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The Adventures of Jarod Pillagebane: Trapped by the Lava is the second volume in The Adventures of Jarod Pillagebane: Book 1: Beware of Zombies|The Adventures of Jarod Pillagebane]]. It, after a few chapters are released, will be turned into a fan-play written . . .

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ThunderBook Productions 2012

Chapter 1

Jarod and his crew aboard The Outlaw King, a beautiful Brig-of-War he'd purchased from a black-market dealer dealing in stolen ships that had been taken at sea by pirates which the man, while the unfortunate pirates were washed-up and drunk in the local taverns, swindled out of their crafts, were headed toward a large, mountainous island that, according to legend, was home to an inactive volcano. "Captain," said the lookout, a sturdily-built Irish lad named James O'Connor. "Aye?" replied Jarod. "Land is in sight," he said. "Isla de la Volcanoes is naught but a single nautical mile away." "Excellent," said Jarod. He'd been waiting for this moment for months—after hearing if a great treasure there, his sixth sense of adventure perked up. An hour later, Jarod all the men had anchored the longboats on a large rock and had formed a landing party, which consisted of Jarod, James, and a half-dozen other men. They marched through the thick foliage. Soon, the group all walking single-file, nearly fell over when they crashes into a native tribal man. An older one, he seemed to be an elder, wearing a necklace made from shells and assorted glass beads. "Hello," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. "You speak English?" Jarod said, shocked. "Yes. Local traders have been 'round long time." "That I see," replied Jarod. And it was true—it was no normal sight for a native to have a gun in their belt. "I have come to warn you," the native man said, "about the volcano here. You don't know what the name 'Isla de las Volcanes' means, do you? Here, I'll spell it out for you: in Spanish, that's "Isle of the Volcanoes." "See, this volcano here, it e—" he was cut off by an arrow piercing his throat. Soon, a rain from Hell of poisoned arrows, spears, javelins, obsidian knives, stones and more was raining down on the landing party and they were running in seconds, crashing through the thick foliage as fast as their weary legs could carry them. At last they reached a cave which seemed to be lit by torches. Their pursuers did not follow; instead, they blocked the entrance to the cave with a massive stone boulder that did not seem to want to cooperate in moving. "Blast damn it!" shouted Jarod in despair. "Captain, have a look at this," said a Mayan sailor named Xtzi. He was pointing at strange markings on an ancient-looking parchment scroll held to the wall by a knife. "What the devil are these?" said Jarod. "I can't understand much, but I can read this top part. It says: This scroll is naught but one of three. Join the three by firelight and you shall see the location of the treasure you seek. After that I don't understand a word of it." "Well, then," said Jarod, ripping the scroll out of the wall, "let's find the other two. Press on!" Jarod and the crew noticed some odd, guttural rumbling that vibrated the walls and shook the ground below their feet.



