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Discussion in 'TLOPO Events' started by Dread Poet Roberts, Jan 8, 2017.
It takes a lot of time to create a sonnet. Thank you.
Sea Grave was presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 6/26/2017
From the stout, frothy crests to heaven
to the troughs, they bound and tore
And there from the pit they un-dug themselves;
then up again once more
The spectacle was sorely grand
The noble ship was born,
like a reed discarded and tossed askew, at
the mercy of the seas wild scorn
The seas in such raged, wild commotion
From billow to billow they soared
As the tempest roared in wild-wrought fury
They were beat to 'smitheres' well scored
Waves that were lashed by the raging tempest
were turned to a sparkling white foam,
and hissed and thrashed and whistled on past,
and drove the vengeance home
No voice could warn them of the danger
No hand could be stretched to save
No choice was there, no hope to bear
...and all to a watery grave
As read at Story Time, 6/26/2017.
Ramona hated sailors. But in her small port town, it came to be she married one.
A sodden, uneducated oaf who would have amounted to nothing, if it weren't for his merchant father. Gone for weeks and when returned, he smelled of fish guts, grog and tar. Ramona lamented each day.
Then, she met Ezekiel.
A striking man. Tall, strong with steel-grey eyes. He passed her in the market, smelling of salt air. Ezekiel asked her name and she practically sang, Ra-mona. Suddenly, sailors did not seem so repulsive. He walked her along the shore, dined with her, bought her fine powders, oils and a new dress.
On a moonlit night, on a hill overlooking the bay... she broke her vows of marriage... with Ezekiel.
"We should go away from here," he said. "Far from your odious husband. But, I have no ship of my own."
'My pig of a husband commands an East India brig,' Ramona whispered. 'It could be ours for the taking.'
And so, they stole into the night. At the port, she visited the watchmen, giving them a bottle to share. Soon, they were slumbering off their drunken stupor. Ramona waited by the gangplank for her new love and her new life... and soon Ezekiel came. But, not alone.
The men who accompanied him sent a shiver down her spine, brandishing knives, covered in scars and tattoos. They stole aboard, prepared to do ill deeds.
"I'm sorry, luv. But my men need a ship and your husband's will do. I bid thee farewell."
Ezekiel gazed at her with his steel eyes, then turned to go. But, Ramona took his hand.
'Take me with you,' said she.
"This is not a life I would wish upon you."
'Better that fate than the one I live now.'
The pirates dispatched the men on watch and set about untying their prize from the wharf. At the helm, Ramona and Ezekiel waited for the all clear when her husband appeared, cutlass at the ready. The commander sneered, the blade pointing at the pirates throat, moving Ramona aside to protect her.
"You scum! Steal my ship! Ransom my wife!" he snarled, "You won't wait for the noose! I'll see you-u-uaaaagh!!"
Ramona thrust the dagger. All of her hatred pushing it harder and harder into his back; the blade finding its mark.
'The ship is yours now, my Ezekiel.'
"Captain," he corrected. "Captain Ezekiel Rott. You're a murderer and now a part of the Casa De Muertos, Ramona."
"Captain," Ramona smirked, "You used me as I used you. And since my husband is now dead, call me Ramona Vda De Guerra."
The Widow of War.
Sea Wraith was presented by Canon Bluefire at Story Time, 07/10/2017
The silent night darkens, deep mists roll in
The heavy moist air bears a palpable skin
All quiet but light clicking and clapping
The lapping on the ship, a light tapping
No birds of kind are there in flight
No fish of kind are there in sight
No wind, no breath, no sign of unrest
All quiet, as Nature relaxes its best
Slowly, in the mists, a lightening unfolds
From a distance a speck grows as it molds
Something in motion sets over the sea
Developing, developing — not yet to be
Growing in brightness, now, finding a form
Not so much churning now, lines to conform
Getting much closer now, growing in size
Developing features, and definitely eyes
No more solid than a growing white mist
No feeling, no action, no volition - all missed
No substantial existence from what you can see
Only a shimmering of the fog and the sea
Then, clarity is born from the whirling white mists
A figure, near human, undoubted exists
The presence comes gliding, slowly with ease
Her garments all flowing as though in a breeze
A hooded great cloak flies light in the sway
Holding some features of the figure at bay
A wispy white gown flows free underneath
The specter, in whole, as white as your teeth
Searching for something - an object to seize?
