Several more trailed the man. They wore the typical pirate crew getup - cloth head caps, raggedy clothes, smudged dirt, some with limbs replaced by wood. Despite this, they were not as loud and boisterous as he. Adrenaline rushed through Zolton, forcing him onto his feet. That's the guy on the poster… King Blassadahl! What the hell is he doing here? Don't matter, I'm gonna have to go on the offense when he gets aggressive!

"Hello, King," the bartender greeted with a warm smile, "So that's how you feel about me, huh? A ‘bar-dweller?’"

"Aww, nah, not you Margaret - you're a gem! I only meant the others, I’m serious!"

"Well screw ya too, Blassadahl!" One of the drinking men shouted jokingly with a hearty laugh to follow up.

The shining man looked confused. He shifted only his eyes as he scanned the bar. "Where the hell is everyone, Margaret? Y'all taking the night off?"

"No, the sun just went down it seems. I'm sure they'll come around later. Come get a drink, why don't ya?"

What? What is she talking about? Does she not realize who that is?! Wait… she must know. She referred to him by name, so casually… when did it turn night so quickly? And that other guy is acting like his buddy. The hell is going on here?

"Alright, alright. Give me the regular. Might as well make some of everything," Blassadahl advised before turning his sight to Zolton, "I cover all of ya- who in the great blue hell are you?"

Zolton froze for a moment, but then loosened himself as he smirked. "A guy passing by."

"Oh really, I thought you were a hairless sasquatch. Where do you come from? The devil’s woods?"

"Of course, my profession pales in comparison to yours. You know, the way you give leprechauns a good time under the table and all so that you may afford your attire."

Blassadahl's right eye began twitching as he formed a backhand. A Gold casting circle grew at the back of his hand, shining brilliantly. "I oughta smack your dumbass back to ya mother's womb! Watch who you're talking to, destitute bitch! You don't have anything of worth on you, so you wouldn't even live on in memory if I were to slap you down to the subterrain!"

"You want to steal from me? Is that it? So much for the notorious leprechaun sucker," Zolton laughed, "You still would steal from someone 'poor' as me? Embarrassing."

"Alright, alright calm down," Margaret shouted, although tiresomely, "Y'all can have your pissin' contest later. It ain't the time for hatin' and spitting. Let's enjoy ourselves tonight. You don't come around all that often, Blassadahl. And you haven't experienced our Great Nights, Zolton."

Zolton and Blassadahl scowled at each other, unmoving their hateful gazes for a brief while. “If he tries that again I’m gonna smack the shit out of him,” Blassadahl promised as he moved closer to Margaret.

He took a seat on one of the chairs and tossed a couple thousand galleons onto the long table without counting any. He didn’t seem to be concerned with how much he had flung on the table. Blassadahl turned only his scowling eyes to Zolton. "Get one for him, too."

Margaret gave a brief gasp. "Oh? That's surprising. What got into you, King? Gifting someone who grinds your gears?"

King Blassadahl put on a smug expression. He took a slow entry into his sentence, "Well, since you all are clearly craving to know why I'm in such a good mood, I will bless all your ears with the news. After a little scuffle on the seas, I acquired myself a second, grand new outfit."

"Really?" Margaret questioned as she prepared the huge serving of drinks, "You don't seem to be wearing anything from the ordinary. Well… your ordinary."

"Not a fan of blue; I think this one looks better on me. But at the end of the day, a trophy is a trophy. Like a beginning hunter that has a mere boar's head on his wall… not saying that I compare to a mere beginner."

"Did you really spend galleons to look like that?" Zolton barged.

King's smug expression quickly morphed into a hateful grimace. "Did I not tell you to watch yourself, dirt muncher?! Even with the few thrift shit on your unwashed wildebeest back, you believe that you have room to pass judgement on clothes? It's taking all the good in me to not kill you right where you stand. Keep pushing me!"

