The feeling of joy to be free mixes with the fading adrenaline of the battle, giving the proceedings a nearly delerious buzz. The halflings, long resigned to a life of servitude and an early death, are beyond themselves with joy. One by one, each of them thanks the brave strangers who risked their own lives to free them. They thank Captain Tantrey for coming as well, even though his help turned out to be unnecessary. The buzz turns to a giddy joy as Tantrey'a marines start bringing in several massive chests onto the deck, opening them to show the goods within. Rickety Hale must have been a miser, as his hoard of tens of thousands of gold pieces shines brightly in the opened chests. The halflings - the stolen labor that earned this money - seem shell-shocked by the fortune in their hands. It is enough for each of them to live a life of comfort far from here, if they wish. It is theirs by right, explains Tantrey, not a gift nor a handout.
As the celebration continues, the halfling freemen clump together and speak quietly among themselves. After a few minutes, they turn as one towards their saviors. Marina stands proudly at the front of the group, ready to address them. "This gold is ours, yes? We want you six to have some of it. We owe you our lives. Let this be a token of our thanks." She shushes any protests. "It's already decided. We have three chests full of gold. We want you to have one. We heard you say that this ship belonged to you. We want you to keep on helping our brothers and sisters still in chains. Use the gold that way. Can you do that?"
As Marina speaks, Doran smiles contentedly, pleased beyond measure that the halflings are taking to their freedom - making decisions, choosing to steer their fates, and doing so with caring and generosity. Sometimes a freed slave is rudderless, adrift without the master's hand on the tiller. That won't happen to Marina, or to any of the others who survived, gods willing.
In response to the halflings' generous gift, and Marina's question, Doran responds, "I'd have it no other way, Marina. I'd give my life to free others - nearly have a couple of times now. And your gift is a generous one. I'll not dishonor it by saying you shouldn't or that we can't accept it. Giving it is your choice, and you all have had precious few of those in your days. I thank you for it, and I promise it will be used to good ends."
He pauses and looks over the freed slaves, their eyes still wide and slightly stunned by the rapid change in their fortunes. "I expect many of you may wish to get as far from the sea and this part of the world as you can, and I wish you well in that. But if any have the taste for seeing more of this world, of sailing with the wind as the dolphins leap at the bow - and there's no truer taste of freedom, by my lights - then I'd be glad to have you join this crew. You'll see that the world isn't all hard labor and the lash, and you might get to strike a blow for freedom a time or two. Think on it a bit."
”Never when I started my journey from Absalom did I think I’d get involved in abolition,” the dwarf says then chuckles. ”Of course I didn’t expect any of what happened, except for a fierce storm and lots of sun. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather use that gold for than helping to free slaves. I do hope some of you decide to join the crew.”
Will we sail them to Andor? Maybe they want to start a village along the coast somewhere? Maybe we could help them salvage the Man’s Promise and let them sail where they want...Though I’d rather not do that with the Wormwood sailing the area. Best we escort them to freedom.
Vrunyar spends some time talking with the Bonadventure’s crew about what pirates they’ve faced recently and what the latest news from the Inner Sea is, such as if any wars have broken out or rulers died. He also finds their doctor and inquires if he (or she) wants to watch him do an autopsy on Rommen.
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Nodding quietly in agreement with Doran, John tries to hide the shock at seeing such vast sums of gold before him coupled with Tantry's hard words about the Andoran military, true that they were, instead he grips the captains hand with his own and nods in respect. Before him was literally a treasure of a lifetime. With his split alone, the gold would be enough for Alima, Farah and John to live a life of quiet prosperity.
No more worrying about where the next meal will come from or if Alima will have to take on a job. No more worrying about new clothes for Farah.[/b] And yet as the thought came rushing to the surface. John glanced at the grateful eyes of the Halflings as they looked towards Doran, John, Vrunyar and the others and felt a stab of guilt. Promises had been made and oaths sworn. Iakob had passed, but the death oath that John had sworn over his dead friend as well as the tattoo that marked that oath remained. Uneasily, John gulped. There was no good way around it. When John had set sail on the [i]Empty Lighthouse he had done so to provide for his wife and child. Now he could do that, but along the way he had sworn other binding oaths. Scratching at his chest, John scowled. There was also the issue of bond to the Black Queen. No... she doesn't strike me as one to let go of something easily. Blowing slowly out of his nose, John shook his head before glancing at the wheel of the Empty Lighthouse. Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast, If you see a sailing-ship it might be your last, so drink-up me-harties drink up.
Shaking his head, John stepped forward. It goes without saying that any are welcome to join us. All are treated fairly and given a proper share. Leadership is shared so that no man may have full power and each takes his turn at the watch. Captain Tantrey is known to me as a fair man and I would also voice my recommendation of his character. Regardless, should you choose to sign onto a crew or seek your freedom somewhere else, I would wish you the best of luck.
Turning back towards Captain Tandrey, John smiles before growing serious. There a storm rising Captain. I know that Andoran turned its back on you, as it did on me but during our press-ganging we learned that Admiral Arronyx Endymion of the Hellsmouth has some sort of truce with Captain Barnabas Harrigan of the Wormwood. An alliance between the Pirates of the Shakles and the Chelish Navy can mean no good to Andoran or any free nation that plies the waters of the Inner-Sea. Frowning, John began to slowly formulate a plan. I think this is important and I mean for Lord Havershaw to be made aware of it. Tell me Captain Tandrey, you know these waters well, and from what I understand know more about the politics among the Pirates Council then I do. Is there anyone else that should know about this or anyone in Andoran you would like me to contact, should we make landfall there?
It takes Ollivor a long moment to stop staring at the wealth. A part of him almost trembles at odd sensation of that large of a hoard before him. If ever I doubted I had dragon blood. he thinks to himself as he finally realizes he's gaping.
"Sure wouldn't mind extra hands," Ollivor admits as others offer the freed halflings a chance to join the crew, "But let us know if you want onboard as part of the crew and we'll be grateful for it, but you've got your own lives again so do as you wish with them."
Tantrey speaks with John as if an old friend. The bonds of brotherhood in the military do not die, even among those brothers who have never met before. "That surprises me. Harrigan and Endymion hate one another. If they have a pact, it is between just the two of them. I have heard nothing about it. Pirates are infamously loose lipped. If there was any sort of alliance between Cheliax and the Pirate Council at large, I would have heard. I still have friends in Andoran. I'll get word back to them, Lord Havershaw included. The old man was one of the few who stood up for me when I needed it. The Navy needs more men like him. Hell, the world needs more men like him..." He loses himself in thought for a few moments.
"Sir! Sir!" A bookish-looking young man runs from the Bonaventure to the Lighthouse, up the gangplank. He is all arms and legs - except not grotesque or aberrant like Rommen was. He comes to a halt, nearly crashing into them. "Oh, sorry. I am Tikke Dasnee, wizard of the arcane sight and seer of the immediate future. Sir, I have dire news. Dire news! We must leave immediately. I've had a vision. The Wormwood sails this way. You know how that ship gives me headaches when I gaze upon it. They're stronger than ever. It must be close - minutes, maybe. An hour at most."
"Damn," Tantrey curses. "When did Harrigan seize this ship? Rickety Hale was on thin ice with him. If he was slow-walking the repairs, Harrigan might come to find out what is happening in person if the ship did not arrive in Port Peril at the right time." He beckons to the marines milling about on shore. "Set the rest to the torch! Leave the bodies of the slaves. I'm sorry, but it has to look like they revolted. We've got to get sailing!"
He looks over to Doran and John. "Do you know where Tidewater Rock is? It's on the edge of the Fever Sea, in the southwest part of the Shackles. Two hundred miles along the coast, then jump island to island. It's due south of Motaku Isle. Lady Agasta Smythee, a long time friend of mine, rules over the Rock. It is nigh impregnable to those who would take it. One man is worth twenty attackers on the Rock. You can go to her if you want a safe haven. Send a ship's boat from a mile out into the harbor with a single man, and present the guards with this." He hurriedly jots down a note on parchment presenting them as friends, then marks a note on a map of the Shackles that one of the halflings procures. "You may have to take the long way, seeing as the Wormwood sails between here and there. I'd like to speak with you all again. I have a network working out of the Rock that can smuggle any slaves who wish it to freedom. Or you could sail north and find free waters. It is your choice. Should I expect you at Tidewater Rock?"
Doran nods along as Tantrey speaks, explaining how to find Tidewater Rock and what they'll find there. "Aye, we'll find this Rock, Cap'n Tantrey," he says, accepting the scrap of parchment. "And we'll be pleased to have a safe harbor in this corner of the world, especially one that'll serve to get freed slaves away from their captors." With a quick glance at John and the others, he looks back at Tantrey and continues, "As you say, we could sail for Andoran and freedom. But we've a mind to free others, as I think ye've seen, and there's not so many in need of liberation in Andoran."
Making no effort at the Andoran Navy formality, Doran gives a quick nod and says, "Now if ye don't mind, we've got a ship to get in shape. With the deadman lines and general shoddiness the pirates have inflicted on this barky, she'll wallow like a dragger, and we can't have that if we come upon the Wormwood. We'll see you at Tidewater Rock within the week, I'd wager."
With the Wormwood pressing in from the coast, the crew of the restored Empty Lighthouse makes a hasty exit from the burning village. Debate can wait for a time that their worst living enemy is not minutes away. Plumes of smoke from the wooden buildings join the large tower of black smoke from the watchtower as Tantrey's marines set fire to each one. Captain Tantrey offers them a salute as he returns to his own ship. "You'd better get going. I'll see you at Tidewater Rock, friends. May you be free," he says before he turns his attention to the matter of his own ship's departure. The Andoran aphorism rings in their ears with its promise of freedom and self-determination as they make the final preparations to set sail.
The sheets start to catch the wind in the heavy canvas as the crew falls into old habits. The halflings skitter over the ropes with incredible speed and dexterity, motivated for the first time by their own benefit rather than avoiding the sting of the lash. Doran loosens a tune - joyful and unrestrained - to fuel their movements further, as well as to mark the sheer weight of the moment. The halflings join in the song first, then the voices of the Andorans drift over from the Bonaventure Not a one of them will forget the feel of the ropes on their hands and the sea air on their faces, nor the smell of salt and smoke, nor the sound of dozens of united voices singing together. As the wind pulls the sheets taut, they release a cry of hope and unbridled joy. As the ship pulls out, the Andoran marines join in the cry as well.
The Lighthouse cuts easily into the water. The squib job may have changed the ship's lines above the waterline, but it slides through the water just as easily as when Captain Jonas helmed it. With the wind picking up, they soar away of the docks. Doran - aided by a footstool to let him see above the steering wheel - turns the rudder and feels the familiar sharp turn of the ship. It bobs and weaves in the water, taking the turn easily. Within moments more, they are outside of the strip of land and trees that block Rickety's from sight. On the open water, it picks up speed to collect the rest of the crew members.