One would not know if this would all please
A grimness of sorts - a daring treatise?
A determined look prompts startled unease
Beauty well poised, and grace, made ill-wrought
Of great misfortune this creature is fraught
Looking at us in a glare well distraught
Finding no comfort for what, we know not
Long slender hands, bare ankles and feet
Long thin hair swept around but yet neat
A face of fine marble, well chiseled, high-crowned
Cheeks well high-boned, with eyes almond round
No doubt a young lass much loved and bemoaned
Searching all time for something postponed
One lost at sea, she is looking to find
With but her soul and what’s left of her mind
She covered us all with a sweep of her eyes
And then nodded her head with long, painful sighs
With this last movement, it would not be long
One moment here, the next moment gone.
May the gods give some peace,
for all that is wrong.
Fire and Fury
By Dread Poet Roberts 7/10/2017
Fire and fury
Wind and rain
Turning back again
When once returned this hovel of home
Bejeweled in memory
Ramshackle in decrepitude
Our history wretches with sodden air
Of this our last goodbye.
Driven forth like the blinding rain
Tempest swirl of accusations
Am neither saint nor sinner
But muddled in between
Thief of my own provenance
Master of my demise
A whiff of sulfur fills the air
Thunder crack and shot
Out the window tossed
Lands upon my feet
And stooping retrieve
The barrel white with heat
The citizens aroused
In discordant hurried manner
Spied the pistol upon my grasp
Flint and steel connected with the striking of the hammer
Their pointed accusations stung
Vigilantes of the night
In innocence my case refused
The oxcart rope severed
Drooped low over lantern bracketed walls
A handhold noose
An I thinking better of my options
Beat a hasty retreat
To fortress walls and sheer cliffs they followed
Over the parapet to footholds
Leaping to fall into purgatory
Neither dashed on rocks or strung from crossbar
Death from heavens or death from hell
Stopping sounds of time
The droning of the bell
Crouched low on sea foam lintel
And in choosing to fall
Collapsed into waiting Neptune embrace
The torches follow me down
Extinguished in sizzle
Dampened by gloom
Hides the waterspout plume
Carries upon fates shoulders
My life behind be at end
My soul reborn
Fire and fury so forlorn
Of all I leave behind
That one day I may return to clear my name
Vicissitudes at most unkind.
My story is too long to fit here. Here is what I can post. You can read the rest here: The Cabin Boy
The Cabin Boy
For pirates awaiting their fates
on the Kingshead gallows,
the sun rising over the Armory walls is often the last thing they see before the black hood falls over their eyes forever.
How one faces those moments before that last, endless drop reveals the true metal of a pirate.
Lieutenant Montgomery was not surprised to see a boy of no more than 12 years on that morning's gallows list.
Such boys were common on pirate ships, and the Lieutenant had already seen his fill of them doing the Hangman's Dance.
Some cried, some begged, some put on a brave front, but all of them eventually hung like the pirates they were.
But this one was different.
Despite his tears, this one stood straight and seemed to beam with pride.
His face glowed around the angry scar across one cheek,
and he clutched a well-worn knotted cord hanging from his belt.
Lieutenant Montgomery stood before him and asked,
"On the day you answer to the Almighty, boy, who are you to show so little repentance?"
The boy raised his chin and sniffed.
"I stand accused of being Capitaine of the Sanglant Bête, scourge of Anglais and Espagnol alike,
and the Almighty has more to fear of me than I of Him, oui?"
The guards and condemned alike laughed in spite of themselves,
and while the Lieutenant raised his eyebrows in surprise,
the Hangman's face turned red with anger.
"How DARE you!"
His fist lashed out, leaving a bloody twin to the scar on the boy's other cheek,
but the boy hardly flinched.
"And I've proven the better of greater men than you, Monsieur."
The Hangman moved to strike again, but the Lieutenant smiled and waved him away.
"Big words for such a small pirate. How can you claim captaincy of one of the Caribbean's most notorious ships and crews?"
The boy touched his new wound for a moment.
"I began lowly, Monsieur, a mere loblolly boy aboard the Sanglant Bête, the youngest of her crew.
I served my ship as best as I was able,
and endeavored to earn favorable notice of my Capitaine, the Comte Jacque de Deuil."
"I have heard of him," Lieutenant Montgomery murmured with a nod.
"Of course you have... all Anglais have cause to fear him.
