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@jameswest007:

No Caption Provided

Standing at the crumbled path, puzzled between hundred pound slabs of stone pillars and bricks that made up the grave of the crumbled temple front, the setting sun lied lost behind the monument’s mile-high summit. Bourbon splashed liquor down his constantly drying throat, as Grey fed their boss water. Holding his bandana to Olli’s cryptic mind, pressuring way the large gash of blood above him right ear, the British aristocrat hissed at the stinging pain, as Grey snatched his brother’s alcohol to sanitize the wound. Listening to him explain, he revealed Barbossa’s resurrection to the group.

As the drunken pirate tended to his boss’ arm, he held on to it with a firm hand in his chard wrist. Hearing the agonizingly jarring news, he looked to his brother in silent. Receiving silence back, staring awkwardly at the man who stood on the opposite side of the Brit. With nothing to say, Bourbon nonchalantly tugged the dislocated arm, violently popping the joint back into place. Gaining a truncated grunt from the slender brit, “I would ask how – but, I’m honestly not concern with th’ jack@**…we’ll deal with him later. How are we getting the booty back to Jestor City?”, the smoky eyed bandit took a breath of air that he didn’t need, as he thought of the treasure that they still needed to get to the civilized world. Gazing over the horizon, in the direction of the river that led up to the Awekian city, he licked his chapped lips before placing the slant of his cigarillo between them. “…Simple, mi lads. We load the shipment onto a raft, and sail the cargo to St. Jestor…Simple as that, mi laddies…”, the Jest spoke with the calmest level of assurance. Holding no ounce of doubt or fear, he smiled with faith, as he stretched his now-sore arm. Biting his teeth, he stood up, with the leveraging assistance of the pirate. “Mi love tells me she engaged in a conversation with ye lads?”, Olli immediately mentioned his beloved wife, before being redirected by Grey. “Not simple, boss. That be we only vessel”, the swashbuckler pointed to the burning rubble in the river. “…and, we seem t’ have lost the Grimm Venturer…we’re stranded here.....”, the cowboy informed the wealth, reloading his revolvers. “Now, ye expect we carry this chest all the way to Jestor City!?”, the brain of the dead duo questioned their employer. However, ignoring the worry of the group, while staying in his pleasantly upbeat state, the gentleman changed the subject.

“...she informed me of ye prior predicament.”, he continued speaking of the conversation he held with his wife, moments for coming to them. Limping away from the pyramid’s entrance, Bourbon carried him through the field of fading flames and jungle weeds. Marching over ashed Spaniards and scolding metals, the two dead men listened to the whistling wind howl upon them with the faint moans of tortured souls, beckoning away from the suffering of the physical world. But, before they could sign a thought of the graveyard of burned men, a blast of smoke flush into the air. From over the treeline of the river, the sight of their small gallon floated in from the shadows of the trees. Covered in the mystic mist of its origins, they stared in confusion as the Grimm Venturer made its return. With the same gypsy woman standing at the decks, waving at them with the mindset of a child pretending to be a pirate, Tabitha Jest held up the outfit of a swashbuckling caricature, as Bourbon’s bird sat on her shoulder.

No Caption Provided

Taking to the sky, the bird announced the vessel of the Grimm Gold Brothers, to which, the piracy captain cheesed and broke for his ship. Letting go of Mr. Jest, caring little of him falling to the dirt, Bourbon sprinted into a full dive for the river. Swimming for his ship, he grabbed hold and began climbing up to the railing. As Grey and Mr. Jest starred, the boss laughed his way back onto his crippled feet, using the assistance of a cane that he pulled from the parlor tricks of his top hat. “…as mi said, laddies, we’ll just sail to St. Jestor…..”, he looked to the smarter of the bandit brothers, who was gazing at the field of bodies. Grey licked his lips, dragged the deep breath of his cigarillo and signed out the smoke of his lack of disbelief. No longer jarred by the surprises that the Jest held in store for them, the capped gunslinger was ready to be done with this mission. “Fine, Jest…let’s get ye treasure t’ the museum and finish this…”, he marched for the shoreline, whistling for his horse. Witnessing the black stallions trot over to them, the cowboy stood along the shoreline of the wide river, watching as the golden sails drew on their dark wood merchant ship. The same vessel that they previously fought the Spaniards with, he cleared his mind of where the bloody galleon had gone, or how the madam had gain control of it. However, upon standing before its arrival, Grey raised a brow at the true Grimm Venturer.

“Jest, what are ya planning?”, the rugged bandit stared at the black planks of wood, carving into the hull and body of the ship. Knifing through the fog and flowing as a relic of pure mystic mystery, the cowboy knew danger must surely lie before the end of their journey, if Jest allowed the true Grimm Venturer to be seen out of mortal state – in the brute of its macabre form. Still hidden in the sunlight, the truth shall be revealed. “…Laddy, we’re bating a big fish, this time.”, Olli winked as Grey stared on in wonder of his meaning.

Looking upon the crest of the House of Jest engraved in the wooden face of the ship’s body, the Awekian flag waved in the breeze of the setting sun, as Grey waited for the ship to let down its ramps. With the grace of the beyond, the ship nearly floated above the water, as it steadied to a unnatural level of stillness. Seeing the lady stand upon the higher deck of the ship, staring down on top of them with bellowing smiles, she glared at the garden of death and the temple of her history with cryptic thought. Digging in her belt pocket, at the nodding smirk of her husband, she sprinkled out the angelic dust of lit sage leaves and smoked chocolate mint leaves. Releasing the strong scent of spiced repellant and forewarned blessings, Olli pointed his cane at the pyramid’s summit-placed temple, “I bid ye, ado…”. Squinting his eyes to view the tip aligned with the structure’s highly grand roof. Swaying the sea along the grass petals, the vessel halted behind him, as Grey led the horses up onto the black craft of mystic ability. Looking to Bourbon, holding a sun-gleaming copper monocular up stream, “Ay, we have a ways to go, mates!”, Grey opened the map of the land. “…if we sail off now, th’ wind current should carry us through th’ mountains…”, he followed the river’s path, estimating the direction of the thick Awekian breeze, before bowing to the madam. “Zalu, mi danh-kuu…”, he gentlely muttered in respect to the lady of wealth and class.

