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Writer's pictureJuan-Pablo Pina

The Titan Wraith Ep.1 "Tavern"

by Juan-Pablo Pina

Art by Juan-Pablo Pina

(AUDIOBOOK BELOW)


Ahab could tell the tavern was incredibly loud, even from outside in the pouring rain. He was a grizzled and old man who bore his fair share of scars and wrinkles. He wore a weathered cowboy hat, a red cotton shirt, and sage green cargo pants. Strapped over his back was a massive Marine Model 18955BL while a small dagger sat comfortably in a sheath scrapped to his pants. 


From inside the tavern, Ahab could hear the thundering stomps of dancing folk along with the joyous music from the performers. But through it all was the droning sound of people chatting and shouting all throughout. Ahab wasn’t a man fond of such places, places that stank of ale and were crowded, although he did appreciate their friendly and rustic charm. But the noise…


No matter, for he knew how and when to zone in to or out of his environments. So with a deep breath, he walked in, and confidently strode his way through the tavern until he managed to find a seat at the bar. The warm glow from the lights on the ceiling created a familiar and welcoming atmosphere that Ahab was more than happy to relish in silence.


“‘‘Scuse me, barkeep? Mind sliding me a drink?” said Ahab, his gruff voice, mixed with his western accent, making him sound like an old forgemaster. The barkeep, a boy who was probably a bit under 19 or 18 years of age, obliged and, after filling up a wooden cup with what looked like standard horsetail ale, passed it to the older man. Ahab thanked him with a quick and subtle nod, along with a raise of his cup, before finally having a drink. It tasted good, a bit like green tea, although it had more of a sugary and grassy pop to it. 


For a time, Ahab was at peace. It was good to be here, simply enjoying himself and giving himself a break from the constant grind of his work. He loved his job, although he did need a moment to himself every now and then. And yet, despite this place’s peace, it was only a matter of time before someone…


“Oy! I know you! You’re Ahab! The ‘dragonslayer’! Oy, lads! The dragonslayer’s here!” said a man, his accent making him sound almost like a pirate.


Yep. 


Ahab hated it when people did this. Then again, he wasn’t surprised.


He was the most ruthless, wisest, and successful big game hunter the country of Saurodale had ever seen. Anything from Struthiomimus to giants like Spinosaurus was eventually felled by ‘the dragonslayer’. Sometimes he would even allow himself to be employed by those looking to free their ranches and pastures from the ravages of wildlife. For the most part, however, he was a nomad who killed for the sport, for the glory of knowing that a man could bring down a dragon, and he managed to keep this up by selling certain spoils of his hard work like horns or slabs of exotic meat. Almost every creature Ahab set his sights on was, in time, killed. 


Almost.


There was one animal that Ahab hadn’t killed just yet.


“Ahab? The dragonslayer?” prompted someone from the other end of the bar. 


“Aye! It’s the one and only Ahab! He’s right here!” responded the man next to Ahab. 


“Now this I ought to see,” said someone else, though they were far closer. Eventually, a crowd started to close around Ahab with people cracking jokes, commenting, and asking questions from every angle. But then there came a voice that said something very interesting. It said…


“Mr. Ahab! The Titan Wraith has been attacking my cattle!”


Ahab’s eyes widened before he unsheathed his dagger and raised it before slamming it down on the bar, a tremendous thunder ringing out that silenced everyone. 


The dragonslayer sat up straight, straightened his cowboy hat, and asked in an almost crocodilian voice, “Who said that?”


Nobody dared to answer him with only a few mutters of confusion audible. 


“It was I, Mr. Ahab! I! Not any of these lads,” said a squeaky, almost wimpy voice with an English accent. 


“Show yourself, then,” snarled Ahab as he turned around on his stool.


From the crowd came a skinny man in a black tunic with a while undershirt. He was what was commonly called a “posh countryman”, people who lived the honest lives of farmers and ranchers yet did so with glamor and strict manners. Because of this duality, posh countrymen were usually seen as selfish liars. So when Ahab saw one walk out of the crowd, he quickly became cautious.


“Name?” prompted Ahab, again in his almost crocodilian voice. 


“My name is Arthur Grant, but please call me Arthur. I’m a rancher from the south who supplies the southern monarchs with”-“get to the point, Arthur,” interrupted the dragonslayer, cutting Arthur off. 