Though I performed all the tasks demanded of me without complaint,
fault was always found by Bo's'n Mede.
There was no one I feared more than him.
Him and his rod of braided leather, his Dame Serrer.
'Maggot! I told you to mend those sails! Those stitches will spill more than a drunken serving wench!'
'Maggot! You say you've holy-stoned the deck? You want the Capitaine's daughter to scuff her shoes, you worthless cur?'
'Maggot! I told you to polish this brass work! I want the Capitaine's daughter to be able to see her own reflection before yer done!'
The Capitaine's daughter, Mademoiselle Tristesse. Always she was used to shame me.
Maybe two or three years my senior, she had been raised aboard the Sanglant Bête,
and she knew every board and plank, every mast and spar,
every rope, every gun, every knothole.
She had worked every watch, mastered every station, from the lowest swab to her own father's logs and charts.
Not to mention music, poetry, elocution, and every other quality expected of a proper French lady.
Many a night was I lulled to sleep by the harpsichord music coming from her cabin.
As I labored, I would gaze upon her from afar, standing at the wheel,
the wind blowing through the curls of her long, black hair,
the buckles and buttons of her jacket flashing in the sun,
her skin burnt brown, her clever eyes a brilliant green.
Oh, how I admired her!
Oh, how I tried to earn the slightest tender glance!
But Bo's'n Mede always found ways to shame me.
'Maggot! You call these reef knots? I've seen better twists in Mademoiselle Tristesse's embroidery!'
It was my clumsy knots that really angered him that day,
or perhaps it was my glances at Mademoiselle Tristesse.
Down came his Dame Serrer.
On my back, my shoulders, my neck, my face."
The boy's hand rose to the livid scar across his cheek.
"Again and again and again.
After that, I fled to the stages hanging behind the aft hull.
And there above the churning wake of the ship,
I wept and cursed my fate and my clumsy, stupid fingers.
'Was that supposed to be a reef knot?'
The voice came from above, and looking up, I saw an angel over me.
No, not an angel, but close enough.
It was Tristesse smiling down at me from a window above, her black hair framing her like a halo.
My chosen hiding spot had been directly beneath her cabin.
She invited me in, and she showed me how to tie the knots."
The boy showed the knotted cord hanging from his belt.
"She gave me this, from her own hair ribbon collection,
and I keep it for practicing my knots...
In the days ahead, we became friends.
She helped me become a better sailor,
and her cabin became shelter from Bo's'n Mede's rages.
But after one beating that nearly left me dead, we decided something had to be done.
It was rather simple, really, as Tristesse was very much aware of the hungry looks Mede gave her when he didn't think she was looking.
During one of the hottest days, she asked her father to give her lessons on the quarterdeck.
She was dressed comfortably, in cotton petticoats, a broad hat and parasol, her feet in a tray of water,
while she knew her father would insist on formal wear in the presence of his crew.
As the hours dragged on, his vest and heavy jacket, rapier, wig, and hat took their toll.
I was nearby, vigorously holy-stoning the deck to remove the splinters Tristesse had complained about, making sure Mede was in earshot.
As Capitaine Deuil dictated and recited, his voice became dry, and he swayed in his boots.
Seeing this, Tristesse made sure Bo's'n Mede was suitably distracted.
Raising her petticoats to her thigh, she lifted her leg and inspected her ankle.
The fool's jaw dropped, and he could do naught but stare. As did much of the rest of the crew.
Irritated, Capitaine Deuil looked to me, perhaps the only crewman still diligent at his work,
and requested I fetch him a ladle of water from the barrel by the mainmast.
Mede's eyes snapped to me as he saw me jog to the barrel.
'You filthy maggot!' he screamed. His Dame Serrer crashed down on my wrist, knocking the ladle and water to the deck.
'I didn't give you
permission to leave your post!' His leather rod rose to strike me again.
'Monsieur Mede,' Capitaine Deuil hissed, his voice icy in the Caribbean heat, 'I had requested that water.
And if you had kept your eyes on your work rather than on my daughter, you would have known that.'
On that day, it was Bo's'n Mede's turn to take his stripes.
Things changed for me after that.
Perhaps Capitaine Deuil was in on our prank, or perhaps he just trusted his daughter's judgment,
but he took me on as his personal cabin boy.
(I even got my own cutlass... Perhaps you've seen it lying around on these islands?)
I was permitted to work in his cabins while he conducted his daughter's lessons, where I learned much from them both.