"Right, right. I'm sorry, please forgive me. As you can tell, I am nowhere near your level of wealth, oh dear King. I just can't fathom the fact that someone with so much money would spend a chunk of it to look like an albino bipedal horse sprayed with piss."

Blassadahl twitched for a moment. His index finger on his left hand tapped the table frantically before coming to an abrupt end. He eyed him viciously, sending Zolton into an actual state of apprehension. After staring him down for a few seconds - mimicking minutes from Zolton's view - Blassadahl dropped his face onto the long bar table and slipped into a fit of untamed laughter. He pounded on the table with his fist, inadvertently summoning a little casting circle on his clenched hand's underside and sending small clumps of gold all about.

Eventually, his surprisingly unmuffled laughter came to a sudden end. The patrons and his crew stared at Blassadahl awkwardly, some even a bit visibly shaken - including Margaret who was still preparing the drinks. Despite the large difference in size, Zolton was fairly shaken by this maniacal man.

"Are they done, Marg?" King uttered, although muffly due to his utter refusal to lift his head off the table and away from the shielding of his right arm.

"N-not all of them, King…" Margaret replied, hastening her work, "Many are, though."

Judging by his tone he asked a question, but it was absorbed by the wooden table which his face still remained planted on. "Run that back one more time, sugar?" Margaret requested.

King's attention rose up with the quickness of a soaring hawk. He focused on Margaret. One would believe that his eyes were shifting into that of an eagle’s. "Is. His... Ready?"

She turned pale. She looked into the drink with horror and bewilderment. What could he have done? He was never here and his crew never came closeby… What did you do, King?

Blassadahl grinned wide. "From your face, I assume that means it is. Give it to him," he ordered, pointing to a sitting Zolton.

"I'm not drinking that," Zolton nervously chuckled, "You may be insane, but I'm not. Clearly you poisoned it."

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Blassadahl's mighty grin grew greater. "You think I would poison you when I could just kill you on my own right now if I felt like it?! Don't disrespect me, boy! What, you bitching out? Does the man in the 'tree piss' clothes scare you?!"

Zolton's foot tapped the floor with a few quick repetitions. He looked at Blassadahl who had a shining smile on his face, laughing. "Son of a bitch…" Zolton mumbled and quickly brought the wooden mug to his lips, gulping down the beverage. All except, the SGS pirates, watched Zolton anxiously. They were more concerned with the late arrival of their drinks.

A loud bang broke the silence, a chair crashing to the ground. It was Blassadahl, who had lept onto his feet and guffawed, surely reaching the ears of even those outside. Zolton was still seated, but visibly confused. "How does it feel?!" Blassadahl bellowed, "How does it feel to be suckling off of me like a calf, bitch?!"

Zolton replied with a moment of perplexed silence. "You good?" He questioned. Despite asking Blassadahl this, Zolton faced the man's crew instead - the lot of which simply shrugged or disregarded him. King's triumphant laughter once again squandered the very brief silence."You're drinking from my hands, boy! I bought that drink for you and you swallowed it down like a thirsty dog! I practically own you! How does it feel to be under my shoe?!"

"Y-you got me…" Zolton mourned, dropping his shamed face into his palms. King's guffaws managed to become even greater due to this spectacle. Zolton looked up with a smirk. "...you got me thanking my father for raising me well. Are you serious? You did that for a sense of superiority? Valin was definitely right about you… you're pathetic. You call yourself 'King' despite being nothing but a load of horse shit. You're a giant toddler with no purpose… it's embarrassing. I'd kill you right now if the gap between us wasn't so wide… but I'm sure just saying that is more manly than what you could ever do."

Blassadahl gazed with a dull face. He appeared to be choked with silence; at a loss for words. "Zolton… I’m sorry,” he uttered boldly, lifting his chin up. The bar-goers paused their activities to observe this bizarre occurrence with great shock.

