WARNING, THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS DESCRIPTIVE SCENES OF MURDER AND OTHER WONDERFUL ACTIONS. ENJOY!
- "You know nothing of anger! When your rage sunders entire civilizations and turns entire worlds to GLASS, you may speak to me of ANGER!"
- —Khanrath to a Khornate Chaos Lord
Khanrath Mitore, best known throughout Commorragh as the former Archon of the Bleaksoul Path and the Lord of the Sundered Reflection, is a Corsair Prince who operates within the Nexus of Shadows and multiple star systems throughout the galaxy. Khanrath is (in)famous throughout Commorragh for attempting a botched rebellion, and surviving the aftermath. After barely surviving Vect's reprisal, Lord Khanrath fled Commorragh and hid himself within the Nexus of Shadows for numerous years until he reemerged as the leader of the Corsair group known as The Sundered Reflection of Commorragh.
- "Caution will put a hundred blades at your back instead of one at your front. I have learned from this very rule, that my greatest enemy has crafted. I had a hundred blades at my back, and they all missed their mark. Soon I will have a thousand guns and blades AIMING AT THEIR HEART!"
- —Lord Khanrath Mitore
I had originally been a member of the Craftworlds, something that isn't well known thanks to my former desire for "perfect" secrecy. As all the stories of the many people start, my story begins with me being born. Born under the name of Mikael Hazmirrar. My father and mother followed the Path of the Witch at beginning of my conception, so I've heard atleast. When I was born my father was already gone, if he lives to this very day I do not know. Upon my first Path my mother lost herself to the Path of War. She was long gone, one of the fearsome Exarchs of the Dire Avengers. I had been told many times that the stress of raising a child and her lover vanishing caused her to become lost upon that Path. At the time I was in dark despair and used the outlet of the Path of the Artist to express my emotions. Upon my Craftworld, Nazrihai, I was in my opinion well known for my vicious and dark sculptures.
I can still remember these sculptures to this very day, I remember that the defeat of Khaine by Slaanesh was a major point in the majority of them. I continued to hide my vicious hatred for Khaine for many paths. In an attempt to heal my emotional wounds I took up the Path of the Healer. I found myself further drawn to it and the ways of Isha. I had found the path that I loved second most, but I was pulled away from it after encountering her. An Exarch of the Howling Banshees, she was constantly on the edge of turning into a whirlwind of death. It was her ability to express her hated and rage that drew me to her, and eventually I left the Path of the Healer to follow the very same path that my mother lost herself upon. The Path of War, I would become a Servant of Khaine. I was one of very few males to join the Howling Banshees, I had decided to join her.
The Path of War
I remember my time with Her, even in my most "forgetful" moments. I walked into Webway Gate to be greeted with the warm humid air of a rain forest. This area was hauntingly gorgeous, and I wondered through it for what felt like years. Animals sang and frolicked, flowers bloomed and smelt wonderful. I could not believe this was a place of Death. And then, she appeared, striding like a goddess of war came MY Exarch, MY one true teacher. She moved around me as if she was but a fog in the wind, a true Banshee she was. I could not see her eyes but I could hear it, the shock. She came closer to me and peered at me from behind red-tinted visors.
"You are the Healer who be gifted me with Isha's healing."
I had nodded at her words, unable to find my voice. I remember the awkward silence too well, I was so shocked at myself for betraying myself and Isha by joining Khaine's deathdealers. She continued to stride along past me, before placing herself on a nearby fallen tree. She knew what I wanted at the time, but she wanted to HEAR ME SAY IT. Me saying it was the first step I took to freeing myself from the Eldar Paths. I remember bowing and speaking ever so softly, as I always did as Mikael.
"I offer myself up to you, body and soul. Teach me the ways of War, so that I may show my hatred and my fury. Teach me to be the Bringer of Death to the Craftworld's enemies."
I remember her walking up to me, and reaching down towards my hand. She grabbed my hand and began pulling me along. I knew she accepted me as a student, and I knew she would guide me in overcoming my hatred. Had she known that her teachings would cause me to become... this, would she still have taken me in? Or would she have thrown me to the ground and ended my life, so that I may not cause death and destruction to those she swore to protect. Alas, there was no way she could have known, and she pulled me along into the Darkness of the Forest, to teach me to be a Banshee.
