Buried Treasure (CC/ AU / Teen) Complete 02/14/07

Finished stories that feature the characters from the show, but there are no aliens. All fics completed on the main AU without Aliens board will eventually be moved here.

Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Erina, Hunter, Forum Moderators

Locked
User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

Buried Treasure (CC/ AU / Teen) Complete 02/14/07

Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Mon Oct 30, 2006 12:48 pm

<center>
Image
</center>

Title: “Buried Treasure”

Author: suicide_eagle_rath

Rating:Teen (beware dark scene with murder and ghost)

Pairings: AU without aliens

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement intended.

Summary: A campfire story of pirates and mayhem, buried treasure and fool’s luck[/b]
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Thu Mar 01, 2007 7:06 pm, edited 11 times in total.

User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Mon Oct 30, 2006 12:52 pm

<center>
Buried Treasure

A haunting adventure, do you dare enter?


Part One of Three
</center>

This here tale, it be the God’s honest truth: Long ago, legends record a rouge pirate, referred to as Ki'var, the carver of men’s hearts. It is he who scandalized the coasts of the North Sea, murdering, terrorizing, pillaging all that he came into contact with as he laid waste to the coastal lands. Man and beast alike feared his name. He was an evil buccaneer, who ignored the code of the sea for his own personal glory and gains.

Indeed Ki'var was so wicked, his pursuit of unholy cruelties and sly cunning are still the bases for many a dime store novel today. Story tellers of old while sitting around a fire, propagated these stories of Ki'var and his crew who piloted the “Dragon’s Blood” to scare their audiences of the daring pirate escapades.

In reality the truth was so horrendous that there was no for embellishment, but instead the stories were toned down. The people of the village would gasp in fear when they heard the vile acts, the deaths, the curses, and the foul deeds. These were not children stories, but told from adult to adult, to prepare them for the onslaught, to make them aware of the danger.

Many a man that lived to old age, their minds were still vivid with the atrocities they had witnesses. A rare few that had actually seen the demonic looking ship, would swear it was the devil himself at the helm. The squared rigged ship, ebony from stem to stern, appeared heavy upon first sight, yet sailed gracefully upon the wind. As she came in close to shore, she would set all her sails yet no humans could be seen manning the ropes. Natures herself announced the arrival of doom, the sky would darken, soon blackness over came the day as the ship came in close to shore. Then as if on command thunder cracked, exploding deafening all in hearing range, the night sky was illuminated with electricity as a violent storm began to rage in the heavens above tall masts.

The legends not only spoke of his ship’s unnatural phenomenon, but also of his evil ways to get his ill-gotten gains. This madman Ki'var was so sly and cunning, that he had devised a way of beaching ships with barely lifting a finger. He would find the perfect rocky cliffs, and in these waters, they were plentiful. Sending his own men ashore, they would first kill the watcher, that poor innocent soul who guided the ships to safe water. Then they would set up their own lanterns, but instead of guiding ships to safety, they would mislead an unsuspecting ship preferably laden with gold and riches to its death on the rocky sharp rocks.

His men would be waiting in long boats, and as soon as the ship would begin to sink, they would row in and take what they could, included many a woman who screamed for mercy and a quick death. These women would either be sold as slaves or tossed into the ocean after the men had their fill of them. More unfortunate souls were those men from the doomed ship who tried to escape by climbing the rocky cliffs for there they would meet their fate; for Ki’var’s men stood, holding a lantern in one hand and a sword in another. The pirates relished in pain and torture and refused the men a swift death; it was a slow, agonizing as the pirate would cut off their hands then watched the men slide back down the cliff, screaming in terror.

Ki’var grew bolder in his actions; soon nothing was off limits to him, including the temples of the pious. One nefarious deed so shocked the public, the price on his head was raised ten-fold after the act. It was an attack upon a temple, a place where peaceful men worshipped din solitude for guidance. Their calls to prayers were heard over the land by the ringing of the bells located high in the towers. People would come from far and wide to pray at the sanctuary and offer up their blessing, be it gold or fruit. On that infamous day, Ki'var’s heart was so filled with greed that he attacked the temple, stealing all the gold, food, even personal items from the parishioners themselves. Then he bolted the doors, then torched the fire, within minutes the aged wood was a blazing inferno. Their shrieks and pleads for help could be heard for a thousand miles.

