>>45708138
>>Stables

Horses are better than the white man.

Shit I for got to add the tripname

>>45708138
>>The Fields

>The stables.

“The stables,” you say stretching out and feeling your back crack with yesterday’s exhaustion.

It isn’t a far walk from Jeb’s place. Hell, as it were, the Master and his men didn’t really bother coming out to the stables. They didn’t ride and only use them when they want a carriage ride to a nearby town or somewhere else. You work in peace. The other niggers tend to keep to themselves when you work, only speaking to one another when they need a hand. Work is usually quiet, so that’s fine. The work ain’t too hard either.

Almost like it was practiced, Jeb laughs his scratchy laugh again. “No you ain’t. Not today. Today, yous gon’ be working in the house with me. Bart too sick to do it, so the master told me to bring another nigger up in the house. Someone who ain’t got a bad reputation with his boys.” He looks at you with a crooked smile. “So Ol’ Jeb thought you’d be a good fit. Maybe get you a spot In the house. You a hard worker, child.”

Work in the house? It isn’t unheard of for one of Master Seaborne’s slaves to be brought up to the house to work. Sometimes they stayed there. It’s a position that most of the other niggers want. Cushy work, only having to do the easier things ‘round the plantation and getting’ to wear clean clothes instead of the shit rags you had to put on every day.

“So, what you say, child? Ol’ Jeb do you good?”

>I ain’t wokin’ in no house”
>You serious Jeb?”
>”Thank you.”
>Write-in

>>45708683
>>”Thank you.”

>Thank You

The old man definitely did you a favor. “Thank you, Jeb. You did me good.”

“Damn right.” Jeb walks past you and moves to the front door of his shack. “We best get going now, we gotta start workin’ before the Master and his family get up. I bet everyone else already up in the kitchen waitin’ for me. I had to wait around for you to wake up.” He motions for you to follow. “And don’t put on that shirt you got there. We gon’ wash you up before you get in your house clothes.” You follow after.

The world outside of the shack is damn near pitch black, with only the smallest bit of light coming in from the sky. It isn’t fully morning yet, but the small cluster of shacks where you and the rest of the Masters slaves live are already awake. People are getting up and getting ready for the long day ahead, some getting dressed other just chatting for as long as they can before having to get out in the fields or wherever they need to be before the sun comes out.

You nod to your neighbors and give them a hello as you pass by.

“Where you off too? The stables are that way,” You hear someone call out your name. You turn around to see Matthaeus, one of the niggers that work the stables calling out to you as you follow behind Jeb.

“I’m workin’ in the house today.”

Matthaeus’ face contorts into surprise. “What? Jeb, this nigger’s working in the house?”

Jeb looks over his shoulder for a moment. “That’s right. He’s gonna work for Bart today, assumin’ Bart’s getting’ out of his bed.”

>”What do you mean, Jeb?”
>”Hopefully, I’ll stay in the house”
>“Stay Silent”
>Write-in

>>45709263
>”What do you mean, Jeb?”

>>45709263
>”What do you mean, Jeb?”

>>45709263
>Stay Silent
Just do as we're told and don't ask no questions. Jeb's doing us a kindness here, don't get him into trouble if we can help it.

>>45709263
>>”What do you mean, Jeb?”

>>45709263
>>“Stay Silent”

>What do you mean, Jeb?

“Bart ain’t feeling too good, is what I mean,” Jeb fiddles around with his cane for a moment. “He’s getiin’ too old for the kind work he’s had to do in the house. Too old for anything.” His jaw works around, looking uncomfortable. “Got real sick doing something for the Master the other day. Now he’s been coughin’ up his soul, blood always leakin’ out of his mouth.” He shakes his head. “You might be in the house to stay if that get any worse.”

Yeah, you’d been hearing Bart’s coughing in the night before. An awful rattling sound. You didn’t figure it was much. People got like that from working the fields or the Gin for a long time.