It was for many cycles I trained with her, she would be howling and screaming at me as I ran through the forest. Bounding and leaping over branches and rocks, I knew always that if she wanted to she could catch me within an instance at the start. But soon enough I was getting faster, and she would be having to put forth actual effort to remain behind me. She taught me how to move like the wind, fast and furious against my foes. It was but ten cycles that she approached me one morning, to bring me forth to my weaponry.
"First you shall wield the Assyri Devastation, the Banshee's Blade. You shall wield it like it is but an extension of your very being. You will master it, and you will control it like no other dear Mikael."
Oh how I remember her kind and endearing words, I can remember clearly she was like this with none of the other Warriors she trained. Many times I had been told by my "Kin" who had known her before her being lost on the Path of War that I was very similar to her brother. Maybe that was our connection, I found what I hoped stupidly to be a mother to me, and she found her dead and forgotten brother to protect all over again. But now I know, it was stupid and pathetic of me to think we could be anymore. She dragged me to the wargear of the shrine, and told me to pick. I felt drawn to the dark armor that was hidden away in the corner. It had scratches and scars all over it, and was disgustingly dusty. But the eyes, how I fear them to this very day. They spoke to me of death, bloodlust, and murder. They had drawn me in like a snake constricting it's prey. I had not even spoken, when she picked up the dusty blade and tossed it to me.
I caught it with some awkwardness but soon enough it was like having a sculpting tool in my hands. I moved like water, shifted like sand, and danced with the wind. Constantly me and her practiced, until her words came true. The blade was an extension of my being, and I mastered it, and maybe I even controlled it like no other. She pulled out a shurikin pistol and handed it to me.
"This is the Banshee's Chill, with this you shall deliver cold death to those in your sights."
Even easier then the blade, I mastered the Shuriken Pistol within but two cycles. I was finally ready to meet my fellow Aspect Warriors of the Bladed Fury Shrine. I remember waking up to see so many faces staring at me. To my unsurprise I was the only male within the Shrine. Once the Exarch left me to them, they surrounded me and questioned me deeply. As with all Male Howling Banshees, I was a rare and exotic event. In their lovely mocking way they nicknamed me the Howling Wraith, indicative by my unfeminine ways. Our conversations were interrupted, not that they were of any importance by our Master. She waved and my sisters in arms began moving towards their armor. I moved towards mine and stared at it, unlike the others which were bone white, mine was grey and dirty. Maybe thats why I chose it, because I would become dirty and scarred.
"The Peace is broken, harmony falls to discord, and only War remains."
I followed the lead of my sisters, taking the bodysuit hidden behind my armor out. The rest of the Aspect Warriors were unclothing themselves, having not a care in the world that I was there. I didn't want to seem awkward and began undressing myself as well. For a few minutes we stood there as naked as when we were born in the hot humid air of the Shrine.
"Now we clothe ourselves, in Father Khaine's own blood, as a Warrior."
Quickly understanding what her words meant, I stepped into the bodysuit. I pulled the skintight material onto my body and quickly let it set into place. It was loose for but a moment before it tightened over my muscles. Pads that had long been unused stretched to life, and formed rigid areas across my body to protect me in war.
"The spirit of Father Khaine, from which we draw our fury, strengthens our anger."
Following the lead of my sisters, I reached behind the armor and unfastened the back. I pulled the chestplate against my body and began to quickly work it around my body, attempting to keep pace with my sisters. The plate was tight against his chest, but hugged him in an almost ensuring embrace. The back of the plate supported his spine, keeping his posture straight like a blade.
"War is upon us, and we must bear it's burden for our Kin."
I unclasped the upper parts of the armor, and began to individually place them on my shoulders. The plates gripped my bodysuit and began to quickly fasten themselves onto the chestplate, the power generator easily sat between my shoulder blades and I continued to fasten the armor onto myself. The dust was falling off, and the bone-white nature of the armor was clearly evident. I attached the vambraces to my the rest of the plating and quickly became used to their tight nature.
"We stand before Khaine, furious in our resolve, and free of all fear and doubt."
I took the leggings of the armor and began placing onto my legs slowly but surely, this was the most difficult part of the armoring. As the legs were the most difficult piece to put on, as they were difficult to fasten without focusing entirely on one leg. Eventually I was fully armored except for my helmet, following my sisters I picked it up and held it in front of my face.