“Ye fella need to alleviate yeselves and embrace the mysteries of life.”, the injured Jest announced in a voiced that oozed of nihilistic passivism, “ye let the chaos of th’ universe degrade ye spirit. Lads, accept th’ role that we find ourselves in, fully engulfed in the magnitude of disorder…”. Olli stood at the mast of the deck, finding himself staring at the lemur steering the vessel. With a perplexed expression in his face, the Brit made his way up to the quarterdeck. Looking at the full scene of a monkey sitting on the wooden wheel, running across it, using his hand, feet, and tail to control it. “…..observe Mr. Key, here…a primitive lemur, as he is. He asks no questions of how dangerous is what may lie ahead of him. He just goes after his duty…and, so shall we”, Olli pointed to the open route to St. Jestor City. Immediately feeling the jolt of the Grimm Venterer, as if his announcement forwarded the craft down river, the wind crashed into the bowling sails, launching the ship.

Grey stood next to his wolf-dog, BK, before following suit and assisting his brother in getting the ship up and running. As the mystic vessel moved with the mechanics of a full crew, the navel craft chilled with the feeling of them not being alone. Fogged in the dead of evening, the mist silhouetted the ghost of crewmen past, locked to the Grimm Venterer’s body. Pulling up the same coloreds of gold that got them along the Singing River, and through the caverns of Mt. Theronus, it was now bringing them home. As Grey climbed to one of the watch points of the lased rigs, the paranormal sound of moaning could be heard along the rickety old deck, as the thick-furred dog lied passively at the door to the lower decks, where Bourbon was ridding them of useless goods. While Tabitha walked along the decks with a person drenched in the power of smudged sage in her outfit and strong incents in her hair, the misty shadows echoed to work upon the vessel of macabre essence. Searching through darkness of the brigs, Bourbon passed abandoned skeletons and the fleeing rats as he journeyed the hull. Placing the chest of treasure in the brigs, he looked to the rotted skulls, “Lock ye eyes t’ tis for me, mates?”.

A Few Hours Down River

No Caption Provided

Sailing down the river, they soon rowed into a full sway of an open curl of water edged by grey cliffside, covered in the moss of green jungle foliage. Flowing downstream, rocking to the sounds of nature cawing around them, the flock of paradise birds filled the air with a beautiful rainbow of feathered colours. As the river widened out to what looked to be a full two hundred yards of blue water. Rafting in rainy streams from the rocky edges, the channel of water pushed hard and compelled the Grimm Venturer with strengthened speed. Carrying them a few miles in the northwestern direction, through the swampy waters and fungi-rich bogs, a few hours of travelling led them pass the calm and quant. As the brewing winds pushed rainfall against the floor of the river’s surface, the two brothers maned the decks, tending to the mast and the swelling of the night’s environment. As the winds grew ferocious along the mighty river, and they witnessed the hilly horizon of surrounding mountains, they knew they were in the rapids of Awekia’s mountain range. “Tis be a bumpy ride, maties!”, Bourbon called out, as the sound of sloshing waves commenced, and the iron and steel braces at the ballast of the ship knocked, the rain punched the decks. “Reel in th’ horses!”, Grey shouted over the misty noise of river water growing chaotic, as they hit the first of many rocky humps in the rapids. As Tabitha guided the horses below the deck, into the hull, they heard the howling of the sailing lemur, gripping the wheel. “Mi know, Mr. Key…ye can see, mi was cursed wit’ two hands…”, Bourbon muttered to the ape, as he climbed the shrouds to the mainmast, to adjust the sails.

No Caption Provided

Immediately, they felt a huge dip, as they dropped over a hilly swell in the water. Cricking and creeping roamed the shadows of the hull, as the splashing the mist figured the silhouettes that haunted the vessel like hired crewmen. Olli opened the door and exited the bright light of the captain’s quarters to hear the flapping of sails and rattling of strings and rods, rolling barrels and loose cargo stumbled along the deck, as he hobbled like a pig-legged sailor, “…falls ahead!!!”. Hit in the face with water, the Brit pointed to the dim sight of what looked to be the declining falls of the mountain. Holding an oil lantern, glassed off from the wetness of the rain, he turned to his wife, who was now climbing the staircase to the front deck to swish on the searchlights. “We need to watch for th’ river edge…we’re drawing too close to this side”, she yelled back to Olli and Grey, as she activated the bright swivel base of the spotlighting lamp. Booming a pale white beam of light out the front of the black ship, Grey ran back to across the line of the deck. However, in an instance, they felt a drop that lifted them off the floor with a jolting bang. “Godnabbit, Key – move tis bloody thing t’ ya left!!”, he shouted over the stormy weather to the lemur. Feeling the thunderous flash of lightning, as it struck over the mountain, the bandit’s skeleton form could be seen. Undead as the many times before, the light revealed the darkness of the ship. As the water slid from railing to railing with each roll, the tattered sails and rotted wood left the deck chillingly cold and with the strong smell of sage and brimstone.

The crew of the Grimm Venturer
The crew of the Grimm Venturer

The silhouetted men of the mist revealed themselves under the explosive light – many of the dead crewmen of the Grimm Venturer. Dying long ago, their presence now echoes the work that needs doing, as if they were still present. Shadow figures, they moved like robot in the fray of action; ignoring strikes of nature’s power and focusing on the work of Jest. Earth’s creation donned the light necessary to peak behind the curtain of Olli’s creation. As the sky grew dark grey and cloudy, blotting out the sun with thick mist, the sky cracked more with booming fury. “…Man the stations; prepare the cannon…Grey! Bourbon!! Ready ye arms. Tabi, I smell Imperial honey!!!”, he called out, as the two brothers loaded their weapons. As the lady looked into the blurred mist, hit by rapid blasts of water, she saw it. While a haunting swell built up under the deck, growling from the depths of the hull, the likes of terror swell within the vessel. “BK, get boy!”, Grey shouted for his wolf-dog, as he gripped the comfort of his Kingman rifle. Walking up the stairs to the poop deck, he heard the gypsy madam; “They’re here!”, a burst of water splashed up like as volcano, as a hellish red and gold galleon surfaced from the water. Immediately following aside them, Barbossa was back. With the assistance of the fish men and monsters of the netherrealm, his Spanish crew was now a hellish army which he sold his soul to.

