Howlietzer Publishing

Category: Fantasy

  • Till the Cold and Hunger Ceases

    Till the Cold and Hunger Ceases

    Till the Cold and Hunger Ceases

    The Haunted Violin, Stradivinski

    The Carnegie Hall Debut

    Thomas smiled as he entered the stage to applause. The theater was packed; a sold-out show. He never believed he could make it this far. In four weeks, he went from slumming in the subway to playing in Carnegie Hall and it was all thanks to Stradivinski.

    He opened the violin case that sat on a stool in front of a microphone as the crowd hushed in anticipation. He pulled Stradivinski out of the case and closed his eyes, melding with the violin spirit, ready to move and press as was necessary.

    Possessed by the Music

    Stradivinski possessed him every time they played. Often Thomas had no memory of the concert. Thomas would always wake up to the audience cheering and clapping, take a bow, and put Stradivinski away. He didn’t even remember anything when Archie discovered him on the subway, nor did he remember how Stradivinski showed up.

    All he remembered was a dream. As he tried to sleep in the underground, struggling with cold and hunger, a voice came to him and asked him, “What would you give to live a better life?”

    And Thomas answered, “Everything. I would give everything to not feel cold and hungry ever again.” And he woke up with a curious box beside him.

    A Dream Deferred

    Thomas had left Pennsylvania three years prior to pursue an acting career. He’d always wanted to be in movies. Go on talk shows. And meet extraordinary people. He wasn’t very good at acting though. He always said, “I figure it out when I get there.”

    His parents had given him a large amount of money to follow his dream, but he spent it quickly and ended up paying the price by living in the underground. He didn’t want to go back home. He didn’t want to face his parents who would only tell him, “We told you so.” He tried to stay in the know about acting jobs, but it was getting harder and harder to do. No one wanted to talk to a homeless man who hadn’t shaved or washed in a month, and he couldn’t convince them that he was a star that would “pay them back,” if they gave him a chance.

    The Promise Fulfilled

    But here he was, finally making a name for himself, alongside Stradivinski. He was planning on calling his parents soon and proving to them he was doing fine, even if it took three years and four months, he’d made it.

    He woke up. Stradivinksi released its grip on him and the audience was silent. He looked out to see that they were all dead, dehydrated, like a bunch of mummies, their ritzy clothes clung to them, still bright and new but adorned tight, sun-dried husks of horror.

    The Curse Unleashed

    Thomas gasped and nearly fell over. The weight of Stradivinski increased immensely and Thomas lost his grip. With a clatter, Stradivinski tumbled onto the stage and shattered, revealing a pitch-black creature. It was serpent-like but had long arms with very long claws.

    Like lightning, it seized Thomas, pouncing before he could get back up to his feet. “Remember, you said you would give everything to stop the cold and hunger. I’ll keep that promise.”

    It ripped open his mouth, breaking the jaw, and crawled down his throat.

     

    Want another? Shadow Puppets

  • Crap! I Reincarnated as a Pokemon! Chapter 1

    Crap! I Reincarnated as a Pokemon! Chapter 1

    A Pokemon Fanfiction

    I feel squishy. What is this?

    I don’t remember how I got here, but it’s dark and tight. I was surrounded from head to toe by some sort of barrier. I’m all cramped in here. I need to get out! I stretch out my arm and the walls break. There’s light outside. These walls aren’t so tough. I kick out my feet and the walls break below too. This is easy.

    I stretch out completely and feel the shell around me crack. I’m covered in goo and… fur? What is going on?

    I shook the last bit of eggshell off my head. I could see now. I was under a huge tree with numerous branches jutting out, thick boughs reaching the ground and then climbing back up towards the sky. Dead leaves covered the base of the tree, and the egg I hatched out of was covered in them. A nest of some sort.  I wasn’t sure, but I could smell many more all around, buried in the dead leaves.

    There were no other creatures nearby. No mother creature. I took a second to look myself over. I have three, dark brown toes on each foot, and now I have four of them. I used to only need two, right? I can’t see my face, but as I sit back on my cream colored poofy tail, and raise my forepaws to my face, I feel a snout, like a dog. I bring them higher and feel a set of floppy ears, then I bring them lower and find an almost collar of hard something and fur around my neck.