~ ~ ~



Meanwhile, little did Jarod's landing party know that, beneath their feet, a profane ritual was taking place. A trio of ancient Mayan artifacts were being aligned, side-by-side. The middle of the lot, which was the largest, was a seared-looking, charcoal-black chalice with elegant and, amazingly, still shiny (and intricate) flame designs on it and a large red ruby in the centre of the inside, being held up by four solid iron supports engraved with the words All Hell's breaking loose, one word on each support. The chalice was so burnt it looked as if it had been the sole survivor of several volcanoes, which, of course, it had, thought a man clad all in light-weight black armour made from a special ore known as moonstone, causing it to absorb and staunch the most devastating of blows and to make one feel as if they were wearing silk; which is what the armour looked like. He also wore a leathered pitch-black tricourne hat with gold trimmings, black-dyed, shiny seel-skin boots that had gold strapping and seemed to be polished and in mid-condition, a black sash with a gold buckle over black belt with silver studs, a tattoo of a dagger on his chest, dual pistols at his belt (one at each side) along with a large grenade pouch, additional gunpowder, a claymore Scottish highlander broadsword, and many knives hidden everywhere in his clothes, and more hidden toys. He was an intimidating man. The item to the left was a pair of intricate gloves. These were not ordinary gloves; they were the colour of ice itself and was decoratively patterned with icy-looking markings. When wearing these, one's hands could stay cool while touching any substance; no matter how hot. The last item was a burning-hot, small cauldron of an amber-coloured substance that resembled lava but glittered like gold. "Yes, and once we shall put on these gloves," pausing, the man put on the gloves, "pick up this cauldron," he said, lifting the small cauldron after putting on the gloves,"and, finally, we pour it into the chalice." He erected the chalice, put it onto its place for the ritual, atop a massive stone carved into a slab that resembled an 'F,' and was about to pour it in when a massive rupture in the ground, causing the whole place to shake, sent the chalice flying—up above his deep lair, which was above the lava enough to make the fumes and toxic gases not be able to reach him, but not enough to make the ground not feel like a frying pan and the cooler parts feel like a Navajo sweat lodge that was far overheated, directly at the feet of Jarod Pillagebane. Suddenly, </span>out of nowhere, a small chalice-looking thing that was as burnt as a tortilla that was cooked for too long, with pieces chipping away. However, it still had its own kind of beauty, with vibrant orange flame carvings on it."What the bloody hell is this?" said Jarod to himself.

"It appears be a Mayan artifact, of sorts," said the native sailor who'd read the markings in the parchment just nigh of an hour ago.

"Well then, gentlemen," said Jarod, "it appears we have our next clue."

Somewhere far off in the distance, Jarod noted something that sounded an awful lot like a shouted curse. Of course, this was crazy talk, Jarod thought, but it seemed to be coming from tens of feet below the landing party.



~ ~ ~



Suddenly, out of nowhere, a small chalice-looking thing that was as burnt as a tortilla that was cooked for too long, with pieces chipping away. However, it still had its own kind of beauty, with vibrant orange flame carvings on it.

"What the bloody hell is this?" said Jarod to himself.

"It appears be a Mayan artifact, of sorts," said the native sailor who'd read the markings in the parchment just nigh of an hour sgo.

"Well then, gentlemen," said Jarod, "it appears we have our next clue."

Somewhere far off in the distance, Jarod noted something that sounded an awful lot like a shouted curse. Of course, this was crazy talk, Jarod thought, but it seemed to be coming from tens of feet below the landing party.


Chapter 2

He couldn't believe he'd lost it. All those infernal years of torturous collecting, bargaining, stealing, pillaging, to finally have everything he needed for the ritual—and then to lose it to a mere quake!? It was unbelievable.

"DAMNED TO HELL! BASTARDLY QUA—" he began, but was interrupted by a sudden, loud crash. It was a giant man, even larger than he, carrying a bottle of rum. After being crushed by the huge man, the slightly less large man got up, brushed himself off, and began to tie up that massive buffoon who suddenly crashed through the ceiling.

Suddenly a plan began to formulate in his mind. This buffoon must be part of the crew that took he chalice. Return the chalice, he thought, or this idiot dies, he thought, polishing a knife. He guffawed insanely at his plan, and the other man began to do the same. After a few awkward looks, he stopped.

~ ~ ~



A loud CRASH! was suddenly heard, and, next thing they knew, James had gone through the floor. </span>



"How the bloody hell did that happen!?"



"No idea," Declan replied, awestruck.

"Well, how do we get him out!?" said Jarod, frustrated.

"We would have to dig in," said Declan.

"Where the bloody did he fall in!?" Jarod yelled.

"I don't remember. I only saw for just nigh of a a few seconds," Declan admitted, ashamed.

A half hour later, the whole of the crew was attempting to dig down into the soil, but none could find the spot that James fell in.

Jarod sighed. "I hope James hasn't fallen victim to the lava, like so many other unfortunate souls."

~ ~ ~



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