And in the warring chant of the dog’s eternal blood-chilling howl, Grey readied his rifle and fired off. Immediately, cannons blasted over from both sides. As the lantern-carrying maiden looked at the opposing crew with eyes of awareness, she held up her hand and began chanting psalms in Awekian. Moving down the rocky river, through madness and danger, cannonballs and fire rained off in into the sky, as a wall of mist shot up before her. Protecting them from the blunt of the force, rocketing ball dulled beneath the weight of the water. Held up by Tabitha’s will, the gypsy kept her hazel eyes on the villainous captain, as the two ships were thrown by the waves. “…They be aboard us soon!!!”, Bourbon alerted, as he fired his rifle at the invading humanoids, swinging across the gap of mist between them. Hitting two, three others crossed over. One landing close to Grey, baiting the animalistic force of his wolf launching into a attack, tackling the squid man down the flight of stairs. The bandits began to turn their attention to protecting the Venturer. With Bourbon leaping down from the Crow’s Nest, he pulled his cutlass, and started hacking at the creatures.

No Caption Provided

“Find the treasure!!!”, Ct. Barbossa ordered, as more crossed over. As Tabitha muttered before them, many of the men were dragged from their attempts, by phantoms of the Grimm Venturer’s control. Under Tabitha’s lead, the ghostly crew of the Jest flushed the decks like a tornado, and flew in tendril mist, over to Barbossa’s ship. “James, protect the treasure…”, Olli looked to the fishmen who were making their way to the brigs. As they fought off the skeletons that lived in the hull of the cryptic ship, Olli returned his golden helmet to his head. Laughing with his sadistic grin, he ran over the railing to the other ship. Holding his hand out, and unsheaving a rapier from his cane, the magician burned the deck of Barbossa’s vessel, as both ships entered a fall.

No Caption Provided

With a battle breaking out on both ships, between the Jest crew of ghost and skeletons, and Barbossa’s crew of fishmen and demon, the two crafts dropped from the water, enter a series of falls. Nosediving into the pits of a forty foot drop, both ships torpedoed into the lake. Lingering underwater for a few lengthy seconds, they still fired tendrils of force at each other. Casting charms and muttering spells, Tabitha was spoke the blessings of heavens into the water. Purifying the lagoon that they landed within, the sorcery boiled the flesh of the demons, as both ships moved underwater. Bourbon watched as Barbossa’s ship showed more signs of damage. Swimming into the mast, he gripped it as her felt the pressure of water pressing against him. And, shooting up with pressured tension, lightning struck as the two ships crashed into each other. While the two Jest pulled out the blunt of their powers, Olli burned down the Spanish sails, and Tabitha ordered the phantoms of the Venturer’s control to hammer through the hull of their ship. Breaking through, Barbossa’s vessel crumbled. Leaving the crew of fishmen swimming after them, they began climbing the Grimm Venturer. As Olli floated off the ground, spraying flames over the side of the ship, Tabitha propelled the ship forward. “We need t’ capture Barbossa”, Tabitha told the battling Bourbon, as she created a swell that pushed their ship.

As the two undead bandits fanned away the chalky thick cloud that caked up upon the ship, as a flash of light between their surfacing confused the two men. Seeing the misty sky absent of rain and lightning, while the sun lied behind the mountains, light crept in for a refreshing grasp on reality. Not knowing what time or day it was anymore, Grey noted the idea that it was likely morning, as the cloudy presence of dew blanketed the river. But, the time was not one of contemplation, as Barbossa and his fishmen climbed the Venturer and attacked the crew.

d^_^b

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#2  Edited By superstay

@jameswest007:

Standing at the base of the river shoreline, the outlaws hid from the sight of the Spanish. As their ship sat bare, open and empty of command, which filled the bay of the water, the imperial troops stuffed the temple. Pillaging and slaughtering the crew that couldn’t manage to hide, the two brothers thought of a way to defeat the Spanish. And in the mind of the loosest, the pirate held his face up high. Moving to the deepest end of the treeline, where they would be undetected, he whistled at the height of a bird; one of paradise. Chipping across the sky, the horses became alert, bobbing their heads to the water, as if to be one watch. Batting their black eyes, they stood idle near a buffet of bush grass. Hearing the whistle of the night, the pitch black steeds were aware of what lingered in the dark. Cold and hollow, the thick jungle of tropical fruit and vegetation, gold and vast riches, held the sweetest gift of all, the hand of nurturement. A shadowy silhouette of the night, coming in like a wind of fresh air, the outlaws were in mid-thought as a dainty hand of olive honey reached for Bourbon’s bicep. Causing him to jerk in reaction, along with Grey, they turned to see the presence of their fairest of ladies, Lady Abbigale Jest. Standing of prideful height, framed in the face by her chestnut black hair, the madam of Blairwood stood in garbs of silk and fine fabrics to much similarity of a gypsy. Placing her motherly gaze, as brown as the earth, upon the group of bandits, her smile soaked up the few bit of light that crept in through the trees, “A’yongshiwa, mi children…how do ye do?”. The woman parted her glazed lips again, before they could speak up, “Ye got th’ treasure, mi see; El’celxia. I’m unquestionable certain ye gentlemen are conscious of th’ hex-dia la vu’laga…”. Transitioning smoothly from her native Awekian language to English, the lady’s voice oozed nurturement and guardianship, holding the poise of the runner of the household that was the forest. Almost as if her voice overshadowed the hoots and howls of the wilderness, her long deep toned dress of wealthy purple hung humbly from the drape of her black waist sash. Cleaner than anything in the arms of nature should be, it was like an essence that rejected dirt and grime; even her black low-heeled boots withstood the soil of the floor without much effort. "Madam Jest, mi lady, my condolences for ye husband-", Grey bowed his head, after thinking of the vanished magician who fought the devilish deity inside of the temple. "Ow, hush hush, now.....th' pain of widowhood shall not be on the conscious of ye fellas...", she smiled through the thought, with a optimistic mind of abnormal humanity, "...the lot of we all, soon, will return to each other...".

Abbi the Gypsy
Abbi the Gypsy

“But, I do believe I must deliver these to ye lot, mi say…”, she reached her soft hands into her small black arm pouch, pulling out three rosaries of chestnut wood, with tiny blood-red stones on the end of them. Reflecting blackly from the light as they hung from her graceful hands, Grey and Bourbon bowed in respect of their boss’ wife. As she placed the necklaces around their heads, crowning them in the protection of the Jest shield, her smile stretched from dimple to dimple, as thick as her brunette eyebrows. “…this shall protect ye laddies, mi say…..”, she stated before the sound of gunfire erupted from within the temple, noting the reality that they were still inside of. “Tia-mijo!”, the lady gasped a nonchalant exclaimed in passive surprise. “Ye lads best be on ye way, mi buu-o.”, the youthfully vibrant woman fanned them off, as if she was an elderly grandmother, sending the children back outside. Causing the two brothers to step out of the bushes, Bourbon suddenly had an unbenounced epiphany.

