Carlton Rage

The Chronicler was meant to be a merchant vessel when I first started as her captain. My father passed her down to me with the belief that I would keep things the way they were; prosperous and bountiful. But on e doesn't become reputed across the Seven Seas as a legendary captain by trading goods from port to port, not that fame was ever amongst my intentions. I had never intended to be the one to rescue another merchant vessel from a band of pirates, but my crew was prepared and theirs was not. I never intended to be nominated as the guardian of the surrounding isles, but when there is no one else for the job it is exceedingly difficult to say no. I began to deal with local pirate attacks shortly after Willow was born. Adelaide did not approve, and I knew it and understood why, but she also understood the need. I told her to focus on Willow and eventually she came to tolerate my position.
Tolerate, but never approve.
The first real encounter I ever had with fame-inducing-danger was with a pirate of considerable reputation; Carlton Rage.
We met in open waters and the stakes were all too clear; I was just returning home from an exhausting journey to Highland, nearing the end of supplies and strength. Rage had just come from a port, rested and fully ready for all forms of savagery and desolation available to him. They swung in from starboard side and descended upon my crew amidst blasts of canons and horrid screams, all except for Rage. He stayed behind, sheltered and menacing in appearance only until I decided that there couldn't be all that much to him. He was a coward and I couldn't bear to see him live to take down another ship in apalling triumph. I hollered my challenge into the salty sea air, daring him to hear it and respond.
He did.
Some of the activity on both decks slowed and pushed to the sides to make room for their respective captains. Carlton Rage left his men watching in mingled fear and apprehension.  My men kept distractions at bay, concerned but trusting in me to live up to their expectations, and my opponent trespassed onto my ship and faced me with a rapier drawn in his right hand.
"A little young to be throwing your life away..." he growled at me. He had obviously never considered the option of him being the one to fall, and not me.
The duel that ensued could very well have turned out either way. It was only after I suffered a ghastly wound to my abdomen that fate, skill, or whatever force of nature possibly cared, provided me with a life-saving chance; an chink in the armour; an opening in my enemy's defences. I struck it without even the slightest amount of hesitation: I drove my sword angled upwards through Carlton Rage's midriff and felled him with the lowest amount of regret I had ever employed in the act of ending a life.
It was only shortly after that that the crew of Carlton Rage surrendered, whether due to terror over the absence of their captain or relief I do not know. We took them as prisoners in our brig, looted their ship, and left the battle scene behind for more fulfilling prospects, which happened to include a sizeable reward as a result of Rage's death.
I suppose that, in that regard, I doomed myself to the life of a mercenary hero early on. To say that it was not something I wanted would taste a lie, but I only admit that with utmost regret.