"WE DO NOT FEAR DEATH, FOR WE ARE THE CALLERS OF DEATH! WE PROCLAIM KHAINE'S COMING, FEARLESS AND UNDOUBTFUL. WE SPRINT ALONGSIDE DEATH, FORECOMING THE END OF ALL."
After placing my helmet upon my head and looking around for just a moment, she spoke up. With words I knew would come, as the need for the helmet indicated it alone.
"War is upon us."
The Brethren of Spite
Oh how I know them well. Cain's servants of chaos, the Brethren of Spite. Cain does not even know of "me", and neither does the She-Daemon. She beat me, she broke me, and she killed me. She swatted Mikael away like a fly, and left his living but rotting soul fester into a wound of hatred. If she looked upon me now, she would not see Mikael but Khanrath. I doubt she even knows who I really am. If but for once moment I slip and let my fury take control, she would be DEAD WITHIN AN INSTANT. Mikael's anger for killing her is unlimited, and yet I bear no ill will towards her or my brother in arms Cain. It was unseeable for them to know that killing the Exarch would give rise to the Dark Eldar Khanrath Mitore.
I remember the ride to the battlefield on the Wave Serpent. Her hand upon my shoulder, my hand upon my blade. We were being deployed into the heart of the spiteful warriors of chaos. The other aspect warriors were already deployed and killing on the battlefield. I remember watching my sisters jump off the moving Wave Serpent before I joined them on the battlefield. As I descended I can remember the fury and anger I felt towards them. As I fell I prepared my blade for blood, I had been lucky. I had landed ontop of a Warrior of Chaos. My blade met his spine, and it sank into it like a newly crafted blade meeting it's sheath for the first time. Ichor squirted onto my helmet, and I unsheathed my blade from it's home. I pushed off the warrior, screeching with fury, a Warrior turned to me but I was upon him already. His heavy death blows missed their mark, and I freed him from chaos. Freed his head from his disgusting shoulders. I leaped forward to continue my onslaught of death.
Filthly human slaves followed their Astrates masters to their death. They charged at me, what they called their sprinting I called walking, their movements nothing compared to my mind. One of the traitorious guard raised his chainsword in an attempt to end my life, but I grasped his wrist and twirled around to slam the Guard's own sword into his throat. I crouched low and dragged the dying Heretic to the down before slamming his face into the ground, driving the sword deeper into his throat. An entire squad of Heretics charged toward me and my sisters.
Taking the lead I moved forward with blistering speed, sliding through the legs of what I can only assume was the heretical leader I gashed open his thighs to bleed him to death before continuing onto the rest of my prey. They circled around me but I refused to stop moving, I screeched loudly bursting their eardreams and deafening them. I moved to the first Traitor and gutted him, his intestines falling to the floor. Mid-twirl, I grapped the falling organs and wrapped them around around the throat of one of the nearby Traitors before choking him out and tossing him at another Traitor.
I slammed my hand into a Traitor's mouth before grasping his jaw and tearing it off before beating him to death with it. I rammed my fist into the side of a Traitor's jaw, sending teeth flying onto the ground. Continuing with my momentum, I struck my elbow into his temple causing his head to cave in and his skull to collapse onto his brain. I plowed my hand through his eyesocket and grabbed as much brainmatter as I could before tearing it out and slamming it into whatever remained of his face.
Keeping my momentum I continued along towards more chaotic Astrates. A massive fist came towards me, but I simply ducked underneath it to slide my blade through bone and metal. Gutting the Astrate, I turned on my heel to grasp his horned helm to draw his head back. Once his head was drawn back, I proceeded to slam my blade through his throat into his spinal cord. Blood gushed out of the wound, covering my already crimson armor in deeper red. I felt a fist collide into my back, sending my hurtling over the Astrate. I slowly stood up to come face to face with another Astrate, screaming through my helmet, I disoriented him just enough to put us back on even ground. Whenever he swung I came in for a slice of my blade, whenever I attempted to deal a blow that actually mattered the Astrate would simply send me flying with a blow from his fist. I growled loudly, before nearly screaming my lungs out. The Astrate held his head for a moment, as no doubt his ears were bleeding. I lept over to him and began quickly placing one foot after another. I became a Hurricane. I was a hurricane, a storm of death and blood. I was spinning so quickly that the air around me quickly became filled with a red mist, my twin blades easily chopping the Astrates into tiny bits. Once I finished my act of butchery, I scoped out my next target.