Sailing along the coast is far faster than trudging over the hostile terrain of the jungle, but time is against them. Harrigan is coming from the same direction that they are sailing, making it a race to reach the other survivors before he arrives at the wreck of the Man's Promise and stops to investigate. For each mile that they close in, Harrigan is a mile closer to them plus the distance his ship closed in that time. Sharp-eyed Aaron and Thorn share the crow's nest, keeping watch for any sign of the pirate captain and his cursed ship.
Finally, they arrive at the sunken ship that brought them from Bonewrack Isle to the Garunidi coast, submerged but visible in the water. Doran steers the ship clear of the wreck, aiming for the beach. They won't have much time to get everyone on board. The crew runs over to the port railing to beckon to the crew members hiding in the trees. Ropes and hooks are hastily thrown over the side, as they don't have the time to set up a ferrying service with the ship's boats. With the bow of the ship resting lightly on the sand and the sails pulled, they float precariously on the shore. Apparently alarmed by the reckless arrival, the rest of the crew members run from the trees across the beach. They carry what they can from stripping the wreck, tying items to be pulled up before them on the ropes.
Jax is the first crew member to clamber over the side. "The scenic route, then?" His faux seriousness belies how relieved he is to see them. He reaches over the side and pulls up Sandara.
"What's the hurry? Are we being followed? We have more salvage if we have time." Sandara casually takes her hat off, letting her red hair flow freely. She looks around at all of the freed slaves. "New friends?"
Vrunyar finishes getting the corpse into the infirmary’s corner when he hears word about the Wormwood being near. The voices outside his door debate how far away it is. One claims the ship is an hour away, two others just outside the bay. Vrunyar washes his hands and forearms after the messy work of hauling the corpse and returns to the deck. The Andoran captain is asking where they’ll go, some place called Tidewater Rock or to the north. He nods when Doran names Tidewater Bay, but has misgivings. So, we didn’t have time for voting. Hmmmm. In a way through no fault of our own, it feels like the ideals we had for the crew and officers have been broken even before we set sail. No, no, not at all. Nothing so far as that. I guess it’s like being caught in a storm and trusting to Doran’s knowledge and skill. Harrigan and the Wormwood[/i] are indeed a storm we’d best avoid as long as possible.[/i] He smiles and nods again to Doran.
He stays out of the way as lines and sheets are aligned to catch the wind. For a moment he considers climbing to the crow’s nest but sees Thorn is already there. He relaxes knowing the elf’s vision is better, and he will announce when Harrigan’s ship comes into view. Standing near Doran, he begins to sharpen his axe.
The dwarf doesn’t recognize the ship...or rather it feels different. This is theirs now. If they protect it and care for it. He’s no longer a passenger. His eyes wander the woodwork, comparing his memory to what he sees after the renovation. Once his axe is finished, he begins sharpening his dagger. And who gets the Captain’s quarters? Maybe we should call it the Council room? First things first though, we need to rescue our companions with the wrecked Man’s Promise and explain the situation to them. Voting might help make up the minds of some of the halflings on whether they want to stay on the ship.
”Anyone else needing a dagger sharpened, bring them to me!” he calls out to the ship. "Surgical sharp, time permitting -- HA!” He inhales deeply, feeling the satisfaction of the wind and salty air. He takes a closer step to Doran. ”I know in the moment we didn’t have time for a vote,” Vrunyar says to halfling and any of his other companions near them. ”I accept that. Like being in a storm and following your directions. Once we recover Sandara, Jex, Umar, and the others we need to explain our system of voting to the halflings. I don’t see a point to voting on where we’re going. I don’t want your name, or the ship’s name, made to be untrustworthy. So what can we do to put our experiment into action? Should we vote on a new ship name?”
When they reach their destination, he helps the other members of the crew back onto the ship. ”New friends, aye! And old enemies in our wake! HA! Harrigan and the Wormwood are near. We’re heading to Tidewater Rock.”
Though he’s thrilled beyond belief to be at the helm of a free ship – in a small way, at the helm of his ship – Doran can’t ignore the gnawing bite of fear as he scans the horizon. Harrigan made such short work of us when he first took the Lighthouse, we’ve got no choice but to hope we can avoid him. Maybe the work Rickety’s crew did on her will make our ship a little faster, who knows? But I still wouldn’t bet my life, and the freedom of them we just liberated, on her doing so.
His thoughts are interrupted by Vrunyar’s questions about the voting, and he says, ”Aye, you’re right, we didn’t hold a formal vote. But I saw a lot of heads noddin’ as Tantrey talked of Tidewater Rock an’ a fair number of shrugs when he mentioned turnin’ tail and running to Andoran. Seem’d like enough answer to me at the time. But ye’re right, we should live by the agreement we all made. As to renamin’ the ship, I’d like to keep her name, to honor Cap’n Jonas, but we can ask the crew what they think of it once we’re away from this damn’d isle. That sound legit to ya?” He pauses and pats his wrists, shoulders, hips and shins, even running a hand down the small of his back, as if checking for something, then adds, "As to having daggers sharpened, I seem to be short a blade or eight. But our new crew will need 'em, like as not, before we're through. I'll have to pick up a few more when we have a chance, and I'd appreciate you puttin' a good edge on 'em."
The anxiety of command is still new to Doran , and it rides on him heavily as they round the island and make their way back to the beach where their sunken ship lies. In spite of this, he’s greatly cheered to see the rest of the crew waiting there, just past where the gunwales of the Man’s Promise protrude from the shallows.
His eagerness to leave this place soon makes him takes a riskier approach to boarding the crew than he’d normally consider, beaching the Empty Lighthouse lightly on the sands. He’s confident that the tide will still be coming up for some hours, so they won’t be beached here for good, but he aims to be gone long before a turn in the tide will be a concern.
As the crew comes aboard, Doran and his companions greet them all eagerly, and he responds to Jax and Sandara, ”You know what they say, ‘Time and tide wait for no man’ – or woman, Sandara. It’s as Vrunyar says, the Wormwood and her hellish master are in these waters. We can tell the whole tale once we’re a-sail, but for now, I’ll say we know that Harrigan is out there, and likely heading this way, and we’ve no idea how close he is. So we’re going to treat it like we’re outracing a storm – but one we can’t even see. We know of a safe harbor , a few days sail from here, and we’ll make for it as fast as we can.”
He gestures to the halflings working the lines and says, ”For all our sakes, I wish we had the time for a leisurely sail, but we only just freed our new friends. I’ve no wish to see them or us enslaved again. Though, like as not, Harrigan would just kill us and save himself some trouble – which I’m not too keen on either.”
Turning away from the conversation, he calls out in a clear voice, pitched to reach all ends of the ship, ”All hands, lay for’ard and give a hand with stowin’ yer mates’ gear! We’re to make sail within the hour!”
Still recovering from his rage induced exhaustion, Thorn scans the 180 degrees of the horizon in front of him intently for any signs of oncoming ships as Aaron stands at his back doing the same in the opposite direction from him. Thorn has not been able to make out any ships as they make their way around the island steer close to the shore and looking for the wreckage of the Man's Promise.
Once they catch sight of the wreckage and the disguised make shift camp, Captain Doran runs the Empty Lighthouse ashore and the rest of the crew to make haste. As the rest of the crew begins to take what they can from the camp and board the ship, Thorn continues to scan the Horizon with an anxious feeling twisting in his stomach. The thought of Harrigan and The Wormwood just out of sight causes a noticeable fear and unrest amongst the crew.
Thorn over hears Vrunyar offer up some blade sharpening from the crows nest. Thorn removes the master worked scimitar from his belt strap and drops it down from the crows nest. The blade falls true and the weight of the weapon cases the blade to stick in the deck upright. "AHOY, HEADS UP VRUNYAR, Ya mind cutting a fresh edge on this here old weed whacker. I think the moisture from the river and all of them trees I hacked in the jungle might have taken a little of its bite out of it. Once your done, feel free to give it to any one of the new crew members who you see fit to wield its master worked blade"
Thorn turns back to his portion of the horizon and begins to scan but asks Aaron "So whats your story mate, You look as pale as I feel and you are not accepting of any of our healing. Yet, you drink your mystery potions which seem to give you a quick pick me up. Mind if I give one of your little vials a go, I sure could use a little pick me up right now."
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Seeing Sandra's crimson hair fluttering in the sea breeze, John fixed a smile on his face. Feth me, but I've been too long away from Alima. John thought raggedly as he waved a hand at the tattooed woman. Aye Sandra! Time we be setting sail and the sooner the better. I'm sure Doran will explain once we are underway, but Harrigan is coming this way so we are sailing south while we can. Turning quickly to Doran, John nods. I'll see to everything below decks being stowed while you can turn to the tacking of sails. Cracking his knuckled, John starts hobbling towards the ladderwell leading down into the inner hold of the Empty Lighthouse. Right Lads! John bellows, his voice beginning to trail off as he stomps downward. Stash your gear right and tidy, lash it down and prep for sea. We can sort racks and chests as necessary. For now let's just get everything stowed.
The varied crew members - former pirates, sailors of all ilks, Rahadoumi and halfling slaves - mesh together as well as can be expected. The chaos of the loading stirs them like bees from different nests. For the first time in a long while, the Empty Lighthouse has a full crew, though they have minimal coordination. The crew members on the beach get everything possible stowed, but they don't have much time. Every minute that passes brings the Wormwood and its vile captain closer to them, giving them additional motivation. After a few short minutes, they know that they have to go. Each second that passes is a second that they cannot spare if the pirate ship comes within view.
"Let's go, losers!" Rosie climbs up high on the rigging, shouting her version of encouragement to the rest of them. "They'll kill us if they catch us, so we need to move now!" With her words, the crew gets to finishing up. They yank the sheets into position, pushing off the beachhead with a gust of wind. Fortunately, the ship pulls quickly with the westernly wind - a wind that likely has kept the Wormwood from arriving already. It seems that Besmara is looking out for them, or they'd be caught already in the trap.
The ship cuts hard to the north, almost straight away from the beach. They will need to make good time to get as far away as possible from the wreck of the Man's Promise and the ruins of Rickety's Squibs - still smoking in the distance. When Barnabas Harrigan arrives at both places, they need to be as far away as possible. Their goal is to sail along the Devil's Arches, then to cut between that island and Widowmaker Isle. The islands of the Shackles stand between them and Tidewater Rock, unless they want to add weeks to their travel by sailing out into the clear Fever Sea.
After several long minutes, they look forward instead of back. It takes an hour until they arrive at the very corner of the Arches, putting some land between them and the Wormwood. If Harrigan is even pursing them, it would be nearly impossible for him to catch up. For all practical purposes, they are free of pursuit - though the treacherous islands and pirates of the Shackles stand between them and their destination.
"My story is something I do plan to share with you, Thorn," Aaron says with a smile after a moment's thought. "All of you and soon enough, but not now," the pale Chelaxian continues before once again turning his golden eyes towards the horizon and adding, "Now there is work to be done."
