A Horror's guide to piracy

CH 10 - The Feast


Kohza

In the heart of the scorching desert, Kohza stood at the makeshift rebel camp, surrounded by tents billowing in the hot wind. The atmosphere was tense, filled with the anticipation of an impending rebellion against the oppressive rule. Kohza, clad in desert attire, carefully reviewed maps and battle plans, his face etched with a mixture of determination and concern.

As he contemplated the rebellion's future, a peculiar duo approached the camp. A mysterious nun with vibrant orange hair, her eyes hidden behind a blindfold, walked gracefully beside a lady with striking pink hair. The latter wore an extravagant black dress, seemingly impervious to the desert heat. Their presence sparked curiosity among the rebels, as these enigmatic figures seemed out of place in the harsh surroundings.

Amidst the anticipation, the rebels parted as Vivi, the Princess, the once-deputy leader of the Suna Suna Clan and now a symbol of both hope and conflict, entered the camp. Her presence cast a shadow over Kohza's resolute expression. Childhood memories clashed with the stark reality – she was not just his friend but the daughter of the king, the very symbol of the kingdom they aimed to challenge.

Kohza, torn between loyalty to his childhood friend and the cause he believed in, approached Vivi with a mix of emotions. The air grew heavy with unspoken tension as they stood face to face in the heart of the rebellion's preparations. The strange trio of the orange-haired nun, the pink-haired lady, and the rebel leader Kohza faced a pivotal moment that would shape the destiny of Arabasta.

Vivi, with a determined expression, gestured to Kohza, suggesting a private conversation away from prying eyes. The rebel leader hesitated for a moment, glancing at Perona, who stood vigilant at the entrance of the tent. Seeing the necessity of discretion, Kohza nodded, signaling his willingness to speak privately.

As they entered the tent, the atmosphere shifted. Nami and Vivi flanked Kohza, creating an air of confidentiality. The tent's interior shielded them from the curious gazes of the rebel camp, providing a momentary sanctuary for their conversation.

Kohza observed Princess Vivi, his childhood friend, in the dimly lit tent. Her slender figure stood with an air of regality, yet a weight of concern lingered in her eyes. Vivi's long, wavy light blue hair cascaded down, adding a touch of ethereal grace to her presence. Despite the harsh desert surroundings, she maintained a certain composure, a testament to her royal upbringing. There was a maturity in her expression, reflecting the burdens she carried as the princess of Arabasta.

The soft features of her face bore the marks of both resilience and sorrow, a testament to the challenges she faced in the name of her people. Dressed in clothing suitable for the desert, Vivi's attire combined practicality with a hint of elegance. The fabric flowed loosely around her, allowing for ease of movement, yet there was an undeniable royal touch in the design. Despite the challenging circumstances, Vivi carried herself with a quiet strength, a juxtaposition of vulnerability and fortitude that left an indelible impression on Kohza.

Kohza's gaze lingered on Princess Vivi, noting the unusual transformation that now marked her appearance. Her once vibrant blue hair had retained its color, but her eyes, once expressive and warm, had turned an unsettling shade of white. This eerie change brought an otherworldly quality to Vivi's countenance, as if the sands of the desert had whispered secrets into her very being. Kohza couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl down his spine, a reaction to the uncanny transformation that had befallen his childhood friend. The contrast between the familiar blue locks and the ghostly white eyes created an unsettling yet intriguing visage, leaving Kohza to grapple with the mystery that now surrounded Vivi.

But as Kohza stood in the tent with Princess Vivi, he found himself entranced by the aura that surrounded her, a charm that made the peculiarity of her white eyes fade into the background of his thoughts. The mystery of her transformation became a fleeting concern, for Vivi's presence held a captivating allure that seemed to erase any lingering questions from his mind. In the embrace of the emotions that stirred within him, Kohza found himself overlooking the eerie shift in Vivi's eyes, a testament to the powerful effect her enchanting presence had on him. Love had a way of casting a spell, blinding him to the unusual, leaving only the warmth of affection and the urgency of the information she had to share.