I saw a filthy sorcerer of Chaos, his eyes held fire and he wore upon his cursed armor long robes. I charged him and nearly fell upon him without him noticing before THE SHE-DAEMON ARRIVED.
She fell upon my back, crushing m into the ground. The weight of her armor causing me to make a small crater. She stepped off me before picking me up by the neck and slamming me back down into the ground. The crater enlarged and I felt my body breaking and my armor shattering. The hellfire scorched my armor that day, turning it as black as the sky and even burning the hair of my helmet but to a small tuffle. I watched as she slaughtered my sisters, I watched as she bathed herself in blood. And I watched as she ENDED her. I could feel my rage grow to the point I was calm, I felt my fury reach the level of tranquility, and I felt my anger glow so bright it was like I was serene. Then, it was black.
A Wound That Cannot Heal
Ah yes, I remember this time all too well. The day I awoke in the medical bay of a Corsair Ship. They called themselves the "Glaives of Khaine". What an odd but strangely alluring name, I certainly wouldn't have chosen it but it does have a ring to it I quite like. But back to the story my little ones, I had awoken to the smell of burnt wraithbone and dried blood. He could barely open his eyes before he just gave up and growled, his war mask was still on. He could feel it behind his skin, the rage and the anger. He felt a hand on his face and he shrieked in anger before turning to growl at whoever touched him. Ah how I remember this moment, seeing Aelcalra for the first time. If I was the Bloody Handed Khaine, she was the loving guide Isha. He voice sounded like pain and agony at time, my ears having been injured greatly, but now I simply can't hear enough of the musical voice.
"Calm yourselve servant of the Bloody Handed, you are in a place of safety. You must rest and continue to heal yourself, in the mean time I shall remove your armor and clean your wounds."
She stripped me completely down, and doing just as she said cleaned my wounds. Though my fury and rage at the time was great, my wounds proved the stronger of the forces and I could do nothing but let her clean me. I do not remember for how long this lasted for I shortly passed out later on and awoke to find myself clothed in robes. I was able to walk around the Corsair Ship for sometime but I was mostly left to myself, as my War Mask had yet to be removed and I was too furious to realize it at the time. Though I was never alone, It constantly stalked me. The Black Banshee of my Nightmares. It was only many years after this moment that I learned that it was my War Mask killing me, and even now when I put the mask on again I still see it chasing after me.
Every time I would turn a corner, the Banshee would be right at my heels. If I ran, and many times I did, the Banshee would only get faster and faster until it was nearly upon me. It was when dear Aelcalra came to me again that I was finally able to push the Black Banshee away, atleast for the moment. She was able to remove the rage, hide the fury, and remove the War Mask. If not for her, I would have likely taken the Star Walk. She had taken my face, pressed my face against her cheek, and simply whispered sweet things into my ear. Eventually the mask, just faded and with it the Banshee did as well. She dragged me back to my temporary chambers and helped me redress in my burnt and black wraithbone armor. I gingerly took the helmet from her before she began tugging me along. Eventually we reached the bridge of the ship, and I met the Prince Hazlish.
"And here he is friends, the Black Banshee of Kalirath, sole survivor of the Warhost of Craftworld Nazrihai. I'm surprised you live friend."
I remember growling from behind my helmet, they were staring at me and my fractured armor. They surrounded me, but not in a threatening manner more in a curious and questioning way. I can now understand why they were so curious, a male Howling Banshee is found in burnt black armor and is the only survivor of an entire Warhost. But at that moment, all I wanted to do was start howling and screaming to tell them to stop staring at him. They kept calling me the Black Banshee, and honestly I look back and find the name quite alluring. He approached me just enough so that we were an arms length away before he asked HIS question.
"Tell us your name Banshee, so that we may refrain from calling you by titles."
"Well then Mikael, I would like you to meet the Glaives of Khaine, and to my fellow Corsairs I'd like you to meet Mikael the Black Banshee of Kalirath."
How I hated the attention they showed me, atleast at that moment. But those times were good, and they were care free. I was able to spend my time with Aelcalra, and I was able to grow attached to her. Good times indeed, but like all things they ended. I spent a few years with the Glaives of Khaine before I let, Aelcalra still to this day likes to tell me of the wonderful times she had with them. Though I've always asked her, would she rather be there with them or me. It was always the same answer.