"And as for my refusal to be healed and my vials, I can tell you this much at the moment: What heals you harms me and the other way around. Though my potions, if you could call them that, heal one such as me, they would harm or even kill one such as you."
"Up for me may very well mean down for you," he quips, the words accompanied by his somewhat familiar soft chuckle. "Heh... Heh heh heh..."
It would seem his mind is still not quite there yet as far as normalcy is concerned.
Well, naturally it felt like fleeing one batch of chaos to move to another bit of mayhem to Ollivor as they'd no sooner freed the slaves and got on board the Lighthouse when they had to set fast sail again to avoid Harrigan's eye. Still, with the taste of true freedom in their mouths, every one of the crew seems to be in good spirits about it.
The sorcerer had thrown in his own best efforts to help with the sailing, figuring the galley could wait a bit longer. While not as skilled as some, Doran's lessons had brought him up to par with the average 'Able Bodied Sailor' and orders from John and Doran kept everyone working with surprising unity given the diverse gaggle of sailors what made up the crew now.
When finally someone announced the all clear, Ollivor actually let loose a laugh of delight, and went down to the galley to double check things. What he found was a pleasing sight indeed.
Faiza Bensmoor awaited him, legs dangling as she set on a counter and an impish look on her face, "If you're looking to make sure all's stored away proper, it's already seen to. Plenty of food, and few rats for all that."
"I see," Ollivor grinned back at her, unable to help himself as the pretty lass' smile was infectious, "So you saved me some work out of the kindness of your heart? or is there something you wanted for your trouble? A fine meal maybe?"
Faiza's smirk grew positively smug, "You owing me? I rather like that. Didn't strike me as the type to be all responsible and obligated, aren't you Andorans all 'I'm me own man' types?"
"I AM 'me own man'," Ollivor assured her, his humor undimmed, "But I wouldn't be the first lad to cater to the whims of a pretty girl just for her company."
Faiza laughed, "No you would not, though I'd welcome it. You COULD throw in a bit of base and obvious flattery."
"Your eyes catch the moonlight and turn them into spears that strike the heart..." Ollivor quoted a snippet in half jest before switching, "... or should I say that the curves of your form heave like the waves in motion?"
The young woman giggled, "Terrible. Perhaps you should continue to woo with food."
"Thought about that," Ollivor said, "Only problem being, I'll be cooking for everyone, and I'm not sure I can stand the entire crew fighting over me with desire."
At that, Faiza tried to choke back an even louder laugh, and failed, causing a comical snort that Ollivor found quite endearing. It took her a moment to recover, but when she did, she spoke again, "Well, we can't have that," and she hopped off the counter and sauntered to him. Old pick up lines about curves like waves aside, Ollivor couldn't help but notice there was a pride to her stride that challenged any redblooded man not to appreciate. She put a finger against his chest, "I'm making up my mind about you, Ollivor Myles. You can't teach me to be a sorcerer, can you?"
That took him off guard, was she ONLY interested in him because of his magic? Assuming she was truly interested in him at all, "No, that's wizards and the like. For sorcerers, you either have some magic in the blood, or you don't. You can learn once you find your gift, but if you don't have the gift..." He shrugged.
She DID look disappointed, but shrugged lightly in return, "I see. Well then, at least folks won't think I'm trading favors for lessons."
Ollivor looked confused, "Favors? You mean double checking the galley?"
She arched a brow, waiting for him to catch on, "I'll provide some wind for our sails, but if you don't know your way around the rigging, this ship we're boarding won't be going anywhere, Andoran." The way she spoke, it was clear she wasn't talking about the lighthouse.
As if a light spell had gone off in his skull, Ollivor suddenly realized what she'd meant, and actually blushed for a second, causing her to smile with amusement again.
"Oh," he said, "Well then, I best hop to it. Permission to come aboard?"
"Granted," She said almost primly and tilted her head up to the taller Andoran, her mouth tilted like a flower ready to take in the light.
And Ollivor kissed her, forgetting for the moment the galley, or the crew, or even the ship. He and she were young, they were alive, and they were free: All good things to be.
Their fingers caught and twined in each other, and they took some joy in each others company.
With their ship and her crew relatively safe now and with his shift at the crow's nest ended, Aaron excuses himself to the elven archer and climbs down. The pale Chelaxian is uncharacteristically serious, his expression unreadable, as he moves about the ship apparently seeking something, or rather someone. As luck would have it, he finds two of them and sooner rather than later.
"Captain, Captain," he greets the Andoran and the halfling with a nod of his head to each. The two men appear to spend this particular lull in the voyage, at least for the moment, to pore over several maps and talk about what lies ahead. As they raise their heads, there is a brief pause as he considers his next words. Then, decision made, he clears his throat and, a thin little smile appearing on his lips, he speaks.
"We do not know each other too well, if at all," he begins, "that much is true and easily understandable considering the circumstances of our meeting. Still, I am sure certain... choices and behaviors of mine have probably made you at the very least curious, if not suspicious." His words are accompanied by a pointed look at the wand of healing.
"I believe it is time we, or rather I, remedy that, shed some light so to speak. Which is why I have come to you with a request. If you could gather the officers? Vrunyar, Thorn, Ollivor and anyone else you trust with a, shall we say, secret? I would prefer it if the whole crew did not hear what I have to tell you." His smile remains as he adds, "That and a fair bit of privacy is all that I need and a rather interesting conversation, if I do say so myself, is what I offer in return."
With the waning light of day fading off in the horizon, Thorn continued his watch from the crows nest with Aaron at his back. Scanning the horizon intently while looking for on coming danger, he could not help but return his gaze upon the bright ball of light slowly disappearing from his view. The sparkles of light danced across the tops of cresting waves and mesmerized Thorn with its calm and beauty. The peace and calm that set in over Thorn caused him to reminisce upon his final night before the raid on the Arch of Aroden.
Realizing this was a similar view from aboard the family Syndergaard longboat while standing side by side with his nephew Espen as he fell back into his memory of them. He remembers they had just finished their dinner of fire roasted turkey legs, fresh rye bread and a spicy red wine. They both took pause from their conversation to admire the beauty of the sunset on the eve of the upcoming battle. Espen broke the silence
"Thorn, I want to thank you for all that you have done for me and my family. I know it has been a great sacrifice for you to witness the deaths of my great grandfather, my grandfather and my father. I pray that you will not have to bare witness to the fall of another son of Syndergaard."
Espen looked down into his cup of wine momentarily before taking as sip.
"I know the last thing you wanted to do was train me in the ways of battle....."
Thorn interrupted quickly "Espen, it has been my honor to train you in the ways of the Ulfen as my father, your great grandfather taught it to me. I could never deny you your blood right to take up the sword as so many Syndergaards before you."
Both men stood staring out across the water watching as the sun set into the sea. They both stood quietly and peacefully, rising and falling with their ship resting on top of the waves. The light of the sun slowly gave way to the light of the moon and fire light glowing on the decks of several ships surrounding them. Espen finished his wine and stared into his empty glass with a perplexed look on his face. Even with his enhanced elven vision Thorn did not need to see the concern on Espen's face, as he could hear it in his voice.
"Thorn...I have no children to pass on the Syndergaard name...If I should fall tomorrow in battle...I want you to head the Syndergaard family name and carry it on as your father would have. With the family name comes the vast family fortune that was left to me by my father and I leave it to you. I have spoken with King Ester and seen to all the necessary steps for my wishes to be met should I fall tomorrow."
A long pause took place as Thorn remained silent to allow all of the information he had just received to set in before giving a response. Swirling the left over red wine in his glass, Thorn watched as the red liquid rose to the lip of the glass and fell back to the bottom of the glass a couple of times before saying...
"Espen, you need not worry about falling in battle tomorrow. I promised your father on his death bed that I would look after you and I would die before I let anything happen to you.... You should not think on negative thoughts for they can cause you to doubt yourself in combat and lead you to hesitate. You should be thinking about celebrating with King Ester and sharing in her victory over the Arch of Aroden. You and I will celebrate with more of this spiced red wine and share camp fire stories that you will one day tell to your grandchildren."
Thorn emptied his glass of wine and turned to face Espen.
"I will be at your side through out the whole battle tomorrow. All I ask of you is to remember your training and do not let your emotions get the better of you. If you follow these instructions you will prevail from this battle and you will add to the many legends of the Syndergaard family legacy."
Espen turned to Thorn and grabbed him by the shoulder before pulling Thorn in for a large hug with a couple of pats on the back.
Thorn, You are right, we have nothing to worry about except who is going to finish the last of this bottle of spice red wine....
Thorn felt the tap on the shoulder from Aaron and Thorn quickly snapped back to reality and realized where he was again. He turned to see that Aaron was letting him know that there shift on the crows nest had come to an end. Thorn acknowledged with a nod of his head towards Aaron, who took his leave from the crows nest and began to make his way back down to the deck. Thorn turned back to see the sun had already slipped past the horizon but the faint glow of magnificent shades of pinks and oranges were still radiating up into a purple, blue to black starry night sky.
Thorn knew his actions could have been costly but fortunately for him, Erastil was helping him to keep watch for him. Thorn began to scold himself after allowing his attention to be distracted "I should have been watching the Horizon for The Wormwood, but I let myself get lazy and I was to busy day dreaming. Damn fool, I could have put the whole crew in danger by being careless. Thank Erasil, for his keen sight and looking out for me and my crew"
Thorn looked down and could see Aaron had made it to the deck and was heading towards the Captains. Thorn spotted two of the newly freed halfling resting on a crate near the railings and he called down to them "Ahoy, You two down there, heads up! Do you mind making your ways up to the crows nest? We sure could use a couple fresh sets of eyes to look after the crew fro the night or until the Captain's finds you your relief."
The two quickly jumped to their feet and made their ways up to the crows nest with excitement in their eyes. If Thorn did not know any better he would have guessed they had been waiting all day to see the view from atop the crows nest. Once each of the halflings were set in place and Thorn had instructed them on what to do, Thorn thanked them before heading down to the deck for much needed rest.
Doran breathes a sigh of relief as they come into the first reach of the Arches, hoping the land will help to shield them from Harrigan’s lookouts. He takes a moment to consider the wind, the set of the sails and the efforts of the crew. There are a few things he’d change, shifting their meager cargo a bit aft, as the Lighthouse seems to be a bit heavy on her forefoot, as it were. It seems a few of the more experienced sailors among the freed slaves have grouped together, which may cause the other crews to be less competent in a moment of crisis, so that’ll have to be sorted…
Doran’s musings are interrupted by a flash of color, a brilliant blue flitting through the sails about twenty feet above the deck. It settles briefly, and Doran shifts his position to see it better. He studies it a moment, and is just able to see it’s some sort of bird before it takes wing again, revealing a flash of vibrant yellow on the underside of its wings. A parrot’s come with us from the island…didn’t I see and hear one during the fight with Markis, startled by Vrunyar’s bolt? I think it was a blue one - I’ve always heard those are the clever ones. Wonder what it’s up to?