    It feels like stone. But is it a part of my body? Well, I’m a dog now. Didn’t see this coming. I must have died in that car accident. That’s all I can remember. What was I doing anyway? I was in a hurry. I remember that much. . .

    The day I died, I remember waking up to my messy dorm room. I’d always had a hard time keeping things tidy. I suppose it was typical for a young man who didn’t have a clue in life. That wasn’t entirely true.

    I was an accomplished gamer. I’d won many prizes playing Starcraft II, Magic the Gathering, and League of Legends. I’d traveled all over the world competing in tournaments and placing almost always in the top four. It was nice. But now I had to go to college.

    My parents told me if I wanted to be someone I had to go to college. And though I sort of liked what I was studying, I didn’t really feel like myself. It was a lot of pressure getting all these assignments turned in on time. And most of the work I didn’t agree with. How necessary was this homework?

    I was learning game design. I did like drawing and talking about games, but I really wasn’t the best at it. I was terrible at coding. I was better at playing. After a year of constant studying, I got better, but things just got harder, for my mental state mostly.

    It was harder to get out of bed. I remember the alarm going off the morning before I died. It was like any other day. I couldn’t get out of bed. So, I stared at my phone for an hour before I pushed myself up. I felt greasy. It had been a while since I’d taken a shower. I just didn’t care. Nothing made sense to me anymore. What was the point in taking a shower?

    I just swiped some deodorant on, pulled on some clothes that I had lying around, and managed to get my stuff together for class.

    No time for breakfast. My stomach gurgled in disapproval. I really need to shave. I will shower and shave after classes.

    My first class was Game Theory that day. I like this class because I get to see Jasmine LeBlanc. She was this super cute Japanese girl in my class. Second-generation Japanese, as she would say. I found her fascinating because she changed her hairstyle once a month. This month she’d gotten her hair cut short and dyed green with black tips and spiked up all over her head. She was so sexy. With black eyeliner and lipstick and a formal emo look, she was my dream girl.

    That day she was wearing a green T-shirt with a silver snake on it. Slytherin House. A black blazer on top. Black short pants and black suspenders, ankle socks and black chucks. She sat near the front. I sat near the back. I liked looking at her from afar. I didn’t have the guts to talk to her. Her grades were amazing. I just didn’t have it in me. . .

    “Dude, you need to wash your clothes,” said a student sitting next to me.

    He was a friend named Errol Spencer. He knew about my past as a successful gamer, and we enjoyed talking about games. He still played. I felt like I didn’t have time. I spent a good portion of time studying in the library. . . or tried to study. I got caught up in my phone, on social media. I’m really not good at school. I never was.

    “Laundry is this weekend,” I said.

    “It’s Monday, dude. Are you still depressed?” he said.

    “I’ve never seen a doctor, so. . .”

    Was I depressed? I had no motivation. Didn’t sleep well. Had a hard time focusing. I don’t know. I just felt overwhelmed by everyone’s expectations.

    “Dude, if you keep this up, you won’t be attracting any of these cute gamer girls. After class, we’re fixing you up.”

    I laughed. “I’m a lost cause, man.”

    “Dude, you were TazManiac! You won all sorts of games 2 years ago.”

    “I lost my edge, man. I’m just a student now.”

    “Well, if you’re looking to get your edge back, tonight, Blackwell Dorm is having a Magic the Gathering Tournament. Seriously. I know you don’t game anymore, but we need to get you out of this. People are afraid you’re going to kill yourself.”

    “Why do you care? That’s my decision.”

    “You’re not serious, are you? If you say something like that again, I’m telling the teacher.”

    “Dude, I don’t have any Magic cards on me. They’re all at home, two hours away.”

    “We can get you some new ones. A starter deck and some packs. Hell, I have cards I don’t use. You can go through them. Seriously. I want you to come out of your room and hang out tonight. In fact, this thing is going on all week.”

    I hadn’t played Magic in a long time. It was tempting. Something to break me out of my shut-in habit. Maybe meet some people. I wasn’t a big fan of people. They always had some expectations they expected you to meet.

    “Plus, Jasmine will be there. You guys could play together.”