Mikael The Banshee Corsair
I stayed with the Glaives of Khaine for quite a while, I like to think I became pretty a pretty popular legend among their allies and enemies. The Black Banshee, a Corsair wearing the blackened armor of an Aspect Warrior. Simple times, easy times. I sometimes think back to those times and wonder what it would be like if I simply stayed with them, but the past is the past and this is the present so back onto the story. At this point in time, our Corsair Prince wanted to become allies to a close by Craftworld so that we could retain strength in numbers. It was Craftworld Nazrihai that he wanted to allign with.
I remember walking through the Craftworld, everyone staring at us and me. They knew me, for I had forgone wearing my helmet. They whispered amongst themselves, that it was the fabled Mikael The Artist. We approached the large group of Seers and Exarchs, and our Corsair Prince began chatting and arguing with them. I didn't bother listening, for I found none of this exciting enough to focus on. I left the room, to wonder my old home. This was the center of the Craftworld, and there right in the middle. Right in the middle of my old home, was a statue. A statue of a man being torn apart by his emotions. His rage was a serpent crawling from his throat, his desire was a daemon ripping through his chest, and his love was shattering glass breaking apart his mind.
I find that this statue describes my life, perfectly.
- "Love and hate, calmness and rage. A furious unbridled lust for adventure and companionship. It's the life of a rogue pirate with no one but his crew to truly trust, but it's my Life. And I wouldn't change a thing."
- —Khanrath Mitore
Before his abduction and indoctrination Khanrath, born Mikael Hazmirrar, was a gullible and easily manipulated individual. He was constantly searching for a place to belong, and for someone to love him. He moved from so many different Eldar Paths searching for that one place he could call his home, and the one person who would love him the most. He found his path and that person who would love him after a near-death experience against the Dark Kin. After being dragged to the edge of death and pulled away countless times by his "father", Mikael found what he desired most. He found his home, the Path of Damnation, and he found that one person who would love him, and that one person was Khanrath Mitore. Even upon being lost on the Path of Damnation, that sliver of Mikael still exists. It is Mikael that is the rage and furious part of Mitore's personality, and it hides beneath the Glass.
Like all of his new Kin, before the botched rebellion atleast, Khanrath Mitore was overly cautious and prudent. He would watch his every step, and anyone who approached him without his trust would be put to the blade and tested. He never desired open conflict with his fellow Archons, and he only rarely partook in acts of war with his Kabal during raids, in fear of assassination. This fear of political failure came from his "father's" teaching, a Haemonculus by the name of Sithek who had taken him from his Craftworld life-style and molded him into one of the Dark Kin. For all that though, after the failed assassination attempt on him Khanrath took a dramatic personality change. He had been betrayed by the people he thought were his Kin, and he found the hatred that was always hidden beneath his calm. His caution, although alive and well, was thrown to the wind. If insulted, Khanrath would lash out in an instant not caring for any political backlashes. With no doubt Khanrath would put those who disagree with him to the blade, not caring for their alliances or what misfortunes would happen to him in the future.
Khanrath Mitore loathes and detests liars and cheats. Many of his most favored servants have fallen to the blade and whip after their lies and manipulations have been brought to the light of Khanrath's attention. Even the whitest of lies when discovered will send Khanrath into a rage, there is no difference between a harmless tale and a spiderweb of deceit. Khanrath will never lie but always gives ambiguous meanings to his words. Many patrons have been shocked when they discovered that when Khanrath he will kill all everyone on a planet, he also includes his patrons' forces in that declaration.
Khanrath Mitore is a man who enjoys the common things in life. Walking through parks, enjoying the sunshine, and stepping on the fractured bodies of his enemies and betrayers. Khanrath despises those who require the best the universe has to offer, because within the Nexus of Shadows he learned that you were lucky enough to get scrapes for a day. It's his hatred for the rich and well off that Khanrath uses to pick his patrons, as he gets the resources he needs for his Corsairs and he gets to express his anger on their corpses.