That one act doomed Ki'var and his crew, the military pressured by the King, was soon on a quest to find this rouge pirate, this evil monstrosity, to capture him alive if possible, but it was preferred that only his head was returned. His ship was tracked day and night, making landing almost impossible. The military launched the entire fleet, on a 24-hour vigil for this one single man. The first sailor that spotted the demon black ship would earn a year’s extra pay.

Fearing he could lose his gold, Ki'var finally spotted a small deserted isle, where during the cover of darkness and fog he landed in a secured secret cove. He ordered a small band of men to carry the heavy chests of gold ashore. They trudged inland until they came upon a group of weathered boulders forming a small circle with the center being loose sand. Once there they excavated hole, 10 feet by 10 feet and laid into it several trucks, laden with treasure. Ki'var and his right hand man, Nicholas, then cut the throats of the bearers and threw their bodies in to the hole. Knowing that their ghosts, bound to Ki’var by the pirate oath would guard the precious contents. The dead men, their skeletons eager for flesh and blood, would devour any whom dared upon this soil alive.

On the way back to the ship, the sky cleared, as mid morn was upon them, allowing for clear viewing of the ship anchored far off in the bay. Ki'var pointed out to Nicholas to take a closer look with the scope and see if the bow of the ship looked heavy. Dutifully Nicolas, having to stand close to the edge of the precipice, fished out his scope and concentrated on the ship. Ki’var then accidentally, with a maniacal laugh, shoved Nicholas off a steep cliff, where he dashed his head against the rocks below.

None at the ship dared ask what happened, why the men had not returned for they knew what acts Ki'var was capable of committing. But the murder of their fellow mates did not sit well with the crew, as they bided their time, waiting to enact revenge against the Captain.

Not long after Ki'var held his fortune he came down with a blood disease, his shipmates planned to abandon him on a distant shore for fear he had the plague. They rounded the corner of the cape, assisted by a mild wind blowing off the shore, the Dragon’s Blood dropped anchor. Ki'var weakened and barely conscious, shackled in thick leg irons and cuffs, was thrown in to a long boat for a brisk row to the shoreline. Six strong men volunteered to row the boat ashore, they feared the plague a lot less that the wrath of Ki'var if he were to survive.

As they neared the shore, Ki'var came more aware of what his men were up to as he began to struggle to free himself from the heavy manacles. But his struggles proved to no avail, for once the boat touched the sandy bottom; the men pushed him over the side and into the withdrawn tide.

Ki’var lay upon the sand, his mind not far from madness; his body not far from death. He tried to crawl, forward, succeeding in only a few inches. He could feel the cold grip of death’s hand upon him. Instead of repenting his evil ways and asking for forgiveness, he damned all that was holy and damned those who found him or his treasure. He cursed his men, cursed them to death as he cried out in agony.

A gale force blew up suddenly as day became night; a storm began to rage, more fearful than any man had memory of in his or her lifetime. The heavens disemboweled, ripped open by the force of the lightening, torrents of rain began to fall. The thunder clashed so loudly it shook the ground on which Ki'var was lying. Then as if a hand from hell came to the earth’s surface, directing a lighting bolt to strike the Dragon’s Blood not once, not twice, but thrice. Exploding it into a million pieces, burning what remained to a char in a flash. Davy Jones locker that day received many dead and dying bodies, appropriate food for the shark infested waters.

Hours pass as Ki'var lied there in the water, cold; his body began to decay, though his mind lingered on. Angered, he damned all that was holy since that no one came to his rescue, none bothered to help him. Ki'var called upon the devil to make an unholy pact that who ever found his body would be cursed, damned for all eternity.
rouge pirate, referred to as Ki'var, the carver of men’s hearts. It is he who scandalized the coasts of the North Sea, murdering, terrorizing, pillaging all that he came into contact with as he laid waste to the coastal lands. His name was feared by man and beast alike, an evil buccaneer, who ignored the code of the sea for his own personal glory and gains.

Indeed Ki'var was so wicked, his pursuit of unholy cruelties and sly cunning are still the bases for many a dine store novel today. Story tellers of old while sitting around a fire, propagated these stories of Ki'var and his crew who piloted the “Dragon’s Blood” to scare their audiences of the daring pirate escapades.