“Mi wonder how much rum ‘em have…”, Bourbon, filled the erupt thought of no other place but the abyss of chaos, immediately started moving for the ship. Ducking in the water, he pulled his knife, much to the brother that followed him, “Ben…what are ya doing?”. Following close enough to watch his partner’s clumsy back, the swashbuckler dug his blade into the far side of the ship, hidden from sight. Grabbing onto the wooden planks that inched out. Climbing upward, he jimmied into a porthole, before the confused Grey did the same. Falling into the dark of the lower floor, no saw was made, besides the inching called of the wild. As the sun’s light hung in the holed window, the stuffed room was pitch black. “Ben, really? Rum, at a time like this?”, Grey struck a match, igniting a illuminating bulb of yellow shine into the room. Blessing them with sight, he stared at the chuckling one. “hehehe, mi think them may have been at a meng’na huo mine, ey?”, Bourbon asked, as he smelled the presence of petroleum, tucked within barrels of aged wood. Coming from the precious petroleum mines that were worked along Awekia, southeast and eastern Asia, the lower deck was full to the aisles with the stuff, as square sacks of sulphur black powder lied in netted sacks on the other end of the room. A dangerous mess of a supply room, the two immediately struck the same idea. “Let’s rain fire down on ‘em…”, Grey smiled, wickedly into the darkness, before reaching to push free the way to the door. Heading up to open it, Bourbon started pulling a few of the crates to the upper decks. Empty of men, they were luckily alone, presumably, as they dragged more barrels of what Awekian called meng up into the blazing sun. Along with the bags of sulphur, Grey watched as they were high from the ground; enough to not be noticeable to the crew at the mouth of the entrance.

Digging through the cabins for anything that could be filled with the liquid, the outlaws grabbed bottles, jugs, empty iron grenade, everything. Grey poured out the drinks, and threw them to the pirate, who poured in the burgundy stench of meng and topped it off with sulphur. Creating a horrid smell of rot and toxic gasses, he sat them at the edge of the decks, as the fumed up. “…if this works, we may not need dynamite, at all…”, Grey bit his cigarillo. As some of the oil leaked onto the deck, Bourbon looked up to see his bird. Cawing into the air with a banshee’s call of fatal warning, the Grim Gold Brothers moved like machines of pure destruction - vicious villainy - assured in what to do. As they took iron balled soaked in petroleum, stuffing them into cannons. Witnessing more of the Spaniards moving through the gates and into the opening, Bourbon licked his lips with anticipation. As the jungler grabbed all of the weapons he could, he discovered a few stored grenades; with barrels of the mixture inside, lining the ramp of the vessel. While the sun blazed from above, a fire was lit to the ropes at the base of the deck. Quickly climbing up the brownish braids of nylon, the flames cut into the large flag of the Spanish empire, obviously catching the attention of the conquistadors as they stood at the temple steps. Exclaiming in Spanish, they unsheaved their swords and loaded their guns. Running for the ship, they watched as the entire flag became engulfed. But, as the specially-crafted footwear of Barcelonan leather hit the wooden ramp in a hurry of aggression, the silent bandits heaved the drums down onto them, pouring the flammable liquids upon them. Knocking them about, with the heft of wood and the foulest of tasting toxins, Grey shot his revolvers into the slush of petroleum and sulphur, igniting a gulf of flames onto the Spaniards who were unlucky enough to not have fallen off the lengthy ramp.

“For, the essence of Lunana’s wrath-”

~ the word of Hwanio
No Caption Provided

Quickly, in a call to arms, the pirate shot his blunderbuss at the closest of the men, and ran to the high ground. Grabbing the back of a cannon, he struck a spark to it. ‘KaBoom!’, the horses cried and the flock of winged critters shot high into the sky as a smoky tendril of fire spat into the temple yard, hitting the bombarded masses of armoured noblemen. Chivalrous to the core, their wealthy fabrics now burned under the thin pops of crackling fire. Green gases of blackish soot raced into the high-heavens, as Grey chucked grenades of combustible flames down upon them. Dodging a haze of bullets that returned in retaliation, wood debris landed against the scurrying outlaws, as they began to see the full forces of the Spanish numbers. Gaining ground on the ship, Gray, feeling the boiling blood of his necklace, set fire into the face of those that drew near. While Bourbon swashed the grandiose feature of his sword, smiling as big as the day was bright, he sliced at noses, cheeks, eyes, and necks, as the conquistadors flinched at the extreme heat and choking gases that overtook the area. Too much for their senses, many of them were left vulnerable to the more horrendous of violent deaths. But, before long, the pirate rushed past the growth of Spaniards and down stairs, to the same floor that homed the remaining barrels of meng and black powder. Armed with two pistols and a smile, his grim face of sunken death basked in insanity, as he shot into the dark. And like the start of the good book, the eternal darkness flashed into light. The heaviest flame overtook the floor, blinding the buccaneer back into the steps. So strong, it sent sparks through the spacing of the deck floor planks.

“Great horrors will be bestowed onto the foreigners-“

~ the words of Hwanio
No Caption Provided

Sizzling and cackling like bacon on a fryer, the charging army screamed under the intense flames, as the burning wood sunk down. The grand ship came sinking apart, along with all upon it. Gray rushed into a cabin quarters, where the once stain glass windows were now busted by gunfire, he grabbed a bottle of wine and rum. Stuffed with rags, he lit them all, before sending them sour onto the soldiers that remain on the ground. Popping like Molotov cocktails, inflaming the grassy dirt yard of the old temple in fire, as high as the Spanish men themselves, and the red hot tendrils of oil rose over the silver armour of the troops. As they jumped into the water, the toxic fire continued burning, sizzling out their energy, weighed down by their own hefty suits of class. Men drowned, flames clung, wood blacked in poisonous flames, mist evaporated into boiled air, as the numerous yards of temple yard was shot again with a flash of oiled fire. Bourbon the chaotic, he jammed cannons with iron grenades of the ill-fated mixture, spitting it from the ship like a dragon. The tendril stretched for the entrance, splashed against it like water hitting strengthful stone, and engulfing the remaining men in flames. Howling in fear and pain, Grey exited the cabin and began to leave the ship. Sights fixed on the war that took place in the huge yard of cooked flesh. “I’m going for th’ temple!”, he yelled to anyone who could hear, as his brother crackled through the air with a thunderous blast of cannon-fire. Punching the ground with flames, the undead brother marched as if he was a demon from hell, stalking the suffering through the fire of the eternal inferno. With steaming pistol in hand, he shot off into the pleading men he saw. Tucked in cover, he moved for the temple, whistling for his horse to flea off into the safety of the trees. ‘WHOOSH!’, a trail of yellow hit the dirt like lightning, sending the grounded bandit to the earth with a thud.