As Kohza's gaze shifted from Vivi to the mysterious blind nun, a subtle unease settled over the tent. The atmosphere seemed to thicken with an unnatural tension, and the flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced upon the walls. The nun's presence became increasingly unsettling as Kohza noticed peculiar details—an otherworldly stillness clung to her, and the air around her seemed to chill.

Strange symbols adorned the edges of her black robe, their meaning indecipherable yet undeniably ominous. The flickering candles reflected in her blindfolded eyes, creating an illusion of spectral flames dancing within the depths of her gaze. Kohza's instincts screamed at him to turn away, but an inexplicable force compelled him to keep staring.

As the tension mounted, the blind nun spoke in a guttural, otherworldly language that sent shivers down Kohza's spine. The incantation echoed through the tent, resonating with an unsettling energy that seemed to warp reality itself. The very fabric of the air seemed to vibrate in response to the arcane words, and Kohza felt an invisible pressure closing in around him.

Suddenly, the tent was plunged into darkness. The candles extinguished themselves, leaving only the faint glow of the moon to illuminate the unsettling scene. Kohza's heart pounded in his chest as a cold wind swept through the tent, carrying with it whispers that echoed like tormented souls.

Vivi, now surrounded by an ethereal glow, restrained Kohza with an unearthly force. He struggled against an unseen grip, his movements feeble against the supernatural strength that held him in place. The blind nun's ritual reached its climax, and a ghastly presence seemed to materialize in the shadows, swirling with malevolence.

In a final, horrifying moment, the blind nun touched Kohza's temple with icy fingers. Agonizing visions flooded his mind—a nightmarish tapestry of despair and torment. The air thickened with a suffocating darkness as Kohza's consciousness teetered on the edge of something incomprehensible. The ritual's macabre dance had woven a sinister web around him, and Kohza could feel himself being drawn into the abyss.


Kohza's consciousness snapped back to the present. A disorienting fog clouded his mind, and the haunting visions that had gripped him moments ago dissipated like a fleeting nightmare. He found himself staring at the three mysterious figures—Vivi, the blind nun, and the enigmatic pink-haired lady—as they gracefully exited the tent.

Blinking away the residual effects of the ritual, Kohza tried to shake off the lingering unease. Something told him that he had experienced something beyond the realm of the ordinary, but the specifics eluded him like elusive phantoms. Determined to unravel the mystery, Kohza turned to his lieutenants with a newfound urgency. He barked an order to them once the girls were far away, proclaiming that he must speak with them about the looming threat of Crocodile. It changed everything ! Glory to the Von Carsten, who told him about him…


King Cobra

In the silent solitude of his chamber, King Cobra's mind delved into the web of machinations he had woven to secure his reign. As the puppeteer orchestrating the destiny of Alabasta, he admitted to himself the truth behind the illusion of benevolence.

The plight of my people, Cobra acknowledged, is but a façade for the true workings of power. He contemplated the dark underbelly of his rule, where he engineered the systematic draining of wealth from his subjects. Shadows whispered tales of clandestine assassinations, merchants meeting untimely ends to feed the insatiable appetite of his coffers. In the corridors of his mind, he confronted the stark reality that his compassionate image concealed a ruler who, in the shadows, pulled the strings of thievery and subterfuge. A dance of shadows, he thought, where the suffering of my people is a mere currency for the power I hoard.

As the echoes of Cobra's contemplations lingered in the air, a sudden, sarcastic salute cut through the silence. King Cobra's gaze snapped towards the source, finding himself face to face with an arrogant and mysterious figure. A malevolent charisma enveloped the intruder, and a cruel smile played upon his lips as he mockingly acknowledged the king.

"Ah, the benevolent puppeteer, the good'ol king" the enigmatic figure sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Quite the performance you've staged, Cobra. I must say, the subtlety of your shadowy exploits is truly an art form."

Cobra's shock gave way to urgency as he called out for the guards. "Guards! Intruder!" His voice trembled with a mixture of fear and authority.

Auguste, however, responded with a chilling calmness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, dear Cobra, there's no need for such theatrics. Your loyal guards are currently... indisposed, let's say. Now, let's have a heart-to-heart chat, shall we?"

