Arr t' ye who read this log.

It was a foggy day . . . a misty day . . . a wintry day in 1998 on the great, open sea . . . hazy, like pea soup mixed with cotton, mixed with pudding, mixed with sand. In fact, it was so very hazy that the location on the map, the exact time and place and circumstances, are still to us unknown. What I can tell ye, however, is simply that the foggy winter gave birth to us Pirates, a great, big, bloody, bursting birth, like a little blue wale from the belly o' his mother, exploding, breaching from the water to take his first, gasping breath, the Pirates coming screaming out o' the obscure darkness like so many sanguine infant newborns.

Ol' Quatermann was among these first piratical rascallions. Then came then daring Phaedrus, and then the brave Archer, and then, on New Year's Day of 1999, charismatic Prokofiev came aboard and joined the piratic ranks.

As the mists of time dispersed, Q remained the eldest member, a natural recruiter and true leader, who guided the clan along with his fellow, admirable Pirates, Archer the brave, Prokofiev the wise. The Pirates of Renounced Notoriety they were called. PoRN proliferated, far and wide.

But renounced to be no longer! Aye, after proving themselves well in battle on the high seas on many an occasion, raptoring and stealing all the way, they became well known to all the folks of the Mythical world, feared, loved, befriended. And so the Pirates of Renowned Notoriety sailed on, pillaging as they went, burglaring and looting and pirating like none ere had come.

Indeed, as PoRN was known our great clan since these olden times. Many Pirates have since been lost to us who were so renowned, ol' S'phty, crusty McChazo, adventurous Adiperius, Goober the gorer, Smuckers the smirking, and even our most beloved, most adored fair Pirate wenches, Smufette the dear and Alana the golden, the precious gems, the treasure chests of our ship they were, lost to the seas of time . . . or simply having gotten off at port.

But piracy was less profitable as the days grew long, and thin, like sail stretched to the tearing point. The Pirates were caught in the dolldrums of time, floating windlessly, helplessly, with ne'er, nary a gust nor gale to get the Pirates back from dead of sea.

— And then, tangentially, came the little offshoot trip to the Island of Cyclops, to Circe, that damnèd hell-ride through Hades, the detour to Ithica to drop off an odd voyager — and then, finally back to the great Western Ocean, back to the coasts of the Province. To the Island of Leix we drifted, off the coast of Covenant, the first land our salty eyes did see in ages. We returned just as the world was being renewed, the old fusing with the new, Myths being made one reality, the reality of the present.

And since that fateful day — it really wasn't too long ago — the Pirates of Leix we have been. The Pirates of Renowned Notoriety still exist; they are our Admirals, ol' Q the elder, and Arch the brave, and Pro the proud. And serving beneath them are the rest of the Pirates of Leix, the most dastardly, fun-loving, enjoyable Pirates in history, or Myth.

The Golden Age of Piracy is just beginning...

-Captain's Log, May 14th, 2003,
Sir Archie, Captain of the Pirates of Penzance