“My herds have recently been getting attacked by what I believe to be the Titan Wraith, at least going off of the evidence I or the watchmen gather when we go to investigate the noises in the night,” said Arthur, his voice sounding nervous.


Ahab just nodded and thought. Could it really be the Titan Wraith? He knew the damned beast liked to go after easy prey, so this was no surprise. But he was getting this from a posh countryman. Was he really going to believe one of these people? Then again, this was the Titan Wraith he was talking about.


“Meet me outside. The rest of you can bugger off,” grunted Ahab. Arthur began to walk out but stopped due to the crowd’s unmovingness. It was like they were still waiting for Ahab to say something. 


The dragonslayer raised an eyebrow before swinging his arms up and shouting, “What are y’all waitin’ for? I said to piss off!”


Finally the crowd dispersed, and Ahab and Arthur were allowed to walk out of the tavern. Ahab simply leaned against the concrete wall while Arthur sat atop his horse. Both men grabbed a pipe from a bag Arthur had slung over his shoulder and smoked it, the gray wisps dissipating once they floated into the rain outside the refuge of the roof.


“So what makes you think you’re dealing with the Titan Wraith and not some other big carnivore? You know there are Acrocanthosaurus around your lands, right?” said Ahab, raising the front of his cowboy hat. 


“True, but Acrocanthosaurus usually hunt in pairs. Whatever has been attacking my cattle hunts alone, at least judging by the footprints we count,” said Arthur, briefly taking the pipe out of his mouth. Ahab simply nodded.


“What about the conditions this thing usually attacks under? Weather, lighting, that sort of thing,” continued the dragonslayer, looking up at the darkened sky that continued to pour rain.


“Usually at night, however, I have heard it will strike just before the sun dips below the hills. Pretty much anytime it can get enough cover is when that vermin attacks,” said Arthur, sounding as though he would be punished for speaking these words.


“Right. Any other defining features? Smells, sounds, the like?” asked Ahab. Arthur’s story was convincing, that was for sure, but it also sounded like any other Mapusaurus or Tarbosaurus that could easily be sedated and moved by the authorities.


“Aye, Sir. The size of the footprints is one, I could almost fit a whole calf in them. Another factor is the color I usually see. Granted, it’s in very low light and I or the watchmen only have a lamp, but I still manage to get a glimpse of its hide,” said Arthur. Ahab dropped his pipe and his eyes immediately widened when the rancher mentioned the color.


“And what might that be?” prompted the dragonslayer suddenly seeming as if he was ready to pounce like a jungle cat.


“White, Mr. Ahab. It’s white,” deadpanned Arthur.


The old hunter’s face lit up with a sinister yet enthusiastic grin. Could it be? Was his damned 15 ton snowflake back for another round? Ahab immediately stretched out an open hand to Arthur.


“You’ve got yourself a deal, Arthur. I’ll swing by tomorrow at dusk so you can point me in the right direction. Uh, er, where might your ranch be, again?” said the dragonslayer enthusiastically.


“Wh-what? Preposterous, man! I must give you fair compensation!” retorted Arthur, flabbergasted and shocked.


“If you’re telling the truth, and there’ll be hell to pay if you ain’t, then this hunt is compensation enough,” said Ahab, his voice briefly changing to an almost reptilian growl in the middle. Arthur was clearly surprised.


“Very well. It’s roughly three kilometers from the palace of southern monarchs. You’ll be stopped by inspecting guards if you take the road, though, and they probably won’t think too highly of a man with a dagger and firearm like yours. So I’d suggest you take the moonshiner’s trail. It’s a shortcut that goes through the woods and passes right in front of the ranch. I’ll tell the watchmen to alert me of your arrival if I’m not out there myself,” said Artuthr before putting his smoking pipe away. Ahab grabbed the one he had dropped on the cold cobblestone floor and passed it to the rancher.


“So, I’ll see you tomorrow at sundown?” prompted the dragonslayer.


“Yes. I’ll see you then,” said Arthur before riding off on his horse, quickly turning into a shadow in the rain that Ahab could barely even tell was there.


The old hunter looked up at the dark and rainy sky with its swirling clouds and flashes of lightning. If Arthur was telling true, then maybe Ahab could finally bag that damned kill. Maybe he could finally end this wretched game of cat-and-mouse that he had been forced to play for so long by that wily vermin. Maybe it was finally time he got to take down the Titan Wraith…


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