Privateer
Author: Dean Henegar
Date: 2020-12-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: A new chapter in the Limitless Lands saga begins. Vaguely remembering the accident that might have killed him, retired Navy captain Craig Larson is offered a chance at a new life. Choosing the body of a half-man, half-serpent creature called a naga, Larson must fight to secure a place for himself in this new world. Soon, he finds himself in a fight against pirates, thieves, and terrors of the deep, all of which seek to end his new life before it truly begins. But Larson is not easily deterred. He will call upon a loyal crew and decades of knowledge from his previous life, standing ready with s
Rights: All rights reserved

Copyright © 2020 by Dean Henegar

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents
~

Copyright

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Afterword

Yes, I do heartily repent. I repent I had not done more mischief; and that we did not cut the throats of them that took us, and I am extremely sorry that you aren’t hanged as well as we.

Anonymous pirate, asked on the gallows if he repented

Prelude
~

“Mr. Larson, with the launch of this vessel, oceangoing trade will never be the same again,” his assistant said with confidence.

Craig Larson was sure of the design, even if he wasn’t a fan of the new vessel being completely automated. The MV Revolution was the latest in a long line of innovations his company had produced. It was an ugly thing; its bulky shape had been selected to maximize cargo capacity and efficiency, not for any aesthetic appeal. Larson missed his old days in the Navy. Something predatory about warship design had been lost when drones replaced the flesh-and-blood militaries of the world.

“May I help you, sir?” his assistant asked as he headed toward the viewing stands.

“No, Jack, I’ll do it myself for as long as I’m able,” Larson replied. He made slow but steady progress with his shuffling steps. Still healthy despite his age of eighty-four, Larson knew the ravages of time didn’t let anyone escape their grasp. His cane helped with stability, and under his suit pants, a motorized brace supported his right knee. The knee had been injured back when he was in high school, and age combined with a physically active life served to wear it out even faster. The doctors had performed several surgeries before they finally gave up on it, telling him it was the best it was going to be. New nanobot therapies were in the works, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Hobbling along, Larson fended off greetings and well-wishes from old friends as well as a few who were, he knew, just trying to curry his favor. They were barking up the wrong tree. Larson had handed over the running of the company to the board of directors long ago. Publicly, it was reported he was ready to retire due to age and declining mental acuity. No, he was cut out of the picture because of the way he did business. Larson was never one to shrink from a fight, and if any person or organization stood in the way of his goals, they would be steamrolled. He demanded loyalty; in his mind, you were loyal or you got shown the door. He was a harsh man, but he also insisted on rewarding loyalty, which was what got him in trouble with the board in the first place.

The industry had been changing; everything was becoming more automated. It was something he couldn’t avoid. He had the choice of modernizing the company or going out of business. So Larson bit the bullet and upgraded the company’s infrastructure. As the human workers in his company were replaced by technology, Larson insisted on offering them retraining or a generous severance package, should they wish to leave. The board resisted; in their estimation, the cost was too high. He had to cut a hard deal, getting the board to agree to take care of his employees as long as he stepped down. It was time to go anyway. The world was changing, and he was a man of a different generation. Age had caught up with him, something no man could avoid, no matter how strong his will.

Now he was trotted out on days like this, a respectful gesture for the man who had created the company. He didn’t mind. Larson loved to see a new vessel set sail, even if it wasn’t going to have a flesh-and-blood crew at the helm.

Larson picked his way up the stairway and into the VIP viewing stands, as close to the ship as he could get. He waved at the shipyard workers, stopping to watch the boarding gantry lift off the ship and move overhead. Back when the company had first started, he knew them all by name. It was something he missed in his retirement, the camaraderie that developed as people worked on a project together. Instead of taking his seat, Larson held onto the railing, wanting as good a view as possible and wishing he was the one at the helm and not some artificial intelligence.

Soon, the Revolution would feel the touch of the sea on her hull for the first time. Pride at what his company had created swelled within him. His thoughts were interrupted, his head jerking up at the sound of tortured metal giving way. Screaming began in the viewing stands as the boarding gantry swayed dangerously. One of the chains securing it had broken and the whole thing was swinging down on the remaining attachment point. It was heading right toward . . .

Chapter 1
~

Cognitive reaction is poor. Minimal nanobot permeation has been achieved at the injury site. The patient’s lack of stimulus-response confirms his inability to make decisions regarding his care. Requesting authorization for expanded treatment options.

Request sent. Stabilization protocol enabled until authorization is received.

Decision pending. Implementing emergency stabilization technique 11z12a. The second request for expanded treatment authorization has been sent.

Authorization for care has been received. Proceeding.

The default setting is loading. Patient history package has been accessed; damaged memory sectors are cataloged for future repair. The system will attempt a connection once the indices are more favorable.

He floated in the gray mist, unsure of who he was or why he was here. There was no pain, no fear, and nothing to do. A new feeling began to exert itself; he remembered it was an emotion called boredom. The state of nothingness and boredom continued. He suspected that he should find the situation unbearable, but instead, he was numb to it all. Strange words occasionally floated into view, but they were just gibberish to him.

Baseline connection established. Loading protocol LL234.45.TI. Race and world information pack 23c upload is in progress.

The gray fog receded a little and he could feel memories flutter by, just out of reach. Try as he might, he couldn’t latch onto anything, save for one thing. It was an important memory to have: his name. He was Larson. His pondering over what the newly discovered name meant for him was interrupted by more words. Larson found he was now able to read them and began to understand their meaning.

Who shall you be?

The question was replaced by images of different creatures. Strangely, he knew their names and a bit of what they were like. It appeared the mysterious words wanted him to select one of these races, but he wasn’t sure how to do so or why this was even required. With no body and no voice, Larson tried to think of a reply.

“I don’t understand.”

Preparatory information has been downloaded. Processing modified creation experience. The subject’s cognitive ability remains below the minimum threshold.

Warning! Danger of cascade memory failure. Implementing subroutine R1. Memory suppression is at 99%. Access to previous nomenclature and baseline personality is active. Loading optimal initial integration protocol. All other actions are on hold pending approval from outside authority.

More words he didn’t quite understand. It was like trying to think through a thick fog. With enough concentration, his focus returned. He had almost lost something just now; he had almost lost his name. So far, he remembered he was Larson. Who was Larson and why was he here?

Permissions have been granted. Proceeding with the formulation of appropriate transitional history. Scanning external sources for personality matrix modification. The subject has achieved baseline cognitive ability. Reattempted integration into the optimal treatment regimen. Complete immersion permissions have been attained. Implementing immersion subroutine.

While Larson could now read the words in front of him, they still didn’t make much sense. He floated comfortably in the gray mists for a time. Like before, he began to feel boredom, though this time it began to bother him. His mind . . . Something was still wrong with it, and after a while, the boredom began to become unbearable. Larson wanted something more. He craved stimulation. He craved . . . purpose. More words appeared, and the demands they were making upon him were now clear.

Who shall you be in this new life?

That was it—he was being granted a new life, but what had become of his old one? Was he dead? Was this some bizarre afterlife? Larson didn’t know, pushing aside the philosophical as he reviewed the material. Bodies of different races again rushed by his view, and he found he could slow down the flow by focusing on one. The first he stopped at was a human. That was what he had been before, but what had happened to him? The strange images slowly progressed across his field of vision, and he knew he had to choose one. Not only that, the one he chose would become his physical form in this new life that was being offered to him. This was a task he could complete; he would take this one step at a time and trust that the whole purpose would be made apparent in the future.

The image of a creature caught his eye. It was an elf, only its body was different, modified to live underwater. Gills and fins replaced its ears, and the hands and feet were webbed for better movement. The sea was important to him. Had he once lived inside its embrace? No, humans lived above the seas. He hadn’t lived in them, but he had sailed upon them. Images of giant metal vessels and fearsome weapons of war flashed in his mind. Alongside the images were those of other metal ships. These weren’t for war; they were for trade and carried goods across the seas. His hand was the one that controlled those vessels in his memory; his will was carried out in their actions.

Subroutine R1 modification is being crafted. Please wait as the appropriate changes are implemented. Background knowledge has been unlocked for the subject; selective memory suppression is at 95%.

Something happened in his brain. He could remember more. Not everything, but more. Somehow, Larson felt a bit more like himself. While he couldn’t recall any specifics, he took stock of what he could remember. He had been a sailor. More than that, he had been the captain of a ship. Larson had served in both war and in peace. He had commanded multiple trade ships. Something else had shaken loose in his mind: his personality had returned. He now remembered who he was. His motivations, his beliefs, and the myriad of things that made him an individual had been restored.

Who shall you be in this new life?

The question appeared again, but this time he was ready. Larson didn’t know how, but whatever was posting these strange phrases in his mind was also giving him a chance at a new life. He had forgotten what happened with his old one, but a fresh start was being offered to him now, and that was more than most people could hope for. He recognized more of the races this time: elves, dwarves, halflings, centaurs. The list continued. Once again, the elf with the gills and fins appeared. He stopped the progression of images, studying the elf.

You were connected to the sea in your past life. Do you wish to live under the waves and explore the ocean’s depths?

It was alluring, but something was off about this sea elf. For some reason, the body didn’t fit him. The sea elf was too delicate, almost fragile. Larson knew he was made of sterner stuff and wanted a body that mirrored who he was. Also, while the sea called to him, he didn’t want to live under it, at least not completely. No, he wanted to explore not only the waves but also the land above.

The strange system that controlled the words in his head listened and adjusted his selections to fit his desires. More races appeared; these were ones that could live in both environments with varying degrees of adaptation. Another elf was there, this time looking less fish-like. He rejected this new version of the aquatic elf as well; it was too puny for his taste. Images passed and another caught his eye. It was a fierce-looking creature, a shark-like humanoid that stood seven feet tall and had a mouth full of teeth. The creature had a regular shark’s tail with two human-style legs that molded flush against its body when it swam. On land, it didn’t look like it would be too fast, but the thing just looked vicious. It had normal, muscular arms, along with sharpened claws at the tip.

What is this? he thought. The system . . . That seemed to be a good name for whatever was offering him this new existence. He would call it the system, at least until it revealed its name. The system did just that, answering his question about its name.

I am Clio, and the creature you are looking at is called a makon. The makon are both feared and loathed by most other races. Low in intelligence, the makon have a primitive society founded on hunting other intelligent races for food and sport. Occasionally, a makon will leave the sea and explore what the land has to offer. While not necessarily adventurous, makon can sometimes be lured to work for other races if they are given plenty of fresh prey and some shiny trinkets for their troubles.

The makon was too far on the other end of the spectrum from the sea elf. He wanted power, but he wanted it controlled by a sharp mind. More races moved through his view; this Clio somehow knew he had rejected the shark man as an option for his new life. He was beginning to grow discouraged as race after race proved to have some flaw he couldn’t overlook. A race that looked like sea monkeys? Pass. Octopus man with tentacles for hands? Nope, too slimy. Pass. Fish with a human face that could levitate on land? Way too creepy. Pass. Cutesy seahorse with legs. Nope, he wasn’t a ten-year-old girl. Hold on, there was one that struck his interest.

Larson stopped on the image of a new race. This one had the upper torso of a man, but the lower body resembled that of a serpent. He was intrigued by the mix since the humanoid torso and head looked normal, with no weird spikes, gills, or fins sticking out. The snake part of the lower body gave the race an imposing and powerful look.

What is this? he thought, and Clio answered.

While most of the naga race are land-dwelling creatures, the sea naga have adapted to live in either environment. All naga feature some humanoid features with varying degrees of serpent-like bodies. Some types look completely like large serpents while others look completely human or elvish and can blend in well with most populations.

The water version of the naga is a bit of a half-and-half situation. They are powerful beings, able to develop natural weapons and defenses while retaining an intellect on par with most humanoid races. All naga will develop natural spellcasting abilities as they grow in power and are fearsome opponents in melee combat. The lungs of the water naga can process both air and water with the same efficiency. Their tails can propel them both on land and in the deeps with equal efficiency. While powerful, the naga learn and adapt more slowly than other races and will gain experience and new levels at a reduced pace.

This one looked like a good fit. His mind tingled as Clio granted him knowledge of the ways his new world would function. Larson understood leveling and that the creatures of the land developed experience as they overcame challenges. Once he had gathered enough experience, he would gain a level and become more powerful, unlocking within himself new abilities and other advantages. Sadly, the naga looked like they would gain this experience more slowly than many other races, but that was somewhat offset by their inherent power. There were likely other advantages and disadvantages to the race, ones he would be forced to discover on his own.

Wanting to make a wise decision—after all, this was going to be a completely new life—Larson scanned through the other races and found a few interesting ones. The race that morphed from a dwarf body into a big fish when it was in the water seemed intriguing, but not exactly what he was looking for. Once he had reviewed the entire list, the sea naga still appeared to be the right pick for him.

Select sea naga for your new existence: y/n?

Larson selected the sea naga and sensed his body being created. He felt oddly disconnected as his indistinct form morphed into the image of the creature he had seen in his mind. The gray fog became solid beneath him, and Larson was left wobbling on his serpentine body. The motion was unnatural, and he fell over several times as he attempted to move around. After a bit of practice, Larson was able to move at a normal pace without wobbling. He even found he could slither up to the speed of a sprinting man when he needed to. His new body stood at just over six feet in height, but his total length from head to tail must have been closer to twelve feet. For perhaps the first time since he had awoken to this new fate, Larson felt excitement at what would happen next.

Prepare yourself for a new world. Your start will be difficult, reflecting the challenges you faced in your old life. Survive, learn, and grow in power.

Larson started to ask a question, only to have the gray fog roll over him once more. An intense pain burned in his mind as something heavy hit his head.

Chapter 2
~

“Hey, bud. Wake up. I don’t want to taste the lash just because you want to sleep in. Get to it, snake man,” a voice called to him as something pulled at his wrists. Larson looked down and could see he was belowdecks on a ship. A dozen benches lined each side of the stench-filled compartment, and each bench held a decrepit pair of rowers. His hands were chained to an oar, and the coarse wood left splinters behind as he gripped it.

“I said ahead slow. You don’t want me to have to tell you again,” a gruff voice shouted as someone opened the hatch to the top deck and descended the narrow stairway leading to where he and the others were chained up. The small man next to Larson nudged him again, trying in vain to pull the oar on his own. Larson wasn’t sure what the deal was, so he went along with the others, pulling in time to the angry orc tapping the handle of his whip on a support beam.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Larson muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t say you could mumble!” The orc stomped his way toward Larson. “You, Maggot,” he grumbled toward Larson’s rowing companion. “You better bring this new guy up to speed. I get any trouble from him and I’m taking it out on you, hear me?”

“I’ll get him working hard, Boss Karth. He’ll follow orders, no problem,” Maggot replied.

“Good. As for you, let this be your first taste. If you’re smart and do what I says, I won’t have to hit you nearly as much as I do some of the others,” the orc said as he raised his whip and lashed out at Larson. He tried to dodge the blow, but another length of rusty chain secured his body to the floor, limiting his movement. The lash bit deep into the flesh of his back and the Clio-controlled system showed him a bar representing his health, a one percent loss displayed, dropping him to ninety-nine percent, but the pain the weapon inflicted far exceeded the amount of damage it put out. Two more hits cracked out in rapid succession, one lacerating his right shoulder and the other snapping against the scales of his lower body. Thankfully, his scales resisted the lash, preventing any new cuts, but the blow still stung. The orc rolled up his whip, pausing to lash out at another rower farther down before climbing the stairs back to the top deck and securing the hatch behind him.

Larson’s wounds began to slowly heal, itching as the bleeding stopped and the lacerations closed. A quirk of this new world, wounds appeared to heal much more quickly than they would have in his previous life. The image of his health bar began to slowly tick up toward full. For now, he concentrated on the task given to him, falling easily into the rhythm with each stroke of the oar.

Larson’s new body was powerful, and rowing the oar he was chained to didn’t prove to be a problem. In contrast, the scrawny human next to him struggled and did little to help with their task. A glimpse of water caught his eye as he looked through the small opening in the hull near the oarlock. The sea below beckoned, and he wished more than anything to leap into its comforting embrace. While he rowed, Larson took stock of those around him. He was in the second-to-last row on the port side and could only see the backs of most of the other prisoners’ heads. Nobody looked familiar.

Hushed tones rose above the creaking of the oars and the rush of the sea against the vessel’s hull. The other prisoners were conversing among themselves, keeping the volume too low for the brutal orc overseer to hear on the deck above. Most of the prisoners were humans, with a few orcs sprinkled in among them. Behind him and the human whom Karth had called Maggot was a large orc and an older human. The orc gave an angry glare as their eyes met, and he got the distinct impression the orc wasn’t up for any friendly conversation. The old human chained next to the orc was rail thin, but he still pulled on the oar with grim determination.

“Hey, snake man, I’m surprised they fished you out of the water. They must have special plans for you. You’re strong, though. I’ll give you that. I think you and I are going to get along fine. Become friends, even,” Maggot said. Larson took an instant dislike to the weasel-faced man and highly doubted they were going to be best buddies anytime soon. He didn’t expect to arrive in his new life chained as a prisoner, but he was determined to find his way in this world, and the first step would be to free himself.

“So who’s in charge of this place, and where exactly are we?” Larson asked.

“Heh, took a bigger blow to your noggin than I thought. You don’t remember the ship you were on? The one being attacked? You were the only survivor they pulled aboard. Captain Ikar’re was not very pleased that your ship went down so fast. All that plunder is now sitting at the bottom of the sea,” Maggot said, using the opportunity to answer Larson’s question as an excuse to stop rowing. Larson had some vague memory of what the man named Maggot was saying, but he also knew the memory was false, a way for the system and this Clio that controlled it to introduce him into the world. About the only thing he could be happy about was that he didn’t have to start his new life as a baby.

“Who, or what, is this Captain Ikar’re?”

“Oh, he’s not an it. He’s an elf, and he’s the captain of this tub, the illustrious Gull Dropping. The captain’s some cast-off noble git, I reckon, and before you ask, I have no idea how the ship got its name, even though it does seem to fit the smell. The crew are your normal lot of pirate scum, somewhat on the lower end of the pirate scum meter, if you ask me, given the nature of our fearsome ship.”

Looking closer, Larson could see what Maggot meant. This vessel wasn’t exactly a warship and was essentially a small merchant ship that had been repurposed. From the way it rode in the water, he could tell there must have been another deck below this one. The lower deck would be home to whatever cargo and stores the ship had, but in the short time he had been awake, nobody had come down from the top deck, save for the angry orc. If he turned his head far enough to the rear, he could just make out a ladder leading to the deck below. Their compartment didn’t run the length of the ship, so there could be more to it than he thought. Based on the noise above, he figured there was quite a large crew for a vessel of this size. If they could somehow free themselves, it might prove difficult to overpower their captors.

“Hey, Maggot, how many of the pirates are there?” Larson asked. The name Maggot might be an insult, but Larson found he didn’t really care if he offended the man.

“I get what you’re thinking, and it’s a bad idea. Ikar’re may run a crappy ship, but his boys are as vicious as they come. There’ll be no mutiny even if you could somehow break free. I know you’re strong, but you obviously weren’t gifted mentally, were you?” Maggot shot back.

“Don’t listen to that one,” the orc behind him growled. “He’s accepted his lot in life, but many of us wish to taste freedom once more.”

“Bah, you’re all morons,” Maggot replied with disgust. The orc growled and strained at his chains, the attachment points creaking ominously as he tried to get at Maggot.

“Hah, you’re an even bigger idiot than snake boy here. These pirates have us locked down tight. There’s no escape from here, other than being tossed over the side as chum for the makon,” Maggot taunted.

The creaking of the deck under the orc gave Larson an idea. The chains around him were pitted with rust, but the iron was still strong, much too strong for even his powerful arms to break. Where the chains attached to the deck was a different story. The manacles on his wrists were fitted to the oar and then to the deck below, giving him just enough reach to move the oar properly, but no more. Larson tested the bonds, pushing all his strength into it. The bolts in the deck creaked like they had with the orc but didn’t budge.

“The deck is strong. Even my power isn’t enough to break it. Stay ready. A time will come when we can make a move. Until then, act like you’re going along with our captors’ wishes,” the orc behind him whispered.

“Thank you. I’m Larson. What’s your name?” Larson asked the orc. He received no reply, and instead of trying further conversation, Larson fell into the hypnotic rhythm of his work. Through the small opening for the oar, he could monitor the sun’s position. When a few hours had passed, the hatch to the deck above slammed open.

“Make it quick. Waste my time and I’ll see your rations cut,” Karth bellowed. A pair of young sailors, still children in Larson’s eyes, began to walk down the aisle, struggling with large tin buckets full of fresh water. At each rowing station, they dipped their cups in and allowed each rower a few seconds to drink. Those who were too slow had the unfinished water pulled away. Those who tried to hold onto their cups longer got a taste of Karth’s lash for their efforts. Several of the rowers were in bad shape, barely able to grasp their cups and down the precious water.

The boys made their way slowly toward the rear. When they stopped at Larson’s row, he followed instructions and quickly downed the small cup of water. As the cooling liquid slid down his throat, Larson realized how thirsty he had become. He handed the cup over and the slaves in the last row got their water. The sailors then began to make their way back up the row. Surprisingly, they handed out seconds. Larson slammed this one down as well. At first, it seemed odd that the pirates would give them a second cup of water, but then again, if they couldn’t row, the pirates couldn’t catch their prey.

“How often do they give water and food?” Larson asked.

Maggot ignored him, but the orc behind him replied. “Three or four times a day for water, depending on our pace and the heat. Twice a day they feed us, once in the morning and again in the evening. They give us enough to keep our energy up, but not enough to feel full. These pirates may be cold-hearted and brutal, but they realize they need us. The dangerous time is when they take a new prize. If they get some strong new rower, like yourself, you can be sure that one of the weaker ones will have to give up their seat.”

Larson thought on that cold reality. In fact, he wondered who had sat on this bench before him. “Who did I replace?” he asked, getting no reply from the orc.

Maggot snickered and the orc lunged at him once more.

“Don’t worry, snake boy,” Maggot said. “You keep pulling strong for our bench and old Maggot here will make sure you’re in that seat for a good long time. Mess with me and you’ll get what the previous occupant received.”

It didn’t look like he was going to offer any further information, so Larson went back to work. While rowing wasn’t difficult, his lower body began to cramp where it was chained to the deck. He had to struggle against his bonds just to move his tail enough to keep the blood flowing.

They had one more water break, and then as the sun began to set, they were given their evening meal. To serve the evening meal, the water boys were joined by another pair of crew. One would drop a wooden bowl on the bench between the rowers and the other crewman would ladle in some kind of stew. The smell was less than appetizing, but with the amount of work he had done pulling on the oar, Larson was ready to eat just about anything. When they finally made it to his row, the sailor dropped a bowl between him and Maggot, and the second one ladled in some stew. Maggot snatched up the bowl and set it in his lap. Strangely, the little man didn’t begin to slurp it down like all the other prisoners had. The second bowl was placed between them, and after it was filled, Larson reached down to grab it, only to have Maggot snatch away the second one as well.

“Too slow, snake man. Tonight, Maggot finally gets a full belly,” the little thief taunted. The sailors ladling out the stew merely laughed at this turn of events. They weren’t there to settle disputes, just serve the food. If two prisoners fought over their rations, well, it just made a boring work detail a bit more entertaining. Furious, Larson reached for Maggot, the chains securing his body creaking ominously as he was held just out of reach. Maggot made a show of slurping down the watery stew and licking each bowl clean.

“You’ll pay for that, Maggot,” Larson hissed.

“Nope, I’ve got the fastest hands on the seas and you better speak to me in a nicer tone or you’ll starve,” Maggot threatened. Larson lunged again, pushing his whole body into it. He couldn’t quite reach Maggot, but he did notice a bit of slack in the chains holding his lower body down. Examining the chain, he could see it was still in good shape. The bolt holding his body to the floor, however, had slid out a bit when he pulled on it.

“Lay off, you lot. Get some sleep. We’ll need you strong in the morning. These should be some good hunting grounds,” Karth growled before locking them in for the night.

“Feels like we got a light breeze, enough for them to raise sail without too much strain on it,” the orc behind him said. Larson did notice a slight breeze flowing through the small opening where the oarlock met the hull. It was enough to move the air around a bit, but not enough to push out any of the stench in their compartment.

“Why do they only use the sail during a light wind?” Larson asked.

“It was damaged in one of their fights, and small tears are appearing. At least that’s what I overheard from the sailors slopping our rations a few days ago. Better be glad the sail is damaged. It means they have more reason to keep us alive,” the orc said.

“Thank you. I appreciate your answers. Tell me, if I had some way to get us free, would you join me in taking the ship?” Larson asked. Silence followed.

“Aye, I’d take a chance if one arose,” the orc whispered back. The sounds in the hold quieted as the others drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Larson found he had to nod off for only a few seconds before waking up full of energy, as if he had taken a full night’s sleep. The feeling was a strange one, but he chalked it up to a quirk of his new body. Having more time during the night was the perfect opportunity to work on his bonds. He tried to keep as quiet as he could, pulling on the chains with his powerful lower body. The bolt in the floor would nudge its way up, but never very far, no matter how hard he strained. By the time the first glow of morning began to show, he had worked the bolt out only a tiny bit more.

“Wake up, you apes. Time for chow,” Karth roared as he threw back the deck hatch and descended along with the sailors bringing the morning chow. Maggot looked over at him, and Larson could see the gleam of evil in the little man’s eye. This Maggot liked to call him snake man. Well, he was about to learn that nothing was as fast as a snake striking at its prey. As the sailors made their way down the compartment, Larson readied himself.

A chipped wooden bowl clunked down between them, and then the second sailor dropped in a gooey ladle of some porridge. It was a test of reflexes as both shot their hands toward the bowl, Larson reaching it at nearly the same time as the surprisingly quick Maggot. The little man gave a small tug, but while he was quick, he was no match for the strength of a naga. Larson placed the bowl in his lap as the second empty bowl clanked down. Maggot looked a bit stressed and reached for it too soon, causing the bowl to clatter to the floor and the dollop of porridge to splash onto the bench between them.

“Ha, looks like our little Maggot’s met his match in this one,” a sailor said.

“Who dropped their bowl?” Karth demanded as he stomped down the row.

“The snake man, sir. He stole my breakfast and threw his own bowl down to insult you,” Maggot tried to argue. Karth looked down on Larson, who busied himself with cramming down his meal.

“Looks like he’s following orders. Still, no reason not to punish the both of you. It’ll get my arms warmed up for the day,” Karth said before lashing out with his whip. The other sailors jumped out of the way, having just finished dishing out the last of the chow. A crack of the whip left a bloody furrow across Maggot’s cheek. The second blow sounded out and Larson felt the lash burn across his lower back. Maggot absorbed two more blows, one to the shoulder and another that took off the tip of his ear before the orc turned his attention back to Larson.

Another blow stung across the tip of his tail. It failed to penetrate his scales but hurt nearly as bad as if it had. With a grunt, Karth tried again, hitting near the same spot with limited results. The lack of visible damage infuriated the brutal overseer and he lashed out a half dozen more times, the blows randomly hitting Larson’s body, with one nearly taking out his eye.

“Think your scales are tougher than old Karth, do you? Don’t worry, I’ve got something that will take care of that problem. I’ll introduce you to her later,” Karth threatened as he moved to the front of the compartment, breathing hard from the effort of lashing the pair. He waited impatiently as the last of the prisoners finished their meal. “Now, you’ve been fed and watered, so get to it. At a steady pace, row!” he ordered, staying for just long enough to make sure the prisoners were rowing at the correct pace and in unison, administering a few lashes to those who got out of rhythm.

It was going to be a long day, but at least Larson had beaten Maggot at his own game, even if he also suffered a bit as a result. He might not remember exactly who he was in his own life, but he did remember how to deal with people like Maggot. The only way to deal with them was to utterly crush them. Show any weakness and they would exploit it. People like Maggot thought kindness was weakness, so he would find neither kindness nor pity with Larson.

Chapter 3
~

The days were monotonous as the pirate vessel patrolled this area of the sea. Whispered conversations among the prisoners rumored they were at the fringe of a little-used trade lane. Captain Ikar’re must have known he was at the helm of a miserable vessel and was looking to catch some of the smaller trade ships that would be easy prey for even the Gull Dropping. After missing a few meals, Maggot had quieted down and acted contrite, but Larson kept the pressure on, just as Maggot would have done to him.

“You don’t want to let him die, at least not yet,” the orc behind him warned.

“Why not? He would have used this food to torment and control me. I’m just giving him what he intended to give me,” Larson replied.

“I wish to squeeze the life from Maggot myself,” the orc advised. “That is a pleasure I do not wish another to take from me. Think on this: if he expires now, you will face Karth’s wrath. We’ve got no replacement rowers, so if you intend to try and kill him, wait until we take another prize. The excitement of new victims will blind Karth to any deaths among the weaker rowers. That being said, I have a blood claim on Maggot. My hands must be the ones to pull the life from him.”

“Thank you for the warning. What is your name?” Larson asked again.