Though he’d enjoy idly watching the parrot fly about and explore the ship, Doran feels the need to discuss a few things with John, most importantly their course. He gestures to a nearby crewman to take the helm, then goes in search of the Andoran marine with whom he shares responsibility for the guidance of the Empty Lighthouse. As Doran hops down the stairs from the quarterdeck, the parrot drops out of the sky and alights on a belaying pin, fixing Doran with an inscrutable look from its yellow-ringed eye.
”Well, hello there,” Doran says with a grin, ”you look like you’ve got something to say to me, I wish I knew what it was. I’ll see if I can’t get a biscuit from Ollie for you, not sure you’ll find much to eat aboardship.” The parrot shifts from one foot to the other, almost as if it’s doing a little dance, tucks in a stray wing feather with its clever little beak, then hops to the next belaying pin before returning its gaze to Doran.
”Okay, okay, I’ll get you a biscuit,” he responds, chuckling, ”I just have to talk with John first. I’m a busy man, don’t you know.”
Once he’s tracked down Rawkins, they settle in with a ragged stack of maps and begin to consider their course. They’ve just laid out an initial plan when they’re interrupted by Aaron stepping into the cabin and clearing his throat. Doran considers what the man has to say, thinking a bit about it. I’ve felt there was something more than a bit odd about this Chell since we first stepped through the gate of that fort he’d built, though he’s shown himself to be a better man than anyone I’ve met from that place. I wonder what he’ll have to say.
”Sure thing, Aaron,” Doran replies, ”we’re pretty much done here, have to take a bearing and check our speed before we can plan any further.” He gets to his feet and sticks his head out the cabin door, calling to his oldest crewmates to join them. ”Thorn!” he calls as he sees the archer on the deck, ”come join us, would ya?” Turning to a swab standing nearby, he says, ”Hoy! Light along and fetch Vrunyar and Ollivor from belowdecks, if you please.”
He steps back into the cabin, giving Aaron an appraising look, and says, ”They’ll be along shortly, I expect. I’m curious to hear what ye have to say, I’ll own that.”
Thorn reaches for the sky, extending both of his hands high above his head and stretching all of the knots and sore muscles until they slowly ease and relax. He then brings his legs in together before bending down to grab his ankles from behind with both hands and pulls his head down towards his knees continuing to stretch his lower back and legs. He quickly jumps up and down a couple of times while shaking out both of his arms and legs before making his way to the lower quarters to grab a few hours of shut eye. On his way to the stairs he hears Doran call out to him, asking for a moment of his time. "Aye, Aye Captain! I'll be right there."
Thorn heard Doran order one of the swabs to fetch Vrunyar and Ollivor. The swab ran past Thorn as he walked towards the Captains cabin. Thorn followed Doran into the cabin and could see John and Aaron already waiting inside. Knowing the speed the swab was running past him at, he knew he would not have to wait long for the others to arrive and then find out what this meeting is all about. Looks like Captain Doran and Captain John have been charting out the maps and possibly have news on the best route or maybe they decided on a new destination, Who knows, I do know it better to not worry over the unknown and wait for the new to be delivered, good or bad. "Good Evening Captain Doran, Captain John and to you Aaron" Thorn gave each man a slight nod of his head for each greeting before waiting against the wall for the others to join the meeting.
The halfling swab - a sharp-faced young woman with suspicious eyes - hops to it at Doran's request. "Which ones are they?" she asks before he heads down below. "In all the excitement, I don't really know who's who. I am Tamora."
Conchobar swoops in from somewhere, flamboyantly saluting with his feathered cap. "Don't you worry, Captain Doran. A fine parrot you have acquired, I might add. I will acquaint this fresh-faced young lady with the entire crew - starting with myself, Conchobar Antonio del Tomar Shortstone the Third. Might I say that after many long months of captivity, you are a sight for my beleaguered eye..." He chatters and flatters her as he leads her down the stairs of the Lighthouse to find Vrunyar and Ollie.
Vrunyar is hands-deep in the bizarre corpse of the brief captain of the Lighthouse, Rommen. Having finished the measurements and began the incisions of the chest cavity, he has moved on to cataloging the organs and their size. While nothing seems out of place, some are larger and some are smaller than expected. The autopsy has already given him several interesting ideas for his extracts that he is eager to get onto parchment. Conchobar swings in to introduce Tamora. "Oh, I see that you're busy mutilating a corpse. We'll leave you be." He escorts her out with his hand on her lower back. He whispers to Tamora as they leave. "This is far from normal, though I daresay that Vrunyar here did spend quite some time with an unsavory doctor back on the Wormwood... Oh, Vrunyar! Doran wants you on the deck!"
Conchobar breezes into the galley next, only to find Ollivor and Faiza already in the kitchen. The gnome stamps his foot to announce himself from the busy pair. "Come on, man! Is that sanitary? This is where the food is prepared! How will I be able to trust that you haven't made an addition to the dough?" As Ollivor and Faiza cover themselves up, he leads his apparent date away. "Well, when you finish, Doran wants you abovedeck. I hope you sterilize the counters when you're done..." Conchobar mutters on as they leave to explore the ship themselves.
A few minutes later, the entire leadership council of the crew - those who led the mutiny against Plugg and Master Scourge - are assembled in the captain's cabin. With the immediate threat of capture by the Wormwood behind them - and an entire island standing between Harrigan's ship and theirs - they have time to discuss many things of great importance, starting with Aaron's secret.
Vrunyar nods and smiles at Doran. ”I saw it too. The nods and unspoken support. I’m not saying we need a priest of Adabar to notarize our ship’s compact, but I think having something in writing for us to sign is important, especially for any new halflings that choose to stay.” He picks up the knife Thorn dropped for him to sharpen. He flourishes his finer grained whetstone. ”I’ve taken enough of your time and have things to do. HA!” The dwarf steps away from the wheel and returns to the infirmary. As he scrapes the dagger with the stone, he thinks of the Wormwood’s crew. Not all of them were bad. Most, but not all. Finally he uses his honing steel to straighten the edge. He peers along the blade’s edge, satisfied.
Standing in the doorframe, he calls over a halfling, ”Do me a favor, and give this dagger to the elf in the crow’s nest. Thanks, Muri, right?”
The halfling nods and climbs up the rigging as easy as walking down a sidewalk. Vrunyar continues to collect daggers and sharpen them. Minutes go by as he loses himself in the repetitive task. Doran’s daggers, he thinks seeing them next to him in two piles, sharpened and unsharpened. Sounds like a mercenary band. Eventually he finishes and returns them to their current users.
”Here you go, a dagger ready for surgery.” Vrunyar hands the dagger hilt first to a halfling. ”You’re Trippin, right? That’s an unusual name. Are you clumsy for an halfling or is it one of those ironic nick-names like calling a bald man, ‘Curly?’”
The halfling eyes the blades edge and then frowns at the dwarf. ”No sir. My name is Tribin,” he repeats an exaggerated ‘B’ sound. ”Not Trippin,” he looks puzzled, glancing at the other members of the ship’s crew to see if this is some strange hazing ritual or joke.
Vrunyar shakes his head laughing and places a hand on the halfling’s shoulder. Tirbin! No, Tribin! HA! Sorry about that, Tribin. Names are slippery for me. Like eels...though I guess those are slippery for everybody. Hmmm. Anyway, I meant no offense. If it happens again, please know it’s just me. Thanks for treating me so kindly,” he offers a hand to the halfling. They shake and Vrunyar delivers the rest of the daggers.
Once they are confident the Wormwood wouldn’t engage with them today, he decides that he would do the autopsy after dinner. Hmmm, but if others want to watch maybe doing it before dinner would be more appropriate. I guess I could ask. Maybe nobody would want to watch. Not everyone is as fascinated with anatomy as I am. Better to do it now. If I find anything interesting I can show those who want to see it later.
Vrunyar is pondering the articulation points of Rommen’s elbows when a halfling comes tells him that Doran requests his presence. ”Thanks...Wyssa?” He hazards a guess of her name as he washes his hands.
”Tamora. Wyssa’s hair is red and curlier.”
”Ah, well, sorry about that. Tribin can tell you a funny story. Well anecdote. I wouldn't call it a story. Thanks again.” He heads to the deck and goes to the captain’s cabin.
Doran thanks Tamora as she runs off, calling out ”Watch yerself with Conchobar, girl, he’s a tricksy one!” He catches Conch’s remark about the parrot, and turns to look at the bird that’s now perched on the rail outside the cabin Have I acquired a parrot? he thinks to himself as he ducks inside for a moment, collecting a piece of ship’s biscuit from the chart table. Seems it may’ve acquired me… He steps to the rail and tentatively holds out the bit of biscuit, which the bird grabs quite casually, setting it on the rail and pecking at it, as if it hadn’t a care in the world.
”Well, you’re a cocky one, ye blue beauty,” Doran says quietly. He then lays a hand on his chest and says, ”Doran. I’m called Doran.” Realizing what he’s doing, he casts a quick look around and says, ”Lookit me, presentin’ meself to a wild bird. Crew’ll think the cap’n’s gone mad.” He’s about to step into the cabin again when the bird caws loudly, then says, ”Jako! Jako!” and preens its breast feathers. ”Jako, is it?” Doran says, pleasure and surprise in his voice. ”Welcome aboard, Jako.”
Doran sees Vrun and Ollie approaching and wraps up his brief conversation with the parrot, saying, ”Finish up that biscuit and don’t leave a mess, ye hear? Want the Lighthouse to be ship-shape.” Without missing a beat, the brilliant blue bird cries out, ”Swab the decks! Swab the decks! Brushes and holystones, buckets full, swab the decks! Jako!” Laughing heartily at this, Doran says, ”Well, ye do a fine impression of a first mate there, Jako!” and turns to greet his friends.
As Thorn approaches, Doran says, ”No need to be so formal, calling me ‘Cap’n Doran’ and all.” He goes quiet for a moment, thinking, Though I suppose I should get used to it, some folk are more comfortable with a structure and titles. And it makes a ship run smoother if there aren’t questions all the time about who’s who and what’s what. Guess this goes to what Vrun was talking about, we’ve got to hash out the details of how we’ll all work together, how decisions get made.
As Ollivor gets a little closer, Doran squints at him and says, ”Ollie, ye’ve got a flush to your cheeks that weren’t there before. I think you should check in with Vrunyar, make sure you’re not ill. I don’t want you sick, and I sure don’t want this turnin’ into a plague ship when we could have caught it early.” Ollie's face gets a shade or two redder still at Doran’s words, but Doran has turned his attention to Vrunyar.