Cobra, realizing the gravity of the situation, eyed Auguste with a mix of apprehension and defiance. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

Cobra shivered at the terrifying smile. This Auguste definitely had too many teeth.


The Smith of Alabasta

The royal smith toiled away in the dimly lit forges of Alubarna, engrossed in the rhythmic symphony of hammer strikes against metal. The echoes of clanging echoed through the cavernous space, a familiar melody of craftsmanship. His skilled hands worked diligently, shaping the molten metal into finely crafted weapons and armor. The rhythmic hum of the bellows was interrupted by the creaking of the forge doors. Startled, the smith looked up to see the king himself entering the forge, flanked by two mysterious figures.

"My King !"

The royal smith squinted against the sudden influx of light as King Cobra ushered in two mysterious figures. His eyes darted over the cloaked woman with the blindfold, who seemed to glide through the forge with an eerie grace. The vivid orange strands of her hair stood out like flames against the shadows, and the blindfold only added to the enigma surrounding her. Despite her apparent lack of sight, there was an unsettling assurance in her movements that left the smith questioning the nature of her abilities.

Beside her loomed a men whose presence exuded an aura of dark elegance. Crimson eyes gleamed with an otherworldly hunger, and the regal attire draped over his form gave an impression of both aristocracy and malevolence. The peculiar white strips enveloping one of his arms hinted at a darkness beyond the smith's understanding.

As the trio approached, the smith couldn't shake the feeling that there was something profoundly unusual about these guests. The typical clientele of soldiers and dignitaries rarely exuded such an air of mystery. The rhythmic hammering of metal against the anvil seemed to pause momentarily as the smith regarded the newcomers, an unspoken question lingering in his gaze.

As the royal smith struggled to find words in the presence of these mysterious figures, King Cobra took the initiative to introduce them. "Greetings, esteemed smith. These individuals are allies, here on a matter of importance," announced the king. Nami, with a graceful nod, acknowledged the introduction. Auguste, however, responded with a sarcastic salute, his eyes fixed on the royal smith. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he quipped, his tone laden with an unsettling mixture of arrogance and amusement. The royal smith, now more intrigued and wary, couldn't help but wonder what role these enigmatic allies would play in the fate of Alabasta.

King Cobra's voice cut through the ambient clatter of the forge, a command wrapped in regal authority. "Master Smith, heed their words as you would mine. They bring an urgent command that demands your immediate attention."

The royal smith, though accustomed to following the orders of the king, couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that gripped him. The strange duo, Nami and Auguste, exchanged an unreadable glance, their intentions veiled behind an air of mystery. The rhythmic echoes of the forge seemed to falter, the heat of the flames casting long, dancing shadows across the workshop. The smith wiped sweat from his brow, his hands still clutching the tools of his trade. The metal he had been working on cooled in the forge, momentarily forgotten in the face of the cryptic visitors. "An urgent command?" he repeated, his gaze shifting between the enigmatic pair and the unwavering eyes of his king. "What business does the forge have with such mysterious matters?"


The Smith of Alabasta

The royal smith and his comrades found themselves caught in the grip of an unholy trance, their hands guided by an unseen force that demanded perfection. Three days and three nights blurred into a seamless continuum of ceaseless labor, and yet, the forge's fires burned unabated, fueled by an otherworldly energy that seemed to defy the very essence of fatigue.

The royal smith, fueled by an unnatural vigor, had not known rest since the inception of this malevolent endeavor. The lines between wakefulness and dream became blurred, and the rhythmic symphony of hammer on metal echoed in the forge like a disquieting lullaby. Shadows danced on the walls as the craftsmen toiled, their weariness surpassed by an insatiable compulsion to see the cursed sarcophagus to its completion. The haunting whispers of the forge seemed to guide their hands, as if some eldritch force sought to manifest itself through the skilled craftsmanship. The air crackled with an unsettling energy, and the royal smith found himself consumed by a feverish dedication to this enigmatic project. As the flames danced and shadows flickered, the dark and red metal took shape, a cursed sarcophagus born of arcane inspiration.