“There are no names in this hold. On the day we breathe the air of freedom, I’ll tell you, but not before,” the orc said.

“Very well. Keep your secrets, if you must, and I’ll respect your wishes. On the day I command this vessel, you will share with me your name,” Larson replied. He was resolved to take this ship and exact payment from those who had imprisoned him.

When the dinner chow came by, Larson allowed Maggot his portion. By this time, Maggot looked like he was on his last legs and was no longer able to do anything other than place his hands on the oar. With some food in his belly, he slumped over into a deep sleep. Larson waited for the rest of the rowers to get deep into their dreams before he renewed his efforts on the stubborn bolt. Each night it had loosened a tiny bit more. The gains were so small that at times he wondered if he was making any real progress.

“Time to wake up, my lovelies. Chow and entertainment for you today!” Karth bellowed as he stomped down the steps. The first rays of morning sunlight filtered into the hold as the prisoners struggled to wake up. Larson halted his efforts on his bonds and sat up tall to see what the orc was talking about.

“The naga here,” Karth started, pointing toward Larson. “Thought I had forgotten about him and his tough scales, but old Karth never forgets. Today, as you dine on your morning feast, you’ll get a special exhibition of my old flenser. She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Karth held up the shorter whip he had brought today. Along the last foot of the whip, several fishhooks had been embedded through the tough leather. The hooks varied in size, but all were crusted in rust and other things he didn’t want to think about. Why was this idiot singling him out for punishment?

“I figures he’s due a solid dozen lashes from me old flenser, don’t you?” The rowers remained silent, wisely realizing the orc wanted an audience for his cruelty but wasn’t looking for any verbal support. “While I have a strong arm and, I must admit, a quick temper, old Karth is a fair man, that he is. I think some of my blows broke the skin on his pasty upper body, and only half of my lashes were blocked by his scales. So being the benevolent soul that I am, I’ll only give the naga here six tastes of the flenser,” Karth said as he slowly stalked toward Larson. When he reached Larson’s aisle, the orc took a couple of practice swings. The whip named flenser didn’t quite have the same snap as the other whip, but it was much more intimidating.

The first blow landed just below his waist. Three of the crusty hooks penetrated his scales, and as the orc pulled back, the weapon ripped away small bits of flesh. Despite not wanting to give the orc any satisfaction, he couldn’t help but gasp in pain. When the second blow hit, Larson felt pain not only in his tail but also inside his mouth; something had poked his tongue as he shouted. The lashes landed one after another, and by the time the orc had finished, his lower body was covered in small holes that were rapidly leaking blood onto the deck.

“All right, the show’s over and I think our little snake has learned his lesson. Eat up. We’ll have some action soon, and if you can’t keep the pace I call when we spot a target, I’ll introduce the lot of you to the flenser,” Karth growled as he returned to stalking the aisle.

The pain distracted Larson, and there was no way he could beat Maggot today if the little man tried to take all the food. In the end, it didn’t matter. When the sailors reached his row, Karth directed them to hand Larson his bowl directly. He was also given a third cup of water. Larson knew he was the best rower in the hold, and if he realized that, Karth had to as well. The food and water wasn’t a show of weakness or sympathy by Karth; he was only trying to bring Larson up to his normal strength for any coming fight. Once everyone had their breakfast, the orc sounded out the count and the rowers began their day’s labor.

The pain in Larson’s mouth felt different from the pain inflicted by his tormentor. Moving his tongue around the roof of his mouth, he could feel a pair of sharp protrusions. He had never noticed them before, and with a bit of practice, he found he could move them. His efforts led to more punctures of his tongue, but he started to get the hang of them. It appeared he had fangs, just like a venomous snake. The strange system that guided this world responded with another notice, this time explaining his new discovery.

Racial trait discovered: Venomous Bite. Like all variants of the naga race, water naga possess a set of fangs that can deliver venom to their prey. You have been granted the subtype Venom Spit. You can accurately spit venom up to 10 feet. Once you have used this ability, it will take your body up to 7 days to replenish your venom reserves. Your specific venom subtype is a powerful cytotoxin that creates rapid necrosis of any living tissue or organic material it touches. When you are underwater, this ability creates a small cloud of venom that will remain in place for up to 10 seconds before diluting. As you attain higher levels, this power will improve.

This was an unexpected benefit, one Larson could think of several uses for. The urge to try out Venom Spit on Karth the next time he saw him was almost too much to resist. Patience won out, and while the ability might grant him a small modicum of vengeance on the orc, saving it for when they made their escape was perhaps the wiser choice.

Despite Karth’s words earlier, there wasn’t any call to action that morning. The winds changed as the day wore on, and eventually they became perfect for the sail, allowing the rowers to relax a bit as they plied the seemingly endless waters of the trade route in search of a victim. Larson’s wounds healed more slowly than they had before; the nasty things coating Karth’s flenser had caused the wounds to fester. Larson’s powerful body fought back against the infections, and by the time dinner was served and the sun was fading over the horizon, he was nearly healed.

Once again, as the crew slept, Larson pulled on his bonds. His lower-body muscles stretched and strained against his chains, the links digging painfully into his flesh. Then it happened: with the sharp crack of wood splintering, the bolt holding him to the deck popped out. Ever so slowly, Larson slithered his way out of the chains. His wrists were still held fast, but with his body free, he had a chance. Larson wrapped his tail around the chains bolting his wrists to the deck and pulled. It didn’t take long before that smaller bolt popped free. Using his tail, he pulled the chain through his manacles, freeing up his hands. Looking around, Larson was surprised the noise hadn’t woken up the rest of the sleeping prisoners. The only motion was from Maggot, who looked up at him pitifully and held up his bonds.

“You want me to free you? Why should I?” Larson asked.

“Free me and I can help you free the others. All I need is a splinter of wood to pop these cheap locks. I can free five men before you manage to muscle your way into freeing one,” Maggot offered.

Quickly freeing those who wished to join him was going to be key to their survival. Larson would have to keep a close eye on Maggot, but he needed the help. It didn’t take too long to snap the chains on the little man; they had been rusting away on him for some time and they weren’t secured as tightly to the deck. As soon as the bolts were pulled from the floor, Maggot wasted no time in locating some of the larger wooden splinters strewn about.

“These should do,” Maggot said. “I’ll start at the bow and work my way back. You start back here, and we’ll meet in the middle.”

Larson nodded his agreement and nudged the orc behind him awake as Maggot made his way forward.

“What’s happening?” the orc said, pulling up his chained hands in an effort to defend himself.

“No, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to free you,” Larson said.

The orc looked at him in shock before nudging his rowing partner awake.

“Pull your chains taut, and I’ll pop them from the floor. We can worry about getting the manacles off our wrists later, after we’ve taken the ship. Maggot’s working on the men at the bow and we’ll start freeing people back here,” Larson added as he tried to get a good grip on the orc’s chains.

“No! Maggot will betray us like he did before. Stop him!” the orc hissed. Larson was confused and looked toward the bow, where Maggot was supposedly freeing the others. Instead, he had passed the first rows of prisoners and was climbing the steps to the top deck. The hatch was locked from the outside, and when the little man saw Larson and the orc looking at him, he rushed to the top and began pounding on the hatch.

“Help, the snake man prisoner has escaped. Help!” Maggot shouted while banging on the hatch. Larson let go of the orc’s chains and slithered down the passage, his motion a bit wobbly and slower than he had hoped. He didn’t know if he was still learning his new body or if his awkwardness was a result of being chained up in a cramped position for so long. Shouts on the other side of the hatch told him the plan had failed. He and the others had been betrayed, and with only himself free, there was no way he could fight off the entire crew.

That didn’t stop him, however. He moved faster with each passing second as he learned to control his new body and the numbness from his imprisonment abated. He heard the hatch being undogged and opened just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Following his instinct, Larson stopped and lashed out with his tail, the blow knocking Maggot over and causing the little man to tumble down the stairs in a series of painful thumps. Karth started down the stairs right behind the tumbling human, backed up by a slew of armed crewmen. Larson wrapped his tail around Maggot’s neck, dragging him back down the passage as he retreated.

“What have we here? A snake and a Maggot, ready to cause me trouble?” Karth hissed out. He held his trademark whip in one hand and a shortsword in the other. The men behind him checked on the other prisoners as they passed each row, making sure they were still secured while following the slowly retreating Larson. He knew this looked bad and had to come up with a story that would keep him from being hung off the yardarm.

“Wasn’t trying to escape, boss. I just spotted this little turd making a run for it and broke free to catch him,” Larson said as he passed the last row of prisoners.

“Ah, doing me a favor, were you? I doubt that. We have a way of dealing with mutineers, we do. I’ll tie you to the mast and let the crew have a go at you with the flenser until you’re nothing but a pile of scales and gore,” Karth threatened. Larson could tell that Karth wasn’t buying the story; he had to make it look at least plausible.

Maggot tried to talk. It came out as a gurgle as Larson tightened his grip around the man’s neck. The little man started jabbing his wooden sliver ineffectively into his scales, giving Larson an idea. With a quick flick, his tail jerked upward and Maggot’s neck snapped with a meaty crack. Larson dropped the lifeless body on the floor and backed all the way to the stairs leading into the cargo hold.

“Look at his hands, boss. He used those slivers to dig out the bolts holding him down. He said he was going to get me killed and that you would believe whatever he told you because he was smarter than anyone on the ship. If I had wanted a mutiny, wouldn’t I have freed the others instead of going after Maggot? No, I just wanted revenge on him for all the torment he’s given me since I’ve been here,” Larson offered. It was a weak argument, but he had to hope the pirates’ need to keep him rowing overcame Karth’s desire to kill him.

“Not buying it, snake man. Haul him topside and let me get my flenser,” Karth growled, pushing forward a pair of sailors who gave Larson fearful looks. He was unarmed and outnumbered, but he must have looked intimidating after snapping Maggot’s neck with little effort.

“Stay your hand, my good Karth. Is there perhaps a note of truth in what the naga is claiming? I would hate to have to dispose of a second prisoner tonight,” a melodious voice called out from behind the pack of crew clogging the passage. The crew parted as a thin man walked to the side of Karth. The pointed ears and strange mannerisms told Larson this wasn’t a man but, in fact, an elf. The fine cut of his clothes pegged him as the captain, or at least a senior crew member, if Larson was any judge of such things.

“Aye, Captain Ikar’re. Let me take a look,” Karth said. He made a show of finding the wooden slivers in Maggot’s hands and looking at the chains. “Could be as he said. More likely, he busted out and was about to free the rest of this mutinous lot.”

“Hmm, he is a strong one. Perhaps we give him a second chance. At least until we find a replacement,” the captain suggested.

“Aye, sir. I’ll see he’s trussed up good and tight this time. He’ll cause no more shenanigans for you,” Karth replied.

“Good. See to it. I’m back to bed,” the captain said with a dismissive wave. Larson submitted to Karth and the others as they manhandled him back to his bench and began the process of securing him once more.

“Oh, my good Karth, one more thing,” the captain said.

“Aye, sir?”

“As soon as we have a suitable replacement, see that this naga is ‘retired’ from his duties,” the captain ordered.

“Aye, sir. I’ll see to it personally, I will,” Karth replied. The orc’s crooked smile told Larson he could expect a most unpleasant end should they ever find a new batch of prisoners.

Chapter 4
~

Larson was burdened with a second set of chains on his body by the time the crew was finished securing him. After they left, he tested his strength against the bonds, only to find they weren’t budging in the least. It would be some time before he’d be able to work them loose as he had with the first set—time he didn’t believe he had after Karth’s threats. A strange bar in the corner of his vision appeared and began blinking, just above where his health had been displayed. Larson tried to focus on it, finding the process wasn’t too difficult.

Larson, Level 0

Race: Water Naga

Class: n/a (reach level 1 to unlock a class)

Experience: 6%

So this was a way for him to track his experience. Sadly, it looked like he had discovered another negative of his race; he was starting at level 0 instead of level 1. His attempt at escaping and the fight with Maggot must have somehow been enough of a challenge for the system to grant him six percent experience. It was a start, and Larson didn’t intend to stay at level 0 for long.

“Should have woke me first. You were dumb to trust the Maggot,” the orc behind him whispered.

“It’s not like I trusted him. More like I needed help in freeing the others,” Larson shot back a bit too harshly, frustrated over his current circumstances.

“Lie low and bide your time. Our freedom will come, and the ship will be ours. When that happens, you will owe me for stealing the life of Maggot. He had wronged me greatly, and I had planned to make his end a long and painful one. Now you have taken that vengeance from me and will have to repay the debt,” the orc said. Larson didn’t quite know how to reply to that, deciding to let the threat rest; he was in no mood to argue with the surly orc.

“Oy, your name’s Larson, isn’t it?” the skinny man beside the orc asked.

“Aye, it is. Are you willing to part with yours?” Larson asked, shocked the man had spoken. In the brief time he had been a prisoner, Larson had only heard the man whisper short conversations with the orc. In fact, most of the other prisoners only spoke to one or two others, rarely trusting anyone, save for those physically closest to them.

“Tarley. My name’s Tarley. Before I was swept up by this lot, other sailors knew me as Jolly Jim Tarley. Now I just go by Tarley. Not much in this life to be jolly about anymore,” the man replied. “Tell me, Larson, what were your plans if we had taken the ship?”

It was a good question, and Larson hadn’t given it much thought past the desire to free himself and take the ship. Once he had the ship, then what? Command of a vessel was in his blood—that much he remembered from his old life—but were these shabby prisoners willing to follow his lead, or would they back someone else?

“I would sign on any crew that wished to stay and head toward the nearest friendly port. This isn’t the best ship to ply the seas, but I doubt it’s the worst. There should be some cargo or passengers that need to move from one place to the other, and perhaps I can have a go at being a merchant. I’ve been in command of a ship before, both in peace and in war, so I should be able to eke out a living moving cargo with this old tub,” Larson replied. He was short on details at the moment, but should they take the ship, he intended to be the one in command.

“Might be some others that want the captain’s title as well, Larson, and that could lead to problems. Of course, our problem right now is that we’re all prisoners. Once free, men can get a bit squirrely after being held for a long time. Best to watch your back,” Tarly warned.

“You trying for the captain’s slot as well, Tarley? Is it you that I have to watch out for?” Larson growled. He was in a bad mood and didn’t like hearing what the man was telling him, even if it was true.

“No, perhaps back in the day I’d have a play for it, but I’m too old and run down. Same with most of the others, but there’s always a worm in the apple when power’s involved. Treat the crew fairly and I’ll throw my support behind you. From what I know of the rest of this riffraff, there aren’t many that know a ship’s bow from the bosun. Most of them were drunks that were crimped from the taverns. The few they scooped from the sea after a fight aren’t good for much more than pulling at an oar.”

“What makes you think I’d do better at leading the ship than one of the others? After all, I was scooped from the sea as well. For all you know, I’m a lubber that just talks a good game,” Larson replied. It was late, but he didn’t need any sleep, and talking helped keep his mind occupied.

“I can tell. An old sailor knows his own kind, he does. Get us free and I’ll do what I can to bring the others around. Most of them will jump ship at the first port we find. A few might even have families to go back to. The others? Just remember that when their ships were taken, they were the ones who willingly surrendered to the pirates rather than risk death or injury by fighting for their ship,” Tarley advised.

“What about your friend there? Is he going to be a problem?” Larson asked, trying to gesture toward the orc, but his hands were held fast by the new restraints.

“He’ll come along. Any beef between the two of you over Maggot will have to be resolved, but that’s not something I want to be involved in. While we’re not the best of friends, I can tell you he’s an orc of his word and has no designs on being a ship’s captain,” Tarley said before leaning over his oar to sleep. With the restrictive chains, there was no comfortable position to sleep in, and Larson had seen most of the crew simply folding their arms over the oars and resting their heads that way. Thankfully, it wasn’t something he had to worry about.

Morning came and the usual breakfast followed. Larson was a bit shocked Karth hadn’t brought the flenser along for a little entertainment. The fact that he hadn’t been punished with a lashing was a bit disconcerting; it meant Karth had bigger plans for him. They kept their steady pace, tracking back and forth over the route as the pirates looked for prey.

“Put your backs into it, boys. We got us a sail on the horizon. Keep in time, you dogs!” Karth shouted out as he threw open the hatch and stomped his way into their compartment. Sounds of an excited crew preparing for battle drifted down through the open hatch. Karth was calling out a modest pace. They were making headway, but it wasn’t a pace that would wear down the rowers too quickly.

“Keep your weapons out of sight. No need to tip them off too early. Let them think we’re another merchant pulling up so we can trade information,” the captain’s voice called. Larson didn’t think whoever was on board the other ship would be fooled into believing the Gull Dropping was a friendly vessel. Time passed and their pace increased slightly. From the bits and pieces of conversation that drifted down from the crew above, he could tell they were gaining on their prey.

“Ease off starboard. Pull hard port side!” Karth shouted as commands were relayed from abovedecks. Larson was on the port side and pulled hard enough to keep Karth’s eyes off him, but not as hard as he could. If the Gull Dropping took a prize this day, his life wouldn’t last too long if there were any prisoners. The ship came about, and Larson wished he could see what was happening. Sadly, the small opening for his oar only gave a view of the sea below.

“Ware the other vessel. They’ve got siege gear. Looks like a small ballista!” a crewmember shouted. Larson didn’t think the Gull Dropping sported any long-range firepower like that; their only strategy was to close quickly with their prey and board.

“Now, pull like your lives depend on it, because they do!” Karth shouted and the ship began to gain speed. Walking up and down the compartment, Karth got out his whip, lashing out at any he thought weren’t working hard enough. Larson pulled only as much as he was forced to, not wanting to contribute to his own demise if the pirates were successful. Still, their efforts must have been enough, and Larson heard the crew begin to shout insults and threats across whatever short distance now separated the vessels. Karth called out several course corrections, using the pull of the oars to supplement their rudder as the other ship began evasive maneuvers.

Wood splintered and flew among the rowers, causing Larson to look up at just the wrong time. A two-inch-long splinter hit him in the cheek, piercing the inside of his mouth and taking a chunk out of his tongue. The pain hit a second later, and blood began to fill his mouth. Larson panicked as he choked on the blood dripping down his throat, trying in vain to grasp the splinter that had wounded him. Taking a calming breath and tilting his head down as far as his bonds would allow, he let the blood drain from his mouth and angled his head so he could grasp the offending splinter with his restrained hands. With a sharp tug, the splinter was out, but the pain hardly diminished. Larson was forced to spend time fishing for the few remaining slivers of wood that stuck into the wound. Once they were out, his body’s rapid healing could start on the injury.

Catching his breath as the blood flow slowed, he looked toward the aisle and could see a spear-like weapon quivering in the deck. The knowledge the system had implanted in his mind told him this was a ballista bolt. An image formed of the siege engine that hurled it, a simple yet deadly device that resembled a giant crossbow. If the merchants they were attacking had this kind of firepower, Captain Ikar’re might just have a real fight on his hands. Larson still had no idea how many crew the Gull Dropping carried, but a merchant ship typically didn’t carry more than it needed to function. Extra crew and trained guards were an expense to merchants, but to pirates, their crew was their power.

Moving his gaze toward the bow of the ship, he spotted the hole the ballista had punched out of the hull’s side. It was near the top of their compartment, just below the upper deck. The plank had shattered on impact and was the source of the splinters that sprayed along the rowers on the port side. Karth was stunned but unhurt from the ordeal and wasted no time in cracking his whip to get them back to pulling on their oars. Larson gripped his oar and pulled slowly. The distracted orc wasn’t looking too closely at their efforts and was focused on a pair of prisoners seated on the front bench on the starboard side. Both had taken the brunt of the splintered plank and were not moving, no matter how many lashes Karth snapped out. The growing pool of blood around them told Larson they were gone.

“Hey, Larson, can you reach that with your tail?” Tarley called from the bench behind Larson. Looking down, he could see Tarley indicating the long, bloody splinter he had pulled from his face. It was situated just under his bench, and if he tried, he could barely reach it with the tip of his tail; the drying blood helped it stick there. Straining, Larson pushed his tail under the bench as far as it could go. He made it just past the bench, not nearly far enough for Tarley to reach with his manacled hands.

“That’s as far as I can go,” Larson said, turning his head to look at Tarley. The skinny man just winked and bent down toward the deck below. With little struggle, he pushed his skinny arm through the manacle binding his wrists to the oar. The manacle slid over his elbow and all the way up to his armpit.

“Lost me a bit of weight during my stay aboard the Gull Dropping. These manacles are just a bit too small for me to slip off my wrists, but my arms can push through past the elbow if I try,” Tarley whispered. With his arm pushed through, the skinny old sailor was able to pinch the splinter with the tips of his fingers. Larson held his breath, waiting for the man to lose his tenuous grip. Tarley held on and went to work on his manacles, using the sharp splinter like Maggot had claimed he was going to do.

Another ballista bolt hit the ship, but there was no damage to their compartment this time. Karth didn’t notice Larson and Tarley’s actions. Instead, he spent time taking out his frustrations on the dead sailors in the front row. Shouts from above ordered the ship to turn hard to starboard. Larson and the remaining prisoners on the port side kept their pace while those on the starboard side backed oars. They brought the ship about as quickly as the ungainly vessel could manage. Karth gave the order to ship oars, and the prisoners pulled the oars back into the ship, preventing them from snapping off against the side of the other vessel. The ship began to shudder as it scraped against the merchantman. The shouts on the top deck intensified, and Larson could now hear the clash of weapons. Once, he saw a flash of light and felt a blast of heat through the hatch opening.

Karth drew his shortsword, clipping his whip to the belt. For the first time, the orc looked unsure of himself. Larson could tell that Karth wanted in on the action on the top deck but must have been ordered to stay down here to keep an eye on the prisoners. A loud clatter sounded behind Larson as Tarley finished unlocking his restraints. Karth turned toward the sound.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect them to be that loud,” Tarley said as he got to work on the orc’s restraints.

“I see you, little man. No need to keep you weaklings alive now. We’ll have plenty of new prisoners to row the old Gull Dropping as soon as we take care of the merchant’s guards. You’ve met my lash. Let me introduce you to my blade,” Karth threatened as he stomped toward the frantic Tarley. The frightened man fumbled in his lockpicking and dropped the shard of wood.

Tarley would stand no chance fighting unarmed against the powerful Karth, and Larson knew he had to try and even the odds. As Karth neared his bench, Larson struck. The contraction of the muscles inside his throat felt strange and almost painful as they forced his fangs forward and sprayed a stream of venom onto Karth. Larson had been aiming for his face, but the stream had dropped as it covered the short distance to the orc, spattering over his leather breastplate.

“You’re next after him, naga. Spitting on me is motivation to make your end a bit more painful,” Karth threatened. The leather on his chest began to smoke as the venom broke down the organic matter. Karth tried to brush off the smoking liquid, only to begin grunting in pain as the venom ate into his unprotected fingers. Larson didn’t know what to expect with his attack and watched in fascination as the orc’s fingers turned black and the flesh rotted away. The venom then spread, creeping all the way up to his wrist. Karth dropped his sword and began to fumble one-handed with the clasps holding his breastplate in place. The venom had eaten through the leather and now the flesh on his chest had begun to rot away. Karth dropped to the ground and began to groan as he succumbed to Larson’s attack.

“Tarley, get his keys,” Larson ordered. Tarley and the other prisoners were looking at Larson with shock, trying to come to grips with what he had just done to their captor. Tarley crept toward Karth, stopping to scoop up the fallen shortsword before approaching the groaning overseer. Tarley spat on Karth and drove the sword into his chest with all the wiry strength he possessed, ending the wounded orc.

“The key, Tarley. Hurry, before someone comes down here,” Larson urged. Tarley grabbed the keyring off Karth’s belt and went first to his orc companion, unlocking him before going to work on Larson’s bonds.

“Free. I am free, but to remain so, we’ll need to fight,” the orc said as he pulled the sword from Karth’s chest with a sickening slurp. Larson’s chains clattered to the floor as Tarley went to work on the next row of prisoners.

“Hold up, Tarley,” Larson ordered, causing the man to pause in his work. “Listen up, everyone. We can free you, but only if you agree to fight. Anyone who doesn’t wish to fight can remain down here, chained up like dogs. If the pirates win, they might let you live since you didn’t participate. Make your decision when Tarley gets to you. Fight or stay, your choice, but anyone who refuses to take up arms against our captors deserves the chains that bind them,” Larson said.

Tarley went back to work as Larson moved over to the ballista bolt.

“This might work. We’ll need every weapon we can get our hands on,” Larson said as he pulled the bolt from the deck. The tip was warped from the impact, but overall, the weapon would suffice.

You have acquired your first weapon. The ballista bolt can function as an improvised short spear, which belongs to the polearms weapon category. Proficiency in one weapon class will now be granted to you. Be advised that when you reach level 1 and choose a class, certain weapon types may be restricted. Do you wish to acquire weapons proficiency in polearms: y/n?

Somehow, the weapon type felt right to Larson and he hit yes. His mind flooded with knowledge as he learned the basic stances, attacks, and defenses that were effective with the weapon. When the system was done with him, Larson felt he could handle himself in battle with some degree of competence, but he also had a long way to go in order to master this type of weapon. The makeshift nature of the ballista bolt wasn’t helping any, but he figured he could get the somewhat pointy end into the squishy parts of a foe.

“Any of you know how to use a whip?” the orc asked, pulling the hated weapon from Karth’s body after also finding a small dagger he had hidden in his boot. Tarley motioned for the dagger, hooking the sheath inside his waistband.

“I’m no expert, but I can use a whip. Used to work on a caravan and needed to snap the whip a time or two when the mukok were being stubborn. If all else fails, the handle will make a good club. It looks like old Karth used a metal shaft for this thing,” one of the sailors said, taking the dreaded weapon from the orc.

“What’s your name?” Larson asked the man as he gave the whip a couple of test cracks. True to his claim, the man seemed to at least get the lash going in the direction he wanted.

“Name’s Winston, sir. Ready to take it to these pirates whenever you give the word.”

To their credit, nearly all the prisoners offered to fight. The only three who wanted to remain behind had been wounded by the shrapnel from the ballista bolt. Larson left them locked to their stations as he counted up who he had left. Not every bench had two rowers; the lack of prisoners had been one of the things keeping Larson alive after his first attempted escape. Not counting the pair who had been killed by the ballista and the others who couldn’t fight, Larson had thirty-seven prisoners willing to do battle.

Chapter 5
~

“For the first time since my capture, I can taste the air of freedom,” the orc said, grasping Larson’s hand with a firm grip. “I am Nogreb and I will follow you, Larson. Don’t think this absolves you of your debt to me for killing Maggot. That remains to be paid.”

The orc had finally given up his name, and from the way he carried the shortsword, Larson could tell he knew how to use the weapon.

“I’ll check on the course of the battle above us,” Nogreb said, moving toward the hatch. Winston followed behind the orc, the pair clearly anxious for some revenge.

Nogreb peeked his head above the hatch coaming; he would have been hard to spot abovedecks due to the chaos of battle. The sound of fighting had drifted off but hadn’t diminished much since it started. If anything, the fighting seemed more frantic than before. Tarley was making good time, but most of the locks hadn’t been used since the day they were first attached to the prisoners. Salty air had rusted several closed, and it took time to work them loose.

“Most of the pirates are now on the other ship. Only a handful remain behind. The merchants are fighting hard, but it looks like they were badly outnumbered. There must have been more pirates than I thought they could pack onto this tub,” Nogreb advised.

“Are there any weapons on deck that you can see?” Larson asked.

“A few bodies are on the deck, pirates killed by ranged weapons from the other ship. If nothing else, the men can grab a belaying pin. They work decently as a club.”

“What’s the exact count, and where are they located?” Larson asked. This was a battle, and vague answers got people killed.

“A half dozen. One at the tiller with a flouncy elf officer next to him, and four other pirates at the railing, guarding the boarding plank,” Nogreb replied.

“Right, we’ve got a dozen men freed now and only four of us with weapons. We need to move before the pirates take the other ship and turn their attention back here. Those of us with weapons will rush the four pirates at the boarding planks while the rest of you gather up any weapons you can find on deck. Once you’re armed, go after the two pirates on the tiller,” Larson ordered.

Tarley passed off his key to the man he had just freed and drew his dagger, joining the attacking group.

“Go!” Larson ordered as he slithered up the stairs. His body was strangely agile over the rough surface, the loops of his tail pushing up against the wooden steps and allowing him to climb up at a walking pace. Once on deck, he inhaled a breath of fresh air, the first one in this new world that hadn’t been tainted by the stench belowdecks. Not wasting any time, Larson selected his victim. Four pirates stood near a pair of planks that had been thrown across the gap between the two ships. Their attention was completely on the battle in front of them.

Larson’s chosen victim was a human pirate in a simple sailor’s garb. He was holding a long boarding pike. Larson wanted that weapon. The noise abovedecks masked their approach until the elf on the elevated quarterdeck spotted them and shouted a warning. It was too late for Larson’s target. The man turned around, confused, a look of terror on his face as Larson slithered toward him, the warped ballista bolt aimed for his target’s chest. The force of Larson’s impact drove the dull tip of the bolt deep into the pirate’s body. His target made a strange oh sound before collapsing to the deck. Larson dropped his ballista bolt and grabbed the boarding pike. The weapon felt much more balanced and had a longer reach than his makeshift one.