“An omen of our ancestors, in the hands of Apokalypto-”

~ the words of Hwanio
No Caption Provided
Bloodlust Bourbon
Bloodlust Bourbon

With a curse of irritation, Grey looked back at his partner, who fired to shot, to be the whole of the ship’s center caving in. Crashing into the river, a ball of smoke craning up, popping with red infernos, like an avalanche of black soot. Bourbon fell into the fire, with burns on his arm and leg, scarring his clothing. Eyes still hellish red with lust for disaster, he screamed his way back to his good foot, pulsing with adrenaline. Squeezing his pistol, he busted into the flames, pushing air and fire like a fan of soundwaves. As the rainy atmosphere of the extremely humid rainforest prevented a wild spread of flames into the jungle, the large field of grass and crumbled rock garden was a hell of scorned flesh and bubbling toxins; which helped the horses, who fled into the safety of the trees. Feeling the drips of Awekian rainfall beginning to drop, the pirate emptied into the vulnerable men of distress. As Bourbon moved after his brother with continuous blast of blackpowder and lead debris, infected his already-tortured foes with shots that would lead to gangrene, if they weren’t already going to die of burns. Maneuvering through pockets of empty space, he called for his partners, “Grey? James? We need to get to the temple…check on whoever may be alive!”. As he witnessed Grey tucked behind a rock, the few remaining Spanish men were left firing back at the two. "We need to get inside th' temple, see if anyone else is alive!", Grey yelled out to the crew, as Bourbon covered him with backup. While flames scorned the field and created a hell on the field, as the remaining conquistadors fired through stuffy fire of bright light and smoke, "sus demonios ... sus demonios vivos, nos trae el infierno...". Coughing up gas of suffocation, they hid from the Brothers, who fired back.

d^_^b

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#3  Edited By superstay

@jameswest007:

Somberly welcoming the mortal outlaw, the Grim Gold Brothers grew increasingly confused by the sudden change in Tzas Draco’s tone. As a wicked sneer slithered across his face, they listened to him with attention, as he commanded the fish men. Monstrosities to the mortal world, he called them children? Grey’s eyes narrowed with thought, as he slid a look to Jest, who stood perfectly postured and still. With a soft smile that hadn’t changed at all, the outlaw imaged he had no thought to the confusing shift in character. As he returned his attention to the emperor, who tossed him a green-gem ring, Olli watched. Observing it all, he wasn’t as daft as the thinking-outlaw believed him to be. Staring at the tan ghost of the Awekian monarch, he took the same notes. ‘Awekian rat?’…did he forget he was of the same blood? Piecing his eyes of bloodlust, he thirsted with hunger, as he mentioned the death of the Awenativian researches and crewmen to Spanish soldier.

No Caption Provided

The lord that took the same oath to gods of the heavens that his beloved father and father before him swore; to cherish this land and all that was born upon it. The same lord that passionately took on the fight that was pledged onto his respected grandfather. Knowing the colonial empires would do the same to his land – to his people – which they were doing to the Americas, this lord became obsessed with the act of ridding Awekia of them. Wanting nothing more than to protect his own, this lord gave his humanity for it, witnessing bloodshed (often at his own hands), becoming a horrifying being in the process; all to strike enough fear and terror to scare the Spanish off of his island. Tzas Vlad was no good man, often obsessive, obnoxiously righteous, extremely venomous, and a tad bit xenophobic. But, along with those, he was nationalistic – as much as the Japanese society that Awekians descended from, o’so long ago; far too much so to nonchalantly mention the slaughtering of his own people to those that he hated so. And at the moment, Olli realized something wrong had just happened to them.

No Caption Provided

Standing directly beside Olsiga, he could now smell a new energy. As the emperor fanned them away, like a royal, who had no time for lowly peasants, Olli walked alongside the outlaws. However, in an instance, he stopped. Turning around, he looked the face of the historical monarch in the face. Full of his spiritual Awekian passion for his ancestors, Olli muttered, “Ye majesty, forgive me”. As his eyes sparked with yellow light, he spoke with the amplified voice of his own power. “As the patron of this realm, and champion of the council of gods, I command ALL TO BE REVEALED!”, the brit’s voice trembled the walls, before a golden glow took the room. Like a doming field of energy, it froze the fishmen in static stance. But, even more than that, it knocked the capturers of the monarchs from their bodies. Revealing the red trickster god, Morphisto, the magical Jest spoke. “-‘Otsihprom, the Lie’, ye are to be removed from the possession of the spirit of ye majesty, NOW!”, his voice sent ripples of energy, that flushed the devil up against the walls. As the two ghostly monarchs dropped to the floor in a slump of exhaustion, Olli immediately wondered what the devilish god wanted with deceiving them. Then, in that thought, he turned to Draco, “Ye majesty…this is worse than I thought…we need to get to the treasure. Where is it? What is it?”. Pleading to the mighty emperor for the clarity of what Morphisto could be after, Vlad looked to him, “-the last chamber, below. Ean tjae yev’wopa rūmu, the chest…it holds the most valuable…”. The tzas revealed where the actual treasure was. And as the two spirits faded away, so did their afterlife. Leaving the room in the darkness of black brick, the 14th century throne room was long gone, leaving Olli to handle the devil. Pouncing on the Jest, Morphisto began to scowl. “Go, laddies! Find the chest, get to the ship, and sail east…”, he fought off the demon, “don’t turn back until you reach Jestor City…..the monastery!”. Yelling his last words, his eyes lit gold clasked against the reds of the demon, and the fish men snarled back to life.