He stops talking and glared over at Matthaeus. “You you best run along now boy. We gotta get to the house ‘fore the Master decides to tear the hide from the both of us!”

“See you,” You say to Matthaeus as Jeb begins to hobble away from the two of you. Matthaeus don’t say anything in return—just stares at you as you walk away. “Bart really that bad off?”

Jeb heaves a sigh. “Don’t mind it child. We just gotta get to the house and work for now.”

The walk the house is longer than you would have liked, and when you get there, the only lights you see coming from it are from a small door of the side of the house and a room from upstairs. It’s big. Far bigger than it seems from the stables. You haven’t ever been in the house before, not really anywhere too near it either, so it always seemed like it could be just a little bigger than the shacks the niggers lived in, but now you see that it was a stupid thought. No. you always knew that any thought like that was stupid.

[1/3]

File: woman with gourd.jpg (37 KB, 281x413)

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Jeb ushers you into what Jeb has called the kitchen area. The inside is twice as big as any shack, and a small stove is off to the side and a large hearth to the back of the kitchen. Right smack dab in the middle of the way is a wooden table where you see three women working over bowls, cups and ingredients. Mam Hany spots you and Jeb walking and she pats her flour covered hands on her apron. “This the nigger you said you was bringing? Marsha’s boy?”

You feel a pang in your chest as Hany mentions your mother’s name. You haven’t met the woman. Died in childbirth. Least that’s what everyone else told you. That’s why you haven’t been called by a name. You’re mother never had the chance to give you one. You just went by Boy. Child.

You nod. “Yeah. He chose me. There something wrong with that?”

“You could say you’re name something else if you decide to act like a lazy nigger!” Mam Hany didn’t really trust you. She thought you were a devil child, having taken your mother’s life being born into the world. Stole the soul right out of her.

“He’s a hard worker, Hany. The boy’ll pick up how we do things ‘round here simple. You ain’t gotta worry about him. Right, child?”

“Yeah,” You respond working to keep your mouth shut this time. Fighting agiant Mam Hany wasn’t a battle you could win. Most other the others relied on her for kitchen scraps, that and she was one of the few slaves born onto the plantation that were still around. Hell, the women working at the table with Mam Hany were starting to give you the evil eye.

“Well, you best. I don’t want no one else paying for your mistakes.” With that, Mam Hany returns to her work and glared at you one last time.

[2/3]

File: user_1020.jpg (1.38 MB, 1200x900)

1.38 MB JPG

“Don’t mind her, let’s go get you ready,” Jeb pushes you towards a small door to the side of the room. “We gotta get you washed up.” He opens the door to reveal a naked man wiping himself down with a raggedy towel, a large tub oif steaming water and a bucket next to him and a black suit hanging off of a wooden stake driven into the wall. “Seymour, git ya ass outta here and get dressed. You gotta take the Master his coffee. And you, child. Get in there and wash yourself off. I’m gonna get you Bart’s old suit.”

Seymour shuffles out of the room, pulling on the pants of the suit that had been hanging off the wall. You hop in and wash yourself off quickly, before Jeb shows up with a suit. You pull iut on after drying off and the suit seems to be too small for you, stretching just above your wrists and ankles.

“It’ll have to do,” Jeb mutters looking you over. “Now, I got three jobs I need you to do. You can go help out in the dining room, serving the breakfast. You can go help the Master’s son get ready for the morning. Or I can send you off with Seymour to start cleaning around the house. Sine it’s your first day, and I trust you, which one do you want to do?

>Serve Breakfast.
>Help the Son get Ready
>Clean around the house.

>Clean around the house

We don't want to get in anyone's way or fuck thing up.

>>45710432
>>Help the Son get Ready

>>45710432
>>Serve Breakfast.

I'm going give this a few more minutes before I roll a d3

>>45710432
>Clean around the house.

>>45710432
Can we be the white people? I mean we all know who wins in the long run.