A quick look about showed that Nogreb had his opponent under control. The man was bleeding from a wound to his belly and was feebly trying to fend off Nogreb’s follow-up strike. Tarley wasn’t faring as well. The man he had targeted held a cutlass, and despite Tarley getting a quick strike into the target’s side with his initial attack, the pirate held him back with a longer reach. Larson swung his new pike into place and rammed it into the hip of the pirate fighting Tarley. That was the plan, at least. Instead of the pirate being impaled, the man turned with blinding speed, deflecting Larson’s pike with the cutlass and cleaving the left index finger from his hand.

While the pirate was focused on Larson, Tarley stepped in and drove his dagger into the pirate’s neck. This blow landed, and the old sailor hit something vital, causing the pirate to drop lifelessly to the deck. Tarley grabbed his victim’s cutlass and the pair of them turned to help Winston. Sadly, Winston’s skills with his whip weren’t up to the task. The former prisoner lay dead on the deck, and the pirate he had been fighting was already over the boarding plank and fleeing toward his comrades on the merchant vessel.

The other prisoners had followed them on deck and were gathering weapons from the fallen. They held a motley collection of everything from another boarding pike to small daggers like the one Tarley had started the battle with. The group looked over to Larson, seeking his guidance. That was good; they were seeing him as the authority here. If—make that when—they took the ship, he would be the one in charge.

“Have at them, lads. Take the helm from these pirate scum,” Larson shouted. The men obliged, and a dozen poorly armed former prisoners charged up the steps toward the enemy. As they fought, more prisoners trickled up onto the deck as they were freed from their bonds.

“Tarley, you and Nogreb gather up any weapons you can find and see to it the new arrivals are armed as best as they can be,” Larson ordered, gesturing toward the pirates they had just killed. “Hold our new arrivals here at the boarding plank in case the pirates head back in this direction. I’m going to help out the others. It looks like they have their hands full,” He slithered toward the fight on the quarterdeck. His men weren’t doing all that well, despite outnumbering the enemy six to one.

The human pirate was armed with a cutlass in one hand and a long dagger in the other. Two dead prisoners lay on the deck, a testament to the pirate’s weapons skill. The elf at the tiller was busy moving his hands in an intricate pattern that ended with him pointing at the swarming prisoners. Half of Larson’s men dropped to the deck. Whether they were dead or merely unconscious, he didn’t know.

“Good of you to join us, naga. You should at least make the fight more interesting,” the elf taunted as Larson approached. The human pirate had taken down another of his men and was easily in command of his fight against the last two prisoners still on their feet. Larson ignored the taunt and used his longer reach to poke at the human pirate’s defenses. The human easily batted away his pike. Larson found that controlling the long weapon was harder without half of an index finger. He pushed aside the pain for now, as well as the question of whether his body’s rapid healing could somehow replace lost appendages.

“All together, men! Strike!” Larson shouted as he and the other two attacked at the same time. The pirate deflected Larson’s pike with his cutlass and drove his dagger into a prisoner armed with what looked like a broken mop handle. Despite his skill, the pirate couldn’t do much against the third strike; the final prisoner hacked a bloody furrow into the pirate’s shoulder with a shortsword. The pirate lost his grip on the cutlass but used his dagger to take down the man who had injured him. This opened the pirate up to Larson’s next strike, and with all the power he could muster, Larson impaled the man. The pike was pulled from Larson’s hand as the impaled pirate fell to the deck, the blood-slicked handle proving too hard for Larson to hold onto.

“Did you lose your toothpick? Too bad for you, my magic can’t be disarmed,” the elf taunted as he closed in and unleashed a fan of flames from his outstretched hand. The fire hit Larson’s chest, burning away his rag of a shirt and blistering his flesh. Out of the corner of his eye, Larson could see his health bar drop rapidly as the damage to his abused body mounted. The elf grinned and resumed his chanting, pushing more power into his spell as he closed in on Larson. That move proved to be his undoing.

Instinctively knowing he was in range, Larson lashed out with his tail, the scaly appendage resisting the flames for the brief moment he needed to secure a solid grip on the elf’s outstretched arm. A flex of his powerful serpent body ripped the delicate arm from his victim. The elf made a squeal as the magical flame guttered out and Larson closed in. He fumbled for a small red vial on his waist but dropped it and cried out as Larson grabbed him.

“Who’s disarmed now, elf?” Larson taunted, then picked up the pirate mage and tossed him over the railing, into the sea below. With the elf’s arm pumping out blood at a prodigious rate, Larson knew he was finished. Blood loss or a hungry sea creature would take care of that problem for him. Curious, he picked up the small vial the elf was trying to use.

Minor Healing Potion: Ingesting this potion will greatly speed up the natural healing process for the next twenty seconds.

Larson was having trouble concentrating. Without the adrenaline of battle, the pain from the burns on his chest was overriding everything else. The skin was completely gone, and burnt muscle revealed one of his ribs. Larson plucked the cork stopper from the small vial and drank it down. The potion left a faint hint of cinnamon on his tongue as it started to do its work. He tried to focus on the battle as he waited to see if the potion would help.

The merchant vessel had been about a third larger than the Gull Dropping. Long and elegant-looking, the ship was powered solely by sail, a design feature that had allowed the pirates to catch up to it in the mild breeze. He spotted the ballista sitting on the bow. The weapon had both injured him and provided the means for his escape. To the aft of the merchant vessel, a tiny knot of armed sailors tried to fend off the swarm of pirates. Larson estimated there was only a score of sailors left trying to fight over fifty pirates. At the rear of the pirate mob, the man who had killed Winston was talking with Captain Ikar’re and pointing directly at Larson.

“You going to make it, Larson?” Nogreb grunted. The orc had seen the fight going poorly and had rounded up three of the newly freed prisoners to assist.

“Aye, the elf had a healing potion and I think it’s helping,” Larson said. Indeed, his exposed rib was now covered with healthy muscle, and the burnt flesh was slowly mending. His stump of an index finger didn’t look any different, other than it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“Good, because it looks like we’re about to have company,” Nogreb said, pointing toward Ikar’re, who had gathered a dozen of his attacking pirates and pushed them back toward their vessel. To oppose them, Tarley only had a handful of prisoners armed and ready.

“Sir, these ones that the elf magicked are just asleep, not keeled over like I thought,” one of the prisoners said as the man he was poking let out a groan and struggled to wake up.

“Good, it looks like that was only a sleep spell. I’ll get the sleeping beauties up and armed. You go and help Tarley,” Larson ordered Nogreb.

“Aye, sir. We’ll hold the pirates back until you get there,” Nogreb replied as the three prisoners grabbed the best weapons they could find and shuffled off to join Tarley. One of the men grabbed Larson’s pike, looking at the weapon with disgust as he held the blood-covered haft. To his credit, the man kept a firm grip and rushed to join the others.

Larson pulled himself up, trying and failing to stifle a scream as the pain began anew with his movement. Using his tail, he slapped at each of the sleeping men, forcing them awake. They were groggy but quickly came to as the magic faded. With his pike gone, Larson looked around for another weapon. Thankfully, one of the dead prisoners also had a pike, so Larson grabbed it. The weapon had a warped haft, and the metal point was dull and corroded, but it should work well enough on the unarmored pirates. Between the dead pirates and prisoners, his men were all able to find something to fight with.

The battle for the merchant vessel had reached a stalemate. The pirates had the numbers, but the merchant’s defense was anchored by a half dozen well-armed and armored guards. Whoever commanded this vessel had paid enough to hire some competent fighters. Each of the mercenaries was equipped with a large round shield and a short spear.

The mercenaries formed a line across the steps leading to the vessel’s quarterdeck and were holding back the swarm of pirates trying to attack them. Magic had been used by both sides during the fight. Smoldering deck planks and patches of ice surrounded the bodies of those who had fallen to the deadly spells. Larson knew only a little bit about magic, but the limited knowledge the system had granted him made him realize that if any of the mages had survived this long, they would have likely depleted their magic reserves and wouldn’t be able to do much until their mana recharged.

Tarley had been reinforced by Nogreb and the three prisoners. Their mass of untrained fighters was barely holding back the higher-skilled and better-equipped pirates. The fact that only two planks were linking the vessels gave them a good choke point to defend from. Despite the favorable position, three of his defenders were already down and none of the pirates looked to have taken any real damage. The boarding planks had been attached by some magical means, and short of hacking them apart, a task he couldn’t do during a battle, the two vessels would remain firmly attached. Larson charged over the planks and into the fight, trying to wrest order from chaos.

“You with the pike, on me,” Larson ordered. “We’ll cover the left plank. Any of you with swords or weapons other than daggers, form up on the right. Those of you with only daggers, stay to the rear and swarm anyone who breaks through. Tarley, grab the weapons from the fallen and get the new arrivals armed.” Thankfully, the men obeyed and went about their tasks. Larson’s wounds were far from healed and every movement was agony, but he could fight, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Pulling back a prisoner who was flailing away ineffectively with a shortsword, Larson took his place. The pirate across from him stepped back and looked concerned. He was beginning to like his new body and the fear it could instill in his enemies. The pirate’s hesitation was his undoing as Larson thrust the pike into his unarmored belly. With a scream, the pirate wobbled and pitched off the plank, falling into the sea below. The unexpected fall nearly pulled the pike from Larson’s grasp.

Before he could recover, another pair of pirates were on him. Another prisoner thrust forward with a pike, burying it into the side of one pirate, but the poorly placed blow barely scratched its target. With a heave, the pair of pirates shoved Larson over the side of the Gull Dropping. Larson swiped with his tail as he fell, knocking the pirates off their feet and into the water with him.

Larson’s body smacked hard into the sea below, and he had a moment of panic as he went under. He knew he was supposed to be able to breathe underwater, but every instinct screamed at him to get to the surface. At least moving in the water seemed natural, and his powerful tail pushed him faster than any normal human could swim. A tentative breath didn’t leave him choking. Instead, he could taste the salty brine of the sea as the fluid moved in to replace the air in his lungs. He didn’t quite know how it worked, but breathing water was only slightly more difficult than breathing air.

The pirates who had pulled him down didn’t have the same ability and had swum up to the surface, gagging and coughing from the water they had sucked down from the fall. Both ships had several lines in the water. Some were the results of failed casts of boarding hooks, and others had been dropped over the side as a precaution for someone going overboard. The two pirates were fighting each other over one of those lines, both trying to be the first to climb back aboard. Larson wasn’t going to allow that, and with a lash of his tail, he propelled himself at his targets.

He was able to grab a leg in each hand and tugged the pirates off the rope before diving deep under the water, his swimming ability overpowering their frantic paddling. Twenty feet under, he noticed their struggles weakening. They might have broken his grip if they had worked together, but panic caused people to do stupid things. Once their struggles ceased, he searched the bodies for anything of use. Belted to one of the pirates was a dagger, which Larson took. The belt fit well enough, but before he could explore what else the pirates might have, he spotted dark shapes circling in the distance.

All the spilled blood was beginning to attract predators, just sharks for now, but Larson knew that worse things hungered in the depths of this strange world’s sea. He swam toward the surface, leaving the pair of drowned pirates behind to feed and slow down whatever was approaching. At the surface near the bow, he grabbed a rope attached to the merchant vessel and began to haul himself up. Switching to breathing water was easy enough, but going back to air caused him to cough deeply as he struggled to expel the fluid in his lungs.

After his coughing fit, Larson began to pull himself up. His arms were powerful, but his body now weighed nearly triple that of an average human. It took some work, but he was able to wrap his tail around the rope, which was thankfully knotted at the end, and used his lower body to help push himself up. He left the water just in time, stopping to watch as a large shape breached the surface and a mouth full of far too many teeth snapped at him. The ten-foot-long shark dove back under, frustrated, but there was plenty of other things for it to feed on this day.

The pirates trying to force their way back aboard the Gull Dropping hadn’t noticed him, and he was able to pull himself onto the bow of the merchant ship, which was clear of any fighting. A few bodies were scattered about, and one of the mercenary defenders lay with his chest cleaved open by some powerful blow. A short spear and shield lay near the corpse, so Larson equipped both. The spear was a strange design, featuring a pair of points at the end, but the weapon was well-made and felt good in his grip. The shield was a round wooden shell covered in bronze, offering good protection even if it was a bit on the heavy side. It might tax his strength in a long fight, but he liked that it could cover most of his upper body.

You have equipped a shield. Equipping your first piece of protective gear unlocks various armor types. Your class and race may restrict the types of armor available for your use.

Larson pushed the notice aside; he didn’t have time to play with the system’s choices. Leading with his shield, Larson moved toward the planks connecting the ships. The pirates were, once again, so focused on the fight in front of them that they didn’t notice Larson until he struck. He drove the twin tips of his new spear into the rearmost pirate’s back, hitting something vital. The pirate fell forward, dead before he hit the deck. Unfortunately for Larson, the pirates nearest to him saw what was happening, and the pair turned to engage him. A cutlass slashed out, and Larson deflected the blow with his shield.

The second pirate began to circle, trying to flank, but Larson wasn’t going to fall for that. Instead, he charged the nearest pirate. His target backpedaled, tripping over a body and dropping his weapon onto the deck. Larson wasted no time, spearing the fallen pirate in the chest with his new weapon while turning to face his second opponent.

The second pirate hadn’t closed in when Larson charged his comrade; rather, he backed toward the others trying to reboard the Gull Dropping. Pausing to catch his breath, Larson could see that the merchants and their mercenary guards were still holding off the main mass of pirates, with casualties piling up on both sides. Nogreb and Tarley had organized the defense between the two ships and had taken out another pair of pirates at a loss of four more of his fellow prisoners. With over half their number slain and an angry naga to their rear, the remaining pirates at the boarding planks gave up the fight, running a wide circle around Larson as they fled back to the main mass of attackers.

Larson let them pass, keeping an eye on things as he approached the boarding planks. At this point, he had a couple of options. The merchants had fought the pirates to a standstill but were slowly being buried by the attackers’ superior numbers. Waiting for one side to win and finishing off the weakened victor was one option. He had no idea if the crew of this merchant ship was any better than pirates. For all he knew, these merchants were up to even more nefarious things than simple piracy.

The other option would be to help the merchants fight off their common foe. Catching the pirates between their forces would surely turn the tide of battle in the merchants’ favor. He would take casualties but would likely gain standing with the merchants, which he might need to make the case that the Gull Dropping was now his. By now, the last of the prisoners had been freed, and with the casualties they had already suffered, he was down to twenty-four prisoners. Many, including him, nursed various wounds, but all were still up for revenge against their captors.

“Tarley, pick five men and hold the Gull Dropping. The rest of you, get over here and make sure you’ve got some steel in your hand,” Larson ordered. Tarley pulled his defenders aside and Nogreb led the others over the plank and onto the merchants’ vessel. One of the prisoners, a female orc, walked up to him while chanting. She placed a glowing, soothing hand over the wounds on his chest. When the spell was done, the wounds had nearly closed over. The pain was still there, but it was manageable.

“Thank you. Who are you?” Larson asked, not remembering seeing any females among the prisoners.

“I am called Shada. I was held abovedecks by Ikar’re. I am a shaman and he used my magic to help with any wounds or sickness among the crew. When the battle started, I slipped away until I saw the rest of you take the ship,” the orc advised.

“Can you help the others?” Larson asked.

“I’ve done what I can, using some of my power to mend the most serious wounds, but my mana is running low. I’ll save who I can,” she replied. Larson nodded in agreement, not quite sure he trusted her story, but for now, at least she was helping.

“Everyone has a weapon, sir. What are your orders?” Nogreb asked.

“Our foe lies before us. They took our freedom—now we take their lives. Leave the merchants alone unless they attack you. It’s best we only have one foe to fight this day,” Larson ordered. The men roared and charged into the back of the pirates’ formation. Captain Ikar’re had organized a hasty defense, but as he pulled men to face Larson’s attack, the merchants went on the offensive, sensing the weakening pirate lines.

Larson charged toward the nearest pirate, a short dwarf armed with a hammer. The dwarf tried to back away from the slithering charge, only to bump into the back of another pirate fighting one of the mercenaries, throwing both off balance. Larson’s spear drove deep into the dwarf’s gut, eliciting a grunt of pain as the dwarf was pushed farther into the pirate lines. Larson deflected a weak swing of the hammer with his shield as he ripped the spear from the dwarf, enlarging the wound. With the dwarf collapsing in a bloody heap at his feet, Larson looked for his next victim.

The prisoner next to him fell to a cutlass strike, and Larson avenged his fallen comrade by shoving his spear into the side of the pirate who had dealt the blow. His men were attacking with a ferocity borne of their hatred, but they just weren’t very good at fighting. With Larson’s forces on one side and the merchant crew on the other, the pirates were hard-pressed. Vicious and bloodthirsty when they had the advantage, the pirate crew began to waver as they fell one after the other to their foes. Larson moved about the fight, trying to bolster his lines whenever there was an opening, his short spear thrusting out to take down pirate after pirate.

What he really wanted was to take down Captain Ikar’re, but the elf had surrounded himself with his best fighters and was safely ensconced in the middle of the pirate horde. To his side, Larson could see Nogreb holding a shortsword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He was a blur of steel as he moved around the edges of the fight, his powerful blows shredding any pirate in his path. Shada was contributing as well, healing any seriously injured prisoners whenever her mana replenished enough to allow her to cast. When not healing, she pitched in with a shortsword and shield. Unlike most of the prisoners, Nogreb and Tarley both had some training in using their blades, but Shada was on another level. Her movements were precise and efficient as she skillfully blocked attacks and responded with a thrust of her blade.

As the battle raged on, a group of pirates broke from the melee and made for the Gull Dropping. Many were cut down, but Larson was forced to leave the main fight and support Tarley’s men. Tarley and another of the prisoners were using boarding pikes to keep the attackers at bay, and as Larson moved to help, one of the pirates was swept off his feet, falling to the sea below. Larson engaged the rearmost pirate, duplicating the tactic he had used earlier. The pirates began to panic, their cohesion lost as they focused solely on finding safety.

Larson used the pirates’ confusion to his advantage. Targeting the pirates gathering on one of the boarding planks, Larson charged. With his shield held out in front, he built up momentum as he slithered into the tightly packed group. His body mass was so much greater than the pirates’ that the impacts barely slowed him. He felt thump after thump on his shield as he cleared the entire plank, finishing up at the railing of the Gull Dropping. The sea below roiled as the frantic pirates who had been pitched overboard were torn to shreds by the growing number of sharks circling the two vessels.

“Nice work, sir. I think it’s best to not go for a swim anytime soon,” one of the prisoners said as Larson’s charge brought him back aboard the Gull Dropping.

“No time to gab, you two. Head across and close off their escape,” Larson ordered. The two prisoners ran across to the merchant ship, sealing in the pirates on the second plank. Larson and the prisoners with pikes used their longer reach to stab and push the remaining attackers off the second plank. A cheer broke out over on the merchant ship, but Larson was too busy trying to deal with the pirates here to see what was going on. Knowing they were trapped, the pirates fought like demons, taking down another pair of prisoners before the last one on the plank was hacked down.

Catching his breath, Larson looked over to see the last few pirates trying to surrender as one of the mercenaries took down Captain Ikar’re with his spear. Larson had wanted the pleasure of killing the captain but didn’t care who did it, as long as it was done. Tarley and a single pair of prisoners remained alive on the Gull Dropping, and only a dozen or so remained standing on the merchant ship. Thankfully, that number included both Nogreb and Shada.

“We’ve won the fight against the pirates, but things could still get dicey. Tarley, you and the others try to get these boarding planks loosened and get ready to cast off if we need to leave in a hurry,” Larson ordered as he crossed back over to the merchant vessel to meet whoever was in charge.

Chapter 6
~

“Stay your blades. Who exactly are you people?” a short gnome asked as Larson approached. The merchants and Larson’s forces had finished off the pirates, but both sides still held their weapons up, unsure if the other was friend or foe.

“I’m Captain Larson and we were being held prisoner on our ship by these pirates. During the fight, we freed ourselves and took back the vessel.”

“This is your ship, and the pirates took it from you? I doubt you have any documentation showing you owned it before the pirates,” the gnome said, rudely not even offering her name.

“It’s ours. We earned it with every stroke of the oars we were chained to, and with every lash our bodies endured, the claim grew. I may not have papers, but this ship is ours through our blood and toil. Who exactly are you to question my word after we helped you?” Larson said, getting angry at this point.

“I’m Helia, captain of the Sea Jumper. You could say we also have a claim on the aptly named Gull Dropping, seeing as how we’ve also spilled blood to defeat her crew.” Larson found it easy to hold his anger in check. He was mad, but it was a cold anger, one he would use to fuel his mind, not cloud it. The madder he got, the more devious he would become. It was likely something he had brought over from his old life, whatever that might have been.

“You can claim anything you want. We hold the ship, and with the losses both of us have taken, I don’t think you’ll want to fight over it—a fight you would likely lose,” Larson threatened. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure how a fight would go between them. He had only sixteen or so prisoners still alive. No, he shouldn’t think of them as prisoners anymore; they were now his crew. He had sixteen crew and the merchants had about twenty. Three of the survivors were the impressive mercenary fighters who had given the pirates so much trouble.

“Aye, I doubt a fight would favor any side, most likely leaving the victor adrift without enough bodies to crew their ship. Take your tub and leave, Larson, but all bets are off in the future,” Helia warned.

“Back aboard, crew. We’ve got some work to do before we can get underway,” Larson ordered. The former prisoners looked at him, unsure of what to do.

“You heard the captain. Snap to it. Gather the prisoners and our fallen,” Nogreb called out. The orc made a show of dragging one of the fallen prisoners back, stacking any weapons he could reach on top of the body. The others followed his lead, taking the pick of the pirates’ weapons. Somewhere along the way, Nogreb had grabbed five pirates as prisoners. Larson wasn’t too sure if that was a good idea, but he wasn’t going to stop and argue at this point.

“Those belong to us,” one of the mercenaries said, indicating Larson’s spear and shield.

“Not anymore they don’t,” Larson said, turning his back on the mercenary and slithering his way aboard the Gull Dropping.

Once across the planks, he ordered them to be removed, along with any lines still connecting the two ships. The Sea Jumper pushed off and raised sail. As the ship slowly pulled away from the Gull Dropping, Larson heard a loud clack and then the mast of his ship cracked, collapsing to the deck. On the bow of the Sea Jumper, the mercenary who had demanded Larson return his weapons stood beside the ballista. Captain Helia stood next to the mercenary, laughing at Larson and his crew.

“I can’t do anything for him,” Shada said, pulling his focus back to the shattered mast. It had landed on one of his crew, killing the man instantly.

“Sir, what do we do now?” one of the sailors asked.

“We need to head to the nearest port,” another said.

“I can tell you one thing: I’m not going to be bent over an oar this time. No way. I’ll man the rudder or something else, but I’ll not go back into that hold,” an older orc proclaimed.

“Stop!” Larson shouted. “First off, we need to get this ship in order. Tarley, you take six men and clear the decks of our dead. Gather anything that might be useful: clothing, weapons, food, fresh water, anything. Shada, see to the wounded. You’re now the ship’s surgeon. Grab an assistant from the crew if you need help. Nogreb, take the rest of the crew and check the ship, starting with the lower deck. We need an inventory of the supplies we have to work with. Make sure you keep a pair of crew guarding the prisoners. Toss them to the sharks if they give you any trouble.”

“Wait just a minute. Who says you’re the captain? We just all got free and I want a say in who leads the ship. In fact, I don’t want to be a sailor. I want to go back home,” one of the men whined.

“That is a good question. Let’s settle this right now so we can get back to work without any grumbling. I’m an experienced captain, I killed Karth, and I didn’t see anyone else stepping up to get things organized. Any objections?” Larson stated.

“I support Larson. He’s done right by me and all of you so far. We wouldn’t have survived the fight without him,” Tarley said. Larson nodded his thanks. Tarley had been the one to pick the locks to free them, but the man didn’t pump up his own deeds.

“He killed Karth and led the fight against our captors. He has my support,” Nogreb said.

“Most of you weren’t sailors when you were taken prisoner,” Shada added. “Half of you were drunks or worse when you got crimped. Larson has proven he can lead, and he knows his way around a ship. He’s our best shot at making it to port alive. I say we support him as captain.”

“Who said you get a vote? You aren’t much better than the pirates, living here above the stink and healing their booboos. Who knows what other services you were providing to Ikar’re and his boys?” said the older orc who had complained earlier, a look of disdain on his face as he glared at Shada.

This one was a problem, a problem Larson needed to take care of right now. He moved right up to the surly old orc, returning his glare. “I think you owe the lady an apology,” he growled. “Many of us would have died in that fight without her healing magic. She didn’t choose her lot aboard the ship. She was a prisoner, the same as the rest of us.”

“I’ll do no such thing! She could have freed us or done something to help, but no, the whole time aboard she only came into our hold once or twice when Karth had beaten a man too badly. She was one of them and should be tied up on deck with the rest,” the old orc said, gesturing toward the other prisoners.

“I’ll give you one more chance to apologize. Things have been difficult for us all, and I think you should step back and cool off before you speak again,” Larson advised.

“No, you should step back. We’re not going to take any bullying from you, snake man,” the orc said, spittle flying as anger tinted his green face red.

“What’s your name, orc?” Larson asked calmly.

“Why do you care about my name all of a sudden? If you must know, my name is Krixdon. Why do you get to declare yourself captain? There has to be someone better qualified to lead us than some bloodthirsty snake,” Krixdon argued to the gathered crew.

Larson lashed out with his tail, grabbing Krixdon by the throat, squeezing until the orc started to gag. “I’ll answer your questions, Krixdon. First, I declared myself captain based on my actions. Nobody else stepped up to command when we were freed. If there was anyone else qualified to lead, they would have made themselves known before the battle was won, not after. To your other question, why did I ask your name? Well, if I have to kill a man to make a point, I like to know his name first. I warned you to apologize to Shada, and I warned you to think before you spoke. You ignored both of my warnings and will have to face the consequences of your actions.” Larson spotted Krixdon’s hand moving and shifted his grip on the orc, releasing his neck and encircling his arms, forcing them to his sides. A dull thump rang out as the dagger Krixdon was trying to draw fell to the deck. Larson dragged the orc over to the railing and, with a heave, tossed him over the side. As he flew down to the hungry sharks, Krixdon let out a horrified scream. Larson felt that the scream nicely reinforced the lesson he had just given. He was the captain of this vessel.

“Now, as for the rest of you,” Larson continued. “I’ll not harm anyone who wishes to dispute my claim as captain. As long as you’re respectful, I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

Uncomfortable silence reigned on the deck.

“I don’t want to be a sailor. I’ve got a family back in port at Rockwell Wharf,” one of the men said, looking nervously at Larson.

“Good, I’ll not force anyone to serve aboard this ship if they don’t want to. For now, we need all hands, but once we get to port, everyone will have a chance to leave if they wish. Until then, everyone will work because if everyone doesn’t pull their weight, we won’t make it to Rockwell Wharf or any other port,” Larson said.

“Then you got my support, sir, so long as I can cut loose once we’re in port,” the man said.

“Aye, you and all the crew have my word on that. For now, we’ll try to make it to the nearest friendly port, and at that point, we can pick up cargo or make other plans. I’ll have Tarley as my first mate. He knows the sea and has proven himself. Nogreb will be the bosun, and Shada will be our ship’s surgeon. These three will be my ship’s officers. Other ranks will be filled out as we travel and granted based on merit to those who wish to stay aboard. Officers, you have your orders. I expect an update in thirty minutes. Until then, I’ll be in the captain’s cabin, looking for charts so we can plot our course.”

The ship was Larson’s, at least for now. A notification popped up, startling him as he entered the captain’s cabin.

Congratulations! You have reached level 1.

Class unlocked: ship’s captain. Through your efforts, you have taken the helm of the vessel Gull Dropping and have acquired the class of ship’s captain. As a captain, you will be responsible for your vessel and crew. This class will evolve as you level, and eventually, you will unlock a specialization. Do you wish to become a ship’s captain: y/n? Should you decline, another class will open itself up to you at a later time and you will be required to relinquish control of the Gull Dropping once you arrive at a friendly port.

There was no way Larson was going to decline becoming the captain after all the work he had put into taking the Gull Dropping. This new life was strange yet intriguing at the same time. When he was transported here, the system had given him the concept of a class, and he knew his body and abilities would change based on his chosen class. What these changes encompassed wouldn’t always be known, so there was some risk involved in the decisions he made. He couldn’t recall much of his old life, but from what he could gather, there were no guarantees as to the outcome of the decisions he made there, either. Larson confirmed he wanted the class of ship’s captain, and new notifications appeared.