    Errol smiled. He knew I had a huge crush on her. And he almost always used her as a way to get me to do anything. I’d been a pretty stalwart in my ‘No’s’ lately, something I was proud of because I hate being manipulated. But I was lonely. I was tired of trying to do things I hated. At least I enjoyed Magic. I could actually meet people and maybe have fun. I hadn’t had fun in almost a year and a half now.

    “I want you to know first and foremost that I am not going because of Jasmine,” I said. “There’s no way she and I will meet. I haven’t played in a while. If she’s any good, she’ll probably be at the top and I’ll lose somewhere in the beginning.”

    “You got to try man.”

    “I’m doing this for fun. Not because of anything else.”

    “I got you. Just please take a shower and change your clothes.”

    I smiled. “No promises.”

    The tournament started at 7:00 pm and ended at 10:00 pm. After classes, and many disapproving faces of my peers (probably because I smelled), I got home and showered, cleaned up my room, got all my laundry in a bag and took it to the machines down the hall to start washing. Then I was off to the nearest game store to make a deck.

    Walmart or any of those box chain stores were nice, but if I went to a game shop, I had the chance of digging through their singles and finding something good. The thing about starter decks, which are full, playable 60 card decks, is that they are not as powerful as the decks of REAL gamers. I cannot stress that enough. I was going to pick the best starter deck they had, figure out what was missing or what could make it better, and then dig through their singles to see what I could find. It was a crapshoot. Worst-case scenario, I’d play the starter deck.

    This is just so I can get out of my funk. I don’t want to be depressed anymore. I want to have friends. Like I used to.

    I sat in my car before I turned over the ignition. I always had to give myself a pep talk these days. Either when I was in bed or anywhere else. I just wish I could find my purpose or some sort of meaning. Would I ever be happy?

    I started the car and navigated with the help of my phone’s GPS to the nearest game shop. It wasn’t far, about 5 miles from the school. I went inside and was excited for the first time in my life. I hadn’t been surrounded by so many games in a long time. I made my way to the Magic the Gathering section and started perusing. My strategy was to look for a Blue-White deck.

    Blue, White was a combination that not a lot of players played because it was mean. Blue cards had a lot of counter effects, preventing players from getting their cards down. White had protection. Together, they were an annoying combination. I had to consider, however, that in a school full of gamers there would have to be at least one. I found a Blue White deck I liked and bought it. Then I took a seat at one of the tables and unboxed the deck. It was decent, about what I expected from one of these. But the next question was where do I want to take it? What was my win con? Do I just want to be annoying? You don’t make many friends by being annoying, but that’s why you play Blue: to be annoying.

    I did a little online research on my phone and figured out the best cards to add and take out. I dug through the boxes of singles to find what I wanted. They had only a couple of them. It was a crapshoot. I bought those cards and retook my seat.

    “You’re really focused hard on that,” said the game store cashier.

    I smiled. “Got to make it tournament worthy.”

    “You know, I have some rare cards behind the counter if you’d like to look. Some mythics as well.”

    I hadn’t thought about that. Of course, he didn’t have the good stuff on the floor for people to pocket. I got up from my seat and proceeded to where he was standing. He didn’t have what I was looking for, but he did have a very interesting card that I could use. It would take my deck in a whole other direction, but this is what I loved about this game. With so many cards the combinations were endless. It was invigorating. I was beginning to feel like my old self again.

    I hope I can make this feeling last for a while.

    I purchased that card and went back to the boxes. Bought some more and I was fairly satisfied with what I got. I let the cashier take a look. He was curious, and I was slightly proud. Felt like showing off a little.

    “I think your mana base is off a bit.”

    I sunk a little.

    “But I have a couple of decent cards back here that can fix that. Also, I would recommend this card as well.”

    He pulled out a white angel card. It was just an uncommon, but I could tell why he chose it. It would be perfect in this deck.

    “I’m kind of low on money,” I said sheepishly.

    “Well tell you what, I bet there are some cards there you didn’t use, right? Sell those back to me and let’s see where we’re at.”

    I handed him five cards, three uncommons and 2 commons. They were not very expensive. I had little faith I could cover the difference.

    “Hmmm. Well, I can’t give you land to fix your mana, but if you have $5, I’ll trade you the angel for those five. Deal?”

    He was ripping himself off. I can’t believe this man was willing to do that.

    “Are you sure?” I was excited. I hadn’t been treated with much kindness lately. Most treated me with disdain. . .