Also I'm not sure Montgomery was one of the major cotton producing areas. Might be more on the breeding side of things.

>Clean around the house.

“I’d like to clean around the house,” You say. You don’t want to make any mistakes that anyone could pick up on. That and staying out of the Master’s way seems like a good way to go.

Jeb nods. “Alright, Child. Let’s go. Seymour may be a slow mover, but he works just a as hard as anyone else in the house—you see him slacking you tell him to hurry on, ya hear?”

“I hear.”

You’re taken to a room filled with books—you’d seen Mam Hany with one or two, but these looked nicer than the ones she had—and some sort of shiny wooden thing sitting away from the small fireplace near two large, soft-seeming chairs. “What’s that?” You ask as you point to it.

“It’s a piano, the Madam of the house plays music on it.”

You stare at it for a moment. You’d heard about it, but it didn’t look like what you thought it did. They said the thing had white teeth and you don’t see any teeth on it. “Now, ignore that—Seymour, get over here, son.”

You see the man from before wiping the table with a white rage, lifting a small thin looking pot with flowers in it turn to look at you and Jeb. He finishes what he’s doing and walks over. “Yeah, Jeb?” He asks, glancing at you.

“I want you to take him,” He points to you. “And show him how to clean, I’m gonna be going up to the Master’s room to help him get ready. Don’t go fooling ‘round.”

“I ain’t never fooled around, Jeb.” Seymour glances away from the old man.

Jeb lifts an eyebrow. “We’ll see. Alright. Off you go.” He walks out of the room and Seymour gazes after him for a while.

[1/2]

His mouth curls downward the moment it seems Jeb is far away. “Fuck that old nigger,” He snarls. “Alright. We’ll get you working. But you workin’ at my pace. I don’t want the master thinking I’m a lazy ass nigger because you start working better than I do.” He tosses you a long stick with feathers on it. “That’s a duster. Use it to dust off the books ‘round here. But don’t go too fast.”

>“Okay.” Work at Seymour’s pace. (Roll 1d20-10)
>Fuck Seymour. Work fast. (Roll 1d20+10)
>Work at a steady pace, but not too fast. (Roll 1d20)
>Write-In.

>>45711028

Ah, crap. I thought it was.

>>45711261
It.. might be?

http://railroads.unl.edu/views/sources/GA_Cotton.jpg

It's hard to tell. I know they still produce some today so it might have been? But it looks like the big production was further west.

See it started as the whole of Georgia but the issue is that we didn't have nitrate fertilizers at the time so we were using up everything in the soil and pushing slavery further and further west.

http://www.georgiacottoncommission.org/images/E0010401/GACotton13_NASS_Page_1.jpg

They still do have a decent amount of production today.

See what would happen is as they run out of good soil, they just turn into.. uhh.. 'breeding' facilities where they'd selectively breed good specimens and then sell them west.

>>45711352

Huh. You're right. Seems I'm not as spot on with my history as I thought.

dice+1d20+10

>Fuck Seymour. Work fast.

Rolled 6 + 10 (1d20 + 10)

>>45711200
>Fuck Seymour. Work fast. (Roll 1d20+10)

Rolled 10 + 10 (1d20 + 10)

>>45711535

I fucked up

>Fuck Seymour. Work Fast. (20)

You decide that anyone who decides to insult Jeb behind his back deserves to be left in the dust. You take the duster and get to work, being as thorough with your work as you possibly can while also moving quickly. If anyone catches you working, you’ll look better doing it.

Seymour has given you a few looks of hate here and there, muttering something about niggers that don’t listen, but he’s kept at it.

It doesn’t take a while for you to finish dusting around and you move onto helping, or rather overtaking, Seymour in his cleaning. And by the time you finish, even though you worked as swiftly as possible, the sun seems to be up and out now—not too bright, but just bright enough to come in through the window at the side of the room. Seymour, has snuffed out the lamps in the room the fire in the fireplace has long gone out.