Baseline knowledge will be imparted to you, allowing you to function competently in your chosen profession. As a level 1 ship’s captain, all officers and crew assigned to your vessel receive a 2% efficiency bonus for all tasks they perform on board. This bonus follows the crew ashore, provided they are accompanied by the captain or another ship’s officer.

Larson could feel his body change and improve as the system granted him new power and the effects of leveling took hold. He looked the same, as far as he could tell, but he did feel stronger, sharper of mind, and more agile. Also, he felt a tingle in his head as knowledge of handling a ship was granted to him. It felt like something he should already know, but the gaps in his knowledge were filled in. As he adjusted to his newly upgraded mind and body, more information appeared.

You have unlocked the class ability Weather Eye. As you level, additional options and decisions will be presented to you.

Weather Eye: The Weather Eye ability allows the captain to judge weather and sea conditions more accurately. You can eke out extra speed when needed by catching an elusive breeze or helpful current.

You have unlocked the ability to wear armor and use a shield. The ship’s captain class can wear up to medium armor. Anything heavier will interfere with your abilities, as the encumbrance of heavy armor distracts you from various tasks.

You have access to your first combat ability based on your weapon proficiencies and previous combat preferences. Combat abilities scale with your level, improving and changing over time. Choose one of the following:

1. Rapid Strikes: Unleash 2 blows at your target. Both strikes will be more accurate and deal more damage than a normal attack. The Rapid Strikes ability can be used once per day.

2. Shield Bash: Lash out with your shield, damaging and potentially stunning your foe. Shield Bash can be used twice per day.

3. Long Reach: When equipped with a polearm, this strike will double the reach of your weapon as well as improve the chance of a hit. Long Reach can be used once per day.

His brief experience in the combat of this new world told him that all three of these choices could be useful. Reach hadn’t been much of a problem for him since most of his opponents were using swords and the like while he used polearms. Shield Bash could be good, and he liked fighting with a combination of spear and shield. He also liked the Rapid Strike ability and could see it overwhelming an opponent. In the end, having two charges a day for Shield Bash pushed him in that direction.

You have chosen Shield Bash as your combat ability.

New racial trait unlocked: Sense Disturbance. When in a large body of water, you can sense the disturbances caused by creatures moving nearby.

The water naga have an innate ability to wield water, air, dark, mind, or nature magic. Choose a racial magic affinity:

Water: As a creature of the sea, you will be able to control water in all its forms. Blast your enemy with ice, grant your ship favorable currents, or create drinking water for a thirsty crew. A water mage is only limited by his imagination and mana pool.

Air: Fill your sails with wind, knock an opponent to the ground, or ride upon the breeze. Air magic offers a versatile mix of offensive, defensive, and utility spells. While not excelling at any one thing, the air mage can fill several roles in a pinch.

Dark: The naga were once considered an evil race, and while they now embrace all alignments, a small part of their dark past can be tapped for power. Death, decay, and control over the things that swim and crawl in the dark are the hallmarks of a dark mage.

Mind: Naga are known to charm their prey, and you have a bit of that power inside you. Confuse your foes, cause fear, and influence those around you with the power of your mind.

Nature: In tune with land and sea, the water naga are capable of using the power of nature to protect, mend, and even summon defenders to serve for a time.

Larson wasn’t too sure about magic. It was new to him, even though the system had granted him some knowledge of how it worked in this world. Still, he would need all the power he could muster if he wanted to survive and thrive. All the options were tempting, except for perhaps dark magic. One, though, called louder than the others, just as it had called to him when he chose his new body.

You have chosen water magic as your racial magic affinity. Based on your class and race, the following spells and abilities have been unlocked. As you level, additional options will become available and your existing spells will be enhanced.

Command the Currents: You can use your power to control the seas around you and your vessel, speeding your passage or calming high seas. This spell will slowly drain your mana, and some degree of concentration is required.

Imbue Weapon: Enhance your weapon with water magic, adding deadly piercing, bludgeoning, or slashing damage to your next attack.

Create Water: Create up to 1 gallon of fresh or salt water each day. This is an innate power and doesn’t require any mana. The range of this ability is anywhere within view of the caster.

All three spells could be useful, but he would have to practice if he wanted to get the most out of them. Pulling his view away from his interface, Larson looked around the so-called captain’s cabin. The cabin had been placed in a small area underneath the raised quarterdeck, and only a single pair of portholes allowed some fresh air and light into the compartment. While the place was clean enough, it was showing its age. He had no idea how old the Gull Dropping was, but it surely had seen a lot of water under its keel.

A hammock was strung from the top of the compartment, secured by a pair of bolts. He had expected something a bit more elegant based on the previous occupant’s demeanor, but the place was downright spartan. Other than the hammock, a small desk, a chair, and a storage trunk, nothing of interest was in the cabin. Looking through the desk, Larson tried to find charts of the area as well as a sextant or some other navigational tool. He found charts for the immediate area, an area far from any friendly port, which Larson suspected made it a good hunting ground for pirates. This part of the sea was dotted with small islands, and notes in the margin of the map indicated that the mainland was far to the north.

There would be little chance of patrols from any of the nearby powers this far off the beaten path. Of course, the only traders likely to use out-of-the-way routes were those who were up to something shady or ones who had been pushed out of normal ports by fierce competition. The charts Captain Ikar’re had were poor copies. Larson could tell that much of the information was missing, but they would be good enough for him to find the nearest safe port, “near” being a relative term given that the Gull Dropping wasn’t going to set any speed records. He could only hope the supplies on board would hold out long enough for them to make it to their destination.

Without a map of the world, Larson could only guess at what else was out there. His chart with the most information showed an archipelago to the east named the Free Isles. There were several large islands and scores of smaller ones. Based on the lack of detail, Larson had to assume there were more islands not documented on his map. Once he found his current position, he saw that the closest port was a place called Stratwall Harbor. There were no indications of the port’s size, facilities, or anything else, other than that the island holding the harbor was of modest size. It was as good a place as any, so Larson began charting the quickest course there. He had expected to need some type of navigational tools, but somehow, he just knew their position and could tell direction at a glance, a very welcome benefit of his new class.

Chapter 7
~

“Captain, there’s something that needs your attention,” Nogreb called out as he knocked on the cabin door. Larson stowed the charts and grabbed his weapons before heading out to the deck to see what was going on.

“Bosun, report,” Larson ordered. The deck looked much less cluttered than it had before. Most of the bodies had been heaved over the side, and stacks of salvaged weapons and gear were placed near the quarterdeck.

“Sir, we’re still getting things squared away and tallying up our supplies, but there is a problem with the ship you should see,” Nogreb said, motioning belowdecks.

Larson followed him down the hatch leading to where the oars waited for their rowers, the chains of his former imprisonment dangling ominously. The small hatch at the rear of the compartment led farther down. Larson had to duck as he slid down the stairwell; it wasn’t designed for naga to easily traverse. The lower deck held some supplies as well as much of their water stores. While he had been a prisoner, Larson had never seen the crew go down this hatch, which didn’t surprise him since he could make out the shape of another access hatch near the bow. The crew wouldn’t have wanted to be in the stench-filled compartment with the prisoners if they could help it.

“It’s all the way aft, sir. You can see where a ballista bolt must have hit us during the fight,” Nogreb said. A pair of crew were trying to use scraps of sailcloth and anything else they could find to plug the hole and stem the tide of water flowing into their ship. The ballista bolt had hit at an angle, pushing in one of the deck planks and causing the compartment to flood. “Most of these boys aren’t sailors, sir. One of them saw the ballista bolt sticking out and gave it a pull. Too much damage had been done to that plank and it’s giving way. The leak isn’t the largest I’ve seen, but without proper pumps, there’s no way we can bail it out fast enough. We’re trying to patch it, but the force of the water is preventing us from making much headway. I’m not sure what else to do, sir.” Larson detected a note of alarm in the usually steady orc’s voice.

“Let me take a look.” He could see where the plank had buckled. Some wedges kept the fractured plank from being pushed in any farther, but the water was still pouring in through the existing gap. “With me, men. Let’s see if we can push it back into place and then wedge it in.”

Pushing with all his might, he and the two crewmen made no headway; the force of the water was too much for even their combined strength to overcome.

“How long do we have?” Larson asked.

“No idea, but a few hours at best. Tarley can probably give you a better idea, but it’s obvious we won’t be making it to port before she floods. Perhaps we can stretch that out a bit longer if we have the lads start bailing out what they can,” Nogreb advised.

“What about patching the thing from the outside?” Larson asked.

“Sure, if we could get someone to cover the plank from the outside with some canvas, we might be able to slow the water enough to patch the leak. We don’t have the tools or materials to repair it completely, but we could keep the Gull Dropping from sinking until we make port. It’s a tall order, though, sir. The seas are none too safe with all the predators about. I’ll try and find one of the boys who can swim and have him go over the side with a sheet of sailcloth. Maybe he can get it over the leak before the sharks take them.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Larson replied. The crew knew he was a naga, but there were dozens of subtypes, so they would have no idea he could breathe underwater. He headed back up to the deck after telling Nogreb to stand by and be ready to patch the leak.

“What’s the problem down below?” Tarley asked. Larson pulled him aside, not wanting the rest of the crew to panic.

“A ballista bolt hit below the waterline and caved in some hull planking. I’m going to try and plug it from the outside with sailcloth so Nogreb can get a proper patch over it,” Larson said.

“Hmm, you sure you want to go over the side? With the bloodshed from the battle and after we dumped all the bodies, the locals are all riled up,” Tarley said, pointing down to the sea. Larson watched as one of the dozen or so bodies floating along the surface was pulled under, only to pop back up again with the legs missing. Sharks, and who knew what else, were having quite the buffet.

“Nothing that can be done about it. I’m the best swimmer unless any of the crew can turn into a fish. I’ll take my spear along in case I need to dissuade anything from trying to add me to the menu,” Larson replied.

“Aye, sir. It’s risky. At least let me get a line around you in case you get into trouble. It just wouldn’t do to have our captain drown before we even get underway,” Tarley said.

“No need, Tarley. I can breathe as easy down there as I can up here.”

The old sailor looked shocked, but to his credit, he got on with the task at hand. He ordered a man to cut a large square of sailcloth for the captain to use. Leaving his shield behind, Larson took a good grip on both his spear in one hand and the thick sailcloth in the other. The knife he had stripped from the dead pirate was still belted securely to his waist, but it would be more of a last-resort weapon if he went up against a shark. Taking a deep breath out of instinct—a silly action, he thought, borne from his old life—Larson jumped off the side of the ship.

“Keep a line ready in case I need to get out in a hurry,” he ordered before diving under the waves. The waters felt like a warm embrace, felt like home, but this was a deadly home to the unobservant. A quick check around revealed nothing about to eat him, at least not quite yet. Keeping his head on a swivel, Larson swam along the hull, using it to shield some of his body and limiting the directions an attack could come from. The leak was on the port side, aft. He found it quickly; the water around the stove-in plank was bubbling as it filled his ship.

New senses borne of his link to the sea kicked in, and Larson could feel a slight change in the water pressure around him with his Sense Disturbance ability. He swerved around, both hands on his spear as a six-foot-long shark charged him, only breaking off its attack when he thrust his spear into its snout. Trailing blood, the shark swam off a bit, content to now circle him slowly, waiting for an opening.

Why are you bothering me when there’s much easier prey to be had? Larson said to himself. He could see now that much larger sharks were the ones taking apart the bodies on the surface while the smaller ones—if you could call a six-foot-long shark small—were trying to gather up any scraps on the fringe, wary of becoming meals for their bigger kin.

Keeping one eye on the circling predator, Larson maneuvered himself over to the leaking hull. He had released his grip on the sailcloth when the shark attacked, wanting both hands on his spear. Thankfully, the cloth was floating nearby and was easy enough to snatch up. Spreading the patch of cloth out as much as he could in the water, he placed it over the caved-in plank. The sturdy material was sucked into the leak. Larson had to keep both hands on it to prevent it from being sucked all the way in. He could feel the crew on the other side going to work, the thump of hammers transmitting through the hull as they tried to stop the leak.

Peeking over his shoulder, he saw the shark continuing to circle, getting closer, it seemed, with each rotation. The thumping from inside the ship stopped, and he could feel the pressure on the sailcloth decrease. Leaving it there in case it helped with any residual leak, Larson started his way back up to the surface.

A flash of movement drew his attention. The shark that was circling him shot away as fast as it could. In fact, all the other sharks were doing the same thing. Once Larson reached the surface, Tarley and a few sailors were waiting with a rope ladder. Larson wasted no time in getting back on deck. His last view from under the waves was of an impossibly large shadow approaching from the deep.

“Tarley, get some men on the oars and get us moving. I don’t care where. Just get us out of here. Something is coming up that I’m pretty sure we don’t want to be anywhere close to when it makes its way to the surface,” Larson shouted.

Tarley jumped to it, grabbing the tiller and ordering the men on deck to head below and begin rowing. Larson watched as a trio of oars stuck out on either side and began to row in time. There were too few crew members, and he could only hope that whatever was coming would be slow enough to not give chase.

After a few strokes, the ship was barely making headway. Another pair of oars pushed out from each side of the ship, and they began to creep away from their original position. The distance from the floating bodies widened from twenty feet to fifty feet, still far too close. When the wreckage of the battle was about a hundred feet behind them, the water on the surface roiled. Great tentacles, as big around as the ship’s hull, emerged from the sea. Larson could do nothing but stare in fear as the appendages began to snatch up the bodies that were still floating on the surface. Whatever this monster was, it liked the taste of humanoid flesh. He never saw the main body of the creature, only the tentacles. It was like an octopus from hell, seeking to consume anything it could catch.

“I don’t think it’s going to follow. We’re not worth the effort, I suppose,” Tarley said. The old sailor tried to appear calm, but Larson could see the white-knuckled grip the man had on the tiller and the terror in his eyes. He let them row for a good fifteen minutes before calling all his officers to the cabin for a debrief. Tarley ordered another sailor to take over for him at the tiller.

“What was that thing?” Shada asked, her green complexion noticeably paler.

“Ah, you landlubbers act like you’ve never seen a leviathan before. That one was a bit on the small side, sure, but they’re impressive beasties, aren’t they?” Tarley said. Larson knew his words were mostly bravado; he had seen the fear in the old man’s eyes, the same fear that must have been in his own eyes when the monster breached the surface.

“Whatever it was, it’s not chasing us, as far as I can tell, and I hope we don’t run into any more of them along the way,” Larson said.

“Not likely to encounter another, sir,” Tarley started. “They’re territorial, and each of the creatures maintains a large hunting ground they seldom leave unless it’s mating season.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s leviathan mating season,” Nogreb said.

“No, we got a few months yet before we need to worry about that,” Tarley confirmed to everyone’s relief.

“Enough about monsters. Give me a rundown on where we stand with supplies,” Larson asked. Nogreb pulled out a small list he had compiled; somehow, he had found some paper, ink, and a quill while taking inventory. The system categorized everything for Larson, making the information easier to understand.

Ship’s Status:

Vessel: Gull Dropping

Ship type: merchantman

Size: small

Hull: 74%

Ship’s armaments: none

Cargo: none

Supplies: fresh water for 22 days and food for 5 days

Tools and repair materials: 13%

“What happened to our food and water supply?” Larson asked.

“The flooding, sir. Most of the food was being stored belowdecks and the salt water ruined the bulk of our flour and oats. All we’ve got is the salted meat and some of the fruits and vegetables that were hung up. Several of the water barrels were fouled and aren’t usable,” Nogreb replied.

“Fouled? How did that happen? Weren’t they sealed?” Larson asked.

“Aye, but the tops weren’t exactly watertight. The two prisoners that were killed at their oars by the ballista bled all over the deck, and that leaked through to some of the casks stored below, sir,” Nogreb advised.

“Very well. I can conjure up to a gallon of water per day, which isn’t much, but it will help stretch our supply. As for the food, I haven’t any answers other than finding the nearest island so we can forage. Tarley, what’s the status on the crew?” Larson asked. Another batch of information filled his interface, the system using Tarley’s report to disclose more details for his new class.

Ship’s Complement:

Crew: 14/50. As a level 1 ship’s captain, you have a maximum number of crew you can effectively command. While you can command any number of sailors, any class benefits you provide to your crew will cease once you exceed your limits.

Officers: 3/4. As with the crew, you have a limited number of officers you can command. Each officer will provide a small efficiency bonus to any crew they assign a task to.

Prisoners: 5

Personal weapons: poor. Your crew is equipped with castoff gear and makeshift weapons. While everyone is armed, the quality of the gear is poor.

Personal armor: none

Other equipment: none

Ship’s coffers: 3 silver, 11 copper

“Not the most impressive start, but at least we’re alive and have control of the ship,” Larson said. “According to the crummy charts that Ikar’re had, the nearest port, Stratwall Harbor, is at least a week’s sail away. Given that our mainmast was destroyed and we have limited crew on hand to row this tub, I doubt we could make it before our supplies run out. Our only chance is to try for one of the smaller islands and search for food and fresh water.”

“Aye, that’s likely our only option. Some of these islands can be pretty barren or have hostile creatures on them. We’re not exactly equipped to fight off angry natives or monsters right now,” Tarley said, pointing to the nearest islands on the chart. The small landmasses appeared as only dots of ink in relation to most of the ones that made up the Free Isles.

“I don’t think we have much choice. Either we take a shot at reaching an island or starve to death trying to get to Stratwall Harbor,” Nogreb said. “Not only that, but the patch we have on the hull isn’t going to hold for long. We’ll need to beach the ship so it can be repaired correctly.”

Larson knew it was easy enough to get a ship to beach itself; the hard part was getting her back in the water afterward. He supposed he could beach the ship as the tide ran out and complete repairs before the tide came back in. With the limited number of crew, he was going to have a hard time even making it to the closest islands. If the chart was wrong, and all indications were that it wasn’t the most accurate map ever drawn up, they could miss the island and suffer a slow death.

“We’ve no other option. Tarley, set a course for the nearest island and get the crew to start rowing. Make sure the prisoners earn their keep, and chain them to the oars. Let’s see how they like it when the roles are reversed,” Larson ordered.

“Aye, sir.”

“Shada, how are the crew doing?” Larson asked, a bit embarrassed he hadn’t led with that. The people under his command were few in number, and hopefully he could convince the more capable sailors to stay on after they reached port. Figuring out how to get a larger crew was a problem for another day. For now, he needed to see about finding that island.

Ship’s Surgeon’s Report:

Crew: As long as your crew are above 50% morale, they gain experience at double the normal rate until they reach the same level as the captain. Afterward, their experience gain will return to normal.

Level 0 sailors: 10. Most of your crew were crimped into service, meaning they were forcibly taken to serve on the Gull Dropping. Their only sailing experience is with pulling at an oar. At this level, a sailor cannot chart a course, raise a sail, or make more than the most rudimentary of repairs. Untrained, the sailors of this level are poor fighters and are at a severe disadvantage in combat.

Level 1 sailors: 4. A few of the former prisoners have a basic understanding of working on a ship. Some crewed fishing vessels or small merchantmen for at least a brief time. The level 1 sailors can perform simple tasks when ordered to by an officer.

Officers: As with your crew, officers under your command receive a 50% bonus to experience until they reach the same level as the captain. Afterward, the bonus is canceled. The enhanced experience gain only applies to their specific shipboard class, not to any other classes they may have acquired.

Tarley, level 2 first mate, unknown second class: The first mate is an experienced sailor that has moved up the ranks until attaining officer status. In charge of the crew and day-to-day ship operations, the first mate defers to the captain for any major decisions. Tarley provides a 2% bonus to crew morale and a 2% bonus to the ship’s speed.

Nogreb, level 1 bosun, unknown second class: The bosun, or boatswain, is in charge of the ship’s hull and the components attached to it. Working with the first mate, the bosun maintains the ship and organizes damage-control parties when needed. Nogreb provides a 1% bonus to ship repair speed and a 1% damage reduction from all damage dealt to the vessel.

Shada, level 1 ship’s surgeon, level 2 shaman, unknown third class: In charge of the health and welfare of the officers and crew, the ship’s surgeon uses various techniques to help heal wounds and prevent infections and disease. Shada provides a 1% resistance to any sickness for all crew. Wounded sailors under her care recover 1% faster than normal.

Average crew health: 84%. Your crew is physically exhausted and traumatized by recent events.

Morale: 51%

“We’re as healthy as can be expected,” Shada advised, “at least until the crew get some rest and a few decent meals in them. While morale is holding for the moment, I fear that once the euphoria of gaining our freedom has passed, morale will decline. Most of our crew aren’t sailors and don’t want to be here. The only thing holding us all together is your leadership and the promise of returning them home as soon as we make port.”

Larson was a bit curious. The system was showing everyone’s skill and level regarding their position on the ship’s crew, but they also had other skills and classes that weren’t revealed. Shada herself had said she was a shaman and had already demonstrated her healing powers, but now she also possessed a third, unknown class. The way both Nogreb and Shada had handled a blade told of serious training at some point in their lives. As Larson gained their trust, perhaps more would be revealed. As far as morale was concerned, he would be glad to cut loose all the ones who didn’t want to be here. That was, of course, assuming they made it into port before the ship sunk or they starved to death.

Chapter 8
~

Storm clouds began to gather to the north as the Gull Dropping continued toward the nearest island. Larson would have ordered the sails trimmed if they had any. His ship sported only a single large mast in the center of the deck, the mast that had been shattered by the ballista and was now lashed to the starboard handrails to keep it from rolling around. A suitable replacement mast and new sails weren’t going to be cheap, but financial concerns would have to wait until concerns over their immediate survival were alleviated.

“Weather might give us some trouble. We’re too shorthanded for any fancy maneuvers if the seas get rough,” Tarley said while making small adjustments to the tiller, confirming Larson’s fears. He stood on the quarterdeck and looked over his ship. It was a tired and battered vessel, but it was his. A trio of crew moved about the deck, tying down anything they didn’t want to be washed overboard when the storm finally overtook them. Belowdecks, nine of his crew, Shada, and the five prisoners were pulling at the oars. Their headway was dropping as the ocean swells increased with the coming storm. The remaining pair of sailors were down below, trying to shore up and keep an eye on their makeshift patch while bailing out any water that had flooded in. Nogreb was overseeing the work and would call out if they ran into any problems.

“I’m going to head below to help at the oars. Send someone down if you need me, but otherwise, keep the three crew you have up here to help you,” Larson ordered. The last thing he wanted to do was pull at that oar again, but sometimes, leadership required setting an example by taking up the least desirable task. None of the crew wanted to be back at their old job; they had experienced too much fear, pain, and death in those very seats.

“Well, ladies, gentlemen, and scum of the seas, I thought I’d join you for a bit. I need a good pull at the oars each day or I’ll get out of shape,” Larson said, gesturing toward the prisoners when mentioning the scum. “Let’s see how fast we can get to this island. Fresh grub and a bit of a rest await, so let’s get to pulling, lads.” He selected his old bench, looking down at the chains pooled on the deck. They had held him prisoner once, nothing better than a slave, but now he was master of the vessel. He was the keeper of the chains, not the one being kept in them.

A glance to starboard showed the five prisoners working lazily at the oars. Four were humans dressed in the blood-splattered and shredded remains of the clothing they had worn during the fight. All of them had minor wounds and looked pretty used up. The last prisoner was one of the elf officers, a look of defiance pasted on his pointy-eared face.

“Put your backs into it, prisoners. I’ve laid off the lash for now, but don’t think I’m some soft-hearted fool who’s afraid to bring some pain to motivate you. I’ll give you the same offer you gave me: pull or die,” Larson hissed out at the now-frightened captives.

The prisoners picked up their pace, along with the crew at the oars, and the ship began to make headway. After pulling at the oar for some time, Larson realized he had forgotten his magic. The newfound power might be more helpful than another body at an oar. Larson left the rowers and moved back to the upper deck. Tarley and his men were still at work, but the dark storm clouds were coming ever closer.

“Tarley, I’m going to do what I can to speed our passage,” Larson told the old sailor. He stood on the elevated quarterdeck, next to the tiller, while seeking the elusive magic that now coursed through him. The three magic abilities he commanded popped into view on his interface. Selecting Command the Currents, Larson began to focus his magic on the sea around his ship. At first, the task was overwhelming, his mana draining rapidly without any effect.

After a bit of trial and error, he began to understand his ability better. He had been trying to force his will upon the sea, but instead, he needed to work with it. Around the hull of his ship, he calmed the sea, moving the currents to the desired heading. It wasn’t much, perhaps a single knot of extra speed and a bit less roll of the ship, but it was far more than he could have accomplished on a single oar.

As Larson worked, he became more efficient at the task. Mana was constantly drained, but the rate at which it was used up slowed as he got more practice. When the last of his mana was finally pulled from his body, Larson slumped to the deck, completely exhausted. One of his sailors handed him a mug of water that he drank down greedily, not realizing how thirsty he had become. The sailor then handed him a small strip of salty jerky and an apple. He inhaled the food, his body crying for sustenance after the day he had gone through.

“Didn’t know how long you could keep that up. Impressive. You’ve been at it for five hours, sir,” Tarley said.

Looking around, Larson noticed that the sun was beginning to set; it had been mid-afternoon when he started. The storm had closed as well, and the first drops of rain were starting to pelt the ship while the wind howled around them. With his spell complete, the swells increased, the small vessel plowing roughly through each one and causing him concern over their makeshift hull patch. Almost as if his concern had caused it to happen, Nogreb ran up to the deck, a look of panic on his face.

“Sir, our hull patch is giving way. The men below are bracing it, but we could use more hands to help,” he warned. Sadly, their depleted crew numbers didn’t leave them with many options. The men rowing were needed where they were. If their speed dropped any further, they would lose their forward progress and be at the mercy of the sea. The three sailors abovedecks didn’t have much to do for the moment, so Larson sent two below to help Nogreb, leaving one with Tarley in case he needed assistance at the helm.

The storm became stronger as night fell, lightning flashes briefly lighting the sky. Whenever his mana recovered enough, Larson used his magic to help them stay on course, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the power of the sea they were facing. He began to fear that his new life was going to be a very short one when the sailor on deck shouted over the howling wind.

“Sir, two points off the starboard bow. I think I see land!” Larson waited in the dark for the next bolt of lightning. As the lightning flashed, he saw it: the outline of a tree-covered island. It was fairly close, the dark and the storm preventing them from noticing it until now.

“Tarley, I think I see a small bay. Try and head toward it. We need to beach the ship. There’s no way we’ll survive out here in the open sea,” Larson ordered. Tarley nodded and struggled with the tiller as he pointed the bow toward land. Larson moved down the hatch to the middle deck, the exhausted prisoners and sailors still laboring at their duty. “Pull hard, lads. We’ve got land in sight. Just a bit farther.” He couldn’t tell if his words had any effect; the ship’s ponderous bulk was mainly being driven by the storm, not the efforts of his rowers.

“We’re not the only ones to try this,” Tarley said as the next flash revealed the mainmast of a sunken ship. It was poking up through the sea near the beach he was aiming for. Rocks to the port side threatened them while whatever unseen danger that had sunk the other ship threatened their starboard. Using the mana he had regenerated, Larson helped them on their course.

The seas seemed to calm a bit as they pulled into the somewhat sheltered bay. To the starboard, the broken masts of a second ship appeared as a grinding noise was heard and the ship bucked. They scraped their way over whatever was beneath them and began to approach the sandy shore.

“Sir, the patch is sprung and whatever we hit has pushed in three other planks. We’re going down,” Nogreb said as he ran onto the deck.

“We’ll make it, sir. Almost to the sand now,” Tarley advised. Indeed, the beach was closer now. Larson didn’t respond as he kept his concentration and pushed the last of his mana into the final stretch. The hull made more grinding sounds, but these were the more welcome sounds of the ship beaching itself on the sand, not the sound of rocks pushing in more planks. There was still a good twenty feet of water between them and the shore, but at least they wouldn’t sink while the ship was grounded. If the tide pulled them off the sand, all bets were off.

“Nogreb, get a work party over the side with some lines. Tie us off to the nearest trees,” Larson ordered. They had plenty of cordage since the mainmast rigging wasn’t being used. Larson grabbed a length of rope and dropped into the sea below. The darkness was only broken by a half dozen ship’s lanterns spread about the vessel. One of the men clambered down a rope ladder, holding a lantern aloft. A length of rope was tied around his waist.

Larson and three other sailors swam and waded their way to the shore. The water around the Gull Dropping was around six feet deep at the bow and just over ten feet deep at the aft. The vessel was in danger of washing back out to sea when the tide changed. From what he knew of his new world, the tide was highest during the night, but it could vary wildly based on several unknown factors. He believed in his previous life that the tides were timed to the minute, but in this world, they were a bit more chaotic.

By the light of their single lantern, the shore party tied the Gull Dropping off onto four of the larger palm trees that lined the beach. It was a makeshift job, one they would have to work on in the morning when the sun was up and visibility had improved. Once back on board, they waited out the storm. A watch was kept on the four lines they had secured. If any came loose, they would have to send a party out to re-secure them. Larson lay down for a moment and found himself refreshed. The others crashed where they could, falling into an exhausted sleep despite the howling wind and the ship rocking precariously in the sand.