The cursed sarcophagus, born from the relentless labor of the royal smith and the enigmatic strangers, defied the norms of mortal craftsmanship. Its form, sculpted from a dark and red metal with an otherworldly sheen, exuded an aura of malevolence that sent shivers down the spine of any who beheld it. The surface, etched with intricate patterns that seemed to writhe with a life of their own, whispered of forbidden secrets and ancient incantations. Every curve and contour of the sarcophagus hinted at an eldritch purpose that transcended the realm of the mundane.

At a casual glance, it resembled a weapon as much as a burial vessel—an ominous fusion of death and destruction. The lid bore a relief of a twisted, skeletal figure, its visage contorted in eternal agony. Three chains, adorned with esoteric symbols by the orange-haired nun, dangled from the sides, their ends terminating in wickedly sharp points. As if eager for release, the sarcophagus seemed to hum with a sinister energy, waiting for the moment when it would fulfill its dark destiny.

Three chains, wrought from the darkest magic and infused with an eerie malevolence, emerged from the forge in a mesmerizing display of craftsmanship. Forged meticulously by the skilled hands of the royal smith, their links were composed of a mysterious alloy that seemed to shimmer with a dark, otherworldly radiance. On one side, the extremities of each chain bore intricately crafted bronze skulls, each one exuding an unsettling presence.

To add to their ominous allure, the chains terminated on the other side in eerie blades, their edges forged with a keen malevolence that spoke of the darkest magical extraction. The blades, reminiscent of twisted talons, seemed to hunger for something unseen, and an ethereal glow pulsed through the veins of the dark metal, as if the chains themselves were infused with a malevolent life force.

As the smith meticulously worked on each link, Auguste stood nearby, chanting cryptic incantations that seemed to weave into the very essence of the chains. His presence, coupled with the haunting words he uttered, lent an air of supernatural potency to the already foreboding creation. The collaboration between the skilled artisan and the mysterious stranger birthed a trio of chains that exuded an aura of impending doom, waiting to be unleashed upon the world.

You have created [Abyssal Receptacle]

You have created [Sinewraith Shackles]

Congratulations ! You have created you first [Mythical] artefact !

+ 2 000 XP
[Nagash smiles upon you]


Nico Robin

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the sea. Nico Robin stood at the edge of the dock, her eyes fixed on the vampiric ship of the Von Carstein. The vessel, adorned with ominous symbols and shrouded in an aura of darkness, seemed to beckon her with a silent invitation. Nico Robin stood with an air of elegance, her demeanor a blend of grace and enigma. Her face, framed by long, midnight-black hair, bore a quiet intensity in her deep, dark eyes. A small, enigmatic smile played upon her lips, revealing both a hint of mystery and a trace of the knowledge she carried.

Her physical figure was slender, yet every movement exuded a quiet strength. Robin's poise suggested a woman who had navigated the intricacies of life with a calm resilience. The moonlight gently outlined the contours of her form, emphasizing the subtle curves that bespoke both agility and grace.

Draped in a burgundy coat that billowed slightly in the night breeze, she wore an intricate gold necklace that hinted at a touch of regality. Her attire, a blend of archaeologist pragmatism and subtle allure, spoke of a woman who navigated both ancient ruins and social intricacies with equal the dim light, as she hesitated at the dock, Robin's presence became a study in contrasts—the soft glow of moonlight revealing the delicate features of a woman who had weathered the storm of history, and the shadows that clung to her, veiling secrets yet to unfold.

Robin's slender fingers traced the scars on her arms, remnants of a past filled with betrayal and survival. Her analytical mind weighed the risks and rewards, the potential gains and losses. She had seen the power wielded by the Von Carsteins, a force both captivating and terrifying.

Her mind was a tumultuous sea of conflicting thoughts. Images of the recent events played like a haunting melody in her memory—the ruthless defeat of Wapol, the intricate manipulations of kings and revolutionaries alike, and the blood-soaked aftermath of Whiskey Peak. The Von Carstein had embarked on a journey with allies whose motives remained enigmatic. The night air whispered secrets, and Robin hesitated, caught between the shadows of her past and the uncertain future that lay ahead. The decision to step onto that vampiric ship would shape the course of her journey, and as the moonlight danced on the waves, she found herself standing at the crossroads of choice and consequence.