In reality the truth was so horrendous that there was no for embellishment, but instead the stories were toned down. The people of the village would gasp in fear when they heard the vile acts, the deaths, the curses, the foul deeds. These were not children stories, but told from adult to adult, to prepare them for the onslaught, to make them aware of the danger.

Many a man that lived to old age, their minds were still vivid with the atrocities they had witnesses. A rare few that had actually seen the demonic looking ship, would swear it was the devil himself at the helm. The squared rigged ship, ebony from stem to stern, appeared heavy upon first sight, yet sailed gracefully upon the wind. As she came in close to shore, she would set all her sails yet no humans could be seen manning the ropes. Nature herself announce the arrival of doom, the sky would darken, soon blackness over came the day as the ship came in close to shore. Then as if on command thunder cracked, exploding deafening all in hearing range, the night sky was illuminated with electricity as a violent storm began to rage in the heavens above tall masts.

The legends not only spoke of his ship’s unnatural phenomenon, but also of his evil ways to get his ill-gotten gains. This madman Ki'var was so sly and cunning, that he had devised a way of beaching ships with barely lifting a finger. He would find the perfect rocky cliffs, and in these waters, they were plentiful. Sending his own men ashore, they would first kill the watcher, that poor innocent soul who guided the ships to safe water. Then they would set up their own lanterns, but instead of guiding ships to safety, they would mislead an unsuspecting ship preferably laden with gold and riches to its death on the rocky sharp rocks.

His men would be waiting in long boats, and as soon as the ship would begin to sink, they would row in and take what they could, included many a woman who screamed for mercy and a quick death. These women would either be sold as slaves or tossed into the ocean after the men had their fill of them. More unfortunate souls were those men from the doomed ship who tried to escape by climbing the rocky cliffs for there they would meet their fate; for Ki’var’s men stood, holding a lantern in one hand and a sword in another. The pirates relished in pain and torture and refused the men a swift death; it was a slow, agonizing as the pirate would cut off their hands then watched the men slide back down the cliff, screaming in terror.

Ki’var grew bolder in his actions; soon nothing was off limits to him, including the temples of the pious. One nefarious deed so shocked the public, the price on his head was raised ten-fold after the act. It was an attack upon a temple, a place where peaceful men worshipped din solitude for guidance. Their calls to prayers were heard over the land by the ringing of the bells located high in the towers. People would come from far and wide to pray at the sanctuary and offer up their blessing, be it gold or fruit. On that infamous day, Ki'var’s heart was so filled with greed that he attacked the temple, stealing all the gold, food, even personal items from the parishioners themselves. Then he bolted the doors, then torched the fire, within minutes the aged wood was a blazing inferno. Their shrieks and pleads for help could be heard for a thousand miles.

That one act doomed Ki'var and his crew, the military pressured by the King, was soon on a quest to find this rouge pirate, this evil monstrosity, to capture him alive if possible, but it was preferred that only his head was returned. His ship was tracked day and night, making landing almost impossible. The military launched the entire fleet, on a 24 hour vigil for this one single man. The first sailor that spotted the demon black ship would earn a year’s extra pay.

Fearing he could lose his gold, Ki'var finally spotted a small deserted isle, where during the cover of darkness and fog he landed in a secured secret cove. He ordered a small band of men to carry the heavy chests of gold ashore. They trudged inland until they came upon a group of weathered boulders forming a small circle with the center being loose sand. Once there they excavated hole, 10 feet by 10 feet and laid into it several trucks, laden with treasure. Ki'var and his right hand man, Nicholas, then cut the throats of the bearers and threw their bodies in to the hole. Knowing that their ghosts, bound to Ki’var by the pirate oath would guard the precious contents. Any who dared upon this soil would be devoured alive by the dead men, their skeletons eager for flesh and blood.

On the way back to the ship, the sky cleared, as mid morn was upon them, allowing for clear viewing of the ship anchored far off in the bay. Ki'var pointed out to Nicholas to take a closer look with the scope and see if the bow of the ship looked heavy. Dutifully Nicolas, having to stand close to the edge of the precipice, fished out his scope and concentrated on the ship. Ki’var then accidentally, with a maniacal laugh, shoved Nicholas off a steep cliff, where he dashed his head against the rocks below.