However, as the two outlaws armed themselves with their revolving handguns, Olli collapsed the room onto himself, the devilish lord, and the fish men. “…th’ bloody hell?”, Bourbon spat, in confusion of the whole ordeal, as Grey grabbed his collar, turning him in the direction that they were to run. As the last-ditch-effort of the Jest brought down the floor, to reveal a small tunnel to the treasure room. And immediately, Grey leaped down the smoky hole of chalky debris, landing on rubble and crumbled dirt. “Com’on!…we must get the chest!!”, he yelled, as Bourbon followed him into the dirt below. And in the lower level, down the stair-casing stepping rocks, Grey saw a faint light at the end of the hall. Still feeling the warring conflict between Morphisto and the Jest, they dodged crumbling debris of the unknown dungeon that they were in. As walls cracked and crashed to the floor, they ran. “They’re bringin’ th’ whole damn place down…”, the pirate growled at the sight of the roof tattering apart, while he continued down the hall. Running towards it, both of the brothers halted in the threshold of the treasure room. Blinded by the shimmering light of gold bars and coins, fruit-sized gems and royal statues, the two hunters basked in the smell of honey – fragrances of the noblest of scents. Grey stood with his eyes focused past the ancient currency of gold coins, eyeing the many carvings and statues of the Awenativian gods, the smiling Bourbon immediately ran to the center of the room, where the beautifully engraved chest lied.

No Caption Provided
No Caption Provided

Cladded with Awenativian lettering and gold-leaf snake carvings so elegantly curling over the cherry wood coffer, the greedy pirate snapped the chest open, revealing the coins inside; to Grey’s vocal warning. Noticing the long-withered bones of men (much like them), long dead at the flight of finding the room. Resting as homes to Beat beetles, of scavenging intent, Grey knew there was something that trapped them to their fate. But, in a gasp of sweet marvel, they witnessed a heap of thick currencies with the Awenativian calendar engraved on the face of them, and geistic symbols on the back. Gleaming up to them, as if the sun was tucked inside of the trunk. Glowing yellow onto their rugged faces, as a cold wind caught the attention of the thoughtful jungler, Grey looked to the many mouse-sized ports on the ground. Sucking him teeth with suspicion, batting his eyes at the holes, he lost his attention to the coiage that his partner looked into. The size of an apple in diameter, Bourbon lifted one, ‘Manni ova o’ Hijolipio di’ah Hwajenii, ye’vopa tu pasou’, he read on the back of the piece. “Sacred treasure of Hijolipio, the gold you hold?”, he muttered a translation as Grey looked inside to notice the delicately rolled scroll that lied within the center of the chest. And so, with the lifting of it, the cowboy unrolled the finely aged bamboo paper. Taking a clear look at it, he grazed onto the olden Awenativian words with a clear eye.

To the mighty emperor of Awekia, Tzas Vladimuz, of the united Awenativian city-state kingdoms of Awekia, I, Hwanio, of the Hwajeniian people wish you our spirit in the strength of our nation. In spite of Hijolipio’s lost withered status, the invaders’ ravaging of our home, we send the riches of out gold. Sacred and holy under the rays of the almighty Soliz, the sun deity of the heavens, and the blessing trinity of his wives, Lunana and Terana, we ask of you – please – uphold tradition. Bury this chest away in the earth of Terana, and do not retrieve until after all threats have parted from our shores. For, the essence of Lunana’s wrath. Great horrors will be bestowed onto the foreigners, if they shall take the nation. An omen of our ancestors, in the hands of Apokalypto, we will not fall t-


~ The [English] translated message of Hwanio to Vladimuz

Grey was cut off by the sound of the mist spraying from the holes. Unable to finish the scroll, in reaction to the sudden event, he rolled up the sheet and returned it to the crated chest. As the greedy Bourbon, who had no clue what was happening, instinctually acted upon self-interest and dropped to his knees to grab and stuff gems into his pockets and fastened pants. “…we need to get out of her-”, Grey was interrupted by the sight of the ground beginning to rack. And before they could react, with Bourbon only managing to close and tie the chest, the central floor broke. As the swashbuckler yelled out in startling shock, the two outlaws fell into a stream of water, as the rest of the room crumbled into the water. Debris of coinage and artifacts were flushed down the waters, as Bourbon gripped the chest, they rushed through a small pitch black hole of muddy rock walls and cold liquid. And before they could gain any barings, they were rapidly spat out of the side of a hill

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No Caption Provided

Into the river, they splashed, still clinging to the chest. Watching at the sun rose above the horizon of the jungle roof, the green ceiling of the Awekian rainforest cawed with the harmony of critters. As Grey lied upon the rafting river water of wavy motion, he focused his sight on the same Beat beetles. Having been flushed as well, they buzzed through the air and onto the cliffside, hiding from whatever birds may notice them as prey. And in that thought, he thought of the remaining Spanish troops. Looking for his partners, he saw the pirate holding himself atop of the barreling chest. “No, no, no, NO, NO! That treasure was supposed to be ours”, Bourbon cried out, as he watched dazzling gauntlets of wealthy craftsmanship swaying away from them. Blending in with the beauty of the flourough smells, like twinkling star sailing the vast cosmos of eternity. “…Ben!”, the jungler called his brother, pulling himself onto a jeweled sarcophagus, that was washed out with the rest of the artifacts, taking a few well-needed breaths. “Is the chest safe?”, he exhaled relief upon the pirate’s nod, before looking for James. “We need to get to land”, he pulled out the map, to check their location. Misty and warming with dew, the rhythmic knocks of the trees, being used as drums for woodpeckers, the two men stared into the river. As the twilight of dawn flickered at them, and the winds of the humid tropics patted at them, the cowboy stared at the horizon, before seeing the pyramid from early. Still standing well above the height of the trees, the mammoth structure was were the crew under the attack of the Spanish.