As Robin drew near, the boat responded to her presence, a subtle shiver coursing through its timeworn structure. The air hummed with an otherworldly energy as the boat's doors, adorned with twisted metalwork that resembled the fangs of a nocturnal predator, began to creak open slowly.

The doors unfolded like the wings of a nocturnal creature awakening from a long slumber. Each creak resonated with an unsettling harmony, echoing through the stillness of the night. The boat's interior, concealed in shadows, beckoned Robin to step into its mysterious embrace.

It was as if the very essence of the Vampire Boat recognized a kindred spirit in the enigmatic archaeologist. The passage into the vessel felt like a journey into the heart of darkness, where untold secrets and ancient malevolence awaited discovery. As Robin crossed the threshold, the doors closed behind her, sealing the pact between the knowledgeable seeker and the ominous vessel that carried the Von Carstein legacy.

Navigating the dimly lit corridors of the Vampire Boat, Nico Robin moved with an uncanny certainty, her steps guided by an unseen force that whispered ancient secrets. The air resonated with distant echoes, revealing the lively sounds of a revelry unfolding in the heart of the vessel. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the walls adorned with eerie carvings, and the rhythmic pulse of the party drew her deeper into the labyrinthine embrace of the Von Carstein's enigmatic domain.

Behind the imposing glass door, the lively strains of music permeated the air, creating an otherworldly ambiance reminiscent of a 20's party in Babylon. The sultry notes of a jazz saxophone entwined with the hypnotic beats of exotic drums, weaving a sonic tapestry that echoed through the ship's corridors. Ephemeral melodies, both haunting and seductive, beckoned Nico Robin to step further into the mysterious celebration. The distant laughter and joyous chatter became a siren's call, enticing her to join the unseen revelry beyond the threshold.

A sense of unease mingled with anticipation as Robin approached the ornate glass door, its surface adorned with an elaborate caricature of Count Dracula. Her slender fingers caressed the door handle, an act of both hesitation and curiosity. With a soft creak, the door opened, and she stepped into a realm of intrigue and uncertainty.

The glass door swung open to reveal an extravagant hall filled with a throng of guests clad in lavish attire. She recognized some of Alabasta's citizens, young and beautiful, but their eyes glassy. The partygoers, a blend of the gothic and the exotic, engaged in a variety of indulgences. Some partook in lively conversations, exchanging anecdotes and tales of adventure. Others reveled in the hedonistic pleasures offered by the lavish banquet spread across the tables. The air hummed with the sensual rhythms of a seductive ballad, the lyrics laced with a subliminal whisper that seemed to beckon her. The musicians seemed possessed. They were playing a macabre waltz.

An air of mystery pervaded the atmosphere, accentuated by the dim lighting and the gothic decor. The room, a dichotomy of splendor and sinister, evoked both intrigue and unease. A Pink-Haired lady, dressed in a provocative outfit, was feeding a calice of what seemed to be red wine. He was naked.

A beautiful woman, her skin pale as the moonlight and her eyes an inky black, her hair white as snow and her attire an elegant mix of the macabre and the ethereal, sat on a throne-like chair at the far end of the room. The woman was holding a book, a journal with a leather cover and a metal brooch. She was reading a Journal, and the pages were turning themselves. Seeing a blue-haired girl, the half-sister of Auguste stood up and brought the Princess on her seat. She pressed her lips against her soft skin. "You feel so good, sweetie." Vivi said. Agathe kissed her neck. Vivi grabbed her waist, pulling her closer. She slipped her hand under her shirt, feeling her bare skin. "I want to taste you." Agathe smiled, and her fangs gleamed in the moonlight. She leaned closer, her breath tickling Vivi's ear. "You want me to feed on you?" Vivi's heart raced. She nodded, unable to speak.

"You're a bad girl, wanting to be a monster's dinner." Agathe whispered, her lips brushing against Vivi's ear. "But I'm a hungry little monster, and you smell delicious." Vivi's body trembled. "I...I'm ready." Agathe pressed her lips against Vivi's. The kiss was deep and hungry. Their tongues danced, exploring each other's mouths. "You taste amazing." Agathe vampire's hands roamed across Vivi's body, exploring every inch of her.