None at the ship dared ask what happened, why the men had not returned for they knew what acts Ki'var was capable of committing. But the murder of their fellow mates did not sit well with the crew, as they bided their time, waiting to enact revenge against the Captain.

Not long after Ki'var held his fortune he came down with a blood disease, his shipmates planned to abandon him on a distant shore for fear he had the plague. They rounded the corner of the cape, assisted by a mild wind blowing off the shore, the Dragon’s Blood dropped anchor. Ki'var weakened and barely conscious, shackled in thick leg irons and cuffs, was thrown in to a long boat for a brisk row to the shoreline. Six strong men volunteered to row the boat ashore, they feared the plague a lot less that the wrath of Ki'var if he were to survive.

As they neared the shore, Ki'var came more aware of what his men were up to as he began to struggle to free himself from the heavy manacles. But his struggles proved to no avail, for once the boat touched the sandy bottom; the men pushed him over the side and into the withdrawn tide.

Ki’var lay upon the sand, his mind not far from madness; his body not far from death. He tried to crawl, forward, succeeding in only a few inches. He could feel the cold grip of death’s hand upon him. Instead of repenting his evil ways and asking for forgiveness, he damn all that was holy and damned those who found him or his treasure. He cursed his men, cursed them to death as he cried out in agony.

A gale force blew up suddenly as day became night; a storm began to rage, more fearful than any man had memory of in his or her lifetime. The heavens disemboweled, ripped open by the force of the lightening, torrents of rain began to fall. The thunder clashed so loudly it shook the ground on which Ki'var was lying. Then as if a hand from hell came to the earth’s surface, directing a lighting bolt to strike the Dragon’s Blood not once, not twice, but thrice. Exploding it into a million pieces, burning what remained to a char in a flash. Davy Jones locker that day received many dead and dying bodies, appropriate food for the shark infested waters.

Hours pass as Ki'var lied there in the water, cold; his body began to decay, though his mind lingered on. Angered, he damned all that was holy since that no one came to his rescue, none bothered to help him. Ki'var called upon the devil to make an unholy pact that who ever found his body would be cursed, damned for all eternity.

<center>
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
</center>
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Mon Feb 05, 2007 1:24 pm, edited 4 times in total.

User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Wed Nov 08, 2006 9:22 pm

<center>
Buried Treasure

A haunting adventure, do you dare enter?


Part Two of Three
</center>

As luck would have it, two brothers of meager monetary means were scourging the shore for wood to burn in their pitiful home they shared with their parents and sisters. These brothers, Maxwell and Michael, came upon the old pirate, in his last demented moments. He spewed vile and evil curses to any and all who found the map etched into his forearm, death to any who dared use his gold, his blood money, his payment to hell.

Tried as they were they could not save the poor wretch’s life and with his last breath the ground shook with such force, that the brothers were dropped to their knees. It was a ghastly sight, the pirate’s dead eyes laid open, his mouth frozen in mid curse, his body already putrid with maggots and infestations, a spectacle that one would remember in mortal terror for many a night.

The brothers, being good souls, sough to inter his remains into the land, despite the curse and state of the corpse. They had heard has words about treasure and curses and thought the old man was daft, a raving loon, his mind cooked from the sun. It was not until they went to move his body to bury that they saw the map etched into his skin, still raw from the blade he had used. Speculating that there was some truth behind the ranting, they copied the map down on an old oar they found in the sand using a stick to write with that they sharpened and burned the tip for the charcoal lead.

Then they returned home to tell the family the story of what they found. Ma and Pa Evans were skeptical of the story and the map; they feared it was a delirious old man who had fantasies of gold and adventure. The boys described the man, his shabby clothing, the scar on his face, those cold, yellow eyes, and then they mentioned a tattoo on his forearm. At that point, Kyle, the fiancé to their sister Tess, jumped up. He had seen just such a tattoo on the arm of a man who robbed their village when he was very young. He could never forget the odd markings, four runes or symbols in a square as that old pirate held his throat choking him to almost death; he eyes were fixated on those symbols. Kyle was only alive to day because Ki'var cast him aside when some young beautiful girls caught his attention as they screamed in panic and ran when they saw the pirate.

