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The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
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<blockquote data-quote="Rolzup" data-source="post: 2881288" data-attributes="member: 10105"><p>Last night, round about evenin', we set out for the Dancehall, on the Cocks Swallow docks.</p><p></p><p>Nah, nah, get yer mind from out the gutter, lad. Ye might know it as Gibbet's Dock, but most folks call it the Dock o'Cocks Swallow, after ol' Dead Pirate Guilford Gibbet. Seems he was freed from his own public hanging by an angry mob, what up and killed the poor bastard by choking him with his own severed manhood. Ye might have seen the statue of Gibbet by the wharf-side, eh? Surrounded by a bunch of little statues of flyin' swallows? And one statue of a rooster?</p><p></p><p>Aye, that's the one. It's a bit of a pun, like.</p><p></p><p>Well, 'twas a pleasant enough walk, all things considered. The crowds cleared out of the way right quick when the saw who was coming; nobody wanted to risk offending the Pretty Man, seein' as how he's so quick with his sword.</p><p></p><p>We were passin' the Bluefins Tavern when the damnedest thing happened. The doors flew open, and a whole crowd people came runnin' into the street, all screamin' and carryin' on. There were dogs howlin', and ladies weepin', and grown men terrified outta their wits.</p><p></p><p>And why? Rats, o'course. Little ones, mind, but lots of 'em. A wave of the little beggars came spillin' out the door, chewin' on anyone they could get their teeth into.</p><p></p><p>Now, I'm no swordsman. And I'm none too good with a bow, I'll not deny that. But show me rats, and I know where me duty lies. Took Knocker in me hand and waded right in, hittin' those rats to the left and to the right. Felt damned good, to be doin' some honest work again. Took a few bites outta me, they did, but wasn't but a trifle. Duchess and me, we cleared things up right and proper, quick as sin.</p><p></p><p>Never did find out what that was all about, come to think on it. Might be they were layin' in wait for me. Not the first time I've been ambushed by rats, likely won't be the last.</p><p></p><p>The Pretty Man gave me a little nod as I finished the last of 'em off. Recognized a fellow killer, so he did, and no mistake. Gave me a bit of a chill, to be honest. I kill for a livin', true enough, but I'm no murderer. Not like him.</p><p></p><p>Never like him.</p><p></p><p>Thank ye, lad, thank ye. Needed another drink, after that. Where was I?</p><p></p><p>Right, right. Well, I never did find out what <em>that</em> was all about. Nobody knew where the beasties had come from, and the only clue was the howlin' of a dog just before they all up and manifested.</p><p></p><p>Spontaneous rats...that's a problem I can sink me teeth into. I ain't done with that situation, friends, and ye've got me oath on that.</p><p></p><p>But on we went to the Dancehall. Ever been there, Gerard? Not a nice place, not like the Pig here. Not so clean, this bar of yours, but it's <em>honest</em>. And that counts for a lot, so it does.</p><p></p><p>The Dancehall, it was nothin' but pretty lies. All glittery, and fancy-like. And nothin' but scum inside. Pirates, and thugs, and gutter trash. A bunch of them primitives, the hairy folk with heavy brows, were hangin' about and draggin' their clubs. Swayin' to the music, they were, and that should tell you what the place sounded like.</p><p></p><p>Just horrible, it was.</p><p></p><p>The Pretty Man, he walked right up to the bar, and demanded to see the owner. You could see the crowd wasn't too happy to see any of us, and they <em>really</em> didn't like the Pretty Man...but they didn't do more than grumble a bit. They knew better than to trifle with the likes of us.</p><p></p><p>There was some talkin' back and forth, and finally they agreed to take the Pretty Man back to talk with the owner of the place. The Queen Bitch, they called her. Just the Pretty Man, mind, and his pet monkey besides. Wanted him to leave his sword behind, but he just laughed a cold laugh and shook his head.</p><p></p><p>It's his soul, you know. I've heard 'im say it with me very own ears. Blasphemous, that. Must have eaten his soul first, right off. It's hungry, that blade.</p><p></p><p>They didn't argue, and took him into a back room. We stood ready, weapons at hand, prepared for trouble. The Bloody Archer, he was like a damned statue. Never moved, never twitched, but for his eyes. He's always lookin', that man. Huntin', like.</p><p></p><p>The Prof, he started in to talking to one of those cave-men I mentioned. 'Bout what, I can't imagine. I heard 'em mention time, and space, and how impressed the Prof was by the cave-man's club...but nothin' that made any sense, really.</p><p></p><p>And then came the sound, from behind the door the Pretty Man had gone through. Sounded like a dozen thunderclaps, all at once, and was enough to set my ears to ringin'. Magic, I knew, and no mistake.