The moment you finish, you hear a man clear his throat behind you. You turn to see Master Seaborne looking right at you, dressed up and with Jeb at his side. “You the new Slave that Old Jeb brought up to help?”

You faulter. You haven’t been in front of the Master in a long time. Not since you were a boy. You glance at Jeb you gives you an urging look. ‘Talk to him’ it seems to say. “Y-yessir.” You bow your head and avoid looking at him directly.

“You did a fine job of cleaning this room.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The Master walks into the room, looking over at Seymour. “I bet you did a good enough job for two Niggers, right?”

Seymour, part way on the other side of the room seems to take a sharp break.

>”Yessir.” You deserve that praise.
>”No, sir.” Seymour worked, maybe not as hard, but he worked.
>Other.

>>45711949
>>”No, sir.” Seymour worked, maybe not as hard, but he worked.

>>45711949
>>”No, sir.” Seymour worked, maybe not as hard, but he worked.

File: 363.gif (65 KB, 509x508)

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>”No, sir.” Seymour worked, maybe not as hard, but he worked.

“No, sir,” You immediately respond, looking over at Seymour. “Seymour worked just as hard as I did.” You see Seymour glance over at you, partly grateful, partly something else that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“He’s modest too,” laughs the Master. “I like him, Jeb. What’s this nigger’s name?”

“He ain’t got one,” Jeb looks at you. “We just call him Boy, or Child. His mammy died before giving him a name.”

The Master looks over at you. “No name?” You nod. “Well then, Boy. You don’t have to lie to me. I saw you two cleaning for a bit. You were working pretty well for someone who’s never been inside this house before. You might just be keeping your spot here in the house, even if Bartholomew gets better. I need fast working niggers in my house.” The Master looks away from you and fixes his eyes on Seymour before walking off.

“I told you not to fool around,” Jeb scolds Seymour. “The Master don’t have no need for lazy niggers. You better work better for the rest of the day, unless he kick your ass to the field. Come along, child. You’re done here, I’m gonna give you something else to do.”

As you walk off Seymour glares are you in the corner of his eye.

[1/2]

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For the rest of the morning you’re off cleaning the different areas that Jeb directs you to do—sometimes you’re working with a maid, clearing out a room of dirty bedsheets and other things, while sometimes you’re with Seymour, who continues to glower at you any time he gets.

By afternoon however, you finish with your basic tasks, free to go into the kitchen and get yourself something to eat before continuing with any tasks that need to be done. As you make your way past the main foyer you see the Master and Jeb, along with the Master’s son—a young man with smoothed black hair and a nervous, young looking face, moving hurriedly to the front door as it’s opened, a carriage pulling up to the front of the House. Jeb glances back at you, and motions for you to leave.

>Stay in the room and see what’s going on.
>Move to an adjacent room, but still watch.
>Go to the kitchen, this is none of your business.

>>45712582
>Move to an adjacent room, but still watch.

>>45712582
>>Go to the kitchen, this is none of your business.
We've already stirred the pot in our new position, let's not stir too much more.

>>45712582

>>Go to the kitchen, this is none of your business.

>Go to the kitchen, this is none of your business.

Whatever this is, you it isn’t concerning you. You quickly walk off back to the kitchen, where Mam Hany is busy setting fragile looking ups and a metal pot on a tray, and also setting a few plates of small snacks. You settle on a wooden chair near the hearth and look to see Seymour eating a small bowl of stew in the corner of the kitchen looking at you but glancing away the moment you try to lock on.

He really needed to calm down. Sure he had been working faster than before, but that wasn’t anything to get mad over.

“You been lazy, haven’t you?” Mam Hany says from the table. You look over to see her giving you a remarkable look that is a mixture of hate and apathy. You have no idea how she makes it work.

“No, Mam.” You say glancing around to try to find some bowl for you to grab some of the stew that’s keeping warm on the hearth. “I’ve been working hard all day.”