”Vrun,” Doran asks, ”you’re right about us needin’ to start living by the agreement we made, about how we run things aboard the Empty Lighthouse, or whatever we’ll be callin’ her. Aaron’s got somethin’ he wants us all to talk about, but once it’s done, would ye mind callin’ the question of the ship’s name? I’d like to have us practice this voting thing a bit, after we’ve explained the idea to the rest of the crew, and we might as well do it with somethin’ simple, like a name, rather than decidin’ to fight or flee in the heat of battle.”
He steps back inside the cabin, holding the door open for the others and says, "Looks like we're all assembled, Aaron. What've ye got for us?"
Aaron sighs as he turns his golden eyes to regard those who are his new comrades-in-arms and shipmates, his gaze moving from the humans to the elf to the dwarf before finally coming to rest on the halfling, he who was once a slave and who is now one of his two captains.
"You distrust and even hate Chelaxians because of what you have suffered at their hands, Doran," he begins and there is an uncharacteristic gravity in his tone. And there is something more than that as well. There is a hint of experience born of a life that cannot possibly have been as brief as what one expects when his race and his appearance are taken into account."But that is the Cheliax you, all of you, know. That is not my Cheliax."
A thin, somewhat mirthless smile forms on his lips as he speaks. "I have told you before, have I not? But what you probably thought I was referring to was a difference of ideology, that perhaps I was speaking figuratively."
"Make no mistake, Doran. I am Chelaxian, through and through. Just not the kind you are used to." There is a brief pause, the smile still persisting on his face. "My mother was of Cheliax, as was my father. She was noone of importance, but she was honest and hard-working and she loved me dearly, at least as far as I can remember. As for my father, who he was -and perhaps still is- is not quite as important as what he was and perhaps still is."
"So," he continues, as his smile widens, "I did promise you all a story, yes? And all good stories have a beginning. Here is mine..." The smile grows wider still, turning into a grin. 'Never grin, never ever grin,' he remembers his mother saying, the woman's kind face a fond memory, if perhaps a little cloudy now. The reason for that piece of advice should be plain for those gathered to see now, as plain as his sharp and pointed canine teeth.
"I was born one hundred and forty two years ago in Cheliax, before it was known as Infernal Cheliax..."
Conchobar breezes into the galley next, only to find Ollivor and Faiza already in the kitchen. The gnome stamps his foot to announce himself from the busy pair. "Come on, man! Is that sanitary? This is where the food is prepared! How will I be able to trust that you haven't made an addition to the dough?" As Ollivor and Faiza cover themselves up, he leads his apparent date away. "Well, when you finish, Doran wants you abovedeck. I hope you sterilize the counters when you're done..." Conchobar mutters on as they leave to explore the ship themselves.
Ollivor turns when he hears Conchobar stomping his foot, and almost breaks into a laugh. Of all the times for an interuption, naturally it happens NOW, of all times. Faiza, who got him into this situation (Not that he can really complain) uses Ollivor as a shield while she and he cover themselves up.
Hearing the orders, Ollivor waits till the indignant gnome and the lady halfling are gone, before turning to Faiza and stating, "You've no idea how tempting it was to say to the man 'And now that you know the source of my secret sauce, I'm afraid I have to kill you"
Faiza rewards him with a half laugh and a light slap to his shoulder, "Good thing you didn't. You go on, sounds like Capt. Doran needs you for something."
"So help me, if this is a craving for biscuits..." Ollivor gets dressed, and hastily gestures a cleaning spell at the spots that were 'in use'. The galley will remain spotless under his eye.
And off he goes...
A few minutes later, the entire leadership council of the crew - those who led the mutiny against Plugg and Master Scourge - are assembled in the captain's cabin. With the immediate threat of capture by the Wormwood behind them - and an entire island standing between Harrigan's ship and theirs - they have time to discuss many things of great importance, starting with Aaron's secret.
As Ollivor gets a little closer, Doran squints at him and says, ”Ollie, ye’ve got a flush to your cheeks that weren’t there before. I think you should check in with Vrunyar, make sure you’re not ill. I don’t want you sick, and I sure don’t want this turnin’ into a plague ship when we could have caught it early.” Ollie's face gets a shade or two redder still at Doran’s words, but Doran has turned his attention to Vrunyar.
"Just flush with victory, Cap'n," Ollivor tries to tamp down on the blush. So help me, gods, if I find out shortstone is talking TOO free, I may end up putting something in his soup that'll have him sitting on a bucket for hours.
Fortunately, Aaron takes center stage for them all, and begins to explain...
"I was born one hundred and forty two years ago in Cheliax, before it was known as Infernal Cheliax..."
At first, Ollivor wonders if there's some elven blood in the man, but then he notices the fangs, "What the hell are you?" Then realizes how rude that is, "Pardon me, Aaron. A man with dragon blood has no right to blurt about someone else. You deserve better than that, way you've stood by us, but I'm powerful surprised. "
Doran listens attentively, a little puzzled why Aaron has brought them together to talk about the history of Cheliax and of his mother, but willing to sit and listen for a bit. When Aaron’s mouth splits into a grin and his long teeth are revealed, Doran’s hand flies to the hilt of his knife, but he’s able to stop himself from drawing the blade. Then his crewmate’s words sink in.
”A hundred and forty-two years?” he cries out. ”What in the hells are you? Whether Ollie feels he can ask it or not, I’ve got to safeguard the lives of the crew of this ship, and I want to know who – or what – I’m sailing with.” Calming himself with a visible effort, he casts a glance at his friends in the cabin, who’ve been with him through so much, and realizes Aaron has been through much of the horror with them. ”I’m sorry,” he says in a calmer tone, ”you surprised me. I owe it to you to hear you out. So what say you?”
As he speaks, the blue parrot he’d been chatting with earlier flies in an open porthole and settles on the table in front of Doran. He looks at the bird in mild surprise, then turns his eyes to the porthole. Hopping down from his chair, he walks over and pulls the porthole shut, saying quietly, ”It’s hard enough keeping secrets aboardship. And this seems like one to keep.” He then looks expectantly at Aaron, wondering what the man’s story could possibly be.
"Well, this is going much better than the only other time I thought it a good idea to reveal such things, so there is no offense taken," Aaron replies, his grin turning into a smile once again. "Of course, it was about a century ago and I was quite a bit younger and more naive, so when my... friend ran away, but not before first jamming a rather sharp piece of a chair's leg a couple of inches below my heart, I was almost as surprised as I was hurt. Ironically enough, I was a carpenter then..." There is a soft chuckle before he continues. "So, you see, this is already going swimmingly, all things considered."
"My mother was human," he goes on, "but my father was that no longer. He was a vampire, but honestly there is not much else I can tell you about him. My mother, as you understand, was not particularly forthcoming with details. All I know is that it was a brief tryst, with the... man vanishing from her life as suddenly as he had appeared in it. What became of him, I do not know." He shrugs. "I suppose what I am is half vampire, though I am much more alive than I am dead, or undead as it were; a... dhampir, I believe we... I am called."
"To put your mind at ease, I do not..." Another brief pause in the story as he raises an eyebrow, his voice taking on an exaggerated accent. "I do not feast on the blood of the living, though it does smell quite appetizing to me at times and I do prefer my steaks medium rare. But it provides no nourishment to me as it did -or does- dear old dad."
"Oh," he then concludes, "and those spells and potions and other paraphernalia that usually heal the more traditionally alive folk? They tend to more or less hurt or even kill me. Which is why I carry my own potions, made of magic that harms the living but heals the... well." As he speaks the last few words, he turns to look at Thorn, remembering his question about the vials, and shrugs.
”Vrun,” Doran asks, ”you’re right about us needin’ to start living by the agreement we made, about how we run things aboard the Empty Lighthouse, or whatever we’ll be callin’ her. Aaron’s got somethin’ he wants us all to talk about, but once it’s done, would ye mind callin’ the question of the ship’s name?
Vrunyar nods twice with a satisfied smile.
Vrunyar crosses his arms as Aaron starts to speak. He glances out the porthole while the man speaks about his parents. There’s a pause and Vrunyar focuses his attention on Aaron’s sharp canine teeth. So he can smile. Hmmm. Those teeth...One hundred and forty-two years? he thinks, giving a grunt of consideration.
After Ollivor and Doran speak, Vrunyar asks Aaron, ”Is that the reaction you wanted?” He glances out the porthole that Doran just closed. ”A few years ago, my axe would have been out ready to split you in two. Studying in Absalom widened my perspective to a variety of things. Anyway, you must feel like you can trust us with this secret now. That’s a good thing.” He pauses for a moment to look around at his companions.
”You haven’t tried to hide your Chelaxian heritage. This new revelation...about your patriarchal lineage, I take it. What is it precisely? Your father is a devil-prince or something else infernal? I’ll admit I attempted to analyze the few drops of the potion from the vial you used on the island, but there wasn’t enough. Not that I had suspicions, simply that I’m curious. ‘What magic did he take?’ I wondered. You seemed a bit pale for someone living in this climate for years too. Plus you sounded a bit old-fashioned in your speech. But I figured that was more of my lack of experience with dialects than you being nearly three times my age.” He shakes his head with a chuckle.
"Noted about the steaks," Ollivor says with a note of humor, "Not that you'll be getting many of them at sea. Cattle keep drowning when they try to raise them in the water I hear," Food, at least, he can understand. A half vampire? It's an odd concept to resolve, "Should I go easy on the garlic as well?"
Thorn continued to lean his back against the wall of the cabin but now picking and cleaning under his finger nails. Once Aaron began his story Thorn stopped and crossed his arms and gave his attention to Aaron as he continued on with his story. Once Aaron started to grin Thorn got the feeling something was up but he could not figure it out. Thorn knew Aaron kept to himself and was a very mysterious person, but Thorn liked this about Aaron partly because it reminded him of himself in a way and he could some how relate with him.
"This guy has something up his sleeve, I just can't put my finger on it. A little more time hanging around with him and I will figure it out sooner or later."
Just as Thorn finished his thought Aaron revealed his big secret. Thorn sprung from the wall into a defensive stance out of instinct as did some of his crew mates.
"Bloody Hell" Thorn called out before regaining his composure "He was not hiding it up his sleeves at all, he was hiding them in his mouth this whole time. How did I miss them before, Oh well, I guess I don't have to worry about figuring it out anymore. I sure was not expecting that."
The new discovery was a bit of a shock and surprising to Thorn but for some strange reason he was not afraid or scared of Aaron. It was more of the opposite he was now even more curious of Aaron because he was older than him. It was not very often that Thorn ran in to some one that was his elder.
Thorn stood in deep thought and in some what awe as the rest of the crew attempted to take in the new information. Aaron continued with his story and gave more information about himself. He even answered Thorn's question from earlier in the day up in the crows nest. Thorn gave Aaron an understanding head nod and a brief grin acknowledging the shrug of the shoulders given by Aaron.
"Thanks for not giving into my desire for a pick me up, That could have turned out bad."
Thorn quickly went on with a few questions for Aaron.