But Bo's'n Mede never forgot his embarrassment, and we would soon reap what we sewed.
The Comte Jacque de Deuil was a privateer of some renown, and he had his share of enemies.
But there were few rivalries with such enmity as that between him and the Espagnol commander, Padre Pudrir.
We had anchored for repairs in a bay on Cutthroat Isle, when his frigate, the Oxidado Espadín, appeared around a spit of land.
How he found us, we'll never know... but I have some ideas.
Capitaine Deuil called 'Aux postes de combat!' and ordered the anchors raised.
As we struggled to find wind, the Oxidado Espadín raked us with her first broadside.
Wood shattered, there were explosions and rapports, and men screamed.
'Bo's'n Mede,' Deuil bellowed, 'Where is the Lieutenant de Vaisseau?'
But Mede didn't answer. He didn't even turn around, and merely looked out at the horizon.
As if nothing were happening.
We limped forward, but we had to pass the Espagnol before we could escape the bay.
'Bo's'n Mede! Prepare to fire!'
But Mede didn't move. He still looked away, his hands clasped behind his back.
The Espagnol fired again, shattering our port side.
The deck became thick with smoke and the smell of death.
'Fire! Fire!' Deuil shouted, trying to be heard by his crew.
You can read the rest here: The Cabin Boy
Shipping Out was presented by Ben Gone at Story Time, 7/25/2017
There’s a schooner bright and pretty
with a crew list yet to be
And, I’m well set for a wandering along
the highways of the sea
And when I’m ready for leaving behind
these chaotic bights of land,
I’ll have no regrets, or sorrow, or grief,
as the ship slips by the strand
So far away, another land
to which the ship must go
But where and when I do not care;
but to be in Nature’s throw
The wind, the waves, the Ocean ways,
to these I’ll take a stand
For of human works I have no praise,
but these things I understand
I was in the King's Arm once with my friend Maggie and we heard a tale about someone whom we greatly admire as a storyteller and pirate, namely, Dread Poet Roberts. I don't know if the tale is true, but in honor of Dread and in appreciation for his efforts at story time, I recounted it on 7-25-17 at story time in the Grotto.
Dread Meets the Undead
Dread Poet Roberts
Laid upon his bed,
Stories quite fantastic
Racing through his head.
A bony finger touched his cheek
And wiped his tears away,
And then a ghostly voice implored,
"I need a place to stay."
"Good God!" cried poor Roberts,
"Why are you in my bed?
The creatures from my stories
Belong inside my head!"
"I just want some rest," she said,
"So please don't quake or shriek.
I am an undead pirate girl,
But peace is all I seek."
So Dread let her lie there
And share his lonely bed.
He knew she needed to escape
The violence in his head.
And Dread himself stopped hurting
And soundly he did sleep.
Spooning with an undead girl,
The poet was complete.
Abandoned was presented by Canon Bluefire at Story Time, 8/7/2017
On a serene and soothing evening
On a relaxed and restful sea
A shapeless object came drifting forth
with a face well clothed in calamity
At first a curious look
A break in minor monotony
But then there proved a recognizable mast
that rocked in unspoken agony
Seaweed flaunted the sides
Shell-fish were fastened about
Obviously adrift for many a month
Of this —the image was stout
No crew to be found a-working
No crew to be found at rest
The upper deck was well washed clean,
for the sea had done its best
The struggle had long been over
A storm had cast aside
And the men aboard were washed away
and left to the merciless tide
No one can recount their story
No one can relate the end
Their bones lie whitening among caverns deep
in a silence quite heavily penned
What sighs have wafted so sadly
What prayers have been offered up
Their women at home, by the fireside, sit
drinking from hopes last cup
How anxiety turns to dread,
and dread, in turn, to despair
Not one memento shall the sea return for
the sea has no feeling of fair
The ways of the sea, unforgiving
The powers of the sea, immense
The wisdom of the sea, eternal, but
for the redress of Man; no sense
The Blade of the Abyss Part 1 as presented by Charlotte Ironpoenix on 8/8/17
The Blade of the Abyss.
Many of you covet this cursed sword do you not?
Then listen to this tale and be warned that you may pay for this blade with your very soul.
There once was a man named David who was but a humble fisherman on Port Royal. His was a life of hard work and little pay, but he was a good man and he had a decent living. It came to be that he was betrothed to a woman named Anne and even though she was only the daughter of a poor seamstress and had little in the way of a dowry, he was very much in love with her.