“Seymour told me you’ve been lazy, making him look bad because you refuse to work. Now who do you think I’m gon’ believe. Seymour whose been workin’ here longer than you and ain’t never got into trouble till you came ‘round or a no-good unnamed nigger who’s never been in the house a day in his life?”

“I’ve been working Harder than Seymour!” You protest standing up. “Hell, the master saw me working harder than Seymour this morn—“

“You, callin’ me a liar?!” Seymour calls out from the corner of the room. He’s set the bowl of stew on the chair and stepped closer to where you are.

“I’m not saying you’re telling the truth.”

“You goddamn devil child. You a fuckin’ liar sayin’ all that shi—“

You hear the door of the kitchen open and Jeb walks in, “What the hell is going on in here. I can damn near hear the two of you from the front door.” He glares at you and Seymour.

>Complain.
>Say nothing.
>Try to assure Jeb Everything is fine.
>Walk out of the kitchen.

>>45713259
>>Try to assure Jeb Everything is fine.
"Nigga moment."

>>Try to assure Jeb Everything is fine

>Try to assure Jeb Everything is fine.

“It was nothing,” you say. Looking over at Seymour. There’s no need for this to blow up into something bigger. “I did something wrong.” You don’t want to make Seymour angrier. It was your first day here and there’s isn’t a need to get in his face. You don’t want to shake things up too much.

For a moment, Jeb considers you then sighs. “All right. Well, whatever you did wrong is gonna have to wait for a moment. The Master’s got guest over and I need you and Seymour to bring them up their drinks. Hany, you got those trays ready?”

Mam Hany glares over at you then nods. “I finished all up. Got their tea and other things right there on them trays.” She motions to the trays.

“All right. Seymour, Boy. You need to take those trays up to the Master’s study. Don’t spill anything. Not a single thing. This needs to be perfect. Master Seaborne’s Guest, Mister Helquist, ain’t got no tolerance for no nigger, no matter how hard working he is. You mess up once, he’s gonna have something to say ’bout it and then…I assure you, you’re gonna get a lashing.”

You swallow. That…that isn’t good.

“Now take these trays. Don’t mess up.” Mam Hany hands you the tray with the cups and pot while Seymour gets the tray with the food on it. “Seymour you know where the study is, don’t you? Take the boy up there and mind yourselves.” He puts an arm on your shoulder. “Do good, child.”

You balance the pot precariously on the tray and look at Jeb. “I won’t mess up.”

“I know you won’t.” Jeb reassures you.

You follow after Seymour as he climbs the stair case and glances back at you. “You’re covering my ass a lot. You some sorta ass-kissing nigger? Trying to get the master to think you’re a ‘good-ol’ slave’ like that old ass nigger, Jeb?”

>Say nothing.
>”No, I’m just doing my job.”
>”Fuck you.”

Almost done for tonight. Just a few more posts.

>>45713967
>”Fuck you.”
"I do my job, and you just pick fights. Call me an ass kisser again, bitch nigger."

>>Say nothing

>>45713967

>>fuck you

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36 KB JPG

>>”Fuck You”

"I do my job, and you just pick fights. Call me an ass kisser again, bitch nigger."

Seymour stops.

“Bitch nigger?” He glances back at you. “All right. You wanna go like that…I’ll show you who the hell does his goddamn job.” His face is hard to read, but you can see fury in his eyes. “Just you wait.” He marches forward, stopping at a door—the study.

“Come in,” You hear the Master’s voice come through the door after you knock. Seymour eyes you angrily before putting on a stone face and walking into the room, precariously holding the tray. Sitting at his desk is Master Seaborne, his son sitting in an armchair off to the side of the desk, tow chair on the other side as well.

A man wearing a neat suit and with perfectly brushed hair and a mustache sits in the other chair, a cane in his hand and to his left sat a young white woman, staring at you and Seymour as you walk in and then glancing to the floor once you caught her eye. Must be Mister Helquist and his wife or daughter. It was hard to tell.

