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Creative Writing: A Hero's Revenge

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Upon the swallowing waves, over the boat came, descending madly as it crashed upon bricks of water. Sea foam pelted at the sailors like bullets, fire billowed from the mast as those scrambled upon their last dredges of life to protect themselves. The last of the mast came crashing into the water. Far beyond, waves lapped at the edges of sandy beach. Fog rolled swiftly over the rustling palm trees, weaving low upon the ground as the passings of a storm began to reach the island. A shuttered door burst open and closed once more by every passing gust of chilling wind. Eventide fell with a sharp intake of cloudy breath, until it fell to dark. Within the reaches of the tropical island, people payed no mind to the storm brewing outside. Lampposts…show more content…
“How’s about you and I have a little drink together, huh? I’s been missing you and your jolly good stories around here for a while.” “Oh, stop that ineffable sputtering, Barnabas. I can heave you right down to the jail if you so much as make the racket you made last fortnight.” “Oi, has it already been a fortnight?” said he, bellowing out once more his unmistakable laugh. “I can’t scarcely remember when’s the last time you and I’s had a drink! Must’ve been a grand show, how about it, boys?” The other patrons chuckled their agreements, one in the back so much as yelling out the events of the night, which are not due to be repeated. The Commodore clenched his teeth, pushing his tongue to his bristled cheek as his otherwise fat face contorted into a scowl. “Mr. Wraight, I am certain not to repeat once more my authority over this town. These patrons—as I am—are here for a quiet evening, and we would all be right pleased, I am sure, to be rid of your insufferable rowdiness for a single…show more content…
He wiped his mouth with a dirtied hand, spittle landing on a disgusted Commodore. “You be yellow for being stuck here, you are. But it ain’t no matter, ol’ Commodore,” said he, “because I’ll be right here into the wee hours!” He laughed then, a wheezing laugh too, high and drawn out and quite eerie. It rang across the tavern throughout the rest of the night, an old sea-faring laugh that was so distinct from his drunken bellow that many people shivered in spite of the glowing fireplace crackling near the wall. The night drew ever darker, ale overflowed the cup, and Barnabas and his fellow pirates and seamen began a round of: ‘Fifteen men on the dead man 's chest— Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!’ until the sun began to rise from behind the lightening clouds. Upon the shores of Port Notales, Barnabas would discover at midday remnants of wood washed upon the darkened beaches. But until daybreak broke, the tavern was full of sinful, worldly, pleasures, alight with cheers and gossip of the most dangerous
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