《X Marks the Spot》Chapter 2-3
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“Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea. To me, way hey, blow the man down,” Tristram belted with vigor, his arm sweeping high above his head. His fingers held firm to a short pewter beaker as the cup flailed about the sky. He sat with the back of his seat against the wall, one leg propped atop the table, the other sprawled out lazily on the floor. “Now please pay attention and listen to me. Give me some time to blow the man down.”
“Shut yer bloody trap!” A patron screamed from the back of the room, having grown tired of the man’s singing.
The harsh words stung the captain. His glazed eyes widened to a pout as his flailing arm fell short. “Not a fan of Blow Me Man Down? I know Drunken Sailor too!” He shot his arm back to the heavens, rum spilling from the goblet and ran down his arm as it continued its dance. “What ‘ill we do with a drunken ‘ailor?”
“We’ll beat em senseless, if ye don’t pipe down.”
Tristram’s leg dropped from the table, sending his chair upright. His torso rolled to a slouch atop the table as his hand carreened to the floor. With a clank, the goblet’s rim hit the ground, spilling the dark contents into a puddle around his fingers. His head bobbed to the side as a frown fell upon his face. His glossy stare danced about the room before falling on a petite barmaid cleaning the table next to him. “How rude.”
“I rather enjoyed your singing,” the maid replied, flinging the wet rag atop her shoulder. “Sweet as a bird, I’d say.”
“Ain’t you a sweet bird,” Tristram slurred with a smile, bringing a blush to the woman’s cheeks. She hastily grabbed an armful of dirty mugs from the table and scampered off to the kitchen. “Way hey and up she rises,” Tristram muttered as he watched her leave. His head bobbed back to the table as he picked his arm from the floor. He raised the mug to his lips, tilting it back in eager anticipation. Not a drop hit his tongue. Dumbfounded by the lack of beverage, he lifted the cup above his head, shaking it as he peered curiously inside.
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“Hello sailor,” the chirpy voice of a wench sang out to the captain. She moved across the tavern on the slender stilts of legs, the skirt of her dress fluttering about the bottom of her wide waist as she moved. She placed herself in front of the inebriated gentleman, her tightly constrained torso crawling across the table. Her large bosum dangled atop the tabletop as she slid a large tankard, filled to the brim, in front of him. “Looking for me, handsome?”
Tristram’s eyes widened with delight. His fingers slipped from the empty pint, the mug clattering to the floor as they greedily flew to the fresh one.
“What’s your name, darling?” The woman asked, catching the man’s hand between hers.
“Cap’n Tristram,” he mumbled, his dazed stare running up her arm to her breasts.
“Captain, eh?” The woman smiled, helping the man bring the pint to his lips. She wrapped her arm around him, her fingers tracing the edge of his ear as she placed herself atop the man’s knee. “I bet a captain as strong and powerful as yourself has quite the tale to tell.”
“Aye,” the captain nodded. “You want a story, bird? I have the best stories.”
“I do,” the whore whispered in his ear. “Tell me a story, Captain Tristram. What brings you to Whitehaven?”
“Well, bird,” Tristram slurred between sips, watching the woman’s chest bounce with each breath she took. “We stopped for supplies. We’re going to Damascus!”
“Damascus?” The woman asked. “What brings you to Damascus?”
“Me bloke has business there. Some urgent business with another… Bloke?”
“Captain!”
Tristram’s brow narrowed in confusion. His eyes bobbed about the room in search of the familiar squeak of a voice calling to him.
“Tell me more,” the wench sang, her finger tilting his attention back on her. “What kind of business?”
“Captain!” Damien screamed, bobbing and weaving through the sea of drunken sailors before arriving at the table.
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“And here he is!” Tristram exclaimed. “This is the bloke I was talking about! Er… The first one.” Mr. Damien Frogfeather! Meet…” Tristram’s brow furrowed in confusion, struggling to recall the name he was never given.
“Ruby.”
“Miss Ruby! Of course! Mr. Damien Fairybottom meet Mrs. Ruby.”
“Fayweather, sir,” Damien corrected.
“Fairwater. Of course.”
“Mr. Tristram, I must speak with you at once.”