    “Yeah. Just make sure you come back here. We have Magic tournaments all the time.”

    “I will! Thank you so much!” I grabbed my purchases and hastily went out the door. I needed to leave quickly before I started to cry. I’m going to do my best to clean myself up, study hard, and find time to hang out with Errol and play games. I need this to get back on track.

    I left the parking lot and was on my way back to school. I had to remember to get my laundry out and in the dryer. I also wanted to get some food. I checked my clock on the dashboard. It was 6:30. I didn’t have a lot of time. I pressed the gas pedal hard. I didn’t want to be late, and honestly, I preferred being early, so I didn’t miss anything. Traffic was bad. It was rush hour. There was a red light ahead. I imagined it turning green, hoping that by doing so it would change. I heard a loud honk somewhere in the distance, but I kept my eye on the light. It changed. I pressed the gas pedal again to race through that light and onward.

    CRASH!

    That’s right. I got t-boned by a semi that didn’t stop on red. Jackass! Wow. I spent a lot of time making a fantastic deck that I’ll never get to play. That’s depressing.

    I looked around. The world here looked brighter. The grass was green, greener than I’d seen in a long time. It felt cool under my toepads. It may be weird being a dog or whatever, but this place seemed nice. I looked up at the tree. It was massive with branches sprawled all over the ground, close enough for me to jump up and up from branch to branch and scale to the top.

    At this point I had no idea where I was, or what I was; I also had no clue what I needed to do next. Gaming college hadn’t prepared me for days like this. From the top of the tree, I’d probably be able to see a town, not that that did me much good in my current form. But also, maybe I could find water; I’d probably need that eventually along with food.

    I dashed up the branches and climbed as high as I could. The tree seemed to be very old, judging by how big it was, and incredibly tall. I made it pretty far up and I could see forever. There did seem to be a town nearby, but it was nothing like the cities from my old world. It looked rather small, maybe only one hundred people? I was always bad at math. There seemed to be a mountain in one direction and a river in another. I felt my toepads losing their grip on the thin branches as I craned my neck from side to side; it was inevitable: I was about to fall. I ducked down and tried to regain my grip, but these feet were not made for climbing trees. I tumbled down the branches until I fell into a nest. I scrambled to my feet, making sure that I didn’t disturb any eggs or babies. Luckily it was empty, however, I heard a cry from above as I got my wits back.

    There was a giant bird circling overhead, screeching. I could understand it perfectly.

    “How fortuitous! A dumb animal has fallen into my nest, after a fruitless day of hunting. I shall eat well tonight!”

    I gulped. I hadn’t even considered anything trying to eat me. What the heck was I going to do with a giant bird trying to eat me?

    I didn’t have time to think, the bird dove into the tree with such speed and agility that it looked like it just passed through the branches. It landed on a branch in front of the nest and began to step towards me and the nest. It was a pidgeot. It was a real pidgeot from the Pokemon games, and it was going to peck me to death and eat me!

     

    The story so far: 2 3 4 5

  • Fenrick the White Wolf Warrior

    Fenrick the White Wolf Warrior

    The White Wolf Warrior

    The Birth of a Hunter: Fenrik’s Curse

    The night burned with a savage glow, torches casting long shadows against the jagged cliffs of the northern shores. Smoke curled into the heavens, blotting out the stars as screams echoed in the distance. Villages that once stood proud now lay in ruin, their bones consumed by fire. The warbands had come—merciless raiders with hatred in their hearts and steel in their hands.

    Following them stalked a figure clad in blackened leather and fur, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. A mane of stark white hair crowned his head, and his eyes gleamed an unnatural gold. He was a hunter, a predator born of frost and fury, sent to avenge the fallen village. They called him Fenrik, The White Wolf.

    Fenrik moved through the charred remains of a fishing village, his silver sword dripping with the blood of those who had dared cross him. His nostrils flared, catching the acrid scent of burning wood mingled with the iron tang of blood. His prey was close.

    The band of raiders he pursued had fled inland, abandoning their plunder in a desperate bid to escape. They knew who hunted them, and they knew the tales—the White Wolf would not stop until justice was done.