Blassadahl continued, “I’m sorry… sorry to see you crumble like wet paper! Did I piss you off that much? Boy you really tried digging deep, didn’t you? Here I was thinking you’d be a big man, throw a punch or some shit but instead you tried to go after feelings?! That is cute! No, not cute - sad! That’s what it is!” Blassadahl laughed heartily, "Don't talk to your superior that way again before I smash some gold into your dome. Hell, maybe you are probably thinking about triggering me now, huh? That might make you worth something!"

Is this guy serious? Good hell, what could this man have done to get a bounty that high? Can you be wanted for being a jackass?

"No more sorry shit to say, big man?" King taunted, grinning arrogantly, causing Zolton to shake his head with disappointment, "Good, you've already turned this good night sour… for them. All you did to me was suck my feet. Speaking of which, want another drink? I know you're in dire need. Don’t worry, kid - I'm here for you," he laughed.

A small water magic symbol developed at Zolton’s right hand, hidden beneath the table. He glowered at Blassadahl for a moment, then turned to scan the bar at the people - a mix of the uneased and uninterested. Margaret on the other hand was quivering quite a bit. With this observation, Zolton reluctantly dissipated the circle with an unsatisfied sigh.

“Margaret,” he called, “do you remember the galleon amount for the Black Spirit’s bounty? Hope you don’t mind me calling you by name.”

Margaret’s fearful quaking came to a complete freeze. She turned back to Zolton with eyes wide as an owl’s. “Mind you calling m- that isn’t the important part of your words, sugar. What do you want to know the bounty for? It doesn’t have o-”

“Three hundred thousand,” King Blassadahl barged in with a strong smug upon his face once again. “Three hundred thousand galleons if you can get its bounty, hairless sasquatch.”

Margaret stood in gloomy silence. She finished one more drink before taking a seat and laying her head to rest with grief in a single hand. Blassadahl’s smug devolved into a disappointed fixture. “Aww, come on now, Marg! He’s a big man that wants to prove something, let him go grow some balls! He clearly needs to get a pair.”

“Why won’t you just take care of it, King?” Margaret asked calmly, although her eyes beseeched.

Blassadahl grinned. “I have more than enough galleons. Besides, even if I did, it’s not like them Grim Norvys or whatever the hell they’re called would pay me. And besides-besides, y’all can use that as a tourist attraction or some shit. Valtrice’s Supernatural, or whatever. I’m taking a cut from the revenue of that - it’s my idea after all.”

“Sounds like you’re just not as tough as you think yourself to be, Blassa,” Zolton sneered, “Of course, that is not at all surprising.”

“Take a look at my get-up, sasquatch. Got this from a pretty powerful person. Said person that was the highest of the highest in their line of work. I already told you about the other one I have back on my ship, the blue one. That one I got from another person of very similar status to the first guy. I will let you know that they did not simply hand their shit over to me. Point is, I could handle a little woods-dwelling dumbass if I wanted to - unlike you. Go, run along now and get snatched or whatever it is that happened to those other idiots,” Blassadahl dropped back onto a chair after his spiel. He looked around, with unsure eyes. "Where the hell is everyone at? Trying to get this shit going!"

"The work day for many is almost up. They will come soon," Margaret calmed, turning her head to Zolton as her hands continued preparations, "Be careful now, Shugs. Please…"

Zolton smiled and gave Margaret a big thumbs up as he was beginning his departure. That's when it struck him. He stopped in his tracks to look back at the situation - and also quite literally. "Wait a second… Margaret, you know Blassafool is wanted right?"

She smiled and shrugged. "Of course… but there ain't much we can do about it. He's far beyond us in strength and hasn't tried to harm us, so what's the point? He seems like a pretty nice—err, a man with good in him that he struggles to bring out..."

"He has 'good in him,' huh? The ‘bad’ must be really kicking his ass for him to get a bounty of over six hundred million galleons. But hey, what do I know? Maybe what he did is justified… not that I have any positive thoughts about it."