But there came a day that Port Royal was attacked by a small crew of pirates. It was a bitter battle under stormy skies, but the pirates were well prepared and they raided the town, taking a number of fair young women hostage including sweet Anne.
The Navy attempted to give chase but when the pirate ship reached Isla Tormenta they gave up hope of overtaking them.
David was distraught when he heard the news. Neither Anne's mother nor himself would have the coin to pay a pirate's ransom and it grieved his heart to think of what the pirates would do to her.
Too anxious to keep still he went for a walk to try to clear his troubled mind. The storm that had been brewing broke overhead and drenched David down to his long shirt but he did not care, continuing to wander until his feet carried him deep into the jungle around the town.
"I would do anything to get Anne back," he shouted aloud, the thunder roaring as if in agreement.
"Anything?" Asked a gravelly voice.
David turned around quickly, behind him stood an old man thin and frail leaning on a wooden cane.
"You gave me a fright Grandfather," David addressed the stranger politely, "forgive me, I was so lost in thought that I did not notice you."
The old man stared at him with a strange look in his black eyes, "Tell me David, do you truly mean what you say, that you would give anything, anything at all to get your betrothed back?"
An uneasy feeling twisted David's gut as the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, "How do you know my name?"
The strangers thin lips twisted into a semblance of a smile.
"I know a great many things, but every moment you dally here is a moment longer that your Anne is beset upon by those pirates." The thunder growled overhead and he continued, "Give me your answer now David, son of William and Mary. Do you vow that you will give anything to get your Anne back from the pirates who stole her away?"
David's heart was clenched in fear of an unknown terror but he answered, "Aye you have my word that I will give anything to get Anne back."
The old man's lips pulled back into a wide toothless grin, "Then take this and you have my word it will give you the power to accomplish that task!" The old man took his cane and with surprising strength thrust it deep into the ground. All around them the thunder roared like a great wave of water crashing down upon the earth and the world went blinding white and silent as lightning struck the cane.
David fell down with a cry, deafened and blinded by the lightning striking so close but otherwise unharmed. His whole body shook and it felt like an eternity until his ears stopped ringing and his vision cleared. All around him was silent, the air filled with an unpleasant stench the like of which David did not know the make of.
The old man was gone, the place where he once stood blackened and small fires dotting the brush and trees, snapping and hissing in the rain. At the center where the cane had been thrust there now was a sword great in size and strange in design. Spaced all along the blade were finger length spikes and David could not discern what it was made from. He felt sick when he briefly thought it looked more like it had been crafted from bones than it did metal.
David reached out and with a trembling hand touched one of the spikes. When the lightest pressure split his skin open he jerked his bleeding finger away. David had never even held a sword, how could this one possibly help him? Standing slowly he pulled it from the ground and at once a strange heat filled him with confidence.
He would make those pirates pay.
The Blade of the Abyss Part 2
The storm around him made the ships tied up at the docks buck and pitch, he knew his own little fishing boat was not seaworthy enough to cross the ocean in this gale. So David stole himself onto a little navy sloop tied up at the docks and surprised both himself and the two poor cadets that had been assigned watch duty in this foul weather.
"Halt! State your business here!" One of them ordered, the young man's hands shaking around his bayonet as he eyed the cruel sword in David's hand.
"I just-- " David made the mistake of lifting his sword and the navy cadet aimed to shoot.
David swung the sword in front of him instinctively and was shocked and horrified when the two cadets were consumed by green fire. Their deaths were almost instant. Almost.
Dropping the sword and running to the side of the ship, David immediately lost his supper. What kind of unholy power possessed that blade? He glanced back at it and looked again when he saw it was still smoldering with fire. Surely that sword belonged to the devil, he thought and his heart clenched in fear. What had he bargained for? WHO had he bargained with?
He knew not how long he stood there frozen but eventually he shook himself free. He had to save Anne, there was no turning back now. He was doomed for certain but there was still the chance to save her.
He cast off from Port Royal and sailed west towards the mountain that marked Isla Tormenta in the sea. The pirates had anchored their ship off its beach and had gone below deck to celebrate with their ill gotten plunder. David watched the ship from afar, spotting the two watchmen on deck huddled down under their coats in the rain but otherwise laughing in good spirits as they passed a bottle of rum between them.