Michael was examining the markings carefully, he figured out which was the island in question, where the treasure had to lie. It was barren, called by local people of the neighboring islands, Shaytan, an old tribal name for the Devil, whom supposedly himself lived there. It was not far away, a ship traveled weekly to an island only a few hundred miles away. The boys figured they would get passage there and then build a raft over to Shaytan. The parents argued with the boys, not wishing to lose their children. Kyle offered to accompany the boys and help, as well as Alex, the husband of Isabel their oldest sister. The parents and sisters were losing their battle of persuasion as they watched on helpless, the four boys began drawing up plans and pooling their money and resources.

It would take some time as they were short money for passage, but they knew work was available on the docks and the four of them could make enough cash in a couple weeks to get the ferry. They would sleep under the piers and eat food brought from home; they could survive. It would not be easy but the path to fortune, fame, riches never are.

<center>
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
</center>

With no more talk of the plans, the boys grabbed a sack full of hard tack and jerky made from rabbits. With kisses and tears the four left the quaint fishing village and made their way to town and the infamous shipping docks, where young strong men were always needed, the wages wren paltry. The docks also had a reputation for murder as well as the vices that could turn a man’s head. The boys found work immediately, as they earned a few paltry coins a day. The next two weeks was miserable for them the work was hard, sleeping under the pier was cold and damp, and their nutrition was a simple diet of dried bread and jerky. At night, they stayed away from the vices of the brothels, bars, and gaming rooms, their minds were on loftier goals as they entertained themselves with stories of what they would do with fortunes.

Finally, they had enough money to buy passage, with some elbow grease also bartered, to the nearby island. The four scurried onboard, the ship as they looked forward to their adventure. Within a few days they had arrived, it was a small island, basically a farming community. One half of the island was rich farmland, growing a variety of cash crops, while the other side was unfarmable and abandoned by the people for it was a thick forest with rocky base. It was to this side the boys headed. Here on the small stretch of beach they started building the raft. They took turns chopping down the trees with the only axe they brought. They used strong vines to lash the poles together. It was a long bout, their bodies grew tired, their sprits fluctuated from day to day, but on the plus side, the boys did find an abundance of berries and fruit to eat and a small stream nearby provided them with fresh water.

After a couple of weeks, they were finally ready. They shoved off from the shore; the four of them battled the strong currents but finally were able to reach the open sea. The distance was fairly short but the boys had to work hard paddling and steer the small craft to head in the right direction. Finally, after hours they saw the island, the currents took over and gently lapped at the raft until it struck the sands of Shaytan.

<center>
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
</center>


The boys scrambled off the raft, once they were beached. It was late when they arrived so they decided to start early in the morning and for now rest, their arms were tired from rowing and their legs cramped. Finding some driftwood they built a fire and roasted some small fish Alex caught in a small tidal pool. The boys stretch out onto the sand, looking at the stars above, envisioning their small village’s reaction once they returned with the gold.

Slowly one by one the boys drifted off, but their sleep was not restful this night. Max and Michael dreamed of the old pirate, his haunting words came over them again and again. They tossed and turned the yellow eyes and maggot covered skin; suddenly they were jarred awake as the old pirate sat up from his grave his mouth opened in terror as he screamed out “You shall die, death to you both.”

Alex fared no better in his rest, he dreams of his lovely wife Isabel ended with him lying in an open grave, dead, covered in gold dust that had suffocated him. He also awoke with a started when his wife screamed out in terror upon seeing his body in the grave.

Kyle had the least sleep of all, every time he started to drift off that tattoo would flash into his mind and jerk him awake. After a couples hours he finally stopped trying to sleep and got up to walk the shoreline hoping to exhaust himself further to a state of dreamless sleep. He heard the screams, terrifying moans and shrieks of terror, coming not from a dream, but from down the shoreline, just below an outcropping of rocks.

The other three boys once awakened also heard the screams, as they jumped up looking for each other, noting that Kyle was on the beach looking into the distance. They went running up to Kyle with the same question: What was wrong? It was then they heard the scream again and what they thought was a loud splashing of water, as if a body had dropped in. Thinking someone was hurt; the three began to run up the shore to the outcropping. Max and Kyle dove into the water looking for who had fallen in.