Khanrath Mitore shares many traits with his dark kin. His skin is the color of marble perfection. His long luscious mane is ashen grey, and he has no unwanted marks lay on his gorgeous ivory skin. He is fairly tall, standing at seven feet and nine inches. His features are intricate and soft, and he is especially lithe with his muscles just barely noticeable. However these are descriptions from a time long gone. No longer is his skin perfect unflawed marble, but instead it is now dark and fractured amethyst. His skin is cracked and rough, the veins of his body stick out with a sickly purple color as if even the life ichor of his body has turned to glass. Almost the entirety of the left side of his face is covered in this amethyst, with it just barely stopping at the corner of his left eye. The amethyst side of his face is an eerie replica of Khanrath's original appearance, instead of the former smooth skin it is now a jagged and daemonic replication. With a portion of his mouth forever stuck, Khanrath speaks with a lisp that drags his vowels. Even though only a small bit of his neck was affected by the glass plague virus, it rooted deep into his vocal chords, giving Khanrath a voice that is suited for lesser and more brutish races.
Numerous sections of his limbs are also covored in this amethyst. Nearly the entirety of his left leg has been covered in the amethyst, making walking without his battlearmor difficult and uneven. His right arm suffers a fate even worse then his left leg, as the entirety of it has been covered with the glass plague. The amethyst of his right arm is cracked and broken, from being fractured by his battlesuit in an attempt to regain control of his arm. His right hand has been fashioned into a deadly claw with razor sharp amethyst blades for fingers. The bicep of his left arm, and the crus of his right leg have suffered less damage but still remains covered in the dark amethyst.
For armor, Lord Khanrath wears a specially crafted suit of armor designed to appear similar to his old archon battlesuit. Crafted out of thousands of crystal blades of the eldritch origin, Khanrath's armor is often compared to an armory of swords. Juting out and around, Khanrath's armor gives him vast protection from close quarters fighting as those who attack him must risk being sliced to bits by his bladed armor. Khanrath's helm is an expressionless mask that is crafted from small daggers that protude out backwards like small spears. Upon his back, is a cape made of the very same blades that constantly drip with a liquid form of the Glass Plague.
Abilities and Traits
As a Dark Eldar, Khanrath Mitore has the common traits of his kin, skill wise. He moves at breakneck speeds, faster then any non-enhanced Mon-Keigh could react. His agility enables him to effortlessly dodge the attacks of lesser combatants, and allows him to simply move like a hurricane on the battlefield. With the strength to beat some of Mankind's strongest, non enhanced, champions in pure force, Lord Khanrath is a force to be reckoned with. Khanrath Mitore likes to say his strength, speed, and agility are all side effects of his amazing talent, but the truth is that the aftermaths of his glass plague encounter Khanrath's physical capabilities took a dive. It's only thanks to his specially crafted battlesuit that Lord Khanrath can show off just how dangerous the Lord of the Sundered Reflection truly is.
For weaponry, Lord Khanrath is an expert in all manners of combat. An expert shot and a masterful close quarters combat Practitioner. However above all else, Lord Khanrath prefers the use of his own exotic weaponry, such as his Hex-Pistol and his claws. Wielding these two weapons, his own sharpened claws and his pistol, Khanrath is a brutal and crazed fighter. Fighting with a ferocity and speed only seen within the Banshees of the Craftworld Warriors. For engagements that require long-range, Khanrath makes use with brutal effectiveness a Hex-Rifle.
As a former Archon, and a current Corsair Prince, Lord Khanrath is an expert in all militaristic studies. Khanrath is a raptful thinker, never wasting an opportunity to turn the battlefield advantage to his favour. While still fully capable of having plans that spand over centuries and centuries of human time, Khanrath is more then capable of enacting plans within seconds of thinking of them. As a Corsair Prince, Lord Khanrath is an excellent pilot and Fleet Commander. Able to maneouver his ships physically and mentally so that they are in the best possible positions at all times, Khanrath knows very few superiors in the art of piloting.
- "The Sirn'maranai has never been assaulted before, you have guts Archon Jakleier. I'll ENJOY RIPPING THEM OUT AND STRANGLING YOU WITH THEM!"
- —Khanrath Mitore
- "Jeztabel has told me of you, last Brother of the Screaming Sisterhood. And has told me what dear Thiel has taken from you. I will not apologise for her, such is not my place, though I feel that you two shall no doubt cross paths again. I look forward to the spectacle."
- "I'z gettin' tired of all deez otha' "Pirates".. Dey'z takin' all mah loot!"