David felt his blood boil like it never had before, his hand clenching around the cursed sword. He had struggled for everything he had in life and here these men just stole what they pleased and seemed not the least bit remorseful. What gave them that right?
He took the sloop's little long boat and quietly slipped up beside the pirates ship. Creeping up to the forecastle where the two pirates stood watch, David snuck up behind them and before they could raise an alarm he cut them both down in a single stroke. The sword smoldered in the dark with a red sheen and where before he had been horrified by his actions, now he felt wonderfully at peace. Euphoric even. He was so close to achieving what he came for...
Assuming Anne was still alive.
With care he slipped below deck, despite the fact that the celebrating pirates would likely be too far gone in their revelry to hear him. David could certainly hear them as he approached, they were singing at the top of their lungs and stomping their feet. Their noise was enough that he didn't hear three pirates coming up from the hold until they stepped up off the stairs in front of him.
"Whats this?" One crowed, astonished, "some rat has crawled up from the bilge!"
Around them the ship groaned against the swell of the storm. David pointed the still flaming blade at them and watched as the three pirates jumped back from the unnatural sword.
"I'll only ask once, where are the kidnaped women?" David demanded.
"In- in the the me- mess," The pirate stuttered, "up in the stern."
"Thank you," David said coldly before he swung the sword through the air, green fire again springing up to consume the three unfortunate souls.
Turning away from the sight, David strode towards the front of the ship. He paused outside the door of the room and peered inside. The pirates were seated around a table toasting themselves and feasting, the women seated against the far wall bound and gagged.
What he did next I cannot speak of. But he proved the power of that sword to do terrible things was greater than any other weapon they could raise against him and at the end of it, not one of those pirates would see the sun rise again.
David went over to the group of women and they shrank down among each other. He grabbed Anne around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, holding her with one hand and the flaming sword with the other. The other women cried through their gags and struggled against their bonds, but David paid them no heed as he left.
He carried Anne quickly up to the deck and set her down so he could free her. Her eyes were wide and weepy as she looked at him and her dress was dirty but she seemed to be otherwise unharmed. David took a little knife from his belt and cut the ropes binding her hands and feet. At once she shoved him away from her and crawled away backwards.
"Anne! Its alright! Its me David!" He cried.
She jerked the rag from her mouth and spat at him, "Monster! You you are not David! My David was a kind and gentle man, he would never... He would never..." She trailed off, staring at the still forms of the two watchmen cut down by his sword.
David looked to where her gaze led and frowned, scowling, "Anne those were PIRATES! You can't possibly have any pity for them!" He shouted at her, anger burning beneath his skin.
"You MURDERED them!" Anne shrieked, "they begged you for mercy and you ran them through like they were nothing!"
"I can't believe you are defending them!" He roared, grabbing her by the wrists, "Do you have any idea what it cost me to come free you?!"
"Let me GO!" Anne yelled. She threw herself back, breaking free from him but losing her balance. She hit the gunwale with such force that it carried her over the edge. With a scream she fell, her back bowed at an angle unnatural to man as it hit the water and with that she was forever lost to Davy Jones.
"ANNE! ANNE!" David screamed, clinging to the side of the ship as he looked for any sign of her in the churning gray water below but finding none. He wept as he continued to scream.
Everything he had done had been for nothing now.
Around him the thunder rumbled quietly and David felt a chill crawl up his spine. Looking about for the cause, he saw between the lightning flashes the shadows on the ship twisted and grew, the old man from the woods stepping out of them. The fear from before was gone now, replaced by burning rage.
"YOU!" David bellowed, pointing the sword at him, "You LIED!"
The Devil smiled, "you only bargained to take Anne back from the pirates, not to keep her."
David felt his face go white as the blood rushed from it, realizing his mistake. Then the fury took hold of him again. With a howl David charged him and swung down with his burning sword. The Devil caught it single handed and unscathed without looking away from David's now horrified face.
"How disappointing. Is that how you repay someone for their gift?" He jerked the blade out of David's hand and flung it away in the direction of Isla Tormenta.
David dropped to the deck of the ship as the weight of his actions fell on him and made his legs go weak.
"Please... please ha- have mercy," David wailed.
The Devil threw back his head and laughed with the thunder, "I have no need to kill you boy. Your soul is already mine."
The Blade of the Abyss.
Its power took what little darkness was in David's heart and fed it until it consumed him. So beware all you that seek this sword, for finding it may mean loosing your self.