    Fenrik had once been a man like any other. He had loved, laughed, and lived beneath the warm sun. But those days were gone, stripped from him by a cruel twist of fate. His family had been slaughtered by marauders under a blood-red moon, their screams forever etched into his mind. Left for dead, Fenrik had clawed his way back to life, swearing an oath of vengeance.

    He had sought out the elders of the Frozen Circle, an ancient order that wielded powers beyond mortal men. They had remade him, fusing his soul with the essence of the wolf. It was a gift, they claimed, but Fenrik knew it for what it truly was—a curse. His senses were sharper than any blade, his strength unmatched, yet he paid the price with his humanity. His golden eyes betrayed him, marking him as something other, something monstrous.

    He embraced it.

    Steadily, he tracked his prey through the dark forest. His ears caught the faint crunch of boots on frostbitten leaves. His lips curled into a feral grin.

    The raiders were camped in a glade, their fire a feeble defense against the cold. Fenrik crouched in the shadows, the wind carrying their voices to his keen ears. He moved quietly towards their encampment.

    “Do you think he’ll come?” one of them asked, his voice trembling.

    “He’s a ghost, you fool,” another spat. “The White Wolf isn’t real. Just a story to scare children.”

    The raiders had left a trail of death and destruction in their wake. Villages burned; families butchered. They called it war, but Fenrik called it cowardice. He had seen enough blood spilled in his lifetime to know the difference between conquest and cruelty.

    The Hunt for Vargan the Flame

    He slipped through the underbrush, silent as snowfall. One of the men moved to relieve himself near the tree line. Fenrik struck without hesitation, a flash of silver slicing through the night. The man crumpled to the ground, his lifeblood steaming in the cold air.

    The others barely had time to react before the White Wolf was among them. His blade sang, a deadly symphony of steel and vengeance. The raiders fought back, but their crude weapons were no match for his speed and skill. One by one, they fell, their screams swallowed by the forest.

    When the last man dropped, Fenrik stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving. Blood soaked his hands and spattered his face, but his golden eyes burned with a cold satisfaction. He wiped his blade clean on a fallen raider’s tunic, then turned his gaze to the fire.

    Among the scattered supplies was a map, its edges singed. Fenrik picked it up, his sharp eyes scanning the markings. It showed the raiders’ route—a path that led directly to the stronghold of their leader, a warlord known only as Vargan the Flame.

    He folded the map and tucked it into his belt.

    The stronghold loomed on the horizon as the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of red and gold. Fenrik had traveled through the night, his supernatural endurance carrying him far beyond the limits of mortal men. The gates of the fortress were massive, built to withstand an army. But Fenrik was no army—he was an avatar of justice.

    He approached the gates under the cover of darkness, scaling the stone walls with the agility of a wolf on the hunt. The guards never saw him coming. By the time he slipped into the heart of the fortress, the sun had risen, casting long shadows across the blood-stained courtyard.

    Vargan the Flame sat upon a throne of iron and bone; his hulking frame draped in furs. His red hair and beard seemed to glow like embers, and his eyes were as cruel as the axe he held in his hands.

    “So, the White Wolf comes to my den,” Vargan said, his voice a rumble. “I’ve heard the stories. They say you’re a demon, a monster. Let’s see if you bleed like a man.”

    Fenrik stepped into the light, his silver blade gleaming.

    The two clashed with a fury that shook the walls. Vargan’s axe was a mountain, heavy and relentless, but Fenrik danced around it, his movements precise and fluid. He struck with the speed of lightning, his blade biting into Vargan’s flesh again and again.

    But the warlord was no mere brute. He fought with the cunning of a seasoned warrior, forcing Fenrik to push himself to the limit. The battle raged on, blood staining the ground as the two titans collided.

    In the end, it was Fenrik who prevailed. With a final, desperate strike, he drove his blade through Vargan’s chest, piercing the warlord’s heart. The giant fell to his knees, his axe slipping from his grasp.

    “For the villages you burned,” Fenrik said, his voice cold. “For the lives you destroyed.”

    The Path of the White Wolf Never Ends

    Vargan’s eyes dimmed, and he collapsed, the fire in him finally extinguished.

    The stronghold was silent as Fenrik stepped into the morning light. The torches of war had been snuffed out; their smoke carried away on the breeze. But Fenrik felt no triumph, no joy. The hunt was his muse, but it left him hollow.

