The Professor's voice quivers a bit, but finds some firm ground after a few words: "I'll be brief! I am Illustriux Professor Moonsong, from Morgrave. We are going on an expedition to some ruins nearby and need you to help protect ourselves, our work, and our ship. We pay well enough: 50 Galifars if nothing happens, 100 Galifars if we exchange fire, 200 Galifars if we're boarded or have to board a vessel. This is per day. We need people who can fight close up and at a distance, or can prove helpful in a fight. Hm? Well, that's it. You want in? Form a line and my assistants will interview you."
You are in a good spot already and can easily be among the first in lines. You're invited into a small tent, one after another, and meet with an assistant. The assistant looks gruff and mean. She looks more like a Last War veteran than a scholar. She asks stiffly: "Why you?" and her eyes seem to sink into you.
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Wolfgang stands a moment and smiles back, eyes equally drilling into her.
'And why not me?' he replies across the Great Chasm, the total blackness hiding the infinite tentacles of the Beast.
His smile never falters. His lips never move. His head tilts, slightly.
'You are a veteran, yes? Perhaps you have seen the horror of war. A few men dying, or perhaps many. Perhaps you know one, or many. There is sadness, and loss, and pain. You know of the darkness of this world.
You know nothing.
Through hardships uncounted I have gained knowledge that would grind most men's mind to dust did they see but the tiniest part.
The loss you have known is but a candle to the sun compared to loss on a cosmic level that we are always but a knife's edge from. Your pain but a pin prick weighed against the infinite mass of torture for an infinity that some souls know.
Your horror is but a drop to the ocean of horror that even now gazes upon us, but has not rent all of Man asunder simply because it does not deign us worthy of the time.'
In the pitch black chasm the mind knows, knows for certain, that a single tentacle moves, a thing once asleep is now disturbed, sending a small measure of itself searching for the source.
'Why me? Because I can commune with part of that pain, that sadness, that horror, and REND it upon any who seek to harm that which you deem worthy. Though even the greatest of wizards must needs run out of Power, the very air is a conduit through which I can direct an unending supply of pain and loss without need for rest. Through the Monsters at my command, none may dare harm me, lest they know DIRECTLY pain without peer.
Why me? Because I am selling a thing that can not be bought.
And that makes you safe.'
His speech ends, and the Beast again knows sleep.
Listening to the professor, Stitch thinks, Fifty a day minimum? That seems like a high number ... maybe enough to ... I must secure this job!
Waiting in line anxiously, Stitch comments quietly to those still waiting with him. "You'll p-p-put in a good word for me, won't you?"
Anxiety builds and builds until finally, it's time to go into the tent. Hunching shoulders and clenching metal fists at their sides, Stitch enters, small dimly glowing green eyes searching the interior then settling on the surly assistant and offering a small wave that's interrupted by the question. Why you?
Stitch stands there in silence a moment, struggling for words, then finally, awkwardly clears their throat. "I...I am a doctor, and a cleric of the Sovereign Host, I can cook, and clean. I can read and write...I can fix things," Stitch quickly grabs a quill off the table and snaps it, letting it hang like a broken arm before casting Mending and offering it to the assistant with a friendly head tilt.
After another moment of silence Stitch quickly adds, almost mumbling, "I also don't need to eat, drink or sleep..."
She asks, her bravado somewhat faded: "This is impressive. Impressive... Do you read minds?"
Stitch claps gleefully, metal hands clanking together. "Oh thank you! I'm saved. Would you like a hug? Is that a strange question?"
"Do you want me to change my mind?" she replies.
"W-what? Oh! Um, no, t-thank you. What's your name? Nevermind. Will you be coming with us? Nevermind. Goodbyeitwaslovelytomeetyou," Stitch ducks quickly out of the tent and looks around for where to go next.
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Wolfgang smiles, and, the trump card played, resorts to mouth-talk. "Heh, no. Although I am working on a spell that would make anyone my best friend forever. Whether they want to be or not. Does that still get me in?"
The woman looks at you unimpressed: "All boys talk about their wands... Doesn't mean they know how to use it... Impress me."
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He smiles. "Am I being too subtle? I'm being too subtle again aren't I? When I said I could cause our enemies agony everlasting, I was not speaking in hyperbole. When I said the very air was a conduit for me to deliver unending anguish, that was not exaggeration.
When I said any who strike me do so at their own risk..."
A wall of FLAMES erupts in front of Wolfgang, to punctuate his point,
"...that was a statement of fact.
So, yes, I can fight."