A tour of the ship revealed the lower deck was almost completely flooded; they would have to wait for daylight to see the true extent of the damage. The rowing deck was quiet. All the prisoners were still chained to their oars and Nogreb had set a watch on them through the night. Shada had made the rounds while they were fighting to save the ship, healing those who still needed it. She was passed out under the stairs leading to the quarterdeck, too exhausted to care she was being soaked by the continuous rain.

The storm weakened over the next few hours, and by the time dawn lit up the sky to the east, the rain stopped and the clouds began to move on. As the light of dawn finally broke over the sea, Larson got his first good look at the island they were on. To the west, a rocky outcropping protected the sheltered bay, while to the east, the forested jungle extended out, creating the small bay they were aground inside. Palm trees and thick foliage dominated the place. Only the small strip of sandy beach and the rocky outcropping weren’t covered.

To starboard, the mast of the sunken ship was visible. The ship wasn’t alone. The shapes of other vessels were obvious in the clear water of the bay. Larson wondered what cargo they might hold—and if any of it had remained undamaged by the salt water. While they would not find any food aboard the sunken ships, he knew they would need coin, at least enough for real repairs on the Gull Dropping once they reached a friendly port.

“Sir, what are your orders?” Tarley asked. The old sailor had woken up and joined Larson as they looked over the island.

“We need to patch the damage to our hull, find a tree that can provide a new mainmast, and search for water and food,” Larson commented. He sent a sailor to retrieve Nogreb and Shada. He wanted all his officers to give their input on the best way to proceed.

“The hull repairs can wait. We need to see how far the tide recedes. As for a mast, take your pick. Any of the palms will give us a temporary replacement, but I wouldn’t put too much sail on it until we get a better quality one in port,” Nogreb answered.

“I can lead a team into the jungle to look for supplies,” Shada added.

“If Nogreb will stay by the ship until the tide goes out, I can lead a work party to find a suitable mast. There weren’t many tools aboard, but we have an axe or two that will work,” Tarley said.

“Good, make it happen. Tarley and Shada, pick the crew you want for your work parties, but leave at least three behind to stand watch with Nogreb and keep an eye on the prisoners,” Larson ordered.

“What will you be doing, Captain? Do you want to join one of the work parties?” Tarley asked. Larson could see the questioning gaze of his officers. He had been decisive so far and willing to throw himself into any task during the dangers they had faced. Now that things were relatively safe, would he devolve into the type of “leader” who merely ordered others about and did as little as possible? That was most assuredly not the type of leader Larson considered himself to be.

“I’m going down there. We’ll need coin if we’re to pay for all we need in port. Hopefully something of value is still in one of the holds of those sunken ships,” Larson said, pointing at the wrecks in the harbor.

“More power to you, Captain. I’d not mind a swim, but searching around old wrecks is not always the safest thing to do,” Nogreb warned.

“I didn’t sign on as captain to be safe. I signed on to make my mark on this world,” Larson added. The officers went about their tasks. Shada led a half dozen crew to search for food and fresh water, while Tarley took his party out to find a suitable tree to cut down. Larson didn’t think a palm tree was the type that was typically used for a mast, but they really didn’t have any other options.

Once everyone was working, he slithered over the side of the ship and back into the warm embrace of the sea. He ordered the crew to throw over one of the rope ladders and had someone stand by on watch just in case he needed to come back aboard in a hurry. Sliding under the calm waters of the bay, Larson was struck by how naturally he could breathe in the sea. He felt free down here, in his element. While he would love nothing more than to swim about for the morning, he needed to focus on the task at hand. The wrecks and whatever treasures or dangers they might hold were waiting for him.

Chapter 9
~

Larson propelled his way toward the nearest wreck, one that had sat under the waves for longer than any of the others, if the amount of decay and growth on the ship’s hull were any indicator. Taking a firm grip on his spear, Larson noticed that his severed finger had, thankfully, started to grow back. It had been severed just above the hand, and now the first knuckle was back and a small stub was starting to grow out from there. Ignoring the miraculous healing, Larson focused on the wreck in front of him. The wood of the hull had rotted away and collapsed upon itself, so finding anything would be a difficult task.

Making a slow circuit of the vessel, Larson could see that it was a bit smaller than the Gull Dropping. The top deck was where the rowers plied their trade out in the elements, while the single deck below must have been all the ship had available for cargo. Larson saw the remains of old cargo containers strewn throughout, but the cargo they once held was nowhere to be found.

Farther into the bay, Larson approached the ship they had spotted during the storm. This vessel was much larger and hadn’t been down here for as long as the first one. As he circled the ship, Larson saw the reason it had sunk. A series of holes perforated the hull from bow to stern. The deck was in shambles; old, rotting ropes and debris covered it. The forward hatch cover had been left open, leaving Larson a path to the cargo holds. Before he went below, Larson headed toward the quarterdeck, where the captain’s cabin should be located. The door was firmly wedged closed, but the rotten wood yielded to a few powerful blows of his tail.

Larson swam into a cabin that was more than double the size of his own. An actual bed was there, still covered in what must have once been expensive bedding. Several built-in cabinets and shelves lined the walls. The shelves held various knickknacks and waterlogged books. A plotting table, with maps too badly damaged to be of any use, sat in the middle of the room. Larson began with the cabinets, ripping off the water-swollen doors to reveal their contents. The cabinets contained mostly useless items, disintegrating clothing, and some ruined tableware for the captain’s mess. A cutlass that must have been ornate at one time was corroded beyond repair and lay in one cabinet alongside a matching dagger.

Finding nothing of value in the cabinets, Larson took a look under the bed. As he pulled back the remnants of one of the blankets, something shot forward and grabbed onto him. His wrist exploded in pain as the crab-like claw tightened. Knobby protrusions on the thing acted almost like a saw as the appendage worked its way back and forth. Larson stabbed with his spear at another claw that shot out from under the bed. The metal prongs of his weapon barely scratched the shell, but he successfully caused the claw to retreat under the bed. His health continued to drop as his savaged wrist began to bleed, clouding the water around him.

Remembering he had new powers, Larson aimed a stab at the claw holding his wrist, this time using his water magic. Imbue Weapon activated, consuming nearly a third of his mana. Larson saw he could add various types of damage and selected bludgeoning damage, hoping it would prove useful against the shelled monstrosity. A blue glow encompassed his weapon, and as his thrust hit the claw, the magic released. The shell exploded into fragments, and the spear skewered the vulnerable flesh beneath. A screeching sound came from under the bed as Larson backed away.

Angry at the pain caused by its prey, the monster scuttled out from beneath the bed, charging Larson. It was a huge crab, as he had suspected, and the shell of the thing was nearly five feet in diameter. The mangled claw dragged behind the creature while the second was raised up, clacking in anticipation of latching onto its painful meal. Larson struck out at the thing’s armored head, imbuing his weapon with power once more. The blow landed, the magic shattering the crab’s armor and allowing the twin-pronged spear to thrust deep into the creature’s body. The monstrous crustacean gave a shudder. Its remaining claw tore a divot of flesh out of Larson’s side before it finally died.

Leaving his spear inside the crab, Larson fought against the pain of his wounds while he waited for the rapid healing of this world to kick in and dull his agony. His wrist had taken quite a beating. The forearm bones were exposed, and blood continued to pour from the wound. More blood leaked from where the hunk of flesh had been taken out of his side, but this wound was less serious than the one on his arm. Larson’s health was dropping, and he needed to try and staunch the flow of blood. Sadly, he didn’t know of any way to stop a bleeding wound underwater. Sure, he could cut off some of the old bedding, but who knew what diseases were permeating the wet cloth? He wasn’t even sure if it would help, after all; you changed bandages when they became wet, didn’t you? He dropped below three-quarters health before the bleeding slowed, and now only small droplets leaked into the sea from his injuries.

With his health stabilized and the pain down to a dull throb, Larson decided to continue his search and peeked under the bed. There wasn’t room for two of the crab monsters under there, but he was cautious anyway, leading with his dagger, just in case. Other than a small pile of fish bones, the remnants of the crab’s previous meals, he saw a small, rusted iron lockbox secured to the bed frame by a corroded chain. Reaching under with his tail, Larson was able to loop himself around the box and pull. After a bit of struggle, the rusty links of the chain gave way and the box slid into the dim light filtering in from the shattered windows of the captain’s cabin.

His health was now down by a third and his wrist was still seeping blood into the water, prompting him to head back to the Gull Dropping with his prizes. He could come back later to search for more loot once he healed up and had a full pool of mana. With only enough mana remaining to imbue his weapon a single time, he didn’t think it was smart to risk any further encounters with hostile sea creatures. Larson cut several long strips of bedding off with his dagger, using them as an improvised sling that he attached to the lockbox. With the lockbox slung over his shoulder and the skewered giant crab in his good hand, Larson swam out of the sunken vessel and headed back to his ship.

Halfway back to the Gull Dropping, he realized he wasn’t alone in the water. Large shapes closed in from a distance, causing him to increase his speed. His normal swim speed was faster than that of an average human, and when he pushed it like he was doing now, his speed blew past what even the best human swimmer could hope to achieve. Despite the boost, whatever was following him was closing in. Larson swam past the ship, realizing he didn’t have time to negotiate the rope ladder without dropping his prizes. He was almost to the beach when the things pursuing him were revealed to be a pair of twelve-foot-long sharks. The giant predators turned away as he entered shallower water, but he noted there were harnesses around the fish and strange symbols painted on their bodies.

Larson waited in the shallows until the sharks seemed to lose interest and swam back out to deeper water. When the coast was clear, he boarded the ship, looking over his shoulder for any approaching predators the whole time. Rope ladders were slow going for a naga, and Larson had to pass off the skewered crab and the lockbox to the waiting crewman before he was able to heave himself over the side of his ship.

“Larson, I thought you were looking for treasure, but it looks like you also brought us dinner,” Nogreb said with a chuckle, holding up the giant crustacean.

“Hand that thing off to Gilroy before it goes bad,” Larson said. Nogreb passed off the crab to the crewman who had been acting as their de facto cook. The man wasn’t all that talented as a chef, but he was the only one who had at least enough skill not to burn water. “Grab some tools and meet me in my cabin. Let’s see if we can crack this open,” Larson told Nogreb as he hauled the moderately heavy lockbox into his spartan captain’s quarters.

“Hmm, doesn’t look like the water breached this, and it has a good heft to it,” Nogreb said. The orc had brought a meat tenderizer from the galley, as well as a couple of the older knives they had found. Their options for tools were limited, and most of what they had found was given to the party looking for a mainmast. Nogreb shook the box once more before placing it on the small chart table. Holding up the meat tenderizer, he gave Larson a look that said, Do you really want me to smash this open? Larson shrugged and nodded back. He didn’t need the box itself, only anything of value that might be stored inside.

With a single powerful blow, the orc smashed the hinge on the back of the box. Larson then took the box, and with some effort, he pried the container open. Inside, he found a sealed leather scroll case and two leather pouches. Setting aside the scroll for a moment, he opened the smaller of the two pouches, revealing a sparkling red powder that felt much heavier than it appeared.

“Any idea what this stuff is?” Larson asked.

“No, but it might be valuable. We can have an alchemist or someone check it out for us once we’re in port,” Nogreb offered.

The larger of the two pouches gave the satisfying clink of coins. Larson dumped the contents onto the chart table, the pair of them frantically trying to keep the coins from rolling away. The pouch held mostly silver and copper coins as well as a pair that looked to be gold. Sitting among the coins were a pair of small red gemstones.

“I’m not an expert, but those gems will bring a decent price, I’m sure. Let me count up the rest of this,” Nogreb said. The orc flicked through the coins, counting them quickly. “Looks like we got two ducats, thirty-two fins, and threescore of scales.” Larson felt a faint tingle inside his head as the mysterious entity that controlled this place, Clio, granted him knowledge of the monetary system this part of his new world used. He now knew the copper coins were called scales and a hundred of them were the equivalent of a silver coin. The silver coins were called fins, and a hundred of them equaled a single gold ducat.

The copper coins were small things and stamped with various images and dates. Coins of this type were of a universal weight and value, the lowest denomination having long since been standardized across the world. A single coin might buy a loaf of bread, a cup of cheap, watered-down ale, or a couple of apples. Simple laborers might earn a small handful per day, and skilled laborers would command more. The fins were heavier and nearly double the size of the copper scales, their size, weight, and material matching their value. Ducats were even larger than the silver coins: nearly double the diameter and thickness.

Larson held the pair of ducats in his hand. The large coins nearly covered his palm. He knew smaller gold coins were common in most of the world, but the Free Isles preferred the larger and much more valuable ducats. Ten of the smaller standard gold coins were equal to a ducat, and the people of the Isles called the smaller coins landsmen gold, often in a derisive manner. Most countries just called the coins by their material, referring to them as copper, silver, or gold. Here in the Free Isles, landsmen gold was common and spent just as easily as other coins. Larson couldn’t recall much of his old life, but he somehow remembered that most of the various nations had different currencies, a much more chaotic method than the one on this world.

“Well, it’s not anywhere near enough to pay for all our repairs, but it might get us patched together enough to become seaworthy as well as help us stock some decent provisions and hire a few crew once we make port,” Nogreb told him.

Larson opened the scroll case next; the leather case had warped a bit over time, but the parchment contained inside was well-preserved. There were several sheets of parchment and they seemed to be part of the captain’s record of his ill-fated journey. Why the captain, who was named Blaine Hobson, had taken such care in securing these pages remained a mystery. Larson was drawn in as he read the dated entries recounting the last days of the vessel once known as the Coral Destiny.

Nobrem 5. We’re five days out from Stratwall Harbor, a place I’ve never been keen to lay up my vessel for any length of time. While the town is no rougher or more treacherous than any of the others found in these seas, too many vessels go missing after leaving here. I reluctantly gave the men liberty for the night after seeing to it that our victuals and fresh water were laid in. The passengers we were contracted to meet came aboard without fanfare and went straight to their cabins. If only all passengers were so easy to work with. I had expected them to have considerable personal goods, them being nobles and all, but they brought with them only a small collection of personal baggage. Sadly, there’s no cargo heading the way we’re sailing, preventing me from taking advantage of our hull space. So far, the seas have been calm and the winds fair. I pray to our gods that this continues.

Nobrem 8. We spotted the sails of two ships on the horizon, and after a few hours, it was apparent that they were following our course. I ordered extra sail put on. Nobody follows another ship this far out from port unless they have foul motives.

Nobrem 9. They’ve got the speed advantage and are closing, two vessels about the same size as our Coral Destiny. My crew is well-trained and not afraid of a fight, but two-to-one odds are a little steep. Normally, I would heave to and pay the “tax” the local pirates try to impose on us. It’s easier and less risky for them to take a bit of cargo and not lose valuable crew or risk damage to their vessel in a fight. Sadly, other than the coin we received from our passengers, which I cannot part with, I have no cargo to barter for our safe passage.

Nobrem 10. We survived, but I’m not sure for how long. My boys fought magnificently, and I no longer regret spending a good portion of the coin we earned from our last voyage on new weapons and the portable ballista. These were no normal pirates out to make some easy coin—these were paid killers. There was no attempt at parley, only a hail of arrows and spells when the range closed. Ixlim enchanted our ballista bolts, allowing us to sink one ship before the other closed in to board us. The passengers joined in on our fight, hurling booming fire magic from the hollow staves they used as weapons. Half my crew is gone, as well as my mainmast. We’re making slow headway, and the passengers insist we continue on our course, even at a reduced speed. They won’t tell me our exact destination, only coming up to speak with me when the course needs to change. If they hadn’t offered a generous bonus, and if I hadn’t needed it so badly, I would have ignored their request and headed back to port for repairs first.

Nobrem 14. Making slow but steady progress. Today one of the crew reported a leak belowdecks. The men patched the leak, only to later find several more. I don’t recall our foes firing at our waterline, so I’m a bit concerned over their source. Our patch job is strong, and the pumps have cleared out the standing water. I’ll keep a man on watch down there, just in case.

Nobrem 16. We now know the source of our hull damage. The man posted below saw it occur. A coral-tipped spear had pierced the hull in several places, and the undersea attacker fled when the alarm was called. Though I am loath to do it, since our numbers are so low, I have the crew at 50% watch.

Nobrem 19. This will be the last entry of Captain Blaine Hobson of the Coral Destiny. We are undone. They struck again during the night, piercing the hull, and when we made attempts to patch it, they clambered over the rails and attacked. It was the makon, a scrawny lot of them, but deadly and numerous enough that we cannot hold them off. They attacked off and on through the night, our losses making it impossible to keep up with the leaks. At dawn, land was sighted, and we’re making our way toward it. If we can make it to dry land, the makon will be at a disadvantage and our superior weapons and skill might still win the day. I can hear them at the hull again, chipping away at my ship. The fins of the makon and their pets are always circling now.

Whoever finds this, any valuables still aboard are yours, provided you bring this account back to the Seafarers Guild offices at any of the Free Isles so the families of my crew know what happened. Look for the floorboard in my cabin marked with a C. Under that is the bulk of our remaining ship’s funds. There’s not much in the hold, but our weapons crates are sealed against the sea and we’ve only opened half to arm my depleted crew. Our passengers requested this pouch be sealed in here along with my account. I don’t know what it contains, but they were keen that it is not lost.

I can hear the loud thunder of the passengers’ weapons and I must see to the defense of my ship . . .

The account ended there. Larson passed the document over to Nogreb while he tried to process everything he had just read. The ship had been attacked by the makon, and the captain had mentioned the fins of their pets. Could the decorated and harness-wearing sharks belong to the makon that attacked the Coral Destiny? He needed the ship’s funds from the sunken vessel, not to mention any weapons that might still be salvageable.

“Well, Captain, you ready for another swim to collect all this?” Nogreb asked as he handed the documents back to Larson.

“I would love to, but I don’t want to tangle with the pair of sharks I spotted on the way back,” Larson replied, not sure if Nogreb had noticed the huge fish.

“One of the crew mentioned the fins following you into the shallows. You think they’re connected to what happened to the Coral Destiny?”

“They were painted with symbols and wearing a sort of harness, so I would assume so, but as of now, I have no idea how to get to the treasure without becoming fish food.”

“While I love treasure as much as the next orc, perhaps we shouldn’t risk fighting sharks and makon until after we repair the Gull Dropping,” Nogreb suggested. Larson agreed and was going to ask if Nogreb had heard anything from either work party when a crewman shouted for them to come out on deck.

“What’s going on?” Larson asked. The crewman pointed toward the shore, where Shada and her work party were wading back to the ship, a couple of them holding burlap sacks full of whatever food they had scrounged up.

Shada was first up the ladder and made a beeline to Larson. “Captain, we found something ashore you should hear about,” she advised. “We’d gathered up a fair bit of coconuts and these strange purple things that one of the crew swear is edible when I heard voices in the distance. I crept up as quietly as I could and found, believe it or not, an ogre sitting by a fire and having a long conversation with himself. I don’t know if he was hostile or not, so I didn’t reveal myself. What do you want to do about him? He’s smack dab in the middle of the best foraging area on the island. It will severely cut down our food gathering if we have to avoid him.”

“Great, we got a damaged ship, limited supplies, an untrained and undermanned crew, sharks circling the potential coin we’ll need, and now an ogre. Have the crew keep watch for a dragon attack. I’m sure that’s next,” Larson lamented.

“You wanted to be captain,” Nogreb said, smiling at Larson’s frustration.

“True. So, Shada, you said this ogre could talk. Was it just babbling, or do you think I could get it to speak with me before it tries to add naga to its dining options?” Larson asked. He knew from the system that ogres were generally simple-minded and vicious, looking at any other humanoid as a potential next meal.

“This one was a bit odd, but it sounded intelligent enough. Well, perhaps only one of its heads sounded intelligent. The other one didn’t strike me as all that bright,” Shada answered.

“Wait, two heads? Is that even possible?” Larson asked. The others just shrugged. He supposed anything was possible in this world. If he could be reborn as a water naga, why couldn’t there be two-headed ogres as well? “Fine, let me go and try to speak with this thing. I’m pretty sure I can outrun it if things go south.” While powerful, ogres were not renowned for their speed, as far as he knew.

“I’ll lead you there, sir. How many crew should we take with us?” Shada asked.

“Just you and a pair of the best fighters we have aboard. Nogreb will stay here with the rest to secure the ship against anything else that might wander up,” Larson ordered. Shada picked a pair of crew and armed them as best as she could. Sadly, they only had a pair of cutlasses. He would have preferred weapons with a longer reach if it came to a fight with this ogre.

Chapter 10
~

Larson’s mana had fully replenished by the time they made it into the jungle. Shada led them on a roundabout course through the trees, avoiding any large tangles of undergrowth as their path took them toward the center of the small island. Shada had her team make note of any edibles they passed on their way; they would need every bite of food they could get if they wanted to make it back to port. It didn’t take long before Larson heard the booming voice—make that voices—of the ogre.

“Stay out of sight but within earshot so I can call you if I need help,” Larson ordered before slithering his way toward the clearing. He was pretty sure Shada would come running to help, but the other two crew looked terrified at the possibility of having to face an ogre in combat.

“Hit it again, brudder,” a voice boomed out.

“No, Bartholomew, this endeavor requires finesse, not brute force,” a second voice called. Larson could hear a stone tapping against wood. He pushed his way as quietly as possible to the edge of the clearing, looking at the huge creature in front of him. The ogre must have easily been a dozen feet tall; its flabby body belied the strength that Larson knew the creature possessed. Just as Shada had advised, a pair of heads sat atop its broad shoulders. With wide smiles, both of the ogre’s heads turned to look right where Larson was hiding.

“I smells it again, I says. Smells yummy, it does,” the less eloquent head, which he believed was called Bartholomew, said.

“Perhaps, but first let us see if we can reason with it. While I dearly love your company, brother, I do yearn for more refined conversation. So, you there, skulking in the shrubbery, come on out. I promise not to eat you without fair warning. Don’t flee into the jungle like the other one that was lurking about earlier,” the more eloquent head offered.

Pushing his way through the undergrowth and into the clearing, Larson stopped, well out of reach of the creature.

“Oh! It’s a snakey man thingy. I likes snakes. They’s delicious. Can we eatses him, brudder? Please?” Bartholomew pleaded.

“No, stay your hand for a moment. Let’s hear what it has to say. Well, what say you, little snake? Are you a snack waiting to happen, or do you have something to offer in the way of conversation?” the smart head asked.

“Captain Larson, at your service, and I’d much prefer conversation to snacking. I hear that ogre is very tough to chew,” Larson offered with a smile, refusing to be intimidated.

“Oh, I thinkses I likes him. He’s funny,” Bartholomew said, a snort-filled laugh echoing from his head. His brother looked annoyed as tendrils of snot from Bartholomew’s nose blew onto his face. One of the arms reached up and slapped Bartholomew, who looked both angry and cowed at the same time.

“Well, Captain Larson, we shall see if your bravado is deserved. This is my brother, Bartholomew, and I am Bug. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Bug replied.

“I can back up my bravado, but I hope we can converse without bloodshed. Tell me, Bug, what exactly are you doing here?” Larson asked, confused with the pair. Ogres weren’t exactly native to this type of environment. At least he didn’t think so. Somewhere along the way, this Bug had an education, even if his brother was a dimwit.

“I suppose that is a fair place to start, but of course, I shall ask the same of you in return. How about we do that for now? A question for a question, at least until we become more hungry than bored. Agreed?” Bug asked.

Larson nodded in agreement as the ogre motioned for him to come closer. He moved into the clearing, his vision focused on the monstrous humanoid. If the ogre made any sudden moves, he was ready to flee or fight.

“Oh, I wonders if each half tastes different?” Bartholomew asked.

“Quiet, brother. Though I, too, am curious as to the culinary ramifications of our guest’s racial makeup, we did agree to answer his question. Now, as to how we arrived here, it’s very simple: our ship sank. How did you arrive? Via the same route, I suppose?” Bug asked.

“Sort of. Our ship is aground with some damage we’re repairing. We were prisoners of pirates but turned the tables on them and took the ship. The storm, combined with damage from the battle, brought us here,” Larson answered, not sure how much detail this ogre wanted. He needed to keep him interested and talking.

“Hmm, I don’t think I’ve seen one of your kind in the flesh before.” At Bug’s mention of flesh, Bartholomew licked his lips and gave a smacking sound with his mouth. “I can see you’re a naga, but what type and where did you come from?” Bug asked, leaning forward, either in anticipation of Larson’s response or as a prelude to a charge. Larson figured he needed to spill his true story if he wanted to keep this creature intrigued.

“I’m a water naga, and as for where I come from, let’s just say my past is quite unique.”

“Hmm, we’s more neek than the snake human,” Bartholomew huffed.

“My brother has a point. Perhaps a bit of a game, then? A game of our pasts, yours and mine. The more unique background shall be the winner. Now, a game like this deserves a fitting wager. How about this? If your background proves itself to be the more unique of the two, my brother and I agree not to eat you. If we win, we get to dine, no muss, no fuss, and no fighting. Agreed?” Bug offered.

“Ya, I likeses eating-people games. We’s gonna win, right, bruddah?” Bartholomew asked.

“Quiet down, Bartholomew. Let the man answer,” Bug added.

It looked like the game would be Larson’s only option to avoid a fight, but he knew never to take the first offer in a negotiation. “I’ll agree, so long as, win or lose, you promise to leave my crew alone,” he counteroffered.

“Hmm, that’s a much less attractive bargain,” Bug replied, pausing to scratch his chin while contemplating a response. Bartholomew occupied himself by pushing various fingers up his nose in a search for treasure.

Larson waited, knowing the first one to speak in a negotiation would lose. The two brothers bickered with each other in a language Larson didn’t understand. Having won the argument, Bug cleared his throat and continued.

“How about this? We make the wager all or nothing. If we win, we’ll feast on you and all your crew that we can catch. If you win, you live, and we’ll even help you fix your ship. I can assure you we’re very good at fixing things,” Bug said, motioning around their little clearing. For the first time, Larson took a good look at something besides the giant ogre. Several things had been constructed from wood, palm fronds, and rocks. He couldn’t tell what the various contraptions did, but they looked well-constructed. An ogre this handy would be a great help in getting his ship back together.

“I agree, and since you offered, why don’t you go first, Bug?” Larson said.

“Excellent. I can tell you’re a good sport, Larson. Let’s begin. Obviously, this was not our home. Nae, we hail from the mainland and were proud members of the Grubtux clan. We were a simple people with simple needs. Raiding, pillaging, feasting on our victims, and the like filled our days. Our situation,” Bug said, indicating his and Bartholomew’s heads, “is a bit rare with our race, and when one of us is born, it is usually seen as a portent for some great event. As we grew, the village shaman, a half-wit charlatan as far as I’m concerned, kept casting his limited spells of divination to discern what our birth might mean for the tribe. While we were still children, the shaman decided we were a bad omen and that our tribe would suffer great loss due to our existence.”

Bug looked over at his brother, who appeared a bit sad at whatever memories this conjured up for him, before adding, “We were to be offered up to their gods in propitiation for whatever offense the tribe might have committed against the various deities. Our father was the tribal leader and argued we should just be banished from the clan. If we were forced from the clan, any curse would follow us and leave the village alone. After a heated discussion that, like most heated discussions among ogres, led to several deaths and maimings, our father won the argument. We were cast out into the mountains, alone and too small to survive on our own. We were starving when, out of desperation, we attacked a small caravan that was negotiating one of the narrow mountain passes. We were handily and painfully defeated by the caravan guards, but our imminent execution was stayed by the man in charge of their little expedition.

“This man was a mage who wished to use us in his experiments. With the alternative being death, we agreed to become his test subjects, and he allowed us to join the caravan. While our accommodations left something to be desired—” Bug tried to continue, but Bartholomew interrupted.

“We was in a cage with pokey bars. I didn’t like it one bit,” Bartholomew complained. The interruption brought a corrective thump on the head from his brother.

“Pardon the interruption. Like I was saying, our accommodations were spartan, but the mage saw to it that we were fed well and had time for supervised exercise. It wasn’t all that bad, and we soon arrived at the wizard’s home, a tower set upon a treacherous mountain peak. I’m not sure why these mysterious wizards always feel the need to place their domiciles in some out-of-the-way area. Regardless, the caravan left after delivering us and the supplies it was carrying. We were now alone with the mage, causing my dear brother to make a rash decision. He tried to eat our benefactor, who used his powerful magic to easily thwart his attempt, leading to our being held in the dungeon for the rest of our stay.

“Experiment after experiment was attempted on us, and during the process, we acquired exceptional strength, even for one of our kind, and I was blessed with a superior intellect. Now, Bartholomew wasn’t left out, either. He inherited a mechanical aptitude that rivals that of a gnome. With prospects of long-term survival under constant experimentation being poor, I hatched a plan for our escape.” Bug stopped to catch his breath.

“I opened our cage and we ateses the wizard,” Bartholomew added.

“Yes, in a nutshell, we used our combined strengths. My brother created a key for the lock from some scrap metal while I discerned the proper time to burst out of the cage in order to surprise the mage, who did indeed seem very surprised when we ripped off his arms, preventing him from casting any spells,” Bug said.