Alex and Michael scoured the rocks for a body. Michael noticed a shallow cave cut into the rock from the constant crashing of the waves. Thinking a body could have washed inside he went to have a look see. What he found was not a fresh body but an old one, almost devoid of flesh due to the sand crabs and worms. Finding no body in the water, Kyle and Max came back on shore where they found Alex. Looking around they could no find Michel, then they heard the loud scream again, this time coming from opening in the rock. The all gingerly approached the opening where they saw Michael kneeling in the sand staring wide eyed at a decaying corpse. It was then they all saw what he had seen, the mouth opened up; a wail, from the other world, a scream of damnation flowed over them.

“He was murdered.” stated Michael flatly to the others as the scream subsided. “His soul is tormented, he needs burial and then he will rest. We cannot continue until we have done what is right.” The boys are all agreed, this soul had to have been murdered, if it were an accident surely his family would had looked for the body. "Right he was murdered, thrown off the cliff," agreed Kyle. What the boys were hearing was the echoes of those screams, a soul captured in limbo. They dug a dig hole, out of the tide’s reach in which they laid the remains.

When they had finished it was already light, their bodies were tired from the strenuous activities and their minds frayed with the ghastly apparition. Kyle wanted to continue on to find the gold and be off the island before nightfall. The rest agreed as they headed into the interior of the island on wobbly tired legs.

<center>
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
</center>


Once they walked a couple miles into the island, it was apparently easy to find the markers from the map, the twisted trees, the skull boulder, and the alien landscape of windswept boulders that formed a circle. It was in this circle that an oddly formed whirlwind pattern of the sand created by small dust devils. This pattern was made because of the strange airflow currents, the boys actually watched one of the devils form and spin around the area; in its vortex laid the catch of gold, hidden in sand.

Kyle was a little skeptical of occurrence, as he theorized the small tornadoes were sent up from the bowels of hell itself. It was Alex, the more logical and science minded of the group to explain the wind currents and how these small natural pheromones occur. Michael of course listened to no one and had already headed to the middle if the pattern and was digging. He had seen his fill of dead bodies and strange occurrences; all he wanted at this time and place was the gold and then to get the hell out.

A small devil suddenly appeared from the side as it whirled and danced around him, as he dug deep in to the earth. Michael ignored it as he kept on digging, looking over his shoulder, he snapped to the guys to help out, or he was keeping what he found to himself. Max headed into the center as he helped to move sand with a board, Alex followed, with Kyle bringing up the rear keeping the devil insight.

<center>
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
</center>

Suddenly a small glint of metal flashed at them, a small gold coin, and not much in monetary value but significant in meaning: Gold Laid Buried Below. The sand was flying in all directions as the boys were spurned on by the thought of riches. From out of nowhere, low moans and groans started all around them, at first they thought it was the wind as it passed through the various cavities in the rock formations that surrounded them. But the deeper they dug the louder the wailing became; soon it was as if banshees had awoken.

Then as if the heavens trying to drown out the screams of the foul damn spirits unleashed a deafening clap of thunder as lightening tore across the sky, sending a torrent of rain to the ground. The boys were deep in the hole as the sand began water logged and the sides started to slip into the pit; fearing they would be buried alive the boys began to jump out of the hole.

Unexpectedly, Alex was yanked down into the sand as he shrieked for help. The other three grabbed him as they struggle to get a solid hold; it was if something was dragging him down. The struggle went on several minutes, the three boys exhausted all of their muscles as they pulled and held onto Alex, who himself felt as though he was being cut into parts. Finally, Alex was thrown onto solid ground as the boys all collapsed.

Within a few seconds, Alex felt a crawling sensation on his leg, thinking it was some disgusting sand bug, he reached down to brush it off only to encounter the bony hand and forearm of a dead pirate, bits of decaying flesh still clinging to it crawling up his leg. Alex screamed as the three looked on in horror, Max kicked the hand off, as it landed in the sand sinking back down.