"I was raised in the great city of Halgrim by my father, Captain Kabev Syndergaard, of the Ulfen people. I have heard many camp fire stories about vampires on our raids. I know you said you are only half vampire and you are the first of any vampire I have ever met. In our stories we were told many interesting myths like the sunlight causes a vampire's flesh to burst into fire. I stood with you up in the crows nest all day with the sun beating down on our backs, How is it that you did not burn in the sunlight or the half of you that is vampire did not burn? I guess to make it easier, how many of the myths are true and which of the myths are false?
The crew, transfixed by Aaron's story, jumps a little when they hear a knock at the door. Conchobar stands waist-high as John hobbles a few steps to open the door to the cabin. "Whenever you're ready, we are on a straight course and have the time to take this vote you keep talking about. I'm trying to get them to vote for the Busty Wenches as the new name, so feel free to take your time." He giggles to himself as he leaves them to continue their discussion.
"Oddly enough I rather like garlic, at least in moderation," Aaron answers Ollivor's not-quite-so-serious question before turning to Thorn.
"It... does not quite work that way," the pale Chelaxian replies after a moment's thought. "I do have some of the traits of my father, I admit that, but I do not share all of them. For example, I have no problem entering a temple and holy symbols are certainly not as effective against me as good old-fashioned blades, silver or otherwise. And as for the sun, its light does not burn me. It did bother me once, long ago, but I got used to it little by little to the point that I can now enjoy a warm sunny day for as long as I like." He then chuckles softly as he adds with a look towards Vrunyar, "I do not tan however. Although I am certain you have noticed that by now."
"What I am saying is that regardless of the various things people know or think they know about vampires, such knowledge or rumor does not necessarily apply to my... kind. On one hand I have very good eyesight and shadow and darkness pose little to no trouble to me; on the other I will not be turning to mist or various mangy animals any time soon. And I am fairly resistant to disease and to magic that affects the mind or drains the body, but not impervious to them. And finally, although I am not immortal, as far as I can tell, barring violence of course, I will probably outlive every one of you, with the possible exception of the elf."
"Barring violence is barring an awful lot, given what we've all been through," Ollivor says , "but holding up against elves for lifespan is something. How do you think the rest of the crew will handle this news when it gets out? Sailors can be superstitious lots, no offense to those here."
Doran takes a moment to digest what he’s hearing, looking at Aaron and pondering all the different things that can be wrapped up in one person. He’s the son of a human and an undead blood-sucker that lives forever. He survived unbelievable horrors alone on that island, yet manages to find humor in the world. And he’s fought and nearly died by my side – we likely would not have made it to this point without him.
”Aaron,” he finally manages to say out loud, ”this is weird. Your father drank people’s blood! You could live longer than an elf! This is going to take some getting used to…” He’s interrupted by the blue parrot, who leaps from the table, briefly flares its wings, and alights nimbly on Doran’s shoulder. Doran, startled, lays a hand on the bird’s back and says, ”Well, hello…Jako, was it?”
Turning back to Aaron, he says, ”Where was I? I think I was reacting to who your father was, and what’s in your blood. And you know what? That doesn’t matter. My own people have been enslaved for generations because the Chells – today’s Chells, that is, not you – have decided that halfling blood makes them slaves. And that’s wrong. And judging you on your blood would be wrong as well. So, even if you make a bloody awkward-looking sailor with that lily-white skin, you’ve proven yourself loyal and brave, a good man in a fight or a tight spot. A part of me can’t believe I’m saying this to a Chelishman with vampire teeth, but I’m happy to have you aboard, and proud to call you friend.”
Striding forward, the parrot riding his shoulder as smoothly and lightly as a seasoned horseman, Doran extends a small, weathered hand to Aaron and says, ”Just do me a favor, eh? Vote to keep the ship’s name, to honor another friend who used to be her captain, in happier times.”
"Pity," he says softly, his lips moving into a crooked smile as he removes a glove and takes Doran's hand, the handshake strong and firm. His pale skin feels cool to the touch, another trait characteristic of his lineage. "And here I thought Busty Wenches had a ring to it both nice and naughty."
Withdrawing his hand, he puts the soft leather glove back on and nods. "Fair enough, Captain Tidewrack. I shall do that." He then seems to notice something. "You know, you have a rather fitting last name for a pirate captain. Catchy."
The senior crew emerges from their meeting to find the crew waiting for them. There are familiar and new faces mixed on the deck, all looking to them for guidance. The few original crew members of the Empty Lighthouse - Arutro, Jax, and Hojo - mix with the mutineers from the Man's Promise - Sandara, Rosie, Crimson, and Conchobar. The pair of Rahadoumi sailors, Ahmed and Omar, stand near two of the now-freed slaves they once carried as cargo, Faiza and Rayen. The rest are the halfling ex-slaves from Rickety's Squibs, led by Marina. Their names are hard to remember, considering their numbers; there's Tribin, Tamora, Wyssa, Orinad, Linser, Merric, Perace, Kithvia, Rivias, Flynsire, Idorin, Pimric, Barner, Yendak, and Isaora. The entire crew of the currently un-named ship stands at the ready to vote, twenty-seven souls in all in addition to the six members of the senior crew. They seem to be in good spirits after the narrow escape, even after the adrenaline of the day's events begins to wear off. They have more than enough crewmen to sail the ship. Even if some of the halflings decide to take their gold and leave for better days, they will have more than enough of a crew to man it, whatever its name.
The northern coast of the Devil's Arches - once the base of Chelaxian operations in the Shackles - floats by in the distance off the port side of the ship. It is a beautiful, crisp winter day with a fine wind at their back. Jax occasionally drifts back to the wheel to make minor corrections to their course.
Some of the pirates under Rommen must have brought on board some beer, because there is a great deal of it coming out of several barrels that have been set up. Nearly everyone has a cup or mug in hand, and the crew quickly moves in to happily hand out drinks to the new arrivals to the impromptu party. "They look ready to break out in revelry as soon as the matter of business is done," Sandara announces with a smile, her red hair flowing freely in the wind. "Let's open it up for suggestions!"
Doran is the first to offer one: "The Empty Lighthouse!"
Sandara shouts out enthusiastically, "Any objections? Yea or nay?" A loud shout of 'yea' overwhelmingly comes from the assembled crew (minus Conchobar, who scuffs his shoe dramatically). "The yeas have it! The Empty Lighthouse it is! Let's get the party started now!" The cheers grow even more as they celebrate the first moments of joy and freedom on board their new ship.
With his battered pewter mug held high, Doran calls out enthusiastically in response to Sandara's question, "Yea, I say, yea!" He takes a healthy swallow of his beer, the taste all the richer because he drinks as a free man. It takes him a moment to realize that Jako is still on his shoulder, undisturbed by the raucous celebration.
"You're quite a special bird, ain't ye?" he says quietly to the brightly-colored parrot, but as he wonders whether the bird will answer, a knot of exuberant halflings rush Doran, their spirits high, and pound him on the back, singing a joyous song, nearly knocking him down in their enthusiasm, and the parrot flies off. He joins his new crewmates in a chorus, a half-remembered song from sailing in his youth, one with a surface meaning to please the Chelish masters and a deeper meaning for the enslaved sailors who dreamed of freedom. He considers how far he has come since he last sang this song and his heart fills with joy, and love for his friends.
Calling them all together, Aaron, John, Ollie, Vrun and Thorn, he lays a hand on Vrunyar's shoulder, holding his mug out before him with the other hand. "My friends," he says, his voice quiet but pitched to be heard above the clamor of the party, "I raise my glass - well, my beat-up old mug - to ye all. A man couldn't wish fer a finer crew to sail with, and I'm proud to call ye shipmates. We've been through hell t’get to this place, and we may go through it yet again 'fore we're through. But ye've proved every word of an old seaman's toast, and I offer it to ye now: "The meek shall inherit the earth. The brave will get the oceans." To the brave!"
With that, he holds his mug to his mouth until it's dry, then pulls it away to reveal a great, grinning face. As he does so, the blue parrot lands on his shoulder again, calling out, "To the brave! To the brave!"
Ollivor cheers at the lighthouse name, and gives Faiza a squeeze around the waist, she laughs a bit, clearly thinking a name is a name, but glad to see him happy about it.
As the party starts in earnest, he has a good time happy to be alive.
Calling them all together, Aaron, John, Ollie, Vrun and Thorn, he lays a hand on Vrunyar's shoulder, holding his mug out before him with the other hand. "My friends," he says, his voice quiet but pitched to be heard above the clamor of the party, "I raise my glass - well, my beat-up old mug - to ye all. A man couldn't wish fer a finer crew to sail with, and I'm proud to call ye shipmates. We've been through hell t’get to this place, and we may go through it yet again 'fore we're through. But ye've proved every word of an old seaman's toast, and I offer it to ye now: "The meek shall inherit the earth. The brave will get the oceans." To the brave!"
"Same to you, Doran, you and John have been good leaders both through all these times and we're grateful for it," He turns to the others, "And I'll not forget the rest of you, my friends. No more slop if I and the stores can help it."
"To the brave!" He toasts
Thorn stood quiet and perplexed as the cheers roared up around him in celebration at the completion of the voting.
The Empty Lighthouse, what an odd name for a ship Thorn thought to himself as the halflings rushed Doran.
A lighthouse is very helpful to lost and weary travelers who may be in need of help or a beacon to guide them to safer waters or even to find solid footing on land.
Thorn thought longer on how the ship was acting like a Lighthouse for him at this moment. Feeling lost and confused at the moment Thorn thinks how meeting the crew of the Empty Lighthouse Doran, John, Vrunyar, and Olliver has helped him to find a path to regaining who he once was before being cast into slavery. Thorn could see that even before they took back there ship the crew of the Empty lighthouse had helped to guide himself and now Aaron back to safer, free waters. Thorn knew he had a good thing and liked where his life was now heading.
I just have to figure out why it has to be an empty light house. Thorn shook his head and grabbed his tankard and raised it about chest high to touch Doran's raised mug for the Captain's toast. "To the Brave!" he yells out following Olli's lead with "In the long run, men hit only what they aim at. Therefore, they had better aim at something high."
Aaron takes a moment to appreciate the wind, the sun and his good fortune. His talk with his new companions, perhaps even friends, went much better than he had anticipated and here he is again, aboard a ship sailing the wide blue sea. Certainly a much more preferable alternative to that wretched island and even his last post.
Raising his drink alongside the rest of them as the name is decided, he smiles his thin crooked little smile. An honest smile, even if it may pale in comparison to some of the grins others are wearing on their faces. "To the brave then! To us all!"
”To the brave!” the dwarf says joining the toast. He shakes Doran’s hand. ”I know this meant a lot to you and I’m glad you’re happy. You’ll need to tell us a tale or two of the good Captain Jonas. At your leisure of course.” The dwarf slaps Doran’s back and proceeds to help hand out drinks to the newly freed halflings as well as the other crew members.