“I have some experience ripping off the arms of a mage. It is very effective,” Larson commented, thinking back to his fight against the pirates.

“Yes, well, we stayed at the mage’s tower for a time, until the larder began to run low. Once that happened, we set out to find our own path in this harsh world. I lost track of time during our imprisonment, but it was long enough for us to become fully grown. We tried to find food, but there are lean pickings in the mountains, so we headed down to the flatlands. By chance, the first settlement we encountered was a gnomish one. Bartholomew and I agreed that the little people looked tasty, so we proceeded to do what ogres do: we raided their village.

“There was the usual screaming and panic, which led to our overconfidence. It turns out that these gnomes were no strangers to ogre, gnoll, and goblin raids. In fact, our old clan was one of the ones that harassed this village on a somewhat regular basis. As our earth-shaking charge brought us to the outskirts of the village, and nearly within reach of the plump and tasty gnomes, we met a minor setback.”

“We fallsded into a trap, a good one with lots of spiky bits,” Bartholomew added.

“Yes, we fell into a mechanized pit trap the gnomes had placed to protect them from unwanted visitors. As soon as we set foot on it, the oversized doors opened and plunged us thirty feet down to a spike-lined pit. As the doors closed, we noticed they were connected to a mechanism that would force the spikes deeper into the pit. Using our prodigious strength, we pushed back against the spikes long enough for my brother to devise a workaround. In no time, we had reverse-engineered the simple trap, nullifying the danger and allowing us to use the spikes as handholds to climb our way out of the pit.

“When we made our way out of the trap, instead of finding gnomes fleeing in terror or brandishing weapons, they stood there, clapping and cheering for us. We were so taken aback by their reaction that we forgot to kill them. It turns out, this village of tinkerers was impressed with our ingenuity and offered to let us live there so long as we agreed to not eat them and help with some heaving and lifting now and again. Seeing that the gnomes had ample food supplies, we agreed to their offer. We had a great time living in that little village, and we learned much from them. Sadly, all things come to an end, and the end of the gnomish village occurred when our old tribe, the Grubtux clan, attacked in force.

“We had some advance warning of the attack and created dozens of devious traps and mechanical defenses. Our old tribe was in a frenzy, ignoring losses as they attacked the gnomes. Bartholomew and I fought like demons, enacting revenge upon those who had cast us out. With our help and the gnomes’ ingenuity, we gained the upper hand in this battle. I even had the pleasure of crushing the life from the shaman who caused us all this trouble in the first place. It turns out he wasn’t such a charlatan, after all, and his prediction was correct: we were the cause of our tribe suffering great loss, I’m happy to say.

“Only a few of the gnomes survived, not enough to keep the village going, so they left to find new towns and cities to live in. We were forced to find our own way once again, eventually making our way to a seaport town where, once the locals were convinced we weren’t going to eat them, we took what work we could find. I signed us up for our ill-fated voyage to search for some lost tinkering artifact we believe lies on one of the islands hereabouts. After a disagreement over provisions—”

“They gots mads because we ates a couple of them,” Bartholomew interrupted before returning to his nasal explorations.

“Well, yes, that was at least some of the cause of their ire. Now, during the scuffle, our ship was catastrophically damaged, and we barely had time to craft a floatation device and paddle our way to the island. Since then, we’ve eaten most of the animals and are forced to live upon fruits and vegetables. It’s horrifying, but now that you’re here, I feel our diet is about to improve. So, little naga, we were cast from our home, were experimented upon to create a unique being, escaped our captor, found a new home, destroyed our old tribe, and were shipwrecked here. Can you beat that?” Bug said with confidence.

“I agree that you’ve all been through a lot in your life, and I would be hard-pressed to top what you’ve experienced in the time I have lived on this world,” Larson said, laying some bait for the ogre.

“Yes, so now that you agree, come a bit closer so we can take a taste,” Bug said, licking his lips in anticipation of the first bite.

“Woah, I’m not done. I said I agree that it would be hard to top what you’ve done in the time I’ve lived on this world. Unfortunately for you, this isn’t my first life. This is, in fact, my second life. I lived an entire life on another world, where I died, and was reborn here, a task I don’t believe you could hope to accomplish,” Larson said, waiting for their reply.

“Hey, he’s lying, right, bruddah?” Bartholomew said.

Bug looked intently at Larson, who stood his ground and returned the ogre’s stare. “You know, Bartholomew,” Bug said, “as much as I would like to say he’s lying and claim the prize, I can’t help but feel he’s telling us the truth. While we can’t top living a second life, was your previous life one of any import? If you were a farmer who did nothing but muck about in his fields or a shopkeeper who sold trinkets, I’d say that even a dozen of those lives don’t make up for what we’ve done.”

“Nice try, Bug, but that wasn’t the wager we agreed to. Our wager was on the most unique background. While the pair of you have experienced many amazing life events, you could never die and come back to life in another world, could you?” Larson argued.

“True, but there are very few of my kind. We’re rare enough of an event to cause our people to take such extreme acts when one of us is born,” Bug countered.

“Your kind is rare, I agree, but rare is not unique, is it? Sure, you were experimented on by a wizard, but that sort of thing happens from time to time. Not exactly a unique event. I’m the only one of my kind, a man from another world who died and was reborn as a naga in this one. How many of those have you heard of?”

Bug seemed frustrated; the ogre probably wasn’t used to someone beating him at a battle of wits. To his credit, the ogre seemed to be a creature of honor, trying hard to win but at the same time feeling obliged to keep his word. Larson had half expected the ogre to attack as soon as he got within reach, but the brothers were resolute in living up to their end of the bargain, something he couldn’t say would happen with many people from a more “civilized” background.

“Hey, brudder, we’s gots two heads. Does that beat two lives?” Bartholomew asked.

“A good argument, Bartholomew, but that would just, once again, make you rare, not unique,” Larson replied.

“Perhaps we call it a draw. After all, while I’m inclined to believe you’re being honest about your past, there really is no way to verify your claim,” Bug offered.

“I’m not sure about that. How do you see a draw playing out?” Larson asked.

“We gets to gobble up a few of youse and leaves the rest alone,” Bartholomew offered.

“No, I don’t think I can go with that plan. How about I come up with a compromise of sorts?” Larson asked.

The ogre stood, Bartholomew grinning as he cracked his knuckles. Bug looked thoughtful. “I’ll hear you out. What’s your compromise, Larson?” Bug asked.

After hearing the ogre’s story and seeing the skill he had at construction, Larson thought he had an answer. “How about you help us repair our ship and we’ll give you a ride out of here? I know you like a bit of fresh meat. Who doesn’t? Tell me, guys . . .” Larson said, leaning forward conspiratorially. The ogre leaned in as well, and Larson wasn’t sure if it was because he was interested or if he wanted to be closer for his first bite. “Do you like fish?” Larson asked. If Bug and Bartholomew agreed, he could kill two birds—or in this case, two sharks—with one ogre.

“I likes fishies. They’s delicious,” Bartholomew offered.

“I do enjoy seafood as well, so I’ll agree, provided you supply us with enough seafood to satisfy our appetite,” Bug said.

“Deal, but I have to ask, how did you end up with Bug as a name?” Larson asked. It had been bothering him since he first heard it. The more intelligent of the two had the simple and perhaps somewhat derogatory name.

“The mage’s doing, I fear. You see, we had never been given a name by our tribe, at least none that I can recall. He asked us to name each other in order to prevent any confusion over which head he was speaking to, I assume. I chose Bartholomew for my dear brother and he named me the first thing he spotted: a bug. It’s kind of a touchy subject for me. Please don’t bring it up again,” Bug answered. Larson made a note not to bring it up again. It never paid to antagonize a giant two-headed ogre.

Chapter 11
~

“Shada, come on out and send a runner back to the ship to tell them we’re on our way. I don’t want to cause a panic when I arrive with our new friend,” Larson ordered. Shada sent out one of the crew before she and the remaining crewman approached warily.

“Hi, lady,” Bartholomew greeted.

“Uh, hello?” Shada replied, still a bit taken aback by the turn of events.

“Don’t worry, Shada. We’ve come to an agreement. Mr . . .” Larson paused while looking at the ogre, unsure what to call the combined entity.

“Oh, my apologies. When referring to us as a single individual, we go by Bug Bartholomew,” Bug answered.

“I likes Bartholomew Bug better,” Bartholomew complained.

“Nevertheless, our name is Bug Bartholomew, or you can just address us individually as needed. So you mentioned something about fish? I hate to point out that the bay has a dearth of edible sea life. We’ve tried our hand at fishing back when we had bits and pieces of animals to use for bait but had no luck,” Bug said.

Thinking back, Larson now realized that other than the giant crab that attacked him, there wasn’t a whole lot of other fish swimming around. “I have a pair of rather large fish for us to catch, but first we’ll need your expertise to craft a fishing pole that can handle, let’s say, at least a twelve-foot shark.”

“I think we can manage something to those specifications, given the available materials. If you have any metal tools, that will help. If need be, we can perhaps repurpose some of your old weapons into makeshift tools in a pinch,” Bug said.

“Our supply of tools is limited, but I hope to find some more weapons on one of the wrecks if we can clear out the sharks. The tools we do have are being used by some of the crew to cut a new mainmast and patch the hull,” Larson told them.

“Hmm, let’s see this ship of yours,” Bug said, gathering a few bags of supplies, mostly fruit and various edible plants, before following them back through the jungle and toward the beach. The messenger must have arrived safely, because when they walked out onto the sand, Nogreb was there, along with most of the available crew. The crew was armed as well as they could be, a wise precaution on Nogreb’s part in case the giant ogre turned out to be less friendly than advertised.

“Well, you’re a big one, aren’t you?” Nogreb grumbled.

“Aye, we’s the biggest and the strongerest and the smarterest,” Bartholomew said with confidence, thumping his chest.

“Oh, I think I like this one, sir,” Nogreb said, walking up to shake hands with the giant. Not an easy task, but the ogre seemed to be able to do it without injuring Nogreb. Seeing that neither their captain nor any of the ship’s officers had been immediately eaten by the ogre, the crew relaxed a bit, more curious than fearful now.

“With introductions complete, perhaps we should get to work on our fishing apparatus,” Bug offered, the big ogre’s stomach growling at the mention of fresh meat.

“Aye, Nogreb will get our new friend any tools we may still have on board and I’ll see about getting some bait ready,” Larson replied, taking some time to explain his plan to his two ship’s officers.

The ogre settled down at the edge of the tree line and began to draw diagrams in the sand while arguing with himself. Larson left him to his work and began his own task of creating bait for the sharks. The ogre stomped back and forth from the beach to his old campsite, each time coming back with parts scavenged from the other mechanisms he had been building. Larson hadn’t asked what these contraptions did, but at least they served as a good supply of raw materials, even if they were primitive. Occasionally, Bug Bartholomew would call over a fearful crewmember to fetch something from the ship. Once his own task was finished, Larson left the ship to check on the ogre’s progress.

“Dis one?” Bartholomew asked his brother, pointing at a seven-foot-tall palm tree sapling.

“No, I believe we’ll use the larger one,” Bug replied, pointing toward a nearly ten-foot-tall palm. The ogre grasped the tree with one hand, and with a grunt, he swung his other hand in a chopping motion at the trunk. With a loud crack, the tree trunk shattered, and the ogre began to strip the fronds off his new fishing pole.

“Bah, you’se didn’t says I had to do all the work meself,” Bartholomew complained.

“You’re not fooling anyone, brother. You enjoy tinkering,” Bug replied as he and Bartholomew finished cleaning up the pole and began to attach various gears and some of the rope used for the ship’s rigging.

“You work fast, but wouldn’t it be better to get closer to the shore?” Larson asked. Now that the ogre was almost done and didn’t need to tromp back and forth to his old campsite, Larson had thought he would want to be as close to the action as possible.

“No likes water,” Bartholomew grumbled.

“But you built a raft and paddled your way to the island?” Larson countered.

“Ah, but that was a harrowing adventure for us, I assure you, and one we would not have undertaken unless it was necessary to our survival,” Bug added.

“Then why did you take a ship in the first place?” Larson asked. He didn’t want to pester the two while they were working, but his questions didn’t seem to stop their progress. While Bug answered him, Bartholomew continued to work. Talking with the creature was a strange experience, but Larson was perfectly fine with not getting into the details of how each head shared the body.

“Discovery, Larson. Discovery,” Bug replied. “While we loathe the water, it was necessary to cross it in our search for knowledge. Ogres are all blessed with exceptionally thick and solid bones that weigh as much as stone. In addition, our body has been enhanced with additional musculature due to the experiments performed upon us, and that has also added to our weight and density. We would sink like a rock in deep water, the weight being too much for even our powerful form to swim against.”

“I can see how that would make you a bit wary of the ocean,” Larson said.

“Now, we should be finished shortly. Here is the hook I have fashioned. Do you have the bait?” Bug asked.

Larson nodded and pulled out a burlap sack he had scrounged up and tied into a large bundle.

“I’m not sure that sharks are attracted to textiles. You may want to rethink your choice of bait,” Bug said.

“Oh, they’ll like it enough when I’m done with it,” Larson replied, grabbing the hook from Bug. Someone had brought them the old scorpion bolt that had breached the hull, and the ogre had bent it into something resembling a giant fishhook. It was bulky and hard to hide, but with a freshly sharpened tip, it just might do the job. A giant spool held the fishing line, which had been made from rope fibers and plant fronds the ogre had woven together. The reel itself was over three feet in diameter and made strange clicking and whirring noises as Larson pulled the hook and line toward the shore.

Bug Bartholomew plopped down on the sand, the strange fishing pole gripped tightly in one hand while the other hand worked on sketching out new designs in the sand. Larson entered the water’s comfortable embrace and began to swim out of the shallows. He swam out fifty or so feet into the deep area of the bay before inserting the hook into the burlap, hiding it as much as he could. With his dagger, Larson opened up a long wound in his arm, the blood flowing freely into the water. He placed the wound up against the burlap so some of the blood flow got trapped in the coarse fibers.

With his health starting to tick down at a slow pace, Larson concentrated as he activated Command the Currents. He channeled mana into his ability, coaxing the still waters of the bay into movement. Larson sent a small current—and, along with it, some of his blood—farther into the bay. He had the water with most of his blood circulate around the bait, permeating the cloth and creating what he hoped was something the sharks wouldn’t be able to resist.

He had to pause once to let his mana recharge a bit and to reopen his wound. With his health down to eighty-nine percent and his mana at just over forty percent, he went back to work. About the time he was thinking he would have to give up on his fishing project, he could feel a change in the ocean around him. In the distance, the dark shape of one of the sharks emerged. Keeping the water around his bait swirling, Larson began to head toward the shallows.

His motion attracted the shark as it closed in, charging toward him but then veering off for the tempting—and easier to reach—bait. The huge fish swallowed the bait whole, then turned back toward Larson. Pouring on the speed, Larson fled. Much faster, the shark closed the gap, its violent swimming motion tugging on the line. When it had closed to within only twenty feet, Larson watched the shark suddenly jerk as the line was pulled taut. The point of the makeshift hook pierced the side of the fish, and the line began reeling it in, allowing Larson to make it to safer, shallower water.

The shark fought hard, but the hook was firmly set, and the powerful ogre was having no trouble reeling in the monster. If anything, it was approaching the shore much more quickly than Larson would have thought possible. Maybe he had underestimated the ogre’s skill at making a fishing pole. With the second shark nowhere in sight, Larson swam back to the beach. A small crowd of his crew was gathered around, watching the ogre as he tore hunks of flesh off the huge fish, stuffing them into both of his mouths as fast as he could.

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re enjoying that, do I?” Larson asked as he slithered up to the gorging ogre.

“Yummy, I likeses shark,” Bartholomew called out, spraying the assembled crew with bits of food, causing them to step back a few paces.

“It is absolutely delightful to have some fresh seafood,” Bug said before the pair released simultaneous belches. It was interesting to see Bug lose some of his polish when eating. Hopefully it didn’t mean the ogre was prone to some kind of feeding frenzy like a shark.

“There was a second shark out there, but I didn’t see any sign of it right now. I think the coast is clear, at least for a while. A great time for me to retrieve the rest of what we needed to get from the wrecks. Bug, could you and your brother help with hauling in our finds if I attach a line to them?” Larson asked.

Bug nodded, removing the line he and Bartholomew had been using for the fishing pole and sorting through the pile of materials they had stashed around them in search of more rope.

Slipping back into the water, Larson swam his way toward the ruins of the Coral Destiny. His first stop was the captain’s cabin, where he would look for the floor plank marked with the letter C. Unfortunately, the planks were in pretty bad shape after being exposed to the water for so long. Larson swam across the floor, brushing aside debris. After moving the bed aside and sweeping the fish bones away with his tail, Larson spotted the marked plank, hidden away in the corner of the cabin. Wedging his spear into the gaps in the planks, a task made easier by the water-warped wood, Larson levered the squeaking plank up.

Underneath the plank, he spotted the edge of a large box, similar in style but double the size of the one that had been bolted to the bed frame. He needed to pry up a few more planks before he could try getting the sealed box out of its hiding place. As he finished the last board, he sensed movement nearby. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a large shape swimming past the broken windows of the cabin. He realized the slim wooden frames of the cabin’s windows, long since devoid of their glass, wouldn’t prove to be much of a barrier to anything trying to force its way in.

Focused on the window, Larson almost missed the flash of movement in the doorway. Turning to face the new threat, he leveled his spear as a mouth filled with teeth shot toward him. As he activated Imbue Weapon, selecting piercing damage this time, Larson realized his attacker wasn’t a shark, at least not entirely. The creature coming toward him possessed not only a mouth full of teeth but also a pair of arms tipped with sharp claws. This was a makon, the very creature he had been tempted to select for this new world. Larson’s spear struck home on the makon’s shoulder, the magic rushing out to ravage the unarmored creature.

The magic ripped into the body of the makon, striking deep inside even as the twin prongs of his spear tip added further damage. Pushing with all his strength, Larson tried to hold the monster at bay. Its teeth clashed together, and the bite narrowly missed one of Larson’s outstretched arms as the makon tried to fight back. Muscles trembling against the makon’s strength, Larson was pushed toward the far wall of the cabin, where his coils uselessly tried to find anything to hold onto. The claws of his attacker lashed out, leaving bloody furrows across his arms. Larson screamed, the sound dull in the water as he kept ahold of his spear. His weapon was the only thing preventing the monster’s shark-like mouth from taking what would more than likely be a fatal chunk out of him.

Slashing at Larson once again, the makon missed with one of its claws and the other skittered off the scales of Larson’s lower body, leaving only shallow scratches. Larson’s back slammed into the wall of the cabin, and the makon gave off a roar as the impact forced the spear deeper into its body. With something to brace himself against, Larson lashed out with his tail. The appendage wrapped around one of the makon’s arms as the other grasped the skin over Larson’s stomach. Fiery pain and a cloud of gore erupted from his belly as the claw ripped out a large hunk of flesh. With a heave, Larson flexed his tail, pulling the makon off his spear and whipping it around until it slammed into the wall.

Not giving the creature any time to recover, Larson imbued his weapon once more, choosing to add slashing damage as he thrust it into his stunned and bleeding attacker. The blow was a little off the mark and only nicked the side of the now-moving makon. With a flash, the magic activated, doing little damage as most of the energy bled off into the water. Larson both heard and felt a muffled crash as the second shark made its appearance, bursting through the windows and charging him, mouth open as the giant fish went into a frenzy over the amount of blood in the water.

Releasing his grip on the makon’s arm, Larson pushed out with his tail, flinging the makon toward the charging shark and moving himself toward the open doorway. Not caring whom it was biting in its frenzy, the shark took off one of the makon’s arms, which left even more blood swirling in the water. The makon was now also in a frenzy; the pain and blood had driven it into a berserk fury. The very reason Larson didn’t want to choose the makon as his race was playing out in front of him.

With its own tooth-lined mouth and remaining claw, the makon attacked the shark, and the two battled it out inside the limited confines of the captain’s cabin. Larson was more than happy to let them fight, biding his time before taking on the eventual winner of the struggle. The shark was too big to maneuver inside the cabin, but it wasn’t going to take much to finish off the makon, which even now was slowing down due to blood loss. A second bite, this time over the makon’s head, finished the fight. The shark moved in for another taste when Larson imbued his spear with the last of his mana and charged the huge fish. His spear, with the aid of its magic, punched completely through the shark, which convulsed as its hunger turned to panic and it sought a way out of the cabin’s confines.

Larson’s spear was ripped from his grasp as the shark slammed its tail into his side, throwing him out of the open doorway. Drawing his only remaining weapon, his dagger, Larson swam back inside. The shark was hung up on the windowsill; the haft of the spear impaling the creature had caught on the edge, preventing it from fleeing. Larson wasted no time, landing blow after blow against the shark, which had trouble turning to face him. He was much more maneuverable than the shark, but it would only take one bite from those massive jaws to end his new life. With his mana depleted and his only weapon being a dagger with a six-inch blade, Larson fought on.

He thought about retreating, swimming back to the beach to recover from his wounds, but the stomach wound was slowing him down, preventing him from using the undulating motion that propelled him in the water. Outside in the open water, the shark would have all the advantages. Here in the cabin, Larson could avoid the cumbersome fish while landing repeated blows. He repeatedly cut and dodged out of the way. Eventually, the already-wounded fish slowed its attacks, allowing Larson time for several thrusts of the dagger before he needed to maneuver away from the shark’s tooth-lined mouth.

Larson didn’t notice at first that the shark had expired. Pulling back from his attacker, he waited for another shark or makon to show up. The minutes ticked by and the pain in his body started to dull a bit as healing began. When no other attackers showed themselves, Larson took stock of his situation. First, he swam back out to find the line he had dragged with him from the beach. He had dropped it during the attack, and it was floating just outside the cabin door. Needing to clear out the area so he could recover the chest, Larson tied the shark and the makon to the line and gave it a series of tugs to announce that he wanted Bug Bartholomew to reel it in.

He hitched a ride on the line, allowing the ogre to pull him in with the bodies; his stomach wound was too painful for him to swim back to shore on his own. Hopefully Shada could heal it and he could come right back to retrieve the loot. As he reached the beach, he noticed the ogre had placed himself closer to the water, but he remained a good twenty yards away. Upon seeing his wounds, Shada rushed over while some of the crew began to haul away the bodies. The shark they could smoke and preserve for their trip back. He didn’t want to have anything to do with eating another intelligent creature but had no qualms about giving the makon corpse to Bug Bartholomew if he wanted it.

“Captain, that looks bad. Move your hands away and let me get to the wound,” Shada said, pushing his hands away from his gashed-open stomach. The makon had indeed taken out a chunk of flesh, and Larson could see more of his insides than he ever wanted to. Shada’s hands glowed green as she pushed magic into the wound. The flesh began regrowing and the wound closed.

“We getses two more fishies to eat!” Bartholomew shouted in glee as he looked over the corpses.

“Hold on there. My crew will take the shark to preserve for our trip back, but you are more than welcome to the makon,” Larson told the ogre.

“Fair enough. We’ll make do with them—for now,” Bug replied ominously. The other shark had been half-consumed already, and Larson hoped that was only because Bug Bartholomew hadn’t had fresh meat in a while. If he needed that much food every day, Larson and his crew could be in trouble.

Nogreb arranged a work party to gut the shark and bring the carcass over to Gilroy so he could smoke it and preserve the meat. Larson wasn’t sure what the ogre was going to do with his meat. Would he preserve it, or did he even care if it turned bad? Could rotting meat upset an ogre’s belly, or did he prefer it that way? Larson supposed he would find out but wasn’t looking forward to the experience.

“I’m heading back out. Get ready to pull in the chest once I attach it to the line. The ocean floor is pretty clear, so I don’t think it will snag on anything as you reel it in. I’ll be staying down a bit longer to explore the hold and find what is still salvageable down there,” Larson advised his officers and the ogre. Taking the line in hand, he dove back into the bay, heading once again toward the captain’s cabin in the Coral Destiny, which was hopefully free of any predators this time.

Chapter 12
~

The cabin was clear of everything but a few tiny fish darting about and feasting on the bits of flesh still floating around from his previous fight. Thinking back on that fight, he realized that the makon he had faced seemed scrawny compared to the others he saw when choosing his race. Perhaps it had to do with the dearth of sea life inside the bay. It was a mystery he had no intention of trying to solve; his focus was on the sealed box in front of him. He tied the box securely and swam it away from the ship, where it wouldn’t snag on anything during its trip back to dry land. The box was heavy, which was a good sign it might be filled with coins or other valuables. Nobody hid a chest of dirty laundry or trash under the floorboards; that was where they hid treasure.

After spending some time looking for signs of anything else he might have missed, Larson left the captain’s cabin and approached the open hatch cover on the main deck. It would be dark inside, and though his new form saw better in the dark than a normal human, that didn’t mean he wanted to go rummaging around in the near darkness, especially after his encounter with the crab. Across the deck were two other hatch covers. He took the time to open them, letting more light into the hold below. It was tough work, the warped wood resisting his efforts, but with some muscle, and a few splinters, he had them off. Gripping his spear, Larson swam down into the hold.

He entered a graveyard. The skeletal remains of the crew and several makon littered the hold. Captain Hampton and his crew must have made their last stand down here. Larson could only guess at the horror they experienced, fighting against the makon while the hold slowly filled with water and their ship sank beneath them. There were dozens of corpses, but the bones were scattered about, the work of scavengers or the surviving makon. Perhaps his earlier opponent was the last of this group, afraid to head out on its own and eating nearly everything in the bay over time.

Larson wanted to be respectful of the dead but was forced to brush away some of the remains to get at the large crates littering the floor of the hold. One of the crates had smashed open either during the fight or when the ship had settled into its final resting place. He found rusted, coral-encrusted steel. The crate had contained weapons, just as the captain had claimed. Larson would make a point to see that Captain Hampton’s last request was granted. The loss of his ship might just provide the means for Larson’s vessel to survive.

He swam back to shore to retrieve the line. During his absence, Bug Bartholomew had made several more, allowing him to tie off all the chests at once instead of having to swim back to shore each time. One after another, the remaining sealed crates were dragged back to shore, Larson following the last in as the sun began to set. While he was underwater, Tarley and his work party returned. Larson would have liked to have seen the old sailor’s reaction to Bug Bartholomew, but he was happy enough to see that the work party had brought back a huge palm tree log to use as a makeshift mainmast.

Larson waved down his officers, motioning for them to meet him in his cabin. The sealed box that supposedly contained the ship’s coffers was being kept under close watch by Nogreb, who stood by with his trusty meat tenderizer in case the box needed a little encouragement to open. It took a few more blows than the other box had needed, but Nogreb soon had the hinges knocked off. After prying the box open, Larson saw a half dozen leather sacks in the bottom of the chest.

“Please tell me those are all full of ducats,” Tarley whispered. Larson grabbed a bag at random, the sack giving off the happy sound of clinking coin. Using the box lid to keep the coins from rolling away, Larson dumped out the bag. A shower of copper coins—scales—poured out.

“Just scales,” Nogreb lamented.

“I don’t care. It’s a lot more than we had a few minutes ago,” Larson said, not wanting to admit he was also disappointed. He opened the second sack, pouring it out as well. This time, there was a sprinkling of silver fins among the sea of copper scales. The final bags were also dumped out; they contained more silver fins than the other bags, along with the glint of a few gold coins, but they were still mainly copper scales.

“Give me a minute to count these up. Tarley, do you want to help?” Nogreb asked.

Before long, all of them jumped in to help, unable to resist the allure of the coins. Nogreb had them pile the coins into stacks of ten, the task taking some time to complete, especially after Larson accidentally bumped into the lid, causing their stacks to collapse.

“Looks like we have 5683 scales, 397 fins, and 81 landsmen gold,” Nogreb said.

“It’s not a fortune, but it should be enough to get the Gull Dropping back in working order and give a head start to those who wish to leave,” Larson said. He had hoped the gold coins were ducats, but since the passengers who had paid them were more than likely from the mainland, landsmen gold was to be expected.

“You’re going to give coin to the ones that leave?” Nogreb asked sharply.

“Aye, they’ve gone through the same trials as the rest of us. I require loyalty in my crew, but these people didn’t have a choice. A handful of scales and a fin or two might mean the difference between them surviving or not.” Larson hated giving away money but felt it was the right thing to do. After this, though, if a crew member wanted to jump ship, they would do so empty-handed; there would be no free handouts.

“Very good, sir. I suggest we keep the news of what we found to the ship’s officers. While I’m sure the crew might have suspicions over what the box contained, there’s no reason to announce there are sacks full of coin inside the captain’s cabin,” Tarley offered. It was a wise suggestion and one they decided to follow. The box was too badly damaged to secure, so Larson took the bags out and stashed them out of view in his cabin. As an additional precaution, he placed one bag of coins, mostly copper scales with a few silver and landsmen gold thrown in for good measure, inside his desk. Should someone be looking to steal, they might believe they’d found what they were looking for and not continue their search.