</p><p></p><p>Duchess and I, we had that door down in a trifle. In we went, the Archer and Prof on our heels. And let me tell ye, things went <em>right</em> to hell.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rolzup, post: 2881288, member: 10105"] Last night, round about evenin', we set out for the Dancehall, on the Cocks Swallow docks. Nah, nah, get yer mind from out the gutter, lad. Ye might know it as Gibbet's Dock, but most folks call it the Dock o'Cocks Swallow, after ol' Dead Pirate Guilford Gibbet. Seems he was freed from his own public hanging by an angry mob, what up and killed the poor bastard by choking him with his own severed manhood. Ye might have seen the statue of Gibbet by the wharf-side, eh? Surrounded by a bunch of little statues of flyin' swallows? And one statue of a rooster? Aye, that's the one. It's a bit of a pun, like. Well, 'twas a pleasant enough walk, all things considered. The crowds cleared out of the way right quick when the saw who was coming; nobody wanted to risk offending the Pretty Man, seein' as how he's so quick with his sword. We were passin' the Bluefins Tavern when the damnedest thing happened. The doors flew open, and a whole crowd people came runnin' into the street, all screamin' and carryin' on. There were dogs howlin', and ladies weepin', and grown men terrified outta their wits. And why? Rats, o'course. Little ones, mind, but lots of 'em. A wave of the little beggars came spillin' out the door, chewin' on anyone they could get their teeth into. Now, I'm no swordsman. And I'm none too good with a bow, I'll not deny that. But show me rats, and I know where me duty lies. Took Knocker in me hand and waded right in, hittin' those rats to the left and to the right. Felt damned good, to be doin' some honest work again. Took a few bites outta me, they did, but wasn't but a trifle. Duchess and me, we cleared things up right and proper, quick as sin. Never did find out what that was all about, come to think on it. Might be they were layin' in wait for me. Not the first time I've been ambushed by rats, likely won't be the last. The Pretty Man gave me a little nod as I finished the last of 'em off. Recognized a fellow killer, so he did, and no mistake. Gave me a bit of a chill, to be honest. I kill for a livin', true enough, but I'm no murderer. Not like him. Never like him. Thank ye, lad, thank ye. Needed another drink, after that. Where was I? Right, right. Well, I never did find out what [i]that[/i] was all about. Nobody knew where the beasties had come from, and the only clue was the howlin' of a dog just before they all up and manifested. Spontaneous rats...that's a problem I can sink me teeth into. I ain't done with that situation, friends, and ye've got me oath on that. But on we went to the Dancehall. Ever been there, Gerard? Not a nice place, not like the Pig here. Not so clean, this bar of yours, but it's [i]honest[/i]. And that counts for a lot, so it does. The Dancehall, it was nothin' but pretty lies. All glittery, and fancy-like. And nothin' but scum inside. Pirates, and thugs, and gutter trash. A bunch of them primitives, the hairy folk with heavy brows, were hangin' about and draggin' their clubs. Swayin' to the music, they were, and that should tell you what the place sounded like. Just horrible, it was. The Pretty Man, he walked right up to the bar, and demanded to see the owner. You could see the crowd wasn't too happy to see any of us, and they [i]really[/i] didn't like the Pretty Man...but they didn't do more than grumble a bit. They knew better than to trifle with the likes of us. There was some talkin' back and forth, and finally they agreed to take the Pretty Man back to talk with the owner of the place. The Queen Bitch, they called her. Just the Pretty Man, mind, and his pet monkey besides. Wanted him to leave his sword behind, but he just laughed a cold laugh and shook his head. It's his soul, you know. I've heard 'im say it with me very own ears. Blasphemous, that. Must have eaten his soul first, right off. It's hungry, that blade. They didn't argue, and took him into a back room. We stood ready, weapons at hand, prepared for trouble. The Bloody Archer, he was like a damned statue. Never moved, never twitched, but for his eyes. He's always lookin', that man. Huntin', like. The Prof, he started in to talking to one of those cave-men I mentioned. 'Bout what, I can't imagine. I heard 'em mention time, and space, and how impressed the Prof was by the cave-man's club...but nothin' that made any sense, really. And then came the sound, from behind the door the Pretty Man had gone through. Sounded like a dozen thunderclaps, all at once, and was enough to set my ears to ringin'. Magic, I knew, and no mistake. Duchess and I, we had that door down in a trifle. In we went, the Archer and Prof on our heels. And let me tell ye, things went [i]right[/i] to hell. [/QUOTE]
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The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
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