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After LeChouque and Buck Anear, a third buccaneer from the World of Twelve reveals all in this story. Not as famous as the first two, and yet Gourlo the Terrible is just as epic – and comical! And the unique thing about this story is… YOU might be the one who writes the ending!

It smelled of damp and closed spaces. Wood creaked slowly and evenly, in time with the waves. Even in the dark, the mess and dirt in the room were obvious. Cockroaches and Arachnees had made their headquarters in mostly empty casks of Greedo rum, and Arachnee webs covered the bilge like old, abandoned sheets. A skeleton dressed as a pirate was on the ground, leaning against a barrel, an empty bottle in hand, smiling widely as if his last wishes had been fulfilled. Or perhaps he was quite simply a Chafer taking a nap… Without warning, his eye patch lifted up and a plump rat squeezed its way out of his eye socket. Once his tummy was out, making a slight popping sound on the way, it scurried down the dead man's arm, then crossed the room, its little paws making clicking sounds on the wood floor, before joining a group of its kind stuffing themselves on a cargo of wheat without any remorse. Unlike the crates of Greedo rum, these stuffed burlap bags had been left behind, to the rodents' great joy. But this quiet, relaxing time would soon end…

On the floor above, war cries and gunshots were ringing out, followed by moans and the sound of falling bodies. A battle was raging on the ship and the pests understood that recess was over! Most fled immediately, while others tried to fill their paws with grain first, and our plump rodent stuffed as much as it could into its mouth, puffing out its cheeks like two giant skin balloons. Then, it fled backwards, dragging its decidedly too-full muzzle along the wood floor. A frantic race in the stairs came just before the door opened in a cloud of dust. A figure armed with two sabres filled the doorway. Two glowing red eyes cut through the white cloud, and then a hollow voice made the walls shake:

"Sail ho!"

  • "What's that two-legged hat natterin' on about?"
  • "Said we could go, Ze Flib… and… you're makin' jokes! If Barbrossa is a two-legged hat, then wha' are ye?"
  • I'm a two-footed booty chest, I am," replied the small redhead hiding in his chest with only his feet, prominent nose, guns and hair sticking out. "And you, my dear Sparo, are a knock-kneed barrel!" And the three of us together are…"
  • …a walking disaster! Move it, you two-legged scurvy dogs, or I'll skewer ye meself!"


The bag of bones wearing an evil hat, the dwarf in his chest, and the Chafer hiding in his barrel rushed into the hold and turned to their leader: a Bwork towering more than two kameters high who bent over to go through the doorway, two horns sticking up from his hat, two pointed tusks above his lower lip, two tiny bloodshot yellow eyes, and above all a huge powder cannon on his back. Just in case things went bad… Gourlo the Terrible had just taken Captain Futchure's ship.

"We'll heave down here while Boomba, Hazwonarm, and Cannon Dorf swab this place out, arr!"

  • "In the hold?!" piped up Ze Flib, but he quickly changed his tune and tucked his nose back into his chest when Gourlo glared at him.
  • "Once Futchure's yellowbellied curs 'ave all walked th' plank into th' sea, once those reef shrimp and their captain have fed the sharks, then I'll be the only monster on this galleon, arrr!"
  • "Sail ho!" said Barbrossa with delight.
  • "We can take a load off and get loaded to the gunwall," said Sparo happily.

The dream team laughed heartily. Even Gourlo almost smiled… That didn't happen often, and you could tell. The result was rather terrifying. Then, the Bwork bent over and grabbed his wooden leg, twisted it off, and upended it. He uncorked it and guzzled down the liquid inside it. With his chin dripping, Gourlo raised his peg leg:

"To your health, brethren of the coast! And that of the Bwork people, who had never before accomplished an act of piracy, arrr! Cheers!"

At just that instant, a gunshot rang out and a bullet lodged itself in Sparo's barrel.

"Shiver me timbers! Those sons of Ouginaks… Take cover!"

Ze Flib pulled his two pistols out and shot at the doorway. Sparo fell to the side and rolled to the door to shut it. Barbrossa jumped to cut a rope holding up sacks of wheat, which fell in front of the doorway. Gourlo had already taken cover behind crates and barrels, his cannon pointed at the door.

"Jus' try t' get in here, you pile o' rags! We'll paint th' walls with ye!"

A powerful blow shook the door. Gourlo pulled a match out of his sleeve and struck it on Sparo's head.

"I warned ye, arrr!"

He brought the match over to the wick…



By the Twelve! What suspense! But we can't stop there! That would be torture… That's why we're holding a writing contest.



  • Make up the end of this story and write it down in 100 words or less.
  • Once you've proofread it, copy and paste your ending (and with as few typos as possible) in the comments under this post before 11:59 p.m. (Paris time) on Monday, September 24.
  • Only one entry per person (more than one entry = disqualification).
  • Editing forum posts is not allowed (if you really need to, you can erase your initial post and submit a new, corrected version in a new post before the contest deadline).



  • The big winner will receive a Write emote and a Thousand Shield.
  • Two runners-up will also each win a Thousand Shield.

Good luck and happy writing!