The tent is made of thick dark blue canvas. Inside, there is a simple planck serving as a table, behind which the assistant sits. A small brazero is nearby to produce heat and some light. On the table is a small pile of papers held in place by a nugget of dark red ore and a writing set.
Behind the assistant is a coat holder, but she only put her sailor hat on it.
Candidates are not provided with seats.
The assistant tightens when fire erupts from the paper weight and steps back from the fire. A flash of anger crosses through her as she steps back from the table, but it quickly turns to a grin.
"Sure... Burn my sh!t if you want to..." she says as she slaps her hat to put out the fire.
"You've got potential, but I'm less clear on your ability to play with others and follow orders. I'll be keeping an eye on you, sailor. Welcome aboard!" she says and then asks you to let the next person in.
You all see Tharivol enter the tent, and within seconds, you hear the assistant laughing, something you thought was impossible. Tharivol comes out of the tent and gives you a wink to let you know that you've all been chosen.
About twenty minutes later, the assistant comes out and announces to the rest of the waiting crowd that the interviews were over and the security team selected.
There are eight of you, including the Dwarven woman Wolfgang seemed to like.
You climb your way up to the ship. This is a sleek model, a M-class, as Blacklock surmised, but, to his trained eye, a modified one, having shed several vestiges of the war. The ship's hull is a shimmering dark blue, which gives the Lofty Scholar's silver trimmings and rich honey-tainted soarwood frame.
As you make your way to the deck, the assistant greets you and says: "Welcome! For now, we don't need you, so stay out of the way. The Professor will want to speak with each of you in turn. He likes to get to know his crew. Enjoy the view. It's not often that you see the City of Towers from such a great vantage point. I never tire of it."
After making the climb without complaint, Stitch gasps in amazement at the view and runs to the edge--then immediately takes a few respectful steps back. "That is very high."
Stitch waits patiently, beaming happily and enjoying the view a safe distance from the railing. When the dwarven woman joins them on deck, Stitch comments to Wolfgang, "All of us together, and even your dwarf friend. It is most fortuitous."
The Lofty Scholar is a medium-sized airship, but one of the smaller models. You can tell there is roughly 20 crew, plus you eight security detail, for a total of roughly thirty. The ship doesn't feel crowded.
Tharivol gracefully glides around the deck of the airship as if he owned it. He casually inspects the exposed ship and crew.
He finishes his circuit next to Wolfgang and replies. "Well, attacking an airship, they would probably exhaust an arsenal of magic missiles before closing to a boarding action, because they would want to capture the airship and cargo intact. Unless, they want to crash the airship, which would require larger magic, of course. As this is a university mission, any valuable cargo would be carried on our return to Sharn. So, we should enjoy the ride for now."
Resting easily on the rail, the Dragonmarked Elf surveys the horizon, "So Wolfgang, what have you been up to?"
The vibe you get from the crew does not fit well with the idea you have of scholars. If these are scholars, they are of the roughest sort. You feel their stares upon you, grin of bravado and overconfidence, as if they were sizing you and wondered if they could beat you in a fight.
Yes, they look more like thugs than scholars.
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"I have been devoting most of my time to my research," Wolfgang answers Tharivol nonchalantly. "I have started doing some exciting work on demons held in thrall by The Devourer. It seems that there exists some lines in which some of the minor ones can be summoned and have favors demanded from them.
I've yet to put any of this into practice, but my field work into destructive emotions continues nicely," he says as casually as one might compliment a nice tie.
"You?"
”I’m playing the circuit of the neighborhood. Few gigs a week. I actually played the place I met you with Kavill last week. Good times.”. Tharivol replies with a winning smile.
Then he points to his head, because he knows Wolfgang is a telepath, especially when he’s been drinking. This crew looks more like thugs or pirates than scholars. Wonder what they need us for?
Blacklock makes a lot of new friends while losing all his money.
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Wolfgang catches Tharivol's meaning and open up the MindSpeech. The Great Chasm is black, black and endless.
'My first instinct is to ignore this--the crew of the contraption would, by necessity, not come from the academe, but from those used to doing the job, which might be akin to sailors and all their...ilk.
So too, they know they are expecting trouble, they hired us didn't they? We would hardly look just as at ease around the scholarly table as a rank bar. Well, me, maybe.
Still, I'll note your concern. The rate they offer seems higher than mere caravan guards might rate. We should be cautious.'
"Oh?" Wolfgang says, making their proximity seem normal. "I didn't know the Sweet Doomed Angel was your scene. The crowd was rouwdy enough for your purposes, I hope?"
"Excuse me, may I join?" Stitch asks the group Blacklock is playing with.
And then Stitch is broke too.