Night had fallen by the time they left his cabin, and a roaring bonfire was burning on the beach. Gilroy was ladling out stew from a huge kettle he had hung over a smaller fire. The smell was wonderful, drawing Larson and his officers to it like moths to a flame. Larson wanted to crack open the weapons crates, but that could wait until he filled his belly. His new body required more calories than his old human form, not to mention that the accelerated healing and mana use also seemed to burn energy he needed to replenish.

Gilroy had made a seafood stew from the monster-sized crab Larson had killed. Chunks of a potato-like edible root with coconut milk and some seasonings from the limited ship’s galley had made for the first decent meal Larson had eaten since he arrived. He licked the last of the stew from his bowl with a sigh, content for the moment.

“Well done, Gilroy. That was a fine meal,” Larson said, complimenting the crewman.

“Thank you, sir. I dabbled in the kitchen a bit when I worked at an inn years ago and I suppose some of what I learned stuck with me,” the man replied.

A loud crunching sound drew everyone’s attention. The ogre had scrounged up the crab shells and was chewing away at them.

“Hey, Bug Bartholomew, be careful you don’t choke on that,” Gilroy said.

“I likeses the crunchy bits,” Bartholomew mumbled with his mouth full of crab shell, spraying shards on those seated close to him.

“Yes, and I do say that you did a fine job of infusing them with flavor,” Bug added, also with a full mouth. It confirmed that Bug wasn’t all that refined when it came to table manners, despite his proper speech.

“Oh, I boiled them in with the rest of the stew to flavor the broth. I suppose the shells would have picked up a bit of taste as well,” Gilroy added.

“Culinary delights aside, we should discuss fixing up your vessel, Captain. I believe we are ready to leave this island, despite having to brave the ocean once again,” Bug said as he swallowed the last of his crab shell.

“We’ve patched the holes as well as we can, sir. I’ll need some of the crew to start bailing out the hold now that the leaks are plugged,” Nogreb said.

“I’ll get the mast set tomorrow and start on rigging it,” Tarley offered.

“If you leave me with a detail, I can gather up more food and water,” Shada said.

“I can tell you where the richest pickings are, and there is a freshwater spring near my old campsite,” Bug told Shada. “Now, I can see you’ve patched the holes, but that work isn’t going to hold up very well in rough seas. You should do some cross-bracing from the inside. It also wouldn’t hurt to scrape the barnacles from the hull and see if the rudder needs any attention.”

“I’d love to, but we’d need a dry dock to do that,” Larson said.

“Not really.” Bug rubbed his chin and looked over at the Gull Dropping. I think we can set out some log rollers and pull her out of the water completely. Once the vessel is out of the sea, we can work on her easier.” If the ogre wanted to do the heavy lifting, Larson wasn’t opposed to spending a few more days here if it made their ship a bit more seaworthy and filled up their larders.

“Thank you for your help. We’ll get started in the morning. Let me know what my crew can do to assist you. For now, let’s get these crates open and see what we’ve found,” Larson said.

One of the crew brought over a prybar the mast-hunting team had used. It turned out the prybar wasn’t needed since the crates were sealed but not locked. The latches holding them closed still worked, and with a little muscle, they opened the first crate. The watertight containers were large and kind of reminded Larson of a coffin. Thankfully, the seals had all remained intact, and carefully placed inside was a small weapon’s rack packed with blades that gleamed in the firelight. A half dozen cutlasses were held in the rack, and each looked to be of fine quality. Pulling one from the chest, Larson could see that it had a bit of rust on the blade, but the weapon was remarkably well-preserved considering it had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean. The small amount of surface rust would clean off without any problem. Each blade, to his delight, was razor-sharp.

“I’ll get these cleaned up and into the ship’s armory at first light, sir,” Tarley advised. “We’ll of course have to set aside somewhere to use as an armory. The pirates never set one up and always kept their weapons on their person. I’m sure we can also find some use for the watertight crates.” The second crate held more cutlasses, and the third crate had a dozen long daggers, almost shortswords. The fourth crate was longer and narrower than the others. It held a rack full of spears. The leaf-shaped tips were well-preserved, and the shafts of the spears had been treated with an oil that prevented them from warping during their time in storage.

“What is that?” Larson asked as they opened the last crate. Inside was a jumbled mess of precut wood, cables, and narrow bands of steel.

“Why, this is intriguing,” Bug said, pulling out several of the pieces. With Bartholomew jabbering excitedly, they began to piece together the weapon. It was a type of portable ballista.

“Looks like a scaled-down version of the legion scorpion,” Shada said, looking at the now-assembled siege engine.

“The captain’s notes mentioned a portable ballista. This must have been one of them,” Larson said.

“I wantses it. Can I keep it?” Bartholomew asked, looking almost like a child requesting a treat.

“What would you do with that?” Larson asked. He had seen the damage a larger version of this weapon had done to his ship, so he was loath to allow the ogre to go around firing off bolts everywhere.

“I’ll make it better, make it my own crossbow, I will,” Bartholomew said.

“My dear brother will take good care of it. In fact, he’ll likely improve on the design. In our hands, the weapon would truly be portable, and Bartholomew is a surprisingly good shot. Let us have this weapon and we’ll help you defend the ship if need be.”

“Very well. It’s yours, Bartholomew. Enjoy it and don’t go shooting holes in my ship or my crew,” Larson said. He would love to have the ballista mounted on the bow of the Gull Dropping, but he had to admit, a giant ogre with a ballista would make just about anyone think twice before attacking.

“Looks, brudder, theys gots extra bits for me to use,” Bartholomew said. He had been digging through the pile of bolts that filled the bottom of the crate and was now holding up a pair of metal tubes with wooden pieces on one end.

“Let me take a look at one of those, Bartholomew,” Larson said. The ogre reluctantly handed one over. Larson realized this was one of the weapons that the mysterious passengers who sailed with Captain Hampton had used. There was something about the weapons, something that should be familiar to him, but he couldn’t remember. “I believe these were mentioned in the captain’s journal I recovered from the wreck. They were supposed to be some kind of weapon, but I have no idea how they function.”

“I’ll figures it out, Larson. Just needs me some time,” Bartholomew said, completely engrossed with his new toys. Bug had a strange look on his face as he studied his brother’s new weapon and the strange weapons the passengers had added to the crate.

“Well, you have at it. We’ll set a watch and let the crew get some rest. I think we’re all going to need our full strength tomorrow if we want to get the ship in order,” Larson said. A loud clacking noise drew his attention. He looked up to see Bartholomew pointing the ballista out toward the shore; he had fired the thing without warning.

“Uh, I’s . . .” Bartholomew started to stammer.

“Hey, I asked you to be careful with that thing,” Larson growled.

“I’s was careful. I hitses the fishey man. See?” Bartholomew said excitedly while he easily pulled back the cable of his ballista and readied it for another bolt. Annoyed, Larson looked toward the shore and was shocked to see a dozen makon clambering out of the water. One, likely the first to emerge, lay dead on the sand with a bolt piercing it through the chest.

“Fill your hands with steel, mates. We got a fight on our hands,” Larson shouted.

Chapter 13
~

Larson readied his spear and verified that his mana was full as the crew rushed toward the open crates, frantically grabbing the weapons inside. Looking around for his shield, Larson cursed himself for leaving it aboard the ship. It wasn’t useful underwater, and he was beginning to regret choosing the Shield Bash ability. Now, when he could put it to good use, his shield was safely stashed away in his cabin. There was nothing he could do about it now, though; the makon were approaching and he needed to buy his crew time to arm themselves.

Shada had been a bit more prepared. She still held the shortsword she had taken during their initial fight, and her own shield was at the ready. Larson moved toward the approaching horde of makon, trying to draw their attention. The ballista fired again. The usual time-consuming process of winding the windlass to pull back the cable was cut down to nothing as the powerful ogre just pulled it back with his hand. Bartholomew’s second shot was off the mark. The bolt showered the approaching makon with sand but did nothing to slow them down.

Larson reached the fastest of the bunch, imbuing his weapon with slashing damage as he thrust toward the center mass of the makon. The blow hit home. His target was in a frenzy and hadn’t even tried to dodge. Magic released from his weapon as the twin prongs dug deep into the makon’s chest. From where the blow struck, the monstrous humanoid’s chest was flayed open, stopping it in its tracks as blood spurted from the wound.

The wounded makon tried to staunch the flow of blood as Larson stepped back and imbued his weapon again, ready for the next attacker. To his astonishment, the next pair of makon ignored him and pounced on their wounded comrade, tearing great mouthfuls of flesh from the creature. On his right, Shada squared off against another attacker, holding it at bay with her shield while expertly thrusting her shortsword into its bulk whenever there was an opening.

To his left, Nogreb, armed with one of the new cutlasses in one hand and a dagger in the other, led the pair of crew who had been on watch. They mixed in with the makon, trading blows. Nogreb was a monster, his blades a blur as he fought off the attackers. The skill of Larson’s other crew members left something to be desired. One fell almost immediately, his head bitten completely off by a makon, while the other backpedaled and tried to keep the makon attacking him away with the longer reach of his spear.

One of the frenzied pair in front of him decided that Larson looked tastier than his dying comrade and charged. The makon were a bit clumsy on the sand; they were much more suited to fighting in the depths. Larson, on the other hand, was perfectly comfortable here since his lower body was completely stable on the sand. For a second time, his spear found its mark, opening another catastrophic wound in his target. He stepped aside, leaving the grievously wounded makon to be finished off by one of his crew who was just now joining the fight.

The makon feasting on its dead kin must have sensed Larson’s approach, because it stood from its meal, growling and slashing at him as he closed in. Using the last of his mana, Larson filled his spear with water magic, giving it bludgeoning damage. He met the makon’s wild slashes with the tip of his spear, and the power held within shattered one of the creature’s claw-tipped hands. With his mana depleted, Larson had to do things the old-fashioned way. With his longer reach, he had the advantage over the wounded makon, landing strikes where he could and slithering away from the monster’s clumsy counterattacks.

“Form a line. Hold the beasts back,” Larson shouted. He tried to lead his attacker over toward where Shada was battling another makon. His people were too spread out, and one-on-one fights favored the more physically powerful makon. They made a half-hearted attempt to gather. Those already engaged were too distracted, but the last three crew joining the fight fell in with Larson and Shada. Nogreb had been pushed farther away in the swirl of battle, the orc joining Tarley and Gilroy to engage a pair of attackers over by the steaming pot of stew.

Shada’s sword lashed out from behind her shield, the blade skewering the makon in front of Larson, taking it out of the fight. Looking for his next opponent, Larson barely had time to drop to the sand as a bizarre object flew past his head. Encased in a huge bubble of water, a small shark had shot over him, its path leading directly toward Bug Bartholomew. At the shoreline, Larson noticed a strangely dressed makon gesticulating and pointing toward the ogre. Most of the other makon wore tattered rags adorned with shells, teeth, or other trophies. This makon was in an honest-to-goodness robe. Larson was trying to figure out how the makon swam in the restrictive garb when it raised its staff. Larson pushed himself upright as another shark encased in a bubble of water was lifted from the sea.

“Ouch, that hurtses. Get him, brudder!” Bartholomew shouted, the ogre’s voice booming out over the battlefield. The shark had hit the ogre in the upper chest below Bartholomew’s head. Its teeth tore away at the flesh of his chest, just barely missing the vulnerable neck. One of the ogre’s hands reached into the bubble of water and grasped the shark by the tail. The bubble of water collapsed, drenching the sand, as the huge arm, which Larson figured was being driven by Bug, began bashing the shark against the ground, pulverizing it.

Turning his attention back toward the shore, Larson watched the makon in the robes give him a tooth-filled grin before pointing the staff in his direction. The shark in a bubble flew toward him, the creature tracking his movements as he frantically tried to dodge it. Just before it reached him, the ground trembled and the ogre surged forward. Bug Bartholomew swung the dead shark in his grasp. The huge fish shattered the bubble around the one hurtling toward Larson, giving a meaty slap as the two fish connected. As the bubble popped, Larson was drenched and the shark that had been inside was knocked away, landing in the sand, twitching and unable to breathe.

“Thanks, big guy,” Larson said, but the ogre ignored him and charged toward the makon with the staff, who was even now trying frantically to cast some new spell. Larson didn’t give the makon mage much of a chance against Bug Bartholomew, so he turned his attention back to the fight around him. Dead makon and crew were strewn about the beach. There were only a few attackers left, and most of those were gorging on the bodies. A single makon assaulted Nogreb, who cut down his opponent with help from Tarley. Gilroy stood there in shock, holding a large wooden ladle in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. The man wasn’t actively fighting, but at least he had armed himself.

Sand and gore flew and the ground shook as Bug Bartholomew knocked over the makon mage with a blow from the shark body still held in his fist. The ogre then proceeded to stomp the life out of the spellcaster. The few makon left alive realized they had lost the fight and began to flee toward the safety of the sea, each dragging a corpse with them. Larson thought about pursuing, but seeing the sorry state of his remaining crew, he held back from following the handful of makon survivors.

“Shada, check for wounded. Tarley and Nogreb, get a headcount and have the crew start policing up this area,” Larson ordered. They had taken horrible losses, and not including his officers, he could only see six of his crew still on their feet. Keeping the crew busy was important after a fight and would help them overcome the trauma of the violent attack. As for himself, Larson began to worry about whether he had enough crew to make it back home, even with Bug Bartholomew helping.

“You there, halt!” a sailor called out. Larson watched one of the prisoners stagger out of the surf in a daze, blindly walking toward the fire.

“What are you doing out of your chains?” Larson growled as he slithered up to the pirate. He picked up the man and slammed him to the ground, causing the breath to whoosh out of his lungs.

“Nogreb, you and Shada take a pair of crew and check out the ship,” Larson said as he gave the pirate a shake. “You, what happened?” he demanded from the prisoner.

“The makon, they came aboard and took everyone,” the pirate whimpered.

“Tarley, take charge of the prisoner,” Larson said and rushed back to his ship. He overtook the others as they climbed the rope ladders up to the main deck. It was slow going for him up the ladder, as usual, but with Nogreb pushing from behind, he was the first onto the deck.

The upper deck was clear, and the hatch leading to the lower decks had been broken open. A few small lanterns gave a dim glow in the rowing compartment. Chains that once held his prisoners were broken open, and there was no sign of the two guards who had been posted here. A quick check of the lowest deck, still half flooded with water, didn’t turn up anything. With nothing to be found aboard, Larson went back to his prisoner, whom Tarley had tied securely near the fire. The rest of the crew, with Bug Bartholomew’s help, were gathering the dead and sorting any weapons and gear that could be salvaged.

“Now, quit your whimpering and tell me exactly what happened,” Larson ordered the prisoner. The man just looked around with his mouth hanging open, unable or unwilling to speak further. “My new friend might still have a bit of an appetite. I suggest you prove your worth to me, or I might reward him with a snack,” Larson threatened. The prisoners had likely heard about the ogre from the guards, but this would have been his first chance to see the two-headed giant in the flesh.

“I, uh . . . They came aboard, like I said,” the man started, his head turning rapidly back and forth from Larson to Bug Bartholomew. “They overpowered the guards and started breaking our chains. Our officer, Kalas’re, ordered us to scatter once the chains were off. I ran toward the lower deck, trying to find a place to hide. When I looked back, I could see a strange makon in a robe casting some spells on our people. They dragged them out one by one and scoured the ship for those of us that were hiding. I was the last, and they would have found me if one of them hadn’t shouted a warning, causing them all to jump into the bay, dragging our people with them.”

“Did they kill my men?” Larson asked.

“No, they almost did. One took a bite out of a guard before the makon in robes ordered him to keep everyone alive. When I heard them leave, I headed onto the deck and could see the strangest thing. My mates and the guards had bubbles of air around their heads and were being pushed through the water with some kind of magic.”

Larson’s men had been taken alive, and he thought about what he needed to do. The smart thing would be to write off the losses and proceed with repairs. He was shorthanded and the task would be difficult, but they should be able to keep the Gull Dropping on course toward the port. But no, he couldn’t leave men under his command as prisoners. He knew most people saw him as a harsh leader, a trait he believed had carried over from his old life, but he was as loyal to his crew as he demanded they be to him. Larson was duty-bound to try to free his men; that was the kind of person he was. If following his duty meant an early end to this life, so be it. Better to live a short life doing what you believed in than grow to be an old man with no moral compass.

“I’m going after the makon to get our crew and the prisoners back,” Larson said.

“Sir, you can’t go after them by yourself. It’s suicide,” Shada warned.

“I can’t just shrug my shoulders and move on while some of my crew are being held. It might just be a fool’s errand and I may not even find them, but I have to try.”

“You’re not allowed to die just yet, Captain. You still owe me for the death of Maggot,” Nogreb reminded him. Larson still wasn’t sure what to make of that. While he hadn’t exactly been a friend, Nogreb had followed orders and was shaping up to be a great officer. Larson had figured the orc was done with the whole revenge-for-Maggot business, but he evidently still held onto some kind of grudge. Larson would have to have a long conversation with Nogreb at some point, but sadly, they had been going from one crisis to another and he hadn’t had much time to get to know his crew that well.

“Don’t throw your life away. Track them down if you can and if you must, but if the odds are too great, head back,” Tarley said.

“I don’t plan on throwing anything away. I plan on rescuing our crew if they’re still alive. If the makon have killed our people, I’m not going to make a suicidal charge for revenge,” Larson assured his officers.

“You’re the captain. We all agreed, so do what you must. Come morning, I’ll have the crew start on repairs. I hope you’re back before then. I don’t think we can make the crew wait indefinitely. If you’re not back by the time the repairs are complete, and we’ve gathered all the supplies we can . . .” Tarley left the rest unsaid. Larson didn’t expect them to wait forever, and it would take several days to finish up everything the Gull Dropping needed. If he wasn’t back by then, he wasn’t likely coming back ever.

“If I’m not back by then, I expect you to elect a new captain and set sail back to port,” Larson replied. The others nodded in agreement.

Before he set out, Larson stopped by his cabin to retrieve his shield. With some rope, he was able to devise a sling to secure the shield to his back, where it wouldn’t cause too much drag in the water. In a worst-case scenario, he could cut it loose to gain a bit more speed, but he really wanted to have it with him in case he found himself in a fight somewhere on land. A flashing light in the corner of his vision caught his attention. How long it had been signaling him, Larson couldn’t say; he had been too distracted by the battle and its aftermath to notice. He activated his interface to find a most welcome message.

Congratulations! You have reached level 2.

He had almost forgotten this aspect of his life, remembering belatedly that fighting and overcoming challenges led to him gaining experience. While it took longer for his race to gain experience, all he had been through since the storm seemed to be enough to push him over the edge to the second level. New options populated his vision.

Your naga heritage manifests itself in a new ability. Choose one of the following racial paths:

1. Viper: The viper naga variant is agile and deadly. Choosing this path will increase your speed, affording you an uncanny ability to dodge attacks, and you will receive a significant increase in ranged attack accuracy and damage. The viper path will improve your natural affinity with magic, enhancing your spells and unlocking new magic schools. As you level up, the viper path will increase the power of your venom and unlock other, deadly abilities.

2. Constrictor: The constrictor variant epitomizes strength and stamina. Choosing this path will increase your strength, harden your scales, and allow your lower body to become an even deadlier weapon than before. This path will unlock new weapon options and your existing weapons skills will improve. As you level up, the constrictor path will unlock modifications to your physique, making you stronger and more durable.

His venom had initially allowed him to escape captivity, but he had also been in the thick of combat since his rebirth into this world. While he could see himself needing to lead from the rear ranks in a fight, he preferred to remain in the heat of battle, taking an active role in defeating his foes. Constrictor was who he was; it fit him and his fighting style. As he confirmed his choice, he felt a tingle over his body as new muscle tissue grew and his scales hardened.

Your mana pool has increased.

Your Shield Bash ability has improved, and you now have a greater chance of stunning your target.

Ship’s captain class ability unlocked: Command Presence. Any of your crew who are on your ship or within your line of sight receive a small morale bonus.

Your Create Water ability has improved. You can now create up to 2 gallons of either fresh or salt water per day.

They were all small but satisfying improvements to his abilities. He looked forward to the next level and finding out what it might unveil. Leveling up was dependent on him remaining alive, which was beginning to look like a difficult prospect.

Chapter 14
~

Larson slid off the side of the Gull Dropping and back into the sea. It was dark, and though he could see better than a human, he was still hampered by the near pitch black of the deeper water. Thinking logically, he figured the makon must have tracked him back to shore after sensing the huge amount of blood that was shed in his fight with the other makon and its shark companion. It must have taken them some time to gather their forces and organize the assault. If they planned to keep the captives alive, they had to either maintain the air spell over their heads or take them to someplace with air, like a submerged cavern or a secluded stretch of beach. His own limited experience with magic told him it would be impossible for a single caster to keep that many spells going at one time, which meant they were taking the captives someplace close by that had air.

Larson swam about the bay, using his new senses and looking for a clue. He tried to concentrate on his Sense Disturbance ability, quickly feeling where the water was being displaced by the frantically squirming humans and elf. The makon were able to slip nearly silently through the water, but the earthbound creatures’ panicked movements were easy for Larson to zero in on. The lack of sea life also helped him keep track of his targets as they headed toward the rocky outcropping that made up the western half of the bay.

The disturbance in the water peaked and then cut off abruptly when the group more than likely exited onto land. Following the same heading, Larson found a section of rocks that led up from the sea. A smooth path had been worn in the rocks, and Larson pulled himself onto the ledge and followed the trail. The narrow opening of a cave loomed in the darkness before him, so he slithered off the path to watch the opening. After several minutes, he didn’t detect any guards covering the narrow passage, but he did hear sounds emanating from deeper in the cavern.

The rocky trail gave way to soft sand as Larson squeezed into the opening. The passage continued in a straight line as it slowly descended, and Larson could make out a faint light source at the end of the passage. He could also hear raised voices with strange accents. The makon, he assumed. As he neared the light, he realized the passage opened into a large chamber. From the shouts coming from inside, he assumed some of the makon were not exactly happy with each other.

Larson paused in his approach, spotting a pair of makon standing guard over the passage. Lucky for him, the guards’ attention was focused on the chamber and not down the passage he was approaching from. Larson settled in and waited for an opening. As much as he wanted to rescue his crew, assaulting a pair of makon single-handedly and warning what sounded like a chamber full of them wasn’t a good plan.

“Kah, we wither away, and you would deny us the chance to feed!” a voice shouted.

“It is the command of our master. He demands to be fed and his will is to be put before us all. Your hunger is a weakness in his sight. Tibux, deny your weakness and follow his command. Throw the dead into the forbidden pool as an offering right now!” the voice of the makon Larson figured was Kah shouted back.

“What command? I hear nothing, and we have too long accepted the word of the water-shapers as true. Perhaps it is time for our people to follow a new path and find our own way. It is time to hunt flesh for us to consume, not for some imaginary master you’ve conjured up. It is time for us to grow strong once more,” Tibux replied.

“We have offered to our master for a generation. He is on the verge of emergence, and once he rises, the great hunt can begin and we will gorge to our hearts’ content. Heed his call or you shall be counted among his first victims,” Kah argued.

“Bah, I think there is no call of the master and the water-shapers have fooled us. I believe that when nobody is looking, you swim into the forbidden pool to feast on the offerings yourself. Come, brothers, it is time to give up this false master and follow our instincts. Join me in feeding,” Tibux said, causing a murmuring among the other makon. Larson didn’t have a good count of their numbers, but there had to be quite a few.

“They will not follow you, Tibux, and now you will face judgment for your actions. Feed him to the master so the anger over our disbelief will be sated,” Kah ordered. Larson heard a struggle and the snapping of teeth. The guards at the entrance walked toward the growing brawl, giving Larson a chance to sneak up and peek inside the chamber.

The cavern was huge, with a wide sandy floor, and at the far end was a perfectly circular pool, the water dark and swirling. Patches of glowing moss lined much of the roof, giving off a dim light. Larson could see several smaller passages leading off into the darkness. In front of the swirling pool were the three corpses the makon had dragged back with them. Two of the corpses were of his crew, and the third belonged to a makon. In the corner of the cavern closest to him sat the prisoners, a single makon standing guard over them. They looked pretty banged up, and one had a bloody wound on his shoulder.

Over by the corpses, two makon fought a bloody battle. One wore a set of robes like the mage on the beach and the other was huge, his size standing out among the rest of the emaciated makon. The larger makon was starting to overpower the weaker spellcaster. With a shouted command word, a burst of power flowed from the mage’s hand, knocking over the makon that Larson figured was Tibux. The mage, Kah, retreated from the fight as he gestured toward two of the makon gathered in the chamber. The pair charged into the stunned Tibux, knocking him over while slashing and biting at their victim.

Tibux was no pushover, and Larson was glad he hadn’t faced the monster in the earlier fight. With a roar, Tibux thrust a claw completely through the body of one of his attackers, and in return, he suffered a vicious bite from the other. The mage continued to back away from the fight, shouting more orders for the makon to kill the usurper, Tibux. Several started toward the fight, pausing as Tibux dispatched his second opponent with a bite to the throat. The large makon took another bite out of his opponent, spraying blood about the chamber. This was too much for many of the half-starved makon, who fell into a frenzy as they tried to get at the food in front of them.

Kah was able to rally a few makon that somehow overcame the frenzy in front of them. From out of the feeding scrum, Tibux emerged and charged toward his foe, tackling the wizard before he could get off another spell. Larson saw his opening as the guard watching the prisoners joined in the brawl. Slithering toward his crew, he caught their attention and waved them over. His men began skulking their way across the chamber, toward the exit passage. The pirate officer, Kalas’re, looked toward him, and instead of following, he slunk off toward the back of the chamber. One of the pirate prisoners followed the elf while the remaining pair headed toward Larson.

“Hide yourselves outside the cave. I’ll follow you out shortly. If for some reason I don’t come back, wait for daylight and try to make your way back to the ship,” Larson ordered. His two crewmembers nodded and rushed from the cave, the pirates following behind. There was some risk the pirates would overpower his crew since one of them was wounded, but at least for now, Larson believed they wanted to survive and would work together rather than end up back in the hands of the makon.

Concealing himself in the shadows as best as he could, Larson watched the fight unfolding around the swirling pool. A good half dozen of the makon were down, dead and partially consumed. While he had been rescuing the captives, Tibux had fallen and Kah was now fighting for his life against another makon that was trying to feed on his bloody wounds. A pair of makon grappled together, tripped, and fell into the swirling pool. Their piercing shrieks went unheeded as something dragged them beneath the surface.

Two shafts of sickly green light emerged from the pool as the water roiled even harder. One of the beams connected with Kah, and the other, strangely enough, linked to the elf pirate as he and his follower ducked into a dark side tunnel. The two stopped and froze for a moment before the light faded. The elf scurried off, and Kah, with a look of terror on his shark-like face, fled toward the exit where Larson was hiding.

Larson stepped back in the narrow passage, his shield and spear at the ready. If he had to fight, it would be with only one opponent at a time. Just before he left the chamber, Larson spotted a horrible sight. Slimy tentacles burst from the swirling pool, grasping both the dead and the living still inside the chamber. As he backed away, he saw the panicked Kah running straight at him. A blue glow encompassed Larson’s spear as he imbued it with water magic. A look of shock and pain overtook Kah’s face as he ran directly into, and impaled himself on, Larson’s spear. Already wounded from his earlier scuffles, the mage fell silently to the chamber floor. A thin wisp of the green, sickly light left his body as he died and drifted back into the main chamber.

Still backing his way down the passage, Larson stopped when he caught the flash of gold around the makon’s neck. Clasped there was a necklace he hadn’t noticed—treasure he couldn’t just leave behind. It took him a few seconds to find the clasp and unhook it. He fastened the jewelry around one of the handles of his shield as he detected movement at the opening of the chamber. One of the tentacles that had emerged from the pool was feeling its way along the passage. Not wanting anything to do with the grasping appendage, Larson turned and fled as fast as he could toward the exit, catching a final glimpse of the tentacle wrapping itself around Kah’s corpse and dragging it away.

Once outside, Larson retreated nearly to the water, wanting to be far away from whatever had emerged from the swirling pool. Thankfully, nothing monstrous poked its way out of the cave, and it appeared the threat was limited to inside the cavern. It took Larson a few minutes to track down his crew. The pair of crewmembers, along with the pirates, were trying to hide behind some of the rocks near the shore.

“Sir, what happened in there?” the uninjured crewman asked.

“Nothing good, but at least our makon threat is handled for now. We need to make our way back to the Gull Dropping, and I don’t think we’ll get there overland. The bay should be safe enough for us to swim back. I’ll help our wounded sailor back, but the rest of you will have to make it under your own power. Something’s going on inside there and I don’t think we want to stick around here all night,” Larson ordered.

The men were reluctant, but they all got into the water and started paddling their way back toward the beach. Larson brought up the rear with the wounded sailor, a man named Creech. He didn’t know what that thing in the cavern was and hoped it didn’t have some way to escape into the bay while they were swimming through it. The group made slow progress back to the beach, with Larson having to stop often to keep the others on the right course. He didn’t need to use his hands while swimming. This freed up one arm to hold the wounded Creech, while the other hand could juggle his spear and help support any floundering swimmers.

