Blackbeard Tavern Novels & Stories

I ease off the accelerator and finally slow the car down, my knuckles pale from gripping the wheel too tightly for hours. That is when I spot a weathered wooden sign half-swallowed by vines, swinging slightly in the breeze. "Blackthorn Tavern. It is every Rogue’s Pleasure Spot." The sign reads and I scoff. Of course a filthy, dangerous looking rogue bar in the middle of nowhere just had to appear like my identity crisis.... I dart at the place for a few seconds before making a decision. The place looks like a kind of place no sane, wolfless person would dare to enter alone.

The deckhand gets up from his stool and places two of his own coins by the empty bottle and just like that they take their leave. A few hours have passed and through the visage of the darkness that surrounds Port Bel; a shimmering streak of moonlight seeps through. The light is just enough to leer both of the captain’s eyes and her right hand’s view to see the barn that was on the outskirts of the city. The red paint that covers the old and rotting wood looks like the wind could scrape it off. Truly the established showed its age when a draft picks up and part of the barn doors move in tangent with the wind. A chain that keeps the doors closed rattles and since the metal is rusted it hits th

Ethan raised a brow but leaned in anyway, attempting to sip from the straw. It didn’t go as smoothly as expected. The tapioca pearls stubbornly refused to cooperate, making him pause awkwardly mid-attempt. Belle burst into laughter. The great Ethan DelValle—reduced to struggling with a milk tea straw. Even the staff had to quickly look away, some covering their mouths to hide their amusement. “…Hmm,” Ethan finally managed after successfully getting one pearl. “This is good. No wonder you like it.” “Right?” Belle beamed proudly.

Black and scaly with a beak full of jagged sharp teeth. In the distance a child cried, the sound cutting through the bleak night, as the moon shone down on quiet streets. I made my way across town to Sapiens, an old tavern that still operated on the outskirts of Briarshire. An establishment that had been passed down through generations and had even withstood the great Lycan wars from two and a half centuries ago. With my enhanced hearing I could make out the lowly chatter of patrons and the giggles coming from the women who worked there. It was a bar, but it also doubled as a bordello house.

Two weeks later, Raven sat in a corner booth at the Black Fang, a dive bar in the heart of Diamondback territory. The establishment reeked of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and the kind of desperation that clung to places where people came to forget their problems rather than solve them. Neon beer signs cast sickly light across scarred wooden tables and a clientele that looked like they'd crawl over broken glass for their next fix.

The other single-story storefronts were closed up for the night, the bright white from the bar's sign the only illumination aside from the orange-ish glow of streetlamps. Her tavern was pretty large in comparison to the other buildings. The gray clapboard siding had no doubt been weathered by salt-infused sunshine and wind off the sea. It resembled a large crab shack with burgundy shutters framing the large lower and small upper window. The front door had a gold plaque indicating Locals Only, along with hours of operation and that they were closed on Sundays and Mondays. Above that was an enormous fishing hook mounted to the frame that could've taken down Moby Dick.

The next turn he took was down Dorset Street, his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol as he approached a tavern called The Black Boar's Head. The scrap of parchment in his pocket he'd received this afternoon had born the name of this tavern and a time for a meeting. Someone had known he needed help in acquiring the Parr girl and had suggested he come here to discuss an alternative to the legal means he had attempted and failed. He was too desperate not to try any method, even if it meant meeting a stranger here. The moment the door swung open the scent of gin and unwashed bodies assailed him. His eyes watered and Blankenship nearly tossed his accounts.

Carl said Lloyd thought for a while and then said, "I really don't know... I hardly had anything to do with those brothers, so I wasn't really involved with them or their secrets, but I knew they spent a lot of time at the Bee Bar." The Bee Bar is a small pub hidden deep in the streets of the eastern region, and that exact area is teeming with criminals and outlaws, and it is difficult for the police to enter those places because of those.. Outside, William stood thinking, '...we have to get to those brothers...then to the person who assigned them to watch over Sarah's company, and then eliminate them.'

"Looking for your vessel, Uncle? You're too late. She's currently having a drink with some of my father’s old 'creditors' down at the local watering hole. Let’s see how fast that Brine wolf can run when the floor is made of gasoline.” The dashboard console had gone black the moment Claus’s face vanished, leaving me in a suffocating silence broken only by the frantic beat of my own heart. ‘The watering hole.’ There was only one place in this backward village that fit the description, a dilapidated tavern on the western ridge called The Rusty Spur. It was a known gathering spot for the local laborers, a place where law was fluid and outsiders were viewed as meat. If Claus’s rogue creditors wer

This was a neutral ground for the Sopttyi underworld, a place where the Blackwell enforcers kept the peace with iron fists. He pushed the door open. The scent of stale tobacco, spilled bourbon, and old sweat hit him like a physical blow. The bass from the speakers rattled his teeth. Timothy scanned the room. It was early, but the booths were already filling with the kind of men who carried heat under their tailored jackets. He moved to the bar, sliding onto a stool between two hulking figures. "Whiskey. Neat. The most expensive bottle you’re hiding." The bartender, a bald man with a scar running through his eyebrow, grunted and reached for a bottle. Timothy didn't plan on drinking it. Alcoho