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"I suppose I should join Blacklock in his...attempts to commiserate with the crew. If we're to be spending time with them, I guess we should make ourselves friendly."
Wolfgang keeps the telepathy open for Thar to keep talking. He gets a kick out of speaking with others that nobody else knows he's even looking at.
"Good day, gentlemen," Wolfgang says in a tone that anyone who doesn't know him believes is perfectly friendly. Anyone who does know him can sense the phrase dripping with sarcasm.
"Have any of you ever played...fizbin?" he says, taking up the cards when its his turn to deal.
Wolfgang unleashes his mental powers to keep the other men unsure of themselves, occasionally opening a Telepathic bridge, but not saying anything, introducing the unease of the Great Chasm without the comfort of knowing its purpose.
Or that it's even happening.
You play a few hands, perhaps in the hopes of making that money you owe back, but the other sailors are not keen on overspending so the hands remain small.
Nonetheless, Stitch and Blacklock manage to lose 2 Galifars in a few minutes, while Wolfgang, who arrives a little after the first hands, manages a great scoop and gets 4 Galifars for his troubles.
All three of you notice that the regular crew is quite tight-lipped. The new recruit and vocal and step in to say things, even when they would not be the best person to answer. The old hands are quieter and you spy some knowing smiles from them.
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Wolfgang thanks everyone polietly for the game and excuses himself.
He wanders over, seeminly randomly but quite purposefully, over to one of these old hands.
"Greetings," he opens, letting that sink in. "Were one to tell stories--and I'm certain, a man of your character would never say anything rude about your employers, so there's no need for me to tell anyone that anything I heard came from you--but were one to tell stories, one might begin to get the impression that we've not been told quite everything that could be called 'truth' about this voyage.
Might you know something that we do not? Of course, I'd never say that we've ever had a conversation, so you can trust in my discretion.
Besides, you have a very honest face."
"That was so much fun, thank you for allowing me to play," Stitch says to the other players, and gives a sympathetic nod to Blacklock who also lost money.
Stitch then goes to figure out where this interview is happening, not wanting to be late. I must make the very best impression!
Wolfgang, the assistant you came across, though he has the equipment of a Morgrave assistant researcher, certainly looks like he's seen his share of fighting. His skin is tanned and weathered, with more than a few small scars, and his black eyes seem to sink deep in his skull and dig deep into your soul. His hands are like steel talons, and a nasty broadsword swings under his dark blue vest.
He snarls at you: "Look, I don't deal with recruits. You have to speak with the Recruiter if you have any questions."
He smiles to himself and adds knowingly: "Besides, you'll find out soon enough!"
"That was so much fun, thank you for allowing me to play," Stitch says to the other players, and gives a sympathetic nod to Blacklock who also lost money.
Stitch then goes to figure out where this interview is happening, not wanting to be late. I must make the very best impression!
The game is interrupted when the Recruiter comes in and shouts above the roar of the airship's elemental engine with the deep, commanding voice of a drill sergeant: "A'ight! We're not paying you to play games! Soon enough you'll be showing us your favourite dolls and braid each others' hairs! But not just now, Host guard me!"
"MAN YOUR STATIONS HOST DAMN IT! We're about to leave safeland. New recruits! You'll be paired and assigned a supervisor. Your job for now is to keep your eyes peeled for danger. If danger comes, then your job will be to follow orders and fight to save all our lives and yours."
She pairs the four of you with other recruits.
Stitch is paired with a mean-looking female halfling and sent to the front of the ship (bow).
Wolfgang is paired with the lovely dwarf lady he has met earlier and sent to the rear (stern).
Blacklock is paired with another female dwarf, but this one looks exactly like the opposite of the former, everything she wears speaks of lethal simplicity. They are sent to the right of the ship (starboard)
Tharivol is paired with a growling shifter and sent to the left of the ship (port).
From a distance, you see Professor Moonsong emerging from the Captain's cabin. He immediately looks to the Pilot and the Recruiter. They both nod back that everything is fine so far.
Stitch stays quiet as orders are given out, looking around and trying to figure the best place to go.
After being paired with the sweet-looking halfling, Stitch gets excited, "Hello! I'm Stitch, what's your name? Did they mean what they said about dolls and braiding?" The warforged sounds hopeful as they go to the bow of the ship.
The Dragonmarked Elf saunters toward the port side in slow contrast to the screaming recruiter.
To his shifter partner, "Hello, that's right. You've recognized me. I'm Tharivol Galanodel d'Phiarlan and will be playing the Vitrola next week."
"And, who might you be? What brings you on this trip today?"