Margaret finished the last mixing of fruits and water. She plopped into a chair behind the serving table and gave a big breath of relief with a mighty smile of accomplishment. “I think it’s good to keep an open mind unless facts give us a clearer picture. I believe King is a nice man at heart. Maybe he just doesn’t want that to be his image… I’m not sure, you boys like to act all convoluted… like when he didn’t deal with the spirit there… Good thing you gave him a proper talking to after what he pulled by giving you that drink. Maybe he needed a bit of that.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I only said that because I was actually upset, I guess he rightfully took that win. Wait, he went in there before? I thought he said that he never dealt with it?”

“Well, he tried acting as if he never did. Not sure why… I guess this should be no surprise, but he was the only one to ever go in and come out as his normal self. He is a strong man, apparently strong enough to handle whatever is in there, but for some peculiar reason he just didn’t end it there… afterwards he just acted like he never was in there to begin with. I’m not sure if something traumatic happened to him or what but it’s very odd. Which is why I don’t want any more people crossing into that hell… so tell me Zolton, why do you want to scuffle with it so badly despite everything you’ve been told?”

“If I want to make things better for everyone,” Zolton uttered clearly, “I have to put myself last. I know that you are a very good person, Margaret. Thank you. I’ve seen a couple of you here on this island, Fayeign. I want to repay you all for that.”

Margaret was placed into a warm moment of silence. She lowered her head and shut her eyes for a moment of acceptance and gratitude. As she opened them, Zolton had already been out the door. His stomps echoed the coldness of shoes moving along concrete before converting to the crunching of grass. He went back to the same tiny waterfall he had bathed in and stood before the dark woods. At this point, he could hear a loud collection chatter beginning at the bar despite being so far. It was even getting louder. And once again, he felt a harrowing cold weight pressing onto him but he overcame it with his will and marched in. The woods became more and more dense as he moved deeper. His large build made it even more difficult to navigate between the trees, but a bit of force and magic aided in clearing some. Although he was nowhere near the center of the dark woods, all light from the moon and Fayeign had been completely blocked out. His vision couldn’t even make it to his shirt. Would it have killed me to have just waited until the sun was up at least? Making smart decisions aren’t I…

“Oh, oh, oh, oh you! Yes! Y-you!” a voice echoed between the trees. It sounded like a box of old screws in a box clashing against one another. “Oh, yes, you! I-I-I have been watching you, yes! You! Oh, oh, you! You’re the last one I needed! Yes! Yes! You have one of the five—no, six, right?! The origins? Yesss-you are! Yes! You were the one there last night at the falls, yes? Yes! That one you were, yes! You have the one to become the Blackwater, yes?!”

Despite having no sight, Zolton slowed his racing heart and chained his shaking breath down to stability. “What are you? What have you been doing to people who come here?”

The thing paused for a moment. “I have made them greater. Do you want to be greater? Everyone wants to be greater! Let me make you greater!”

Numerous trees were heard shaking violently before a massive force fell onto Zolton, pushing him to the ground. He fired off a blast of water wildly, following up with a big spherical explosion of water in desperate hopes of hitting whatever it was that attacked him. The thing began to cackle maniacally as four strange cold, wet yet airy things engulfed Zoltons limbs. He fought against it as great as he could, even summoning more circles into the chains, but all that seemed to do was make them more powerful. He could feel himself getting exhausted drastically, far faster than what would be normal for him. It felt almost as if his energy was going into the unseen locks. As he no longer had the strength to struggle, the thing swung him into multiple trees, and dragged him with great speed across the forest’s ground, deeper into the wilderness. Eventually, when it seemed to be done toying with him, it spun him around until slamming his head into a big stone, staining it with a splash of blood and knocking him unconscious. After it ended its train of torment, the dark spirit dragged his limp body into a soft patch of dirt set underneath trees with a bit more space in between their leaves, allowing a tiny bit of moonlight. At last, it tossed and swirled the brown and orange leaves upon the ground, removing all trails of its rampaging.