Discover Top Posts Tagged with #is something nothing?

Ch 1 ~ Spiraling

[/// ♫ Sick of It All ♫ \\\]

In a hearty pub establishment low festiveness as the swigs of the valued ale that sunk the pit of problems even if for a fleeting was drowned throughout the patrons. A coated shadow propped down at the standing head hung low. Lights dimmed, but candles hung with the accompany of small minstrels lulling weary travelers. Two digits surrounded in appendages patted against the counter a signal to be hit up and served one basic mug of brew. No words exchanged but thoughts surfaced throughout the darkened figure eaten by woe. Something had taken ahold of what was once a charismatic and loving Captain who bare it all on the line for his beliefs. That sprawling dementing voice that crawls against ever notion and intuition like a siphoner, remarking your flaws. Holding you accountable for the sins. The tally maker of humanity’s worst failures. It sought to control as often does it, to rot end. In the second entanglement of opposing digits held near an ashtray a rolled cigarette, this had already been his tenth one since entering. Stacking and drowning constantly with refills of ale. Try to beat back the demons but only getting them louder and riled up. Nerves intensified, there was no luxury for him to forget him giving in, no matter how defiant he once displayed. Sooner or later, all breaks. A hunter herald for treasures should all but know that... You see, he could not maintain a hold or grip on his life as he was a leader. And wore the crowned Tricorne of his crew after donning as a symbolism of honor. He had achieved large successful fillings of boots that all would think satisfaction would rise. Coming close to many clutched perils, retrieving artifacts of tremendous demonic dangers with devil’s themselves the epitome of bringers of branded sins. - To, venturing below underneath the abyssal depths of Rohtano Seas to Hidden Civilizational Empires of Rival Pirate Crews that barred the banner of a serpent holding the Skull of Humanity in coiled grip and surviving under the pressure as all fell, throughout plentiful, appointed contacts and made connections with all acts of individuals. Yet the unfulfilling feeling the emptiness took over, -- something perhaps was swaying sinisterly in a more deeply close atmosphere more of a faded architecture, ghastly, to say the least... The buried crew in his command to those in arms all covered him in coating invisible blood that brought nightmares. Trying to reach out to prevent the remainder from scattering to the depths. To his closest loves and most valuables all endangered. A cycle of history repeating dozens of times over, when he wore that hat actively it made him a target. A symbol he loudly announced constantly drew in the worse crowds and those who were his sacred defense shattered nearly every single time or broke to the shambles. He was becoming a frightener to those close While also being the frightened. With that gnawing at him. He decided as all trigger to respond, a change was required... However... As you learn, not all changes are welcomed... --- Nearing at less active hours for the pub an exchange would take place. Suddenly lifting up his goat boned carved themed mug for its ale his wrists was grabbed by a relatively large brutish Sea Wolf, “Ay, that seat b’ my usual, take a hike kitten o’ get another blind patch fer yer second eye.” His sun-kissed cheeks tensing up from the miss of savory and stoppage showing a hence of his jawbone. The Seeker turning to look forwardly up, “Shure, thing, lad.” His breath still ringing off the poison drowned in. His grip loosened and was about to stand up before taking the burning cigarette and flicking it directly in the eye of the brute. Causing him to stagger, a follow up sequenced kick to his ‘sacred’ jewels caused him to kneel over in a natural reflex to hold it in agony. He’d take a bottle and smash it and break it against the giant’s head causing him to fall back on his fat lard destroying the stools behind him. The pub owner, an elderly man of sorts crossed over to rage and threaten to kick them out and stop. Still, though the constant nagging was steering the voices as the pirate who once would be done needed to feel pain, needed to extract it. He needed a drowning the ringing of the clashing and adrenaline overflowing out of him, to feel anything, was relieving. He’d watch the Roe holding his eye crisply burnt from the cigarette’s inflamed bud hitting directly while another causing him to hold in trembles and groaning. His shoulder would be grabbed and forcing the pirate to look towards the taverns keep. As he was being shouted out profusely, no words broke through to him. A sort of frenzy-lust took control as he took in an inhale and returned the favor by grabbing the elder mans shoulders and shoving him with tremendous force back before stopping and slamming him through his own glass windows causing a loud commotion and combustion of glass breaking from brutal impact. The waitress who was the pub owner’s granddaughter screamed and dropped her plate and with a gasped outcry, “MONSTER!!! GET OUT!!” She’d shriek and throw a bottle towards him. Hitting him in the shoulder and sending splinter glass causing him to bleed through his coat from his arm in rained crimson. Looking down; at what was; it caused him to snap to reality the words finally echoing back through that lost mind. His heart-rate fellow directly behind increasing in volumes causing him to leave in a sprigged step from the scene.