The Isle of St. Simmons

The beautiful Isle comes with bathhouse, pirateship, guardhouse, manor, curiosity shop, tavern and 3 outhouses.

The Isle of St. Simmons

By Fionn

As told by Captain Finn Jones

It was not long ago, aye, I believe to have been on the isle of St. Simmins, the port of St. John that thar were a lady of a fine hew and skin of alabaster; tresses of raven-black, with gull's eyes of gray set deep within her temples. Her beauty could stoop even the stoutest backs of every sailor that moored at St. John.

	Colonel John O'Shea
	Body by Veronica Head by Heather Monocle Mesh by Jerome

But the lass had her darkness... she was the child of one rich Colonel John O'Shea, and spoiled beyond her own capacity.

Her mother Bess died a-givin birth, ya see, leaving the Colonel a widower. So the Colonel was a hard man, beaten and calloused by years ordering men to their deaths and a full twenty times near his own; a bullet stuck below his heart was testament to that. The death of his wife made him the harder. In the affairs of money he was shrewd and of modest means, a man with the touch of Midas. But he was given to the ale.

	Ale (Beer Keg)
	By Jerry

And then he was a slave to gambling, rum running, and women o'vice; So it was that the Colonel left his only darlin' to raise by the household servants, who loved the girl only as long as the Colonel kept the ale barrels full and the pay healthy. How the daughter longed for company; the Colonel traded her affection for the trinkets that she had long since stopped wearing about her neck.

No man of the island would dare call upon her. To love the daughter was to feel the cold eyes of that hard man. A thousand men or more had died o' his watch; what was a passing sailor to him? Yet still she yearned...

	O'Shea Manor
	This is a picture of the Manor on the Isle of St. Simmons.

O'Shea Manor towered above the wharf of St. John, so high that one could not see the scuttle of ships and men at the wharf, but looked beyond to the harbor and its gray-blue water. The daughter's bedchambers rose two stories above, and on a clear day the whole of the harbor was visible from the parapet.

When night would fall, as the sea flashes with moonlight, and the trade winds blow softly across Rachel's shawl, she would close it to her breast, and sigh. Across the sea, she knew, was a life not kept. There she was free- Aye, free to love and laugh and drink.

	Rachel the Fair Maiden
	Body by Veronica Head by Heather

And she stood on that parapet, one summer evening, with a spyglass in hand looking about the red horizon. Then into view, it came, knifing the waves with a dark keel that seemed to rise out of the sea. She watched for an hour as the ship sailed into the harbor, moored, and its crew scattered.

As told by Hildy, the maidservant.

"Time for your supper," I called.

	Three Young Girls
	Framed by Heather

Rachel closed the door to the parapet, passed the long corridor, and slinked down the stairs which led to the parlor. Elegant tapestries from the old country lined the parlor wall above the mahogany sofas and hand-hewn chairs which compassed the fireplace. Betwixt them lay a blue and burnt rug, bought in Indy. Beyond was the dining room.