    He turned his gaze to the horizon, where the rivers flowed, and the shores stretched on forever. There would always be another warlord, another torch to extinguish. His path was endless, a means to an end he could no longer remember.

    And so he vanished into the wilderness, a shadow among shadows, leaving only the whispers of his legend behind.

     

    Liked this? Read this: Beneath the Black Flag: A Pirate Ghost Ship Tale

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  • Beneath the Black Flag: A Pirate Ghost Ship Tale

    Beneath the Black Flag: A Pirate Ghost Ship Tale

    A Pirate Ghost Ship Tale

    The Code of the Sea: No Kings, No Masters

    The ocean stretched endlessly before them, a restless expanse of churning waves and howling winds. The Black Widow, a sleek and weathered brigantine, cut through the sea like a blade. Her sails, ink-black against the steel-grey sky, billowed with the promise of chaos. Atop the mainmast, a flag whipped in the gale—a skull and crossed swords, a harbinger of doom for any ship unfortunate enough to cross their path.

    Captain Marlow, a wiry man with a salt-and-pepper beard and eyes as cold as the depths, stood at the helm, his hands firm on the wheel. Around him, his crew of outlaws worked with the precision of a well-tuned instrument. They were a motley bunch—former assassins, escaped slaves, and thieves who had swapped their chains for freedom. Together, they had forged a creed: no kings, no masters, only the sea.

    “Hoist the main, you scallywags!” Marlow bellowed, his voice cutting through the storm. “We’ve a prize to catch, and the tide won’t wait for your laziness!”

    A roar of agreement answered him. The men moved with practiced haste; their movements born of survival rather than obedience. Among them was a towering man named Gideon, his muscles corded like rope, who hauled the rigging with ease. Beside him, quick-footed Amara, a former assassin with daggers at her hips and a deadly gleam in her eyes, secured the lines with deft fingers.

    The ship leapt forward, the wind filling her sails. Ahead, the target came into view—a merchant ship flying the colors of a wealthy kingdom. Her hull was laden with goods, and her escort—a single frigate—seemed laughable by comparison.

    “Look alive!” Marlow called. “It’s a fine day to bleed a kingdom dry!”

    The crew let loose a chorus of cheers and bawdy songs, their voices rising above the gale.

    The Black Widow closed the distance with terrifying speed. The merchant ship’s escort, realizing the danger, turned to intercept. Cannons boomed, and iron shot splintered the air, but the Widow danced out of range like a predator toying with its prey.

    “Amara!” Marlow barked.

    She was already moving, scaling the rigging with the ease of a shadow. From her perch high on the mast, she drew a longbow and notched an arrow. Her aim was true—the projectile sliced through the air and buried itself in the neck of the frigate’s helmsman.

    The enemy ship veered wildly. The Black Widow took her chance, closing the gap with the merchant vessel. Grappling hooks flew, biting into the wood of the enemy’s hull.

    “Board her!” Marlow roared, drawing his cutlass.

    The crew swarmed over the rails like locusts. Steel clashed with steel as the merchant crew tried to mount a defense. Gideon led the charge, his massive frame a wall of muscle and fury. He swung a boarding axe with brutal efficiency, clearing a path through the chaos.

    Amara moved like a specter, her daggers flashing in the dim light. One by one, the merchant guards fell, their cries lost to the storm.

    Marlow himself was a whirlwind of calculated violence. His cutlass found throats and bellies, each strike deliberate, each death a step closer to victory.

    Within minutes, the deck was theirs.

    Mercy, Loot, and a New Choice

    The merchant captain, a portly man with a powdered wig now askew, knelt before Marlow. His face was pale, his hands trembling as he held out a ledger. The rest of the merchant crew stood down, under the watchful eyes of Gideon and Amara and the hundreds of pistols pointed at them.

    “Please,” he stammered, “take what you will, but spare my men.”

    Marlow towered over him. He and his crew lived by their own code. Were they pirates? Yes. But when surrender is met and bounty taken, there’s no more need for wasted effort.

    Still Marlow sneered. “Spare your men? Now why should I do that?”

    The merchant captain gulped. “They’re wives and children, who will look at them?”

    “The government!” Marlow’s men laughed. Even the stone-cold Amara’s eyes flitted with amusement.

    The merchant captain’s eyes widened in horror.