Within minutes all their hard work was gone, the sand looked as though no one had touched it.
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Mon Jan 15, 2007 8:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
suicide_eagle_rath
Obsessed Roswellian
Posts: 567
Joined: Tue Nov 01, 2005 1:20 pm
Location: Dimaras Rock, Antar
Contact:

Post by suicide_eagle_rath » Mon Jan 15, 2007 9:00 pm

Sorry this took so long… my computer died just as I went to upload this last section ... alas that meant of course a REDO … that horrid word …. Shudder ... but I prevailed and here the final result… hope everyone enjoys


<center>
Buried Treasure

A haunting adventure, do you dare enter?


Part Three of Three
</center>


The boys gasped for air as they sat on the sand, they were exhausted. They had never been so scared in all their lives, they lay there for the longest time in fear to make a sound, move, or even breathe.

Slowly they gathered their wits about them and made their way a few dozen yards distance from the whirlwind pattern of sand, to cower under a rock overhang where they collapsed, their legs no longer wishing to bear their owners weight. Their breaths were fast, their skin hot and flushed. Hearts beat fast, as the boys swallowed their fear, for men show none in such close company. Yet they all were in terror, their minds reeled from seeing things on this island that no man should see in his life. The ghastly images, those skeletal remains, demonic visions were still fresh in their eyes.

Kyle was the first to speak, as they quickly joined in one after the other, making note of their own views regarding the incident. Of course there was the vote to go home, to give up the silly quest and return with at least their lives. But it was the brothers Max and Michael who were adamant in staying, they had nothing else, this quest was all or nothing.

The debate continued as the human voices rose and lowered on the wind; those voices, deep tones of males, were the only sounds of life on the island that amplified, echoing towards the shore. The boys did not even notice the lateness of the hour until darkness surrounded them. They were shivering, their clothes still soaked from the rain, which finally started to let up, till only small drops remained.

The wind shifted, from the north, the current now gentle brought with it the cold dampness up from the coast a thick blanket of dampness rolled chilling their bone making them more nervous and uncomfortable than they ever thought possible.

Kyle broke away from the group as he scrounged around and managed to savage up some dried wood to build a fire to dry them off. Max tended to Alex’s leg, it appeared that a sore had manifested itself where the hand had touched the skin, almost like a burn.

Though hunger was prevalent as the stomach growled and grumbled, the boys were in no mood to fish or gather berries, they were tired in both spirit and body. They needed rest, they needed food, but what they needed most was hope. In the morning they would try once more, they needed to circumvent the skeletons, to defeat the evil that lay just below the surface.

The fire helped to take off the edge as the gang settled down, but for them sleep was to be a prize commodity that night. The boys no sooner drifted off when the wind began to howl, yet the trees stood motionless as if there was no wind. The howls were coming up from the beach in the direction of where they had earlier buried the corpse.

As the sound amplified, a lethargic fog began to move steadily in from the shore. This was a hungry fog, voracious in it appetite swallowing all in its path. The faint wisps of cloud increased in density, as it took on a pea green glow seeped into everything, suffocating the air. The boys coughed as they choked on the smell of sulfur, the fog was now everywhere, in the eyes and throats of the boys, in the vegetation, even in the very ground itself.

The heavens cracked with thunder as the sky filled with lightening, the vortex aimed right in the location of the boys. They stared in the night, watching transfixed as the lightening became fire and descended. The fire in front of them was not the red orange fire of a warm blaze but the cold white blue flame of a frozen netherworld. Obediently the fog parted as flames drew closer to the land.

Once again fear mounted in the boys, their throats were dry, parched from the continual tension the night had brought on. The fire exploded upon contact with the soil, creating sparks that flew out in all directions, as the last spark dissipated standing there was a corpse staring, unwavering in the center of the flames. His eyes, the cold fixed eyes of a dead man premeditated the boys, gluing them in their places, unable to flee.

The corpse looked at the boys as his lower jaw fell open, a gapping hole could be seen. When one expected to hear speech, instead the boys heard a low rapping noise, rhythmical in nature, eerily in sound. Repeating, the noise increased in sound and speed, these were not just noises to be made, but a form of communication, profound words from beyond. An alien code being transmitted through a dead man’s mouth.

“Who are you?” Max called out.

“Beware!” the sudden sound, a low rasping voice sliced through the air as the very meaning of that word cut into each living heart. Beware!”

