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Fable Beard Co's Captain Red - The Dead Isles - Episode 4

March 21, 2020

Fable Beard Co's Captain Red - The Dead Isles - Episode 4

The dragon was indeed the face of death. The leaping of fire from its mouth cautioned Captain Red and his men from taking any step further. One could tell that when it sneezed, sparkles of fire ignited from its hot lungs. Its eyes glowed with sparks, and smoke effortlessly flowed from its nostrils. Deep inside its horrific eyes was the very place fear resided. How pitiful of the doomed souls that had been victims to its claws and vicious canine. He was a vessel of destruction, terror personified. On seeing the frightening pride of this beast, a part of me cursed the gypsy for not having spoken to me of the enormous monster we had now encountered on Dead Isle. But however, it was nothing short of what we expected. I repeatedly pulled my fully grown beards, as I looked up at the beast. Fable Beard Oil always did a good job of reassuring me of my masculinity and pride in times like this. I was The Samson whose valor was healthily balanced against his chin.

"Hold your position men!" I said aloud to my crew. The breeze fervently blew, hauling sand and dust into our eyes. The hat of one of my men had just been deprived of him by the strength that lavished in the wind. It was a fierce attempt to render us blind for the big challenge we were up against. In the midst of the turbulence, The Dragon unleashed great fire from its terrific lungs. It was a display to send shivers of fear down our spine, I thought, until it repeatedly released more of it. We were ready to strike back, and repel the fear it was trying to shove down our throats. We were going to give it a taste of its own poison.

Quickly, we had brought out the rubble of the Fable Beard Bottles - the broken bottles we earlier ground on the boat. We wrapped it in the rags, poured some beard oil on the rags to fuel the fire, as we set them ablaze. The fired rags, complemented with the debris of the beard bottles was an improvised defense for the cannon fire. A defense The Dragon never saw coming.

"Rain fire!" I screamed at the top of my voice. My men wearied not in suddenly discharging our craft towards The Dragon. We could hear the clinks of the shattered bottles splatter on its hard scales, as it responded with some loud roars into the air. He took a few of it, after it pulled back, and retreated into a cave that was not in sight.

"Whoo!" I shouted in excitement. It was not dead for sure, but now we could progress in search of the treasure that was hidden somewhere on the island. Skulls and thigh bones on the beach spoke volumes of the defeat many had previously faced in search of the treasure. A very few of them were freshly dead with a swarm of maggots feasting on their stinking remains. I was not budged at the sight of this. It was a reminder of how mortals could be frail, and be made examples of deaths' inevitability.

I took a peek at my men, and searched for the fear in their eyes, but they had none in there. They had straight faces, piercing their gaze through the defiant wind. We moved closer, watching our steps, trying very hard to avoid booby traps. For sure, The Dead Isle was rigged of it. It was conspicuous that some Pirates had died by the impalement of sharp objects. A few still had the sharp objects through their skulls, with some facial jewels.

Echoes and cackles of demonic laughter filled the air, as some vague and inhuman figures scurried through the raging wind.

"Captain, you see that?" Asked one of my men. "Aye..." I had replied meticulously looking around.

One of my men stopped let down his load and brought out The Beard Oil. He poured some of it on his palm, rubbing them against each other, as he caressed his beard with it.

"Strength is restored eh..." He said, laughing hard, as his laughter traveled farther into the unseen paths ahead of us. My other men immediately copied his act, having some of the oil on their beards as well. This was how we reminded ourselves of how matured we had become. We were not to give in to the fear that was hovering on Dead Isles that easily. Our torches were getting dim, and we rekindled them over and over again with the beard oil. It was a great blessing to have the oil in our possession in a time like this. The vague figures still persisted in an attempt to petrify us, but we would not be moved. They were spirits, we knew they were. Spirits from the dead who had died a cruel death on the Isle. They were trying to make us victims of the misfortune they had suffered. Of course, we would have been, if only the beard oil and the bottles weren't in our possession.

"Captain! I see light ahead." Said one of my men. "I see it too." Said another.

Cautiously, we approached the light, and it turned out to be a cave that emitted dreadful heat. Surely, the treasure had to be here somewhere. The air was offensive with the stench of rotting bodies, which had been caught in stones. The bodies were contorted in the cave rocks. Some were half dead, patiently awaiting the last touch from The Grim Reaper. Apparently they were the ones who had made it this far into the cave to locate the treasure before they ran out of luck.

I can sense a stronger presence of evil here. Stronger than what we had experienced outside. Thick entangled webs were hard not to come by. We had carefully taken a few steps before we sighted a glistening colorful object enthroned in the midst of red hot coals. Finally the treasure in sight! The vision of the gypsy.




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