    Marlow smirked. “Sorry. My men have a point. The spineless, tyrants will look after them.”

    The merchant crew nearly rose up but were reminded where they stood during this exchange. Captain Marlow noticed. He smiled. He knew his decision.

    Gideon emerged from below the ship, a line of chained prisoners followed him.

    “Slaves?” Marlow asked the merchant captain.

    He was close to sobbing. Marlow tapped his round cheek with his cutlass. “Answer, please?”

    “Slaves. Men who couldn’t pay their debts. Taken as payment,” he sobbed.

    “Your government disgusts me!” said Captain Marlow. He raised his voice to everyone on the deck. “But I won’t hold that against you. You patient dogs who do as you’re told. You have my mercy this night, but we will be plundering you.”

    His crew descended into the hold, hauling out crates of silks, spices, and gold coins stamped with royal insignias.

    “Free the slaves, Gideon,” said Captain Marlow.

    “We free them,” he growled, snapping the chains with his bare hands.

    The freed prisoners, though weak, raised their heads in gratitude. Some wept openly, while others stared at their liberators with a mixture of awe and fear.

    “You are free now,” Marlow said. “Free to join us. If not, we’ll see you safely to the next port. You merchants are spared. Don’t get in our way and we can all survive this storm.”

    As the Black Widow sailed away from the gutted merchant ship, the storm intensified. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the faces of the crew and something strange over the horizon.

    “Captain!” Amara called from the crow’s nest. “Something’s wrong!”

    The Ghost Ship and the Reckoning

    Marlow looked to where she pointed. A monstrous wave loomed on the horizon, darker than the night itself. But it was what rode atop the wave that sent a chill down his spine—a massive ship, its sails torn and its hull blackened as if by fire.

    “The Eternal Revenant,” Gideon whispered, his face pale.

    The ghost ship was a legend among pirates, a vessel crewed by the damned and cursed to haunt the seas forever. Its captain, known only as The Reaper, was said to hunt those who had spilled blood unjustly.

    “We’ve nothing to fear,” Marlow said, though his voice lacked its usual steel. “We honor the poor and fight against tyranny. We’re no villains.”

    The crew nodded, though unease crept through them like a shadow.

    The Eternal Revenant closed the distance impossibly fast. The storm seemed to part for it, the waves bending to its will. Its cannons roared, and spectral fire rained down upon the Black Widow.

    Marlow’s crew fought valiantly, but their weapons passed through the ghostly attackers as though they were air. One by one, his men fell, their spirits ripped from their bodies by the Reaper’s blade.

    As the last of his crew fell, Marlow stood alone on the deck, his cutlass useless against the towering figure before him. The Reaper’s eyes glowed like twin embers, his boney hand reaching out towards Marlow to hold him.

    “Why do you come for us?” Marlow demanded. “We are just like yourself. We plunder the rich and fight for the honorable man.”

    The Reaper’s voice was like the grinding of stone. “Your creed is noble, and you hate shedding honest blood, but you are not exempt from what must be done. The eyes of justice may seem blind, but they are not infallible. All debts must be paid, and yours is due.”

    Marlow dropped his blade. He met The Reaper’s gaze with defiance before his ship sunk under the waves.

     

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  • Moonlight Blue: A Fantasy Mentor Story

    Moonlight Blue: A Fantasy Mentor Story

    Moonlight Blue: A Fantasy Mentor Story

    A Farewell Beneath the Stars

    Under the glow of the pale moon, two figures stood atop a windswept cliff, gazing out over an endless expanse of midnight-blue forest. The taller of the two, cloaked in weathered, fur-lined robes, had eyes as grey and sharp as a wolf’s, and hair that shimmered faintly silver in the moonlight. Beside him stood a lupine creature, massive and loyal, its coat a grey so deep it seemed to drink in the darkness around it.

    The man reached down, his hand brushing the creature’s rough fur. “Look at that sky, old friend,” he murmured, his voice carrying a sadness that echoed between the trees. “We’ve come so far, haven’t we?”

    The she-wolf, wise and silent, stared up at the man, her eyes reflecting the light of the stars. They had been together for as long as the man could remember, through lives both bright and dark, in every shade of fate the stars above had cast down upon them.