“Look Max. Look carefully at him.” Michael pointed to the figure,” It is the corpse from the beach, his ghost”
Max glared at the creature. It was the corpse they had buried. “Why do you
haunt us?”

“No Max he is not trying to scare us.” Michael came forward and placed hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No look at him he is trying to warn us.”

“Warn us? Max looked to the dead man, “Why?”

“Beware cursed gold…” The jaw remained opened as the words came out, the sight was unnerving, words yet there was no indication of the physical act of movement, just this wide black gapping hole. “…revenge they want revenge.” The last words were faint as the figure began to dissipate, to fade out of existence.

“Stop wait what revenge.” Max yelled after the spirit. “How do we defeat the skeletons?” Max ran after the final wisps of fog and the cold fire. “No stop.”

The figure was gone as well as the fog and fire. The night sky cleared up as the stars shone bright. It was not long till dawn, and if the boys wanted the gold they had to come up with a plan quickly. The boys discussed all shorts of tactics, as the first swift rays of sunlight pushed across the darkness. A soft breeze came up, as a dried up leaf passed by the boys whirling and twirling until it landed in the center of the sand.

It was a sign to once again tempt fates and try for the gold. Max and Michael picked up the shovels and started. Kyle jumped in and helped to shove the sand out of the way. Alex really did not want to jump in, his ankle started to ache as he reached down to sooth it, he noticed the sore was red and oozing. That reminded him of what lay below and he never wanted to feel that pain again.

The day grew dark as heavy dark clouds came in, giving the boys some relief as they dug deep. Once again they heard the moaning begin, low guttural tones. They knew this time what to expect as they dug deeper. The moans grew louder as the boys stuffed their ears with cotton; the wailing was piercing into their skulls.

Just before they reached the bodies of the skeletons the boys leaped out of the pit as the first bony hand was snaking it’s way to the surface.

One by one the skeleton appeared, moaning for them to stop and give up their flesh and blood. They were cursed to guard the gold, a curse they could break, but they needed fresh flesh and blood to rebuild their bodies so they could seek out Ki'var and kill him for their deaths.

Max hearing this yelled out in a forceful voice that Ki’var was dead, killed by none other than he and his brother. They had revenged the pirate’s deaths and for that deed alone, they deserved the gold.

The skeletons stopped the wailing as they turned one to the other, speaking in whispers. Then from the center stepped forward what appeared to be the leader. He stood for the still for the longest time, with all the rest waiting.

The boys were trembling not knowing what to think or what to do if they attacked. The leader then opened his mouth, and from him words were spoken, but unlike the corpse his mandible did snap up and down with each syllable being a sharp clack of bone against bone.

The words that were expelled were mana to the boys. They could take 100 gold pieces each, as their reward for ending the curse but the rest of the treasure had to remain on the island. The boys were also warned that if they dared to take the gold across water, the ship they sailed upon would surely sink, the ghastly creatures in front of them would see to that.

The sun peeked out of the clouds, one ray hitting the ground close to where the pit was located. This one shaft of brilliant white light, alone in the gloom, beckoned the skeletons inward. It was in this shaft the skeletons one by one entered as they dissolve into dust. Upon the last one, the sand gave away revealing the bountiful treasure. The boys quickly took 100 pieces of gold each and covered the rest. They then traveled back home where they were might with elated parents and joyful sisters and lovers.

But the boys were not happy with 100 pieces of gold when there were thousands just lying there. So they devised a plan, in which they returned to the island with several good hard working people. They formed a world class resort on the cove not far from the buried corpse. They made the land around the treasure off limits so the gold would be safe and anyone trying to take it off the island would be saved a certain death.

It was hard at first but they backed the investings with the pirate gold, which never left the island. Soon they were all swimming in money.

Knowing that they wealth was based on ill-gotten gains; the boys began giving a percentage of the profits to the communities where they knew the gold had been stolen. Thus, the resort, aptly named “Buried Treasure”, became world famous, and the boys and their generations prospered, as did all the islands surrounding them.


<center>
FINIS

Like all good tales the good prevails

</center>
Last edited by suicide_eagle_rath on Tue Feb 13, 2007 9:58 pm, edited 2 times in total.

Locked