look like two overlapping stuffed tentbags.

“Well I was overly narrow-minded in me youth and that was on me to recognize and fix,” she shrugged, and unrolled the poster. “But this is a good opportunity to grow fer the both of us! See, I don't know why yet, but a very untrustworthy old geezer wants us to grab him a little magical porcelain dolly...”