    Together, they had followed constellations, tracing ancient runes carved into rock and root, searching for treasure and fighting monsters. Making friends just as fast as they lost them, forever searching for a forever home.

    The man felt a chill run through him, though it was not from the cold. The night felt different, as though the moon herself held her breath. He glanced at the sky, watching as stars began to gather in new formations, their light tracing patterns that felt familiar yet distant.

    “Do you see it?” he whispered. “The stars—they’re shifting. Realigning.” His gaze fell to the wolf. “Our journey is nearly at an end.”

    The wolf lowered its head, understanding in its ancient eyes. They had chased after prophecies and adventure, and seen kingdoms rise and fall. But tonight, as the stars painted their final course, there was a sorrow between them, for both knew that their time had come.

    The Burden of Survival and Memory

    Long ago, under a different moon and sky, the man had been chosen as a guide, a watcher for those bound by destiny—a trainer of heroes. His life had been one of vigil and sacrifice, the echoes of which lingered even in his bones. And the she-wolf, who had been his companion through all of it, knew all of his burdens and bore them with him in silence.

    All the heroes lost, yet death had yet to claim them.

    Their stories, and those of the heroes long gone, would stand the test of time. Carved into the rocks and trees, with magical runes read the sagas of their exploits. The many they helped would echo these tales for generations, giving renewed life to the dead. Grengi, the man, whittled a final tale onto a stone where they stood. It was the story of Melogius, a crafty wizard who met his end at the claws of a river dragon. Grengi sighed at the memory.

    He looked at the wolf, he called, Ta’mara. “You stood by me when others fled, loyal even when the weight of fate crushed those we loved,” he murmured, fingers tracing the edges of the stones. “How many times did I promise this would be our last journey? And yet here we are.”

    The wolf looked at him with quiet acceptance, its gaze a mixture of pride and sorrow. This was the cost of loyalty: though they stuck together through thick and thin, they never got what they wanted, only following the tides and stars, and training the next generation, only to see them smashed and written on the many stones they’d discovered. They had each other. Each hero, Ta’mara had accepted as her cub, throwing them into danger so she could watch them grow. She’d wondered why she was able to survive her cubs, up to this point, and she felt her colossal strength waning as the stars burned.

    Grengi knelt beside Ta’mara, meeting her eyes as he had so many times before. “This is where we die, isn’t it?”

    Ta’mara whined softly, a sound that held every unspoken memory between them. And as the moonlight cascaded down, the man saw his own reflection in the wolf’s eyes—a reflection of who he had once been, and who he had become through their journeys together.

    He pressed his forehead to the wolf’s, breathing in the scent of wild earth and untamed forests. “I will always remember you, my friend. Even when the stars grow cold and the sun fades, I will remember. My wish is that we meet in the next world, yes?”

    Guided by Ghosts into the Beyond

    Ta’mara’s gaze shifted, focusing on something deeper in the forest below them. Shadows gathered at the edge of the clearing, shapes barely visible, yet distinctly present. Grengi understood—these were the spirits of the heroes he had once guided. They were here to guide them to the next life.

    They were waiting, their forms thin and shimmering under the blue light, their eyes locked on him, waiting for the moon’s subtle signal to embrace their mentors. Grengi’s heart grew heavy, the weight of old guilt clawing up from his past.

    He turned back to the wolf, his voice catching in his throat. “I tried to save them. I thought… I thought we could protect them, train them, but all we did was mark their time.”

    The wolf held his gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. They had come far, but not without sacrifices—and there were some ghosts that could never be laid to rest.

    “Is this how it ends?” Grengi asked the moon, his words barely a whisper. “Alone, with nothing but the shadows of those I failed?”

    Ta’mara lifted her muzzle and howled, crying for her lost cubs and the regret of their untimely end. The sound was both mournful and defiant, reflecting Grengi’s in every aspect.

    In that moment, the stars above seemed to shift again, the constellations reshaping into symbols of hope, of remembrance, of peace. The ghosts wavered, their shapes blurring and fading, but persisting, closing the distance between them. It was not malice these spirits held, but a kindness they wished to bestow on their old teachers.

    Grengi and Ta’mara felt it. The intention. They shivered and shook the last bit of defiance and life they had left and succumbed to the rest they both wanted for so long, guided into the beyond by their pupils.

     

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