Jimmy's Notes: Yep. The very first real explicit smut fic I'm ever gonna write, if you don't count the silly Ronnie Radke/Chris Brown slash fic I wrote some time ago. Probable Trigger Warnings for sexism, misogyny, and homophobia, as well as mentions of rape (in the context of pillaging and burning). With that said, all the TWs are within the context of the situation of the societal status of women and homosexuals in the historical periods that the fic is set in, and are not meant to incite hatred against them. Hell, why even have author-tract homophobia in a fucking slash fic of all places, amirite? That would make even less sense if you consider that I am an out bisexual dude who looks like a lady.
Enjoy, and be brave you son of a bitches! (The most reasonable plural form is 'sons-of-bitches', but this is what Sir Swearsalot says in-game, at least until that was patched away.) Oh, and I recommend ye mateys to listen to some awesome metal sea chanteys by Alestorm while reading this fic. Argh!
By the way, Raven's Cry [and its rerelease] doesn't have an FFN category.
Prologue
"W-what the fuck is happening?" Jake Conway said to no one in particular as he noticed his surroundings slowly blur and dissolve around him while he was driving his motorcycle at top speeds through stretches of desert highway that seemed to always be under repairs. He was sure though, that none of this was the effect of any drug or booze. The last thing he knew was that he had just killed off Caesar, the leader of the Devil's Hand. He'd fucked Ellie in some ramshackle shack behind an abandoned gas station while they were both still fully-dressed and just drove off on his motorcycle, leaving her there with nothing but the clothes on her back.
He wanted to just leave as soon as he could, but he had no aim, no destination in mind, nowhere to go now that he had no more family to return to. Everyone he knew was dead and gone. Perhaps he'd go to some sketchy brothel and get some paid pussy for the night to sate his overarching loneliness that never really went away, to shake off his aches and pains from his roaring rampage of revenge against the gang that had killed his brother and his uncle, the last two people on this world he considered to be family. That brief moment spent with Ellie simply did nothing for him and just like all the other women he'd met on his journey, she was merely a trophy, merely one of his many sexual conquests that spanned all the way from when he was thirteen until today.
He tried to press the brakes, but to no avail. He found himself moving even faster than before, perhaps exceeding the speed of light. Soon, he found that he was phasing through imperceptible objects, collision physics be damned, and he only just realized that all this was happening while he was going in reverse for some incomprehensible reason. His surroundings warped, seeming like eldritch, otherworldly colors being sucked into a vortex of nothingness. And then, everything just stopped and faded to a blinding white. And that white faded as well to reveal a vast, flat, gray ground with no variations in elevation as far as he could see and an expanse of bright, daytime sky above the perfectly-straight horizon line, as though all of matter had been absorbed into some void and wiped out of being save for some sparse feathers of cirrus clouds and the light of day that was bright enough to remove all shading and shadows from the plain, gray landscape that was bereft of all texture, or perhaps it was the other way around- with him and his motorcycle being denied by the existence itself. He was in the middle of the nothingness, and he was still seated on his motorcycle.
"Where am I?" Jake asked anyway, despite not exactly expecting an answer. "Someone? Anyone?" No one answered him- not even an echo reverberated back to him.
"Noooooooooooooooooooo!" he shouted anyway, despite the futility of it all. He noticed right then that neither he nor his motorcycle cast any shadow on the ground no matter which angle he looked at. He got off his motorcycle and slammed his fist into the ground just so he could ascertain that he still was real. At this point, he'd rather feel pain than nothing at all. But he felt nothing. His knuckles were simply stuck on the perfectly-smooth ground, and he couldn't detach them. He tried again with as much force he could muster to pull his fist back up, but to no avail. It was stuck there in a perfect inelastic collision. And then, the dull gray ground rippled, melting into watery, salty liquid as he was swallowed.