“Then speak,” spittle flew from Tristram’s lips, smacking Damien on the chin.
Privately,” Damien scowled, wiping the droplet away with his sleeve.
“Privately? You can speak your words here. Everyone ‘ere is but the closest of mates.”
“Yes, dear,” Ruby said, sliding off Tristram’s lap and slinking over to Damien. Her fingers danced up the man’s back, finding a home on his right shoulder. “We are the closest of friends, darling.”
“I’m sorry, but no.” Damien pried the woman’s hand from his shoulder, shoving her aside before taking a seat at the table. “We have delicate matters to discuss, not of which is meant for the ears of a whore.”
The woman’s jaw dropped at the statement. She screamed in disgust, plucking a dirty glass from the nearby table and flinging the contents on Damien before leaving in a huff.
“Bloody ‘ell! Don’t you know it’s bad luck to piss off a whore? You done did jinxed us, mate!”
“Captain Tristram, we must leave immediately.” Damien blurted, shaking the muck of rum off his jacket.
“Leave? W-why the hell ‘ould we leave?” The captain grabbed his pint before leaning in close to his mate. “Have you seen the broads here?”
“Sir, rum and broads are fine and dandy, but we are in grave danger.”
“Blimey! You’re right!” The captain shouted, leaning back in his chair. “You’re without rum! Bar wench! Fetch this man a pint!”
“No, sir!” Damien snatched the inebriated captain’s mug from his paw and pushed it to the far edge of the table. “You must listen!”
“Damien, I-I don’t know where you are from, but from where I come from, that is an act o’ war, you summa bitch!” The captain focused his glazed eyes on Damien. Ever so calmly, he pulled a dagger from his belt and brought it to the table, the glittering blade pointed at the gentleman. “Gimme my rum.”
Shocked by the sudden change in mannerism, Damien slowly pushed the pint back towards the captain.
The captain grabbed the pint with excitement. He took two long gulps before lowering it back to the table. “Now then, w-what was this about peril?”
“Sir, you must listen,” Damien pleaded, placing his hand atop the blade and sliding it off the table into his lap. “We have more dire matters on our hands. Another ship is pulling into port. I believe they are coming for me. We must leave. Immediately!”
“Now what would a ship want with the likes of you? You’re nothing s-special,” the captain responded groggily. He took one last sip from his tankard before dropping the empty cup to the floor and laying his head on the table. “Just calm down. We’ll leave in the morning,”
“I don’t have till the morning,” Damien mumbled, his eyes darting about the room. “They’re coming now.”
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Nurarihyon System in Another World
Kozuki Clan is the most well-known Yakuza Family in the underground world and Kozuki Hannya is the heir of this terrifying clan. His ascension was greatly anticipated after his abilities were acknowledged by everyone. Everything should’ve continued without any trouble, but who could’ve known that disaster would arrive so soon? On the day of Hannya's ascension as the new leader of the Yakuza's, their archenemy; the Mafia's took their chance and attacked the Kozuki household while everyone were busy with the celebration. The Yakuza's tried to fight back but in the end, their resistance became futile against the well prepared enemies. Surrounded by his enemies without nowhere to run, Hannya resolved himself to fight till he breathe his last, but by some twist of fate he was thrown in a dark empty space. There he met a mysterious figure who threw him in the world of 'Against the Gods' as Nurarihyon. Watch as Hannya builds the Nura Clan in a different world. Disclaimer: Nurarihyon no mago is owned by Shueisha/Hiroshi Shiibashi and licensed by Viz Media, All Rights Reserved. Credits to: Nepuko (co-author) I don't own the characters, including the characters in AGAINST THE GODS. there will be more anime references added in the future. Please join our discord server for updates: https://discord.gg/4ud2JKx P.S. - I just modified the cover of the book, the picture is not mine.
8 119Author's Rant
Just a disclaimer, this is not and never will be a story. I just, noticed I have a bad habit of wanting to rant in my author's notes, and have decided that, instead of accidentally doubling the length of each chapter with the author's note alone, I will shove those long-ass rants here. It might contain spoilers for my stories, as I usually wind up ranting about different parts I'm writing. So, if you actually enjoy my rants...well, firstly, what is wrong with you? Secondly, welcome! Time to figure out what tags to stick on this. Also, as of the second chapter, I have decided to shove some of my story ideas here. So if you enjoy half-baked, unfinished stories, then I got those too. I think that adds that short story tag?