Nico Robin felt as though she was observing a scene from another realm, a fleeting glimpse into the world of the Von Carstein. At a corner of the room, an orange-haired nun in a fetishist outfit, wearing a mask with a strange design and a crucifix around her neck, was performing an erotic dance to the sound of a saxophone. Her movements were mesmerizing, a sensual blend of grace and danger. The guests seemed transfixed by the nun's performance, their gazes a mixture of fascination and desire.

"Nico Robin ! What a pleasure ! A surprise, even ! "

Auguste and Perona came to meet her. Perona was dressed in a erotic dress, her face covered with a mask. Nico Robin felt the presence of Utrecht, the Old Champion of the Chaos God, who was staring at her from a distance.

"Welcome to the Von Carstein party, Nico Robin. Please, make yourself comfortable. This is an evening of pleasure and entertainment. "

Auguste's crimson eyes glinted with a hint of amusement, and his lips curled into a smile that bared his fangs. Robin looked around her. The party was a kaleidoscope of decadence and excess, an opulent feast of the senses. The music was hypnotic, a seductive blend of dark melodies and subliminal whispers. The air was laced with a palpable undercurrent of lust, the scent of forbidden pleasures mingling with the intoxicating aroma of rich wine.

"Come, Nico Robin. Allow me to show you around."

Perona and Auguste led her through the crowd, their presence a potent blend of intrigue and allure. Guests, their faces adorned with an air of mystery and their attire a mix of the macabre and the exquisite, whispered and stared at her. She could hear their unspoken thoughts, a blend of curiosity and desire. She had become the center of attention, and as the murmurs and whispers followed her, she could feel her pulse quicken and a flush rising to her cheeks.

"We have a wide variety of delicacies for you to indulge in."

The words were laced with a hint of teasing.

"What are you interested in?"

A moment of hesitation, then Robin responded.

"I would like to talk to you about...Baroque Works".

"Oh! Interesting...Please come with me."

Robin was led by Auguste to the library, the room illuminated by a series of candles. The shelves were lined with a collection of books that appeared to be older than time itself, and the air was thick with the scent of parchment and aged leather. In the flickering light, the tomes seemed to whisper their arcane secrets, and the shadows themselves seemed to take on a life of their own.

The sound of footsteps and a soft giggle broke the silence, and Nico Robin turned to see Nami, the nun, behind her. She was wearing a tight and low-cut habit, with a cross between her breasts. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her ankles were also bound together. Nico Robin could see the sweat on her skin, and she could smell her arousal.

Auguste smiled to Nami

"You like what you see?"

Nami said, with a voice that was a mixture of teasing and seduction.

"Of course, sweetie", responded Auguste. He approached his fangs from Nami's neck. Nami trembled with desire and excitement, and her breath quickened.

"Oh, yes..." she moaned. "Bite me. Bite me hard."

Auguste's fangs grazed her skin, and then he bit her.

"Ahhhh…"

Nami cried out in ecstasy, and her body shuddered as the vampire drank her blood. Nico Robin could smell the arousal and the fear, and it made her head swim. She watched, mesmerized, as Auguste's tongue lapped up the drops of blood that trickled down the nun's neck.

"You're delicious, Nami." The nun moaned in response, and Auguste turned to Nico Robin. "Nami, I'm afraid we have to cut our time together short tonight. My apologies, but I have some business to attend to." He untied the nun, and she staggered to her feet.

Unfazed by the spectacle before her, Nico Robin, a seasoned veteran of the Grand Line, observed the aftermath of the vampiric feast with a calm detachment. The crimson stains on Nami's neck and the predatory glint in Auguste's eyes held no power to disturb the composed facade of the archaeologist. As a vampire, Auguste had indulged in the forbidden elixir of life, and Robin had witnessed far stranger occurrences in her journey across the treacherous seas.

Leaning against the cabin's wall, she awaited Auguste's acknowledgment of her presence. The dark charisma emanating from the vampire did little to unsettle Robin, whose experiences had accustomed her to the eccentricities of the Grand Line's inhabitants.

"So, Nico Robin…"