“Ah, it seems our tea is here. Boys, you can set those trays here at the end of the desk. After that, leave.” The Master waves at the two of you to hurry as he looks back to his guest. “Now, Richard, I’m sure that we can reach some sort of agreement. My son will be inheriting this plantation as soon as he’s married, and I’m sure with the funds that we pull in each year, your daughter will be very happy to marry Harold.” So it was his daughter.

You move to walk to the desk, eager to just get this over with and head back to get something to eat—and then something pushes on your foot.

It snaps at your heel and you instantly know what this is. Seymour. You glance back at him as you stumble forward, his face impassive and uncaring as your arms go akimbo and the tray goes flying.

Right into Helquist’s daughter.

With a scream and the sound of the tray falling and the cups shattering as the hit the floor, everyone in the room looks right at your direction. And go silent, with the exception of the girl who stands right up out of her chair trying to fan the heat of the tea off of her.

Stand with your knee buckled slightly and your hands out to catch the tray that shouldn’t have ever left them.

Seconds pass before Helquist stands right out of his chair And glares down at you like an angry god. “You filthy nigger!” He snaps, back handing you instantly to the floor—you head colliding with the wooden flooring.

You’re dazed for a moment, but feel yourself being picked off of the floor. And the tossed again. “You goddamn, filthy—!” You hit the ground, then something slams on your side. You realize you’ve been kicked.

“Richard, I’ll discipline him later, you don’t have to make a scene…”

“No. These subhuman creatures need to be taught a lesson.” Your vision is returning and you can see Helquist glaring down at you. “We discipline him now.” He hoists you up and glares at Seymour. “You, nigger, take him outside.”

Seymour immediately latches onto your shoulders and looks down at your face. Unsmiling, but his eyes filled with smugness. ‘Who’s the bitch nigger now?’.

Helquist turns to look at Master Harold. “Boy, have you ever disciplined a nigger?”

“Richard he hasn’t needed to do--!”

“I am your guest, true…but I will not marry my daughter to a man who can’t disciple a single nigger on his own. Boy, come here. You’re going to show this nigger who the master is. Show him what happens when he makes mistakes.”

Harold looks back to his father who sighs in defeat. “Go with him, Harold.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Harold gets up from his chair and follows after.

You’re dragged down the stairs roughly by Seymour who seems to take pleasure in bumping you against the guardrail anytime he can, making way to the front door. “I’ll take you to where we beat the disobient Niggers, Master Helquist,” Seymour’s voice is all but eager to help you on your way to your punishment.

Helquist and Harold say nothing as you’re dragged, simply following Seymour out of the house.

“Seymour what the…hey! What’s going on here?” You see Jeb hobbling into the room as quickly as he can. “Seymour what I nthe hell are you—Mister Helquist.” Jeb spots the man and baulks almost immediately. “What’s going on, is there a problem with the boy?”Helquist just stares at Jeb and passes him by. “Sir, what’s going…” Jeb reaches to stop Helquist from moving on.

Like a viper, Helquist whips around and cracks Jeb on the head with his cane. “Don’t touch me!” He seethes.

The sound of the cane hitting Jeb resounds in the air and your eyes go wide. What the hell. What the fuck. Jeb hits the ground with an equally sickening crack and lies still.

You look over at Helquist.

>Attack Him (roll 1d20)

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>45714893
Welcome to the scrap.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>45714893

Taking a crack at Jeb just means we go full nigga moment.

Rolled 4 (1d20)

Whelp, we're in it now boys. Time to commit to the arc.

>>45715072
That's how we do it. We Tubman now.

Your vision goes red.

You spring forward, breaking out of Seymour’s Grasp and ram right into Helquist. This motherfucker is gonna pay. You stomp down on the man’s leg before you drop down on him and begin going to town.