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@jameswest007:

Standing at the mouth of a chambered tomb, the two hunters stood in the darker corridors, which lied littered with Awenativian words and symbols. Engraved in the arched walls and ceilings, Grey pulled down on of the wall lanterns, with his bandana-wrapped left hand. As the pirate kneeled to the floor, breathing heavily, his widened eyes still blinked at the visions of the devilish essence that they had witnessed. While the jungler Grey remained silent, seeping with the smoke of his cigarillo, they were both still not used to being met with the power of the likes of gods and deities. Even after ions of fighting their goons and demons, Bourbon looked up to his brother. “…should we just ignore that?”, he muttered in a staggered voice, before staring into the blackness at the end of the hall. “…I’d say so…..isn’t our jobs t’ analyze….”, the cowboy read the scripts, glaring from his cold grey eyes. “-we may be close to the end of this”, he noticed the information spoke of them being in the burial chambers of those lost and left behind.

“Good…I say, me need a break”, the swashbuckler grabbed his sword before hearing a sound. Footsteps that echoed with shivering tingled to their spines, they looked to the golden light that shined from the one doorway at the opposite end of the hall. “-what was that?”, he asked with the notice of his heated breath frosting against the suddenly cold air. “I have no idea-where’s James?”, the cool-headed bandit wondered, finally, in a thought of their partner. To which, Bourbon pointed in the room. And, with the yell of the American's own shock, they heard the footsteps again. Along with the cold wind, their breaths stopped when they beheld the glowing presence of a walking lady. Transparent and tinted in a heavenly glow of blue, Bourbon stumbled back down to his but, as he saw what the Grimm Gold Brothers could see; Quas Olsiga.

Quas Olsiga the Vengeful Virgin Queen
Quas Olsiga the Vengeful Virgin Queen

As Grey looked on, he leaned against the walls of the hallway, as the lady’s large empty eyes gripped at the bandit, her pearl-riddled headdress crown and gold cladded outfit of royalty gave a clear description of them being in the presence of the Lady of Vengeance. The ghost of the queen who ruled Awekia at the dawn of the 15th century, youngest of Vlad’s three children. Bloodlusted on being the inheritor of her father’s crown, to the point kill her own sleeping sister and marry her mentally ill-fit brother to hold the throne. Likened to be the worst ruler of Awekia, more so than her blood-thirsty father, the memory of Olsiga lives in the horrors that the inflicted on the Spanish colony after the war that her ruthless father ended. With her vindictive spirit, she contrived for the burning of an entire city, killing thousands of people, who held no wrong but being in the colony of the empire that started a war with her kingdom. Bourbon watched the passing stare, cutting at his heart, as his mind fluttered with the black image of the woman who placed a dark spot on Awekian history. The Vengeful Virgin, who planned to never give up the crown; until she was forced off the throne in 1616, by her nephew, Tzas Francique. The son of her mad brother and a chamber maiden, he was the hidden rightful heir that finally embarked on the wants of the people, and removed the wicked-minded woman. Locking her away in a tower, until her death in 1666, the two undead outlaws knew they were in the company of a long-gone being.

Bourbon watched as the lady stopped before them, while James’ call echoed through the hall, it almost muted in vibration when it came to them. Creating a void of silence, she knew they were aware of her. So, she parted her pale lips and greeted in her native Awekian tongue, “A’yongshiwa, mi ja-soh…”. As the caught control of his legs, kneeling to their majesty, the cowboy spoke back. Bourbon slowly bowed to the olden queen, as well. “Mi Quas-zama, how are you here, before us?”, Grey motioned up to the royal madam, who continued holding a face of hardened contentment. “Kioi, pazi…the tormented soul of my sister has brought you here, to the displeasure of our father.”, Olsiga held her steady presence of class, as the two lowly bandits straightened around her. “...why would he be displeased?”, Bourbon furrowed her brows before asking. “…she has brought outsiders into his buried secrets. You two, the Jests, the American, a devil, and worst of all, the Spanish…my father is furious with her. But, he requests you two.”. Gesturing for them to follow her, they looked over to James’ direction before slowly wandering behind her. As she discards the blood-soaked knife of hers, Olsiga walks through a wall, like the essence she is.

Tzas Vladimuz the Venomous
Tzas Vladimuz the Venomous

Immediately, the two outlaws took the whipping ends of their firearms, as well as their boot heels. The brothers break down the rather thin slab of wall, revealing a staircase to a lower room, they stepped down before seeing the reddish flames of wall lanterns. Burning wildly, they lined the wide hall before reaching the very end, where a throne sat at the grand display of the two. As Olsiga stood still, the outlaws froze at the sight of his truly. The raven-haired predecessor of the crown that eyed them from across the modest ballroom; Tzas Vladimuz the Venomous. The tzas who ended the war, he sat upon the large throne with a gauntlet of red wine in his hand, and a scowling grin rested on his face. Hair shuttering down from his thick wholly cap of red, bullish mane of facial hair, and the silk near-unibrow that shaded his sunken eyes, the ghostly tzas leaned forward, resting his arm upon his knee, Vlad was a mighty figure. Greeting them in Awekian, he stared at them without a notion of interest in the rest of the activities of the ballroom.

The ghostly banquet of Vlad's afterlife
The ghostly banquet of Vlad's afterlife

Appearances swamped the two, Grey gulped with the feeling of having stepped back in time. The ghost of a former time lied before them, as the courtroom bared the essence of Awekia in 1599. As soft sounds of native string instruments held the background, the lavish banquet was in the midst of silk and gold-leaf fabrics. The black suits of Geistic priest and zhans, the reds and purples of noblemen, and the large headdresses of the enlightened, Bourbon felt like he was inside of a painting. And, the walked towards the throne, as the spirits continued mingling, as the two passed them all. Olive toned faces that matched the rest of the islander people, a few distinctly French men pardoned themselves from the altar, as Grey and Bourbon dropped to their knees. In bow, they lifted their heads, “…what is this?”, the swashbuckler lost his focus into the deep-tan of the tzas. “…welcome to the afterlife, my children. I must speak to you about something”, Vlad informed them with his growling tone of lavender baritone. “…You’ve aided the Jest in luring the Spanish to my treasure. Outsiders…”, his eyes burned with the thought of his heritage falling in the hands of the foreigners who once tried to take their land from them, “…it must not be permitted…”.