After quite a while, Vrunyar can be found, sitting on a barrel talking to a halfling reclining in a coil of rope. ”It feels like a rough sea, but there’re no storm clouds or wind. Is’t some magic wave battering us?” He sways on his feet as he stumbles to the rail. Looking over he shouts back to the halfling, whose head is bobbing and eyelids drooping, ”No, water looks same as it always does. Must be me — too much to drink!”
He returns to his barrel and asks, ”Tomorrow, I’ll finish the autopsy. Who are you again? I know you’re not Tribin. Maybe Flynsire or Idorin. Did you want to watch that?” he looks down at his hands and shakes his head. ”In school, we had the deceased’s permission to use their bodies for learning. Now look at me. Cutting open an opponent to examine his joints. I have no idea what deities he worshipped or what he’d wish for funerary rites. Sure, he was a slaver, a pirate, and who knows what other evils he inflicted upon the world. Does that mean I shouldn’t treat his corpse with some respect? Where are my ethics? In addition, what must you new crew mates think of the dwarven doctor who takes fallen enemies to cut them up.” Vrunyar looks at the halfling to see that he is fully asleep. The dwarf snorts and chuckles to himself.
”I do think I stepped over some boundary. Next time, if I come across an opponent with interesting anatomy, should I ask permission? That seems utterly bizarre. I’ll think of this with a clearer head, when my mind isn’t spinning and fuzzy. Come now, let’s find a hammock for you and a quiet place for me to think and pray. Ha.” Vrunyar stands and heaves the halfling over his shoulder. Keeping one hand on the halfling’s back and the other hand on the ship, he slowly makes his way to the stairs for the hold.
"That one's not dead, just sleepin' off his ale, Vrunyar!" Doran calls out, the joke - and the drink - clear in his tone. "Don' go cuttin' 'im up now, to see wha' makes us halflings sush fine shailors! 'Tis a shecret none will ever know!"
Though there's an instant of hesitation as some of the newer crew take in what is happening, their knowledge of the good works and good intentions of the senior crew combines with the innate dark humor of those who sail the sea, and the deck erupts in laughter at the notion that their kindhearted dwarven doctor is taking one of their number below to dissect him alive.
As the Empty Lighthouse cuts between the islands that make up the archipelago of the Shackles, the crew begins to mesh and act as one. They are not running from anyone or working under the lash. There is no crisis, nor punishment for failure - yet everyone works hard and works together to get to their destination. Tidewater Rock represents different things for each of them: a safe haven, a port to buy and sell goods, a base of operations to free those whose futures were stolen, or a waystation to a life of freedom. Stories are exchanged and games are played. They even have a few light-hearted pranks in memory of Riki Blackburne. Sandara leads prayers to honor the many fallen crew members and slaves who did not make it this far in their journey to freedom, with each late crewman getting a ceremony akin to Iakob's funeral. Malakay Carr, Captain Jonas, Wynifrid, and so many others are honored and remembered.
The journey across the Shackles to Tidewater Rock takes a full seven days. If it were a straight shot, or at least clear oceans, they could make the trip in four or five days, but they are forced to make frequent cuts and turns to avoid running aground. The names of the islands make for an interesting reading as the senior crew tracks their movement on the maps: Cannibal Isles, Besmara's Throne, Firegrass Isle, Motaku Isle, Raptor Island... None sound pleasant to visit, and almost all of them are under the control of one of the pirate lords.
Marina, as it turns out, has a wide catalog of passed-down stories and legends about the Shackles. The slaves had to pass along knowledge in the form of legends and ballads, and she shares them with her new crewmates. She tells of the Ghol-ghan cyclopes that once inhabited the islands before a great calamity from the sky destroyed their cruel empire. Ruins dot the islands still, and many believe that the cyclopes haunt the Shackles to this day. Some, she explains, even believe that the ghost ship Deathknell is connected to the cyclopean haunts, somehow cursed by the previous masters of these waters to hunt the living and drag them to their waiting clutches below the waves. Either way, she notes that the bizarre sightings caused the original Chelaxian sailors to skip over the Shackles and settle Sargava to the south instead six hundred years ago.
After the week of sailing, Tidewater Rock looms in the distance. Windward Isle, where the fortress sits, is a tiny speck of an island maybe two miles long and less than a mile across. Tidewater Rock dominates the north side of the island, jutting up out of the granite cliffs to an impressive height of more than 70 feet. It is made even taller by a raised stone base. With the island cliffs in defense, it would be quite difficult to make a landing on the back side of the fortress. The only entrance is on the other end of the isle, forcing anyone who wishes to attack to cross over almost two miles of open land in full sight of the tall tower. There doesn't seem to be a blade of grass on the rocky island, nor a place to hide. The only way onto land is at its protected harbor on the south side - and to gain access, they are to send a single man on a ship's boat with Tantrey's note.
The trip to Tidewater Rock is as pleasant as any Doran has known. He gets to know the ins and outs of their new ship, shifting the limited cargo about to learn her trim, determining if she wallows when sailing too close to the wind and learning that he can eke a little more speed out of her if he flies topgallant royals in a following breeze. All of this is fun, fascinating work, and he never tires of it.
What makes the journey even more enjoyable is the incredible cache of stories and tales that Marina unveils as they travel – tales of one-eyed monsters sailing the Shackles long ago, and perhaps still lurking among the islands. The fact that the teller of the tales is a pretty Halfling lass, made all the more lovely by the new light of hope and freedom in her eyes, makes her tales especially bewitching.
As she spins her tales each evening, Doran follows them with a song or two, encouraging the crew to join in. Even Jako squawks along to some of the tunes, though he’s much better with the words than the melody. But the blue bird and the wee captain spend nearly all their time together, as inseparable as if they’d been sailing the seas together their whole lives.
Doran can hardly believe his good fortune – a free crew, many of whom are good friends to him, a free ship, a lovely lass full of tales, even a pirate’s parrot as his companion! As they come within a day’s sail of the Rock, he grows a bit pensive, wondering if such fortune can last, or if the tide is due to turn soon.
”Don’ go cuttin' 'im up now, to see wha' makes us halflings sush fine shailors! 'Tis a shecret none will ever know!"
”Ha, I’ll put the scalpel away,” Vrunyar chuckles, mumbling and speaking in a low voice. He turns so that the halfling on his shoulder and Doran are on opposite sides of his body. ”He’s a potential lollyboy. Won’t he be surprised!” He disappears below deck with a mumbled ”G’night!”
As the day begins, Vrunyar has assembled the halflings on the deck. ”As you know, we’re sorting ourselves into our positions on the ship. Some of you are great sheet folders, ribbon tiers, line walkers, helm polishers, boxers, and all the rest of the nautical terms I’m still learning. I recognize those are all important jobs even if I don’t know what half of them are. I’m looking for one of you to be a lollyboy. My assistant. I’m looking for someone who isn’t squeamish, has a good memory, and follows directions.
”Being a lollyboy won’t be all fun and learning. You’ll have sleepless nights, blood stained clothes, and even a few bruises from unruly patients. I guess all-in-all that’s not too different from a sailor’s lot in general: sleepless nights, blood, and bruises. Anyway, you won’t be able to save every patient. It’s even harder when your friends are your patients. All that aside, with determination and perseverance you might be able to acquire a profession. People will always need healers.” The dwarf looks at the assembled halflings before him. Why didn’t I ask any of the Rahadoumi if they were interested in becoming a lollyboy? The thought stops him for a moment. Am I prejudiced? I’ll need to ponder this. He clears his throat and holds onto a rail as the ship slides down a wave. ”Think about it. Don’t be afraid if you can’t read or write. I can teach that. We can do as a group if there’s enough interest.
“I don’t need an answer today. It’s not first come first serve. And if you’re not chosen at first, that’s not the end of it. We’ll need a few members of the crew with healing knowledge, so you’ll get a chance to learn some skills eventually. Questions?” Vrunyar asks. He can’t quite judge the whisperings and range of expressions as he answers their questions.
When that is done, he goes to the infirmary and shuts the door. He begins writing some equations on a piece of paper and is soon lost in the inner workings of a formula. He’s close to unlocking the formula for the ability to increase swimming speed, as he looks over the notes he made in spare moments over the last two weeks. However that is not he is working on. Instead he has started working on a formula to strengthen the adhesive qualities of blood. So that when exposed to air, the blood practically acts like a glue and hold fast the weapon. Hours pass and he realizes he needs to eat lunch and finish the autopsy. Food first, he thinks.
Hours later, during the fading light of sunset, he finishes the autopsy and the preliminary notes. The dwarf wraps the body in a sheet and carries it to the aft. He rests it on the rail while he prays to Torag, He was a pirate and a fiend. He sailed with Barnabas. Still I feel I wronged him in my zeal for knowledge. I hope his soul finds rest after its just punishment. After a moment he pushes the corpse overboard and watches until it disappears.
During dinner he finds John and tells him to come visit him in the infirmary. When John does so, Vrunyar asks that he shut the door and indicates for the man to sit on the examination table. The dwarf is quiet a moment writing some notes. When he turns his chair around, his face is a mix of serious emotions, hesitancy, and hope.
”Thanks for coming. John, I make no promises. Indeed, I come to you now, because what I propose will take a good deal of time and effort on my part. If you don’t want this, I may start the research regardless or progress in other research, like fortifying my internal organs. My...suppositions are still in the early, mostly theoretical stages. The main question I have for you is if you could have a flesh and blood leg again, would you want one? Think on it. It’s a deeply personal question. I don’t want an answer now. I know it deals with how you view your self, how you’ve accepted the tragic event, and a host of other issues. Again, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t want to give you false hope. If I had access to an alchemical library I might find an answer.
“Let me explain my reasoning briefly. There are a few alchemists that are not quite satisfied with their body’s form. Some have grafted wings, extra arms, and tentacles to themselves. I know the theory behind the process, but in all honesty such modifications didn’t appeal to me as a student. I’d need to rework and discover many of the theoretical and practical aspects of this procedure. So far as I know, those alchemists always modify their body, not another person’s. When you’re exploring the edge of medical and alchemical knowledge, answers aren’t easy to find. Take as much time as you need. I know your leg pains you sometimes and I’m developing an anesthetic,” he points to the notes on the table, ”that could be made with ingredients and reagents readily available from the sea. For now, think of what I offered. Thanks for listening to me. I hope you have a good night.” He offers to shake John’s hand as a sign of respect and friendship.
Vrunyar appears slightly ragged, as if he didn’t sleep at all. He’s eating his breakfast with an absentee air, as if he’s not tasting his food. He sees Doran enter and waves him over, ”Doran, when you get a chance, come to the infirmary. I need a favor.”
By the time Doran arrives it’s about an hour later. A crossbow and two bolts lie on the table. ”Shoot me,” Vrunyar says, rising from his chair at the desk after setting a pencil down. He draws the curtain nearly shut and peeks his head outside before he closes the door. He drinks an extract and sighs contentedly. ”I made a breakthrough last night, well early this morning. For a time, or a certain threshold of damage, I am immune to projectile weapons. So if you don’t mind, shoot me please.”