Bringing your fists up you slam them once, twice three times into Helquist’sd face. Motherfucker. Motherfucker. This motherfucker. No one hits Jeb like that. He’s like a goddamn father to you. No one messes with him. Over and over, you bring your anger right into his face, chest shoulders, you don’t even care what you hit, just as long as you hit him.

“DADDY!” You hear the girl shriek from upstairs and you hear footfalls coming in your direction. Then. You fell two pairs of arms wrap around your arms and yank you off of the bleeding man under you.

“Have you lost your mind?!” You hear Master Seaborne bellow as you fight and struggle against your captors. “Harold hold him good. Even if he hits you don’t let go. Richard, are you alright?”

Even through your rage you see Helquist struggling to get up, leaning on the leg that hadn’t been stomped on. “This savage ape attacked me!”

Savage? You haven’t even gotten started on being savage yet. You struggle and train, but you see Master Seaborne approach you and help Seymour and Harold hold you down. “Harold! Go get the chains! Get something to restrain him, and some more men!”

“You won’t need any more men.” Both you and Master Seaborne turn to see Helquist’s foot coming straight to your face.
[1/4]

….

….

….

Your face…hurts.

The air is cold.

You feel as though you’ve been hit by a hammer over and over again. Your brain is ringing and your eyes feel…swollen.

You try for a while to open your eyes…unsuccessfully. You rest. Then again, you attempt to open your eyes…You’re able to open them halfway, your vision limited.

The first thing you see is Seymour, staring down at you sitting in a chair, smiling at you. The next thing you see is the barn around you—no, the stables. “You awake now, bitch?” Anger flares and you struggle to get up and lunge at him, only to find that you have been chained to the wall You see a grin nearly part his face in half. “You was out for a while. But that might be good for you.” He laughs. “You didn’t have to hear all that talk about Helquist wanting to kill your ass right there. But hey. You ain’t dead now, so they decided to spare you.”

He pauses.

“Till they hang your ass tomorrow.” He get up out of his chair. “I’m supposed to watch you, but you ain’t going no where. I just wanted to see you wake up and tell you you’re fucked.” He chuckles and starts to walk off—you not you’re in the small smith are of the stables, where stable master makes horse shoes for the horses.—and then whips back around. “Jeb ain’t gonna help you no more. He’s gone. He ain’t dead, but he ain’t gonna be moving around none. Might as well be dead.” He laughs again and walks out of stable. Leaving you in the darkness.

[2/3] [s]Made a mistake on that first one[/s]

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45 KB JPG

…

…

…
You struggle again against the chains before falling down. No. You had to get out. You were gonna make that fucker, Helquist pay. You could guess what Seymour meant by Jeb never being able to get up again. That knock to the head must have left him stupid—like the one boy who got too close to a horse’s hind legs years ago.

You struggle again and again. Nothing.

Then you hear it just from out of your range of vision, something out of the dark that while you can't see, you can visualize in crystal clear detail. It’s a strange acoustic mix of fingers, fleshy and alive drumming in a smooth, even rhythm...and nails being dragged harshly across the anvil to your left. You think for a moment, just a moment that seymour is back to gloat at you more, to rub more salt in the wound...in fact you almost kind of wish it was as a chill washes through you, running your blood ice cold.

If it wasn't bad enough already, the voice that followed from the darkness would have frozen it over completely if it was at all possible.

"Well...well...well, such a...fine young man...left hangin' round on such a fine evening, ain't that just a shame proper? Then again...those words might be a little...poignant in these circumstances; you'll have to forgive me. Tact is such a...hard concept to grasp sometimes."

You look over. Scarlet. Crimson. A scarf flows along the floor, wrapping around the shadows until a figure stands in the corner of the smithy. Solid red eyes starting through your, at you, beyond what you could ever be.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Scratch.”

Thanks to you who stuck around till the end. This is where I leave off for tonight. Look forward to the next update.

>>45715679
I'm liking this a lot, keep going

>>45715679
DUDE
Why you gotta leave me hangin like that. I'm loving where this is going.

>bump