“But, Barbossa is gone. We got rid of him…”, Grey muttered in explanation, before being interrupted. Staring into the intense face of the tzas, Vlad spoke, “Yet, his army still search…they are in the presence of my temple. MY treasure! OUR history!.....find them; and kill them all”. Drawing a somber expression on the faces of the Awekian bandits, they quickly stood and wagged a ‘no’ at their deceased majesty, “…we can’t murder an entire fleet of Spaniards. We ain’t no two-man-army of murder…”. But, in the sparking heat of the venomed eyes of the ruler, he looked to scold them before a voice stopped their conversation. Causing Olsiga to gaze over at a respectfully bowed Ollivar Jest. As the wall-positioned jedix guards unsheaved their swords upon the intruder, the English-accented figure spoke. “Yer majesty, if I may? We may not need to kill the conquistadors…”, he stood and stepped beside his men, while the steady hand of the tzas bayed the warriors. We!...you do not belong here, Englishman…”, the tzas listened to the voice that muttered the language that wasn’t his natural one. “England is me home, truly. Yet, my blood, the blood of the Jest, is of this land, too…”, he claimed his connection in the dispute, “but, besides the intricacies of our heritage, Barbossa was the stubborn one who tracked down the treasure. His men, the nation of Spain, all other have long abandoned the search for gold and forest riches…like the tales of El Dorado, Draco’s Treasure is regarded as ‘myth’…all we have to do is lose the Spanish in the forest, and move the actual treasure back to Awekia, where we could assure it’s safety!”, Olli gave his plan. The plan he wanted, all along, he was sharply rejected by the king. “No…I know what Awekia has become. A international chum to the very nations who once held intentions of conquering us…Why should I place the goods of my tomb up to be shared with the ungrateful”, Vlad scoffed.

“Your majesty…we could place them in the museums of Jestor City. The Geistic temples there are very private with the ancient artifacts that they hold.”, Jest pleaded. “But, leaving all that ye left behind, rotting in the jungle…any would-be adventurer could stroll into it. I’m certain I would be the only mystic. And, they aren’t the only hunters with enough in their favour to find it. We must relocate it to civilization. And, ye must trust that yer kingdom can protect it…”, Olli passionately stated to much silenced from the shadowed phantom spirit. Seeing deep thought of the face of the medieval ruler, the dark-haired Jest parted his lips again, “Ye’know, the sins of yer past are long gone, yer majesty. The world, the royal family, yer people, have long forgiven the acts that ye inflicted, during that war”, the gentlemanly figure looked upon the tzas, relieving him of the horrors he mustered up, during the Aweko-Spanish war. “-four centuries have passed…this could be yer last gift to them…”, he muttered with a soothing British before hearing a ‘mg-hyi’. “…Ollivar of the Jest, I shall grant you and your men permission to enter my tomb, grasp my possessions, and gift them to my people.”, he rose his gauntlet to the heavens. “But, first…assure the end of the Spanish interest. Lose them and end their search...”, Vlad licked his lips, before ending their conversation on the matter.

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#5  Edited By superstay

4:57 AM / Land of the Lost

No Caption Provided

Beating like the lost heart that it was, the hidden abyss of jungle trees stood gloriously in an ether of unknown wonder. A world away from any world known, this lost land lied to those who inhabited it. Dripping with the moisture of fresh dew that the morning mist brought in, the sky rested on the crest of dawn, and began to tuck the moon down over the horizon. As the sun arrived, the thick forest saw no difference. So lush in jungle-topping trees, the green roof blocked out much of the sun. Leaving single beams of pale yellow rays to peak through, the wooden beat of tree roamers and lingering beast muttered. Cawing from the fluttering birds of the tropics flew, as the frosty mountains bathed the lowland range in fresh mist.

No Caption Provided

The ground lied bare, with brown dirt, as the sound of a watery fall crashed in the distance. By the black cliffs of a forest edge, a redhead maiden stood in her barbaric armour. Long hair flowing with the whistling wind, she held the still posture of a statue, not even flinching from the chilly breeze, as it drug the sprinkling water from the pond around the cliffside. She just stared deep into the darkness of a black well in the rocky wall. A cave of abysmal darkness, it matched the rest of the uncertainty dangerous rainforest that she called home.

Waiting, she did, before she hear the huffs and grunts of her lord. Her browned companion, Brawnzan emerged from the darkness. Fingers jammed deep into the mouth of a horrid creature of alien proportion. Swaying through the ankle-high stream of muddy water that lied at the mouth of the opening, his thick boots stepped through the reddish-brown liquid with powerful strides. She bared a few unusual wounds across his chest. “…you alright, me love?”, she parted her lips at the sight of three bloody wounds on his tightened stomach. As he pulled the humanoid creature that was twice his size in thickness, the king lifted his smokey grey eyes past the natted locks of hair upon his head and onto his queen, “…mmm, I’ll be fine…..think this is the last of ‘em”.

No Caption Provided

Dropping the bloody carcass to the floor, it held the appearance of something other-worldly. “Where from do you think they came?”, her firm voice questioned the hidden horde of these beast, that they had been driving out of the caves all night. “…likely fallers from the above”, he looked to the two headless comrades that lied dead beside their alien brother, bodies for the buzzards to feed on, Brawnzan looked to his wife, as she gazed at the sky, where all disappeared things fall into the land of the lost. “…day breaks, Tigra…see yourself back to camp. Alert the fleet. I will return soon.”, the barbarian ruler stepped out of the dirt and up to her. "Sure, my king. Finish your duties. And be home to me, safely...", the redhead queen kissed him tenderly before handing him a wrapped stack of long plank, into his rough hands. Standing tall and built, he parted her away, before turning to the cave entrance as he stood alone in the shadowy forest. Staring at it with a deep furrow of his furry brows, he kneeled to the three alien bodies. Taking an animalistic sniff of their corpses, he looked at their green blood, before growling like a protective wolf. Taking the thick wooden polls, he planned to send a message to any remaining threats to his range. Brutally impaling each of them onto a stacking plank, he lifted and stuck them into the dirt. Creating an image of terror, the creatures now stood mutilated and on full display for all to see. Brawnzan gripped the locked mane on the back of a severed head, lifting the grotesque face to the sky. As blood dripped to his bronzed torso, the barbarian king opened his mouth and howled into the air. A thunderous roar of beastly authority, he proclaimed his land to all who heard.

@redridinghood:

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@redridinghood:

...the ravishing jungles of the deepest, darkest rainforests of the lost lands that lie in the thick mist of parts unknown.....

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#9  Edited By superstay
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@superstay: Yep...apparently, one of his students is claiming that he 'Pill Cosbyed' her...

I've only read headlines about it, though. I haven't read the full information of the claim. But, that's the claim...

...this is such a sad period in history...

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