The magic courses through his body, he can feel the tingling on his skin. When the bolt hits him in the chest, he feels it as if he were tapped by someone trying to get his attention at the same time as the tingling sensation peaks where the bolt hit. A second later the tingling feels lessened all over his body. He smiles and laughs. ”This will help me next time we see combat. Which I hope isn’t for a while. Is Tidewater Rock dangerous? I hope they have good medical and alchemical supplies. By the way, who do you think should take the note in the ship’s boat? I’d say you or John. They’d take a look at a stone swabber like me and laugh. We want the ship to be well respected and make a good first impression.”
Ollivor sets the galley to rights, and finds he enjoys it a lot more now that he gets to call the shots there. The captains may order folks on the ship, but in the galley and mess, folks best not try to bully or boss him around or they're likely to find their stomach will pay the price. Fortunately, it's not necessary for most. Indeed, quite a few show Ollvior respect , though he's no doubt some of it is borne of sailor's superstition towards magic.
And he practices with that magic, openly and often. Sometimes dragon dreams guide him, other times Ollivor takes a more methodical approach to it. Since he can't go using spells on people willy nilly like some cheliaxian conjurer, he tests some of them over the edge of the ship. The demonstrations, particularly of the highly visual spells, certainly draw a small crowd if enough sailors are on a break.
If Ollivor were tempted to let said magic make a bully or a blowhard of him, he needn't have worried. While Faiza is fascinated by his magic, Ollivor soon learns she has a knack for getting him off his high horse and rather enjoys teasing him and not just in the ways that are fun for him. For someone who was an ex slave, she increasingly shows a fierce sense of her own self. Often she comes into the galley, steals a kiss, and squirms free before he can consider delaying breakfast. Other times, he'll be practicing a spell, only to have her wander by, blow in his ear, and leave him totally clueless as to just WHICH spell he was trying to cast a moment ago.
While Ollivor has experienced more than he thought possible in his young life, it's clear women will be a tricky subject to ever truly know. He's no doubt that most of the crew knows the two of them are lovers. Some of the other ladies on the crew in particular seem to enjoy gossip, and however much is magic might command respect, no one aboard a ship is above scuttlebutt.
So many halflings on the ship certainly change the dynamic of things. Halfling is spoken so much around him, that Ollivor almost feels like the ship has fallen to a foreign power. Sure, there are plenty of halflings in Andoran, they're probably the second most common race after humanity there, but it's still both jarring and interesting to find yourself no longer in a clear majority. Not all are like the halflings in Andoran either. There, the halflings see themselves as Andorans first, halflings second, and equals. Here, well, the halflings treat Ollivor more like an 'other'even if it's a friendly other. He at first wonders if it's because of his dragon blood, now an open secret among the crew, but no. Some of the halflings treat even the best humans like clouds in storm ridden lands: Pleasant to have above you, but you keep an eye out to make sure they don't go dark. He hopes to win them over and while he calls the shots in his kitchen, he does try to learn some cusine that hails from halfling culture.
And then, there's Linser. Another of the freed halfling slaves, Linser is just... creepy. First of all, he has one eye. You should be used to that with nautical types, Ollivor supposes, but Linser doesnt' wear an eye patch. There's a socket there that has only shadow inside it. Secondly, he doesn't talk much. What he DOES do, is stare. He stares with his one good eye whenever Ollivor walks by, without saying a damn word. He stares at Ollivor when he comes for his food. Linser is an older halfling, gray scruff on his cheeks and worn lines on his face, making him look like old leather with a kind of growth. Other halflings are at least chatty if on guard, but Linser is positively laconic.
One day, while walking by the halfling, Ollivor again feels Linser's eye, and turns to ask the halfing, "Do you need anything?"
"no," the halfling replied, and then turned and left without a word.
To top it off, for a one eyed older halfling, the little fellow is creepy quiet! Sometimes Ollivor almost trips over the man, and more than one time he would see an empty section of the ship, blink, only to find Linser is there out of nowhere.
"Gah!" He snapped one evening, "Damn it, Linser. You could give a man warning."
A shrug was the only answer.
Faiza seemed to find it funny when Ollivor started checking corners before their love making, "He's a halfling, not a ghost!" She laughed one night.
"Well, he's bloody well haunting ME," Ollivor explained to her.
"Maybe he's fascinated by magic, I know I am. I still can't believe you're not going to make me a sorcerer," She pouted.
"I can't MAKE you a sorcerer," He reminded her, "And surely by now if it were a diesase you'd have caught it from me."
She stuck her tongue out at him daintily, then changed subjects again, "Well, have you asked him what it was all about?"
"Every time I do, he says as little as possible, and then he's gone again. It's creepy, I tell you," ollivor grumbled.
Faiza laughed and pulled him to her bed, "Get over here. I don't think he likes you so much he'll pry on this."
Finally, Ollivor did catch Linser alone, smoking a pipe, using a barrel as a chair, and for once, not looking at HIM.
"Linser, you've been driving me mad all week. WHY am I so all hellfire interesting to you? WHY? Whats with all the staring? No short answers now or so help me, I may starve you" He warned.
Linser looked over Ollivor for a long quiet time, took what seemed to be an even longer time to drag on the pipe, and then o so slowly, released a plume of smoke into the sky before finally answering, "You don't look a thing like him."
"Him who?" Ollivor said in confusion.
"Later," Linser said, and stepped off the barrel, "My breaks over, I can't talk all day."
"You haven't even talked all minute," Ollivor countered, "Now, is later soon but not now, or later like in god knows how late?"
"We'll see," Linser said, and left the ship's cook sitting on another barrel, contemplating killing an old halfling and calling it self defense for his sanity.
Erevan spends most of his time getting himself reacquainted with life on a sea-faring vessel. Three years away from it all may not feel all that long to one with his lifespan, but they have proven enough to at the very least dulled his skills somewhat. And he has to admit that a pirate ship functions a little differently when compared to a ship of the Chelaxian Navy. Still the language and terms, the work, the sun and salt and wind, those are things that are more or less the same and it does not take too long for the pale man to not only remember and get used to how things are done, but start to enjoy himself as well.
Still, things are hardly perfect, but it is not like he did not expect it, so he is hardly bothered by it. The fact that he retains his fair, or rather pale complexion under all that sun does lead to a bit of talking among the crew, but not as much as the fact he hails from Cheliax, especially considering the fact that a large part of the crew are halfling. Nevertheless, both his help at freeing them and Doran's trust go a long way to reassure the crewmen regardless of their race. He does wander on occasion though if that would hold true if his own true nature was known. His good spirits, however, leave little room for such darker thoughts, thoughts that are chased away with a shrug and a shake of his head.
Speaking of the diminutive Captain, a little surprise awaited him one day. Having seen his prowess with a dagger, especially finding and exploiting weaknesses in his foes' defenses, Erevan seeks to add to his own skill-at-arms as he asks Doran to teach him a thing or two about striking where the enemy does not expect. The halfling, despite his initial surprise at being asked by the resident Chelaxian how to basically get better at killing, well, among other things Chelaxians, proves to be a capable teacher, even if now and then their taining sessions are interrupted momentarily by his colorful parrot's squawking.
With most of the ship’s new halflings, Vrunyar spends about 30 minutes twice a day giving anatomy tips in relation to combat. He focuses on optimizing their strikes against knees, lower legs, and achilles’ heels.
To help get a good source of protein, the dwarf concocts what he hopes is a shark-lure. He has a barrel with fish oil, guts, skeletons, a sponge, and a few alchemical reagents that he stirs over low heat. He doesn’t appear too worried if his experiment doesn’t work. He consults with Ollivor about which sea birds are good to eat. If he can’t attract sharks, he can always try sea gulls.
The day after his tests with Doran, Vrunyar creates four protection from arrows extracts and uses that and a heavy shield he found to let Thorn take archery practice against a moving target. He keeps two healing extracts on him and asks one of the lollyboy prospects to administer them to him if he gets knocked unconscious.
Naturally, Doran resists the notion of putting a crossbow bolt into Vrunyar, who is not only the ship's doctor but his good friend. He takes a bit of convincing, and Doran still insists on a blunted bolt and a weakly-wound crossbow for the first shot. When it bounces right off the dwarf's chest like he's made of stone, Doran gradually steps up his game, until he's watching in amazement as Vrunyar is unharmed by his best shot. One shot, not his best at all, misses Vrunyar and sticks quivering into the hull of the ship, proof that the effect is only protecting Vrunyar, but doing so quite effectively.
Doran's amazement is interrupted by Vrunyar's questions about their destination, Tidewater Rock. ”Can’t say I really know a thing about it,” he replies, ”though from what we know of the master of the place, I’d wager it’s well-supplied, an’ tough as a nut to crack. As to who should bring the note to ‘em, I’d say either me or John could do it. I can talk my way out of things all right, and if things really went bad I might just be able to duck out o’ sight and get out of there. But Rawkins bein’ Andoren would likely please ‘em – though who knows if they’d take him for a deserter or somethin’ once they hear his tale. We’ll hafta ask ‘im if he wants to go, an’ if not, I’ll do it.”
Later, when Aaron asks for some teaching in how to hit enemies in their soft spots, Doran is a bit surprised, mainly because Aaron seems so confident and capable. Hadn’t expected to be teaching him much, he thinks as he shows Aaron how to twist the knife before pulling it free of the target, to cause as much damage and debilitating pain as possible with every strike, but he’s a natural at it, as I’d expect.
At one point in their lessons, Marina joins the small crowd that has gathered to watch their nimble captain instruct the pale-skinned Chelaxian in how to quickly take down an opponent. Doran is a bit conflicted about her presence and her obvious attention on him. I don’t mind her knowin’ I’m a fighter. Hell, a part of me can’t help but be pleased that she’s got her eye on me as I show somethin’ I’m good at. But I’ve had to do some dark work with a blade, and I’m not sure that’s how I want her to think of me.
He ends the lesson soon after, his skin sweaty in the warm air of the Shackles, and hollers good-humoredly at everyone who’s been watching, ”Are we such a fine crew that we’ve got the leisure to stand around and watch others work? I thought that was a captain’s job! This ship won’t sail herself, and she sure as the deep is cold won’t clean herself! Have I got a first mate? Or a bosun? Who’s going to set this crew to workin’? Deck needs scrubbin’, ropes need flakin’, there’s no end of mendin' needed in the rigging and ratlines, and I’m sure we could get a little more step out of the barkey if we shifted the cargo a strake or two aft…”
At this outburst, the crowd rapidly disperses, in time for Doran to watch Thorn try out some archery practice on a live target - Vrunyar. Doran is once again so amazed by the dwarf’s crazed inventiveness that he doesn’t even notice the crowd re-forming to watch the antics of the senior crew.
