You awaken slowly, your head still fuzzy and your vision unfocused. The taste of stale grog lingers on your tongue and something is crusted to the side of your face. You scratch halfheartedly at it and glance about the room. You are in a tavern - though which one you can’t be sure. Over by the fireplace is a small gathering, deep in conversation with a lone figure.
You yawn deeply, pick up your tankard confirming its emptiness, and stumble your way to the bar. The tavern keeper fills it and swipes away payment, her attention locked on the small group. You take a gulp of grog, swish it about in your mouth, and swallow, replacing the old taste with new. You turn your attention to the gathering. The lone man at the heart of the group is the only one talking now and the others seem deeply invested in his words. You lean in curiously.
“Word on the wind is all sharks of late but I assure you land is hardly haven. There are plenty of horrors on land that your spade best not find and I’ve found such a thing myself… upon the sands of Devil’s Ridge.”
One among the gathering interrupts. “Hah! Devil’s Ridge!? What you do, dig up a snake? Trip over a nasty rock?”
You snort into your tankard to cover your laugh. The man continues, unhindered by the skeptics.
Long ago on that very island…died a man...
No ordinary man but a man marked by monstrous deeds, hands stained forever crimson and eyes that witnessed it all. A right plague upon the seas for god, kin, and crew all knew to fear him. For years his shadow darkened the world, but it was the same god, kin, and crew that so feared him that would turn to end him.
The gods supplied the place, an Island yet to be named by men. Kin, a brother trusted of name and blood, promised great wealth upon the island. And lastly crew, with each man driving home the knife with hands that dug the hole for him to fall.
They buried him there with betrayal in his eyes, still gasping for life…in his final moments as the earth grew tighter around him, death itself turned away and would not offer him salvation and so he could never die…
I arrived one night upon those shores in need of supplies and rest. As night arrived I lit fire and set myself to drink, but my gut was too uneasy for it. I couldn’t help feeling as if I had done wrong. Couldn’t shake that feeling of impending judgement like a man waiting for the noose.
Then he whispered. It mumbled and muttered to itself in frustration. It came from further down the beach and I compelled to follow took cutlass in hand and set foot cautiously in front of the other.
Then he noticed me. Whisper turned to silence then quickly to surprise. Earth shifted as if to adjust his position to better set eyes on me, and though I saw naught, I felt eyes upon me as clearly as I see your own.
Finally he bellowed his deathless rage and I kneeled in the sand from weighted sins not my own.
Finally…he came…
Sands shifted and moaned, cracked then bubbled! His hands broke earth and clawed and pulled and dragged! Each finger hissed against the sands with a heat unknown to mortal men. He came, he stood, and earth warped to glass at each step he took. He roared a soundless roar and night turned to void, the very stars having lost their will to shine!
At that moment I knew what it meant to be immortal, for death itself fled that island in fear of what had been created. To be before such a horror without release of death I feared what it meant to live…
He extended a long boney finger at me his eyes burning with the very light denied the stars. His lipless mouth creaked open another silent scream but in my head I heard it “DECEIVER! BETRAYER!” He cast the sins of his god, brother, and crew upon me and I could do naught but accept it and quiver like a scolded dog!
He walked a heavy walk of a man both denied life and death. He looked to punish me for his eternity, so I did what any fool would do and that is to deny the inevitable. I drew steel and thrust it into his twisted ribcage. The heat was impossible but I refused to release my sword. I twisted the blade about in hopes of anything. The steel sparked and cracked, melted and seared until finally it exploded like a crack of lightning and I found myself dazed on my back. I wasted no time. Broken for a mere tick of a watch from the burden of his presence, I ran towards my ship. I threw myself against the anchor praying for strength and the gods granted it. I split ropes and let sail fall free, and the winds rushed to my aid. As my ship lurched forward I looked out and saw him in chase, refusing to let his fate go unpunished again. The very seas threw itself upon him, hissing at the impossibility of his existence, to buy me any measure of time to get away. And as quickly as he came it was done…
The island shrank in the distance and the stars returned. A final howl roared from Devil’s Ridge but I dared not look back. Once more I felt death at my side and I felt the need to survive. “Run,” Death said to me, “And never look back…”
You burst out laughing into your empty mug.
“What a load!” you call out. “You got something on that island and you just don’t want no one nicking it.”
The man looks you in the eye deathly serious.
He reaches behind, grabs something, then tosses you a twisted piece of metal.
You catch it instinctively. Looking it over you realize it is…or was…a sword. Most of the blade is missing, and where it cuts off is melted and warped beyond anything you can reason.
“If you’re so inclined to disbelieve…perhaps the devil will want the rest.”
You look from the sword remains to the storyteller. You want to call his bluff. You want to feel safe in knowing he’s just some drunk seeking a few free drinks while pulling at the leg of anyone gullible enough to fall for this tale…but the sword bothers you…
…and it is after all called ‘Devils’ Ridge…
…and you’ve never bothered to ask why…
For more potentially true tales check out:
https://www.seaofthieves.com/forum/topic/58324/a-potentially-true-tale-the-living-island