8 132Changes
Changes is a collection of three stories that take place after the events of Edict. It would benefit the reader to read both Hy'Ruh-ha and Edict. Story one: The Monk and The Princess After a several months break from duty, Soletus, is asked to serve by the Patriarch as an escort to a conference the Brotherhood is attending. The only catch is he's acting as a second warden because someone wants him promoted. All he has to do is be at his best. However, his best is put to the test as he led surly men and then get whisked off to solve a disturbing plot with a determined and bored princess. Notice: Please note, that Soletus, aka main character is asexual. That is part of being a neth elf. This story delves into information about it neth and gets into the neth elf experience a few times in this story. You've been warned. Also note: As much as I didn't want to put it in this story, avoiding it was a futile effort on my part. There were things I needed to explain about Soletus and it's hard to write personal tales about character when avoiding talking about certain personal aspects of them. Story Two: The Sun and Stars - Summary and Date TBA
8 231Chosen Sun
Our main character is born on the Summer Isles, and over the next few years has increasingly detailed dreams about far off places. He sees a leathery creature spew flames from its mouth; egotistical aristocrats plot unceasingly against each other and worst of all a shadowy force approaching from the north. His research leads him to believe his dreams are more than just fantasy and instead a cry for help, but from who and what is still unclear. Rating & Comment Please. A Game Of Thrones (GOT) fanfiction
8 145Dauntless: Origins
Snow white hair, blue eyes, pale. Devil, monster, mutt, failure.This story follows one Tyr Faeron, crown prince, heir primus and mass murderer. A wrathful, angry, and lost young man that has made it his goal to hunt down the men that killed his mother - and he is on the cusp of finishing the promise he'd made before her cairn stones so many years ago. On the surface he is duplicitous, whimsical, and base of cunning - but within the depths beyond the many masks he wears, something is waiting. Waiting for an end, the end he'd come to long for, whether it be to himself or any possible threats in his vicinity. After that long labor of vengeance is completed... Nobody knows, not even him - an arrogant and otherwise solitary individual with nothing in the way of friends - only the brothers of the blackguard who follow him through life as he pursues this mission. He was born a prince, but he'd be called a disappointment - failing to manifest the great power that he was born to before being summarily discarded by his father, a 250 year old 'primus'. That word again... Men who can shatter mountains and level cities, that's what he was supposed to be. Some call them demi-gods, all Tyr sees is a poor excuse for a parent. Time had made him bitter, cruel, and arguably psychotic - seeing only enemies wherever he looks. They'd come for him, too, one day - to wipe the slate clean and make room for another - and it's his conviction to ensure that he dies while taking as many of those rats with him. This is a story about finding acceptance, growth, and understanding - from the point of view of a cold and brutal individual who wears many masks. Of someone who was born to be the greatest emperor the eastern continent has ever seen - but he failed in that. Strong, yes, but only in the context of a man - Tyr's magic is weak. His convictions are weak. He has been made a beast of instinct by loss and a constant confronting of his own impotency in the face of his father. A mythos that stretches across planes, of magic, a pantheon of cruel gods. Of someone who's dedicated his entire mind to the art of killing a man, and none to living a normal childhood or coming to understand friendship, empathy, or compassion. The first five years of his life a mystery, a hole none have ever been willing to fill, leaving him warped and twisted. His formative years gone and what must've been most of his humanity along with it. Now 17, he is on the cusp of leaving the city he'd never been permitted to leave for what might be the first time in his life. Always searching, though he won't know what for, for some time. An episodic that follows experience and symbolism rather than a never ending series of battles - where the conflict lay in constantly searching for wholeness in lieu of great villains or heroes. This is where it all started, the origin, the tale told a million times - and yet it hadn't been, 'reality' is tricky like that. The greatest lie ever told by the tongue that speaks is that any of this was real at all.
8 248The Foxy Dungeon
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