When they finally reached the beach, Nogreb and a pair of sailors armed with the new spears were waiting for them. They helped their comrades out of the water and made sure the prisoners were put back in chains. Shada healed up Creech while Larson gave his ship’s officers a rundown of what had occurred inside the cavern.

“So you think the makon threat is neutralized, but what about that monster inside the cavern?” Tarley asked.

“I have no idea what that thing is or if it will find some way out into the water. Our best bet is to finish up the repairs as quickly as we can and get moving away from this place,” Larson said.

“Agreed, let’s get a watch set and let everyone catch some sleep while they can. We’ll have a full day of work to do tomorrow,” Nogreb added.

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully, and with them being so undermanned, Larson took over a couple of watch shifts to give the crew a bit more time to sleep. Bug Bartholomew stayed up with him for a while, going over his plans for the Gull Dropping. The ogre planned to use log rollers to pull the ship completely out of the water. Sturdy bracing would keep the ship in place while the repairs were completed. He still had a problem with tools, and Larson decided to have him repurpose some of their old weapons. There was no way he was going to give up any of his new weapons, but at least the ogre had a few things to work with.

Larson accessed his interface and pulled up the latest information on his ship and crew. He had wondered if the reports were only available when interacting with his officers, but it appeared he could access the information on his own at any time he wished.

Ship’s Complement for the Gull Dropping:

Crew: 8/60

Specialized crew: 0/10

Officers: 3/4

Prisoners: 2

Passengers: 1

Personal weapons: average. Your crew is equipped with good-quality steel melee weapons, but you lack ranged weapons and skilled crew to use them.

Personal armor: none

Other equipment: none

Ship’s coffers: 5694 scales, 400 fins, 81 landsmen gold, 2 ducats

Crew:

Level 0 sailors: 6

Level 1 sailors: 2

Officers:

Larson, ship’s captain, level 2

Tarley, level 3 first mate, unknown second class: Tarley provides a 3% bonus to crew morale and a 3% bonus to ship’s speed.

Nogreb, level 2 bosun, unknown second class: Nogreb provides a 2% bonus to ship repair speed and a 2% damage reduction from all damage dealt to the vessel.

Shada, level 2 ship’s surgeon, level 2 shaman, unknown third class: Shada provides a 2% resistance to any sickness for all crew. Wounded sailors under her care recover 2% faster than normal.

Average crew health: 89%. Your crew is physically exhausted and traumatized by recent events, but with good food and rest, they will be back to full health shortly.

Morale: 64%

He was down to eight crew and it appeared that Bug Bartholomew was showing as a passenger. The maximum ship’s complement had increased to sixty, which was likely the result of his achieving level 2. The new category of the specialized crew was a bit of a mystery, but Larson figured he could now hire on people with special skills like marines, engineers to work siege engines, ship’s mages, and the like. With the weapons they had discovered, his crew now had a better chance of defending themselves despite their lack of skill and the fact that they had no armor to speak of.

His treasury had filled up nicely. Whereas before he only had a few coins scavenged from the dead, now he had bags of coin stashed throughout his cabin. Larson made a note to track down some kind of safe or lockbox once they made port. He liked the idea of a decoy box with a modest amount of coin in it while the rest was hidden away somewhere else on the ship. The necklace he had found on the makon was odd. Looking at it caused a system prompt to flash in his vision. Apparently it was a magical item, one he would need help to understand.

Necklace, unidentified: This item emits a faint magical aura. A wizard or seer will have to divine its powers, be they helpful or harmful.

Alongside his level-up, all the ship’s officers had also gained a level in their duties, increasing the small enhancement they gave to the ship and her crew. Morale had also ticked up slightly, but it was still going to be low until he had an actual crew that wanted to be aboard of their own free will.

The night was quiet, and the soothing sound of waves hitting the sand put Larson in a contemplative mood. He wished he could remember more of his old life and who he had been. Somehow, his being, values, drives, and desires had transferred from his old life to this new one. He would be true to himself and answer to no others, living his new life the way he felt it should be lived, and woe to any who tried to prevent that.

Chapter 15
~

Dawn was just peeking over the horizon when the quiet was broken by the rumbling sound of an ogre belching. Better than the ship’s bell, Bug Bartholomew’s belch was met with grumbles and complaints as the crew made their way over to the still-bubbling pot of stew Gilroy had kept simmering all night. Some chose to breakfast on the various fruits the scavenging teams had found on the beach, but Larson opted for another bowl of stew, feeling the need for a more substantial meal after everything that transpired yesterday.

“Good morning, sir. What’s the plan today?” Tarley asked after the officers had a chance to eat and check on the crew.

“We need to prioritize the ship’s repairs, so all hands will help the ogre get the ship out of the water. The only exception will be Gilroy, who needs to work on preserving whatever shark meat he can. Once the ship’s squared away, we’ll send a party out to gather more food and water. Let’s get to it, people. With what I saw last night, I don’t want to hang around this island much longer,” Larson said, still fearful that the monster from the cavern might make its way out.

After conferring with his officers, he looked for the ogre, who wasn’t too hard to spot. Over by the cookfire, he was talking with a rather green-looking Gilroy. Bug Bartholomew was holding up and gesturing at the ragged remains of one of the makon. Before his cook could lose his breakfast, Larson slithered over to help.

“Captain, sir, our, uh, passenger is requesting that I smoke some of the makon for the voyage. I’m not too comfortable using what little skills I do have to work on humanoid flesh, sir,” Gilroy stammered.

“Excuse us, Bug Bartholomew. Please allow me a few moments to speak with my crewman. Maybe you can help my officers get everyone started on the day’s work,” Larson asked. The big ogre just shrugged and stomped his way over to meet with the ship’s officers, snacking on the corpse in his hand.

“Okay, Gilroy, I don’t want you to have to preserve the flesh of an intelligent creature, either, but answer this for me. What do you think will happen if we don’t do it and the meat runs out after a day or two? Do you really want a hungry ogre on the ship with you? Sure, he’s been eating fruits and vegetables for a while, but somehow, I don’t think that will be enough to sate his hunger when there’s fresh meat to be had,” Larson said, gesturing toward Gilroy when he mentioned the fresh meat.

“Oh, yeah, I get your point, sir,” Gilroy said.

“Good, this won’t be a regular occurrence, but we need to accommodate our passenger’s special dietary requirements, at least this time. My only order is that you make extra sure the two types of meat don’t get mixed up,” Larson said. The still-disgusted Gilroy left to gather wood and supplies to start smoking meat of both types. Thankfully, the ogre hadn’t mentioned the corpses of his fallen crew, which were now buried under the shade of a large tree. The ogre wouldn’t have any of Larson’s crew, alive or dead; that was a line he refused to cross. With the culinary dispute handled, Larson joined the others to discuss the day’s work schedule.

“I smashes trees up good,” Bartholomew said with pride.

“Yes, brother, you are rather adept at the task. I suggest that my brother and I start gathering the timber we’ll need. If your crew can arrange it how I request, we’ll have the Gull Dropping on dry land before noon,” Bug offered.

“Good, we’ll do it however you want. Let’s get started,” Nogreb replied.

They spent the morning watching the ogre chop down palm trees with a single blow. The crew and officers would then take the logs and line them up under the bow of the ship. Other, smaller trees were placed to the side, the ogre advising they would be the best ones for keeping the hull upright while they worked. They did have to spend some time digging in the sand, trying to even out the spot of beach where they hoped to place the ship. Larson pitched in, sweating as he pulled log after log from the tree line to the beach. He enjoyed the hard work; he had always found a kind of calm comfort in working hard at a task with others.

After his lumberjack skills were no longer needed, the ogre began to tie off lines to the ship. He had fashioned several wooden pulleys during the night, which he placed at the necessary points. The ogre knew what he was doing, and Larson could see that he was excited to show off his skill.

“We pullses the ship now,” Bartholomew bellowed, finally happy with the placement of the lines and pulleys. It looked like the tide was as low as it was going to get. Three reinforced ropes had been tied off to the Gull Dropping. The ogre grabbed the center rope while Larson had the rest of the crew, along with the prisoners, place themselves at the other two. With a heave, they all pulled as hard as they could.

The pulleys creaked and squeaked as the ropes pulled taut. Larson used his coils to dig into the sand, granting him a solid base. For long minutes, nothing happened. Then, as the ogre shouted and redoubled his efforts, the ship rolled out onto the first log. With a slurp, the suction holding the hull in the wet sand broke, allowing it to roll onto the second log. Bug Bartholomew flagged down two of the crew and commanded them to start bracing the sides of the ship.

It took nearly an hour of hard work to get the ship as far as it would go. In the end, they pulled it mostly out of the water. The last ten feet remained partially submerged, but the crew’s strength was spent. After the ogre checked the bracing and tied off the lines, he reported the ship was far enough out for his needs. After eating a small lunch, the crew got back to work. Nogreb had the two most experienced sailors inside the ship, while Bug Bartholomew worked from the outside. They would have to make serious modifications if they wanted to get the ogre belowdecks, modifications they didn’t have the tools or time to implement.

Shada led a pair of the crew to fill their water casks and gather more food while Gilroy recruited the prisoners to help him smoke all the meat. The cook had given the prisoners the task of carving up the makon bodies. Larson was a little nervous about Gilroy giving the prisoners knives for the task, but the chance of them attacking was slim, given the ship was going to be their only way off the island.

“Captain Larson, would you be so kind as to examine the rudder for us?” Bug asked.

Larson knew the ogre was not going to wade into even shallow water, so he didn’t mind. The water was only up to Larson’s waist, and he could see that the rudder was pretty worn out. Barnacles and algae grew over the portions that had stayed underwater, and the rudder post was on its last legs. He gave his report to the ogre.

“Hmm, not much we can do about the rudder post, but we should at least scrape the rudder clean. I should have these patches completed in an hour or so. Then we’ll get started on scraping the hull. It doesn’t look like anyone has touched it since the ship first sailed,” Bug told him. Where there had been damage to the hull, new planks were fastened. The planks were crude—the ogre had cut them with a notched sword used as a saw—but they would keep the sea out well enough.

Under the direction of Tarley, several of the crew worked on replacing the mast. The palm log required a lot of bracing; it wasn’t the ideal material. Larson helped them rig up a smaller rectangular sail from the remaining sailcloth they had on hand. It wouldn’t move them very fast, but it was better than rowing. Scraping off the barnacles was a time-consuming and mind-numbing task, but Larson jumped in to do his fair share, starting with the rudder, where his strange body shape enabled him to reach even the partially submerged portions. With the way things were going, the ship would be ready for the evening high tide, as long as they were able to pack enough provisions on board to sustain them.

By late afternoon, the hull was as clean as they could get it, and Larson had sent every available hand to assist in gathering provisions. Their larder was starting to slowly fill. They repaired and cleaned all the casks that were still on board, and a team filled them from a fresh spring that wasn’t too far from the ship. Bundles of fruits and edible plants started filling up the nearly empty shelves of the galley, and the prisoners were bringing in a steady supply of preserved meat, being extremely careful to not put the casks holding the two different types of meat anywhere close to each other.

By the time the tide started to roll in, they had gathered a good amount of provisions, and Larson was almost tempted to stay another day to make sure they had filled up all they could. Thinking back on the thing inside the cavern, he figured they had more than enough to get them to port, and it was probably time to finally get sailing. A section of the deck was set aside for Bug Bartholomew, who had set up a nest of sorts using scraps of sailcloth. Various devices and contraptions were stored around the ogre, and Larson noticed that a disturbing amount of their available cordage had been used to create a crude flotation device from leftover logs.

“You comfortable enough?” Larson asked the ogre.

“No, I no want to go on da water,” Bartholomew grumbled.

“I know, brother, but we have no choice. There are discoveries to be made and we won’t find them here on this tiny island,” Bug said to comfort his brother. Larson could tell from his expression that Bug was even less pleased than his brother.

“Sir, we’re ready to cast off the lines,” Tarley advised.

“Cast off. Let’s see if she’ll float,” Larson ordered. He went back ashore to untie the three lines holding them secure. Once that was done, the ship began to rock slowly as the tide rose, lifting the Gull Dropping and causing it to roll down the logs and back into the sea. The remaining crew cheered as they floated free. Larson went below with most of the crew to grab an oar and row them out of the harbor until their sail was able to catch the breeze.

Larson rowed at his old oar, a pair of his crew in front of him. On the other side of the ship, the prisoners had been chained back to their benches, and they rowed along with another pair of crew, all that could be spared from their dwindling number. They slowly made their way out of the harbor, the wind and seas picking up as they left its shelter.

Tarley ordered the sail unfurled, and Larson could feel the wind pull them along, allowing him and the others to cease their rowing for now. He made his way back onto the deck to chart their course. In his cabin, he made a quick check of his hiding places, confirming the coins were still there before going to his chart table. As he worked, the internal compass in his head kicked in, and he quickly found the heading they needed to take. Once he passed the information to Tarley, Larson took a spot at the bow, enjoying the feel of the ship cruising slowly across the sea.

“Sir, I’m happy to report the lower hold is dry and the repairs are holding up just fine,” Nogreb said.

“Excellent. It appears our passenger does good work,” Larson replied.

“Aye, sir, but I do hope he finds his sea legs before too long,” Nogreb added. Almost on cue, the ogre leaned over the side of the ship. Both hands had a death grip on the railing as Bug Bartholomew emptied his belly out through both mouths.

“That’s not a pretty sight,” Larson said. When Nogreb started to leave, Larson motioned him back over. “Hold on, Nogreb. We need to talk. You’ve been doing a great job, but what is the deal with the whole I-owe-you-for-Maggot thing?”

“Permission to speak freely?” Nogreb replied.

“Of course.”

“That devil of a Maggot took everything from me. The person who previously sat in your seat was my daughter. She was a proud woman and a powerful warrior, but I had to sit there and watch her waste away each day as Maggot took most of her rations, leaving her weak and nearly useless. When they took you captive, she was almost dead. They took her away and tossed her overboard. I heard her screams. The last sound I will ever hear of my daughter was her scream of terror as she plunged to her death.

“I remained silent, waiting for my opportunity to strike against Maggot. It didn’t matter if I perished in the attempt. I would choke the life from him and smile as he drifted off to whatever hell awaited him. When you broke free and killed Maggot, my revenge, my reason for living, was taken from me, just as my daughter was taken from me. I know you mean well, but it is a slight I cannot overlook, sir. It will not affect my duties, but I will exact a toll at some point.”

Larson wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He couldn’t imagine the pain the orc had felt over what happened to his daughter, but how was he to know what had transpired? If he had known, instead of snapping Maggot’s neck, he would have tossed him to within reach of Nogreb. No, Larson had no guilt here; he had done what needed to be done. Was his bosun going to decide one day that his back needed a blade in it? What exactly was he expecting to take for this “toll”?

“Fine, I can’t even begin to understand your loss, but you could have told me what happened, and I would have gladly delivered Maggot to you. How can you hold me to some strange debt for this? You’re a better man than that, Nogreb. You are dismissed,” Larson ordered. He was fed up with the orc, a person he could respect, save for his strange demand for recompense. Nogreb walked away without another word, leaving Larson to his thoughts.

A sliver of doubt entered his mind. Was he doomed to fail in this new life? No, he was too driven, too focused on the goal to give in to doubt and worry. That did bring up a question: other than making it to port, what was his goal? So far, he had only thought in the short-term, focusing on overcoming the next obstacle, but what now? He had a ship, and though it was a bit ragged and worn, it was his. What did he want to do with his ship? He would hire a crew, but to what purpose?

Taking a moment to plan, he thought about his desires. Larson wanted to sail the seas. It was in his blood, literally, now that he was a water naga. He also found he liked to fight; the thrill of combat was real, and he couldn’t wait to try his skills against more foes. He knew he had fought back in his old life, but the memories of that were gone, aside from the feeling that the fighting was more detached, less up close and personal, than what he experienced here.

Maybe he could try and gain command of a naval vessel for one of the Free Isles. No, that meant following the wishes and orders of others, and he was done with that. He wanted to follow his own flag, to have others follow him. A pirate, perhaps? No, he didn’t want to gain his fortune by harming the innocent. He was a hard man, but he was one with a moral compass.

There might be another way, but it was going to depend on the type of government he found once they reached land. Until then, he would focus on the next step: getting to port and fixing up his ship. He had a crew to recruit, another task he wasn’t quite sure how to handle. It might be best to find a crew and some cargo to haul, waiting to decide on his longer-term plans until he got a better feel for what was out there.

The weather stayed fair, and they made slow and steady progress toward their destination. Food and water stores were holding out, thanks in no small part to Bug Bartholomew’s lingering seasickness, which put a damper on his appetite. It took a lot of work to keep a ship sailing, and the lack of crew was quite a burden on them. The ship’s officers and even the prisoners were pressed into service, but they were all becoming exhausted on the journey. Larson was able to work nearly nonstop; his minimal need for sleep allowed him to work almost around the clock.

A day out from their destination, Stratwall Harbor, Larson experienced something strange as he lay down for his few seconds of rest. Instead of instantly coming awake, refreshed, and ready for his next day, his sleep lingered. He could feel his mind slipping away—he was drifting back down into the abyss he had started from. Was he dying yet again? There was no voice calling to him from the darkness this time. There was nothing.

Chapter 16
~

“Hey there, did you want a snack or some coffee? These cookies are really good. I have chocolate chip ones, but the white chocolate raspberry is my favorite. Well, except for the nuts in them. Why do old people always want nuts in their cookies? It’s kind of gross,” a far too chipper voice called out to Sally, startling her.

“Oh, uh, no, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” Sally replied. The girl was dressed in a hospital uniform with a large volunteer tag and looked somewhere between ten or twelve, a kid doing some volunteer work for school credit or something. Instead of leaving, the kid walked over to the medpod and stared inside.

“Sorry to be nosy, but is that your husband or grandpa or your boss or something? What’s your name?” the kid asked in a rapid-fire fashion.

“Wow, okay, first, I’m Sally, and this is my brother,” she replied.

“Nice to meet you, Sally. I’m Lauren. What’s your brother’s name? Was he in the Army, too?” she asked.

“No, my brother Craig was in the Navy. He was a captain before he retired to start his own business,” Sally answered, wondering when the kid would stop asking questions and leave her in peace.

“Being a captain is cool. How long has your brother been sick? I’ve seen him in here, but this is the first time I’ve seen a visitor,” Lauren said.

“He wasn’t sick. He was hurt in an accident. I just found out that something happened to him. We, well . . . We weren’t all that close over the last few years,” Sally admitted.

She and her brother hadn’t been on speaking terms for the last thirty years, but then she received a call from an old friend who used to work with Craig, and she learned of the horrible accident. She was surprised and shocked. Just thinking about her brother usually brought on feelings of anger, but hearing he was on life support triggered something else. After a long time of working it out in her head, Sally knew she had to see her brother before he passed. Angry or not, she had no other family left.

Sally had almost hoped her brother would have left instructions to not allow her to visit—that would have made things easy—but Craig never was one to make things easy for her. If anything, he would do whatever he could to see her struggle. The staff here at the hospital had seemed surprised to find out she even existed. Sally half felt they didn’t believe she was his sister. Despite that, they gave her directions to Craig’s room and told her the visiting hours.

She stayed in the hallway for some time, trying to convince herself to enter her brother’s room. Eventually, she worked up the courage to enter after the doctor and nurse inside had finished whatever they were doing and left. Sally had hoped to have some quiet time alone with her brother, but this volunteer, Lauren, didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he in the game or just kind of hanging out? Most of the old military guys like to go in the game,” Lauren said.

Sally wasn’t sure what she was talking about. This was a hospital, not an arcade. “What do you mean? He’s in the life support medpod, not an arcade.”

“Huh? Didn’t they tell you about it? The hospital should have given you an orientation when you agreed to have him placed in the medpod,” Lauren told her.

“I’m not the one that gave permission for this,” Sally said, looking with disgust at the machine her brother was housed in. It was an ugly thing, she thought, not a place where someone should spend their last days. “I’m not even sure I should be here.” She stood up and began to leave. This had been a mistake. There was nothing for her here. Her brother had been gone, dead to her ever since they parted ways so long ago.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Please don’t leave. He knows you’re here to visit him. At least that’s what my grandpa said when he was in one. It was kind of a feeling he had, knowing his family was outside waiting for him when his mind recovered,” Lauren said.

Sally paused at the door. “I don’t think he would be too happy to know I was here.”

“You can’t know for sure. Family is important. Why don’t you ask him if he wants to see you?” Lauren asked.

“I can’t really do that, Lauren. Can I?” Sally said a bit sharply, gesturing toward the machine Craig was encased in. She felt bad for snapping at the young girl, but this whole visit had put her on edge.

“Oh, you are so wrong. Did you really not know about the medpod and what happens to the people inside?” Lauren asked.

Intrigued, and happy that Lauren didn’t seem offended, Sally stopped at the door. “What do you mean? I didn’t have anything explained to me.”

“Well, okay, there’s this game, Limitless Lands, that’s controlled by a super-awesome AI. Are you a gamer?” Lauren asked.

“No, I never had time for that,” Sally admitted. Sure, gaming was taking the world by storm, surpassing other forms of entertainment, but she didn’t see any use for it.

“Woah, you’re in for a shock. You see, that AI . . . She’s named Clio, in case you were wondering. Well, she doesn’t just control the game—she also controls these medpods. When someone is treated in one, the AI will create a cool virtual environment for them to stay in, or they can opt to join in and play the game. Your brother will be in one of those two places. My grandpa was in the game and I was able to play with him. It’s a long story, but we had a great time together,” Lauren said excitedly.

Could it be true? Was her brother inside some kind of virtual reality she could visit? Would she even want to?

“I had no idea,” Sally said.

“Okay, all you have to do is get a gaming rig and then you can join in. I can check for you and see what server your brother’s on, if you want. That way, you guys can game together. If he’s inside his own virtual environment, you can visit him there, too, but most of the old military guys decide to play the game.”

“Thank you, Lauren. I’m not sure I want to take that step just yet, but it’s good to know he’s not just unconscious or in pain inside there,” Sally replied.

“No problem. Did you want me to get someone from the hospital to talk to you about your brother?” Lauren asked.

“No, thank you. I have to run, but you’ve been very helpful.” Sally took one more look at her brother in the medpod and left the hospital.

Unsure what she should be feeling, Sally drove around for hours. She had flown from her home in California to Knoxville, where the VA hospital was, intending to turn around and fly back the same day. She honestly didn’t know what to think about the whole situation. The anger was still there. She didn’t know if it would ever leave, but seeing Craig there in the hospital reminded her of other times, happier times. Pulling out her dataslate, she booked a nearby hotel for a few nights. She had retired long ago and nothing back home needed her attention, so she might as well stay here while she tried to come to grips with her emotions.

Sally stopped at a small local restaurant in a strip mall near her hotel, enjoying a bit of Southern cuisine, which mainly involved deep-frying everything on the menu. She tried to ignore the sheer amount of calories and fat she was ingesting and took her time, processing everything in her head. Her brother was most likely inside a game. Could that be true? Technology had made amazing leaps over the years, but Sally really hadn’t been too interested in it. Her VR television at home was nice, but she didn’t care to play games, no matter how realistic they were.

Farther down the strip mall was a gaming store. What would it hurt to at least see how her brother was doing? Maybe the game would let her observe without him knowing or something. She had come here to confront her own demons, ones she piled upon her brother’s shoulders for the way he had treated her and her husband. That had been the catalyst for all their conflict when she married Raymond. Many years ago, her husband succumbed to cancer that was found too late, and his passing had hardened her heart against her brother even more.

Raymond and Craig had worked together and even been friends once. Sally thought her brother approved of them dating and eventually marrying. All that changed when, shortly after their wedding, Raymond told Craig he was leaving Larson Industries. Her brother was disappointed to have his friend and brother-in-law leave the company, but not angry. That all changed when it became known that Raymond was not only leaving but was also forming his own firm that would directly compete against Larson. To her brother, that was a sin he couldn’t overlook and was a betrayal of him personally. Harsh words were said, things that couldn’t be taken back, and Sally was cut from Craig’s life as if his relationship with her meant nothing to him.

Raymond wasn’t much better than her brother, she had to admit, and taking down Larson Industries became his life’s goal. He destroyed the company he had created in a failed bid to drive Craig out of business. It was foolish, she realized now, but family disputes rarely followed any logic. After his company closed, they were forced to live a simple life as her husband took work as a ship’s officer on various cargo vessels. Her husband was working long hours at sea on a container ship when he found out he was ill. Long stretches of time at sea and bull-headed stubbornness prevented him from seeing a doctor until it was too late. New therapies helped, but the cancer had progressed too far, too fast.

She lost Raymond, and her brother never said a word, never acknowledged her or her loss. Craig always had a strange sense of honor, though. The same honor that forced him to see Raymond as a personal threat to his business also made him make sure she was taken care of financially. A check arrived every year without fail. It was supposedly from a life insurance policy Raymond had taken out, but she knew that wasn’t true. She could never link the money to any of the Larson Industries companies or affiliates, but she knew it came from Craig. It galled her to take the money, but she needed it after Raymond passed. She had been thrifty with her spending and she was now comfortably set for her remaining years.

After paying her bill and leaving a large tip for the friendly waitress, Sally took a walk along the shops of the strip mall. It was a typical affair, with the requisite dry cleaner, nail shop, barbershop, and sandwich place. The second-to-last store, crammed in one of the smaller storefronts, was a place called Level Master Games. Before she could talk herself out of it, Sally opened the door and stepped inside.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, having never entered a game store before, and was a bit overwhelmed by the shelves crammed with gaming books, display cases with some kind of playing cards inside, and rows of gaming gear lining a wall. There were a few customers inside, including a group playing a game involving what looked like miniature knights and monsters. One of the pair of workers inside spotted her standing just inside the entrance and took pity on her confused look.

“Welcome to Level Master. Can I help you find something?” the young man asked.

“I’m not sure. I was wondering if you had a game called . . .” Sally struggled to remember the name of the game the young volunteer Lauren had told her about. “Limitless something or other?”

“Limitless Lands?” the salesclerk replied.

“That’s it, Limitless Lands. Can I buy a copy of the game here?”

“Well, they haven’t had physical copies of games for a long time. You have to get it directly through your rig. We do have prepaid game cards if you need those for a gift or something,” the clerk offered. It was obvious she wasn’t a gamer, and he must have pegged her as an out-of-touch grandma who wanted to buy a gift. He was only partially correct. She was old enough to be a grandma but never had any kids, and she wanted the game for herself, not as a gift for someone else.

“Well, I wanted the game for myself, but as you can see, I’m clueless about these things. I’ve never even played a video game before,” Sally admitted.

“Woah, that’s kind of cool that you’re starting now.” The clerk then got a look of fear on his face before stammering further. “Uh, not that you’re old or anything. I just mean—”

Sally cut him off to save him from further embarrassment. “Don’t worry. I am kind of old, I admit. That’s nothing I’m offended about. It’s a sign of pride that I’ve made it this long. I really am new to gaming and was hoping you could guide me through the process.”

The clerk relaxed once he realized she wasn’t going to do the whole I-want-to-talk-to-your-manager routine. “Wow, you’re really cool and I’ll totally help you out. I’ll start from the beginning. First off, you’ll need a rig.” He paused, noting the confused look on her face. “A rig is a virtual reality system that allows you to fully immerse yourself in the game. They come in several varieties and price points, but none of them are cheap, I’m sorry to say. Once you have the rig, which is very easy to use, just follow the instructions on how to wear it and the thing will walk you through a tutorial. Once inside, you can buy any game you like, including Limitless Lands. I have a few rigs here for sale, but you do need something pretty powerful to run that game. It’s a beast and requires strong specs for the full effect.”

“Well, I suppose I need to buy a ‘rig,’ as you call it. What do you recommend?” Sally asked. The clerk showed her a couple of the models he had on hand. After hearing that she didn’t live nearby and would be traveling, he suggested something that looked like a fully enclosed helmet with a jumpsuit she would wear. It was bulky but would fit inside her luggage on the return trip. After getting some step-by-step instructions on how to find the game on the rig’s interface, Sally left the store with a box full of gear and a much lighter bank account. The price for games had definitely gone up from when she was a kid.

Back in her hotel, Sally followed all the instructions for her new gear. The jumpsuit wasn’t too uncomfortable, but it did take time to adjust it so it fit her correctly. She also had to overcome her mild case of claustrophobia when putting on the helmet. Thankfully, the system booted right up, and she had something to distract her from her anxiety. The detail in the interface was much better than her TV’s and she could actually feel it when she selected something. She followed the clerk’s instructions and found the page for the company Qualitranos and the game Limitless Lands. Sally almost choked when she saw the price and the monthly fee required to play. Oh well, it was her brother’s money anyway, she supposed as she made her purchases.

Starting the game, Sally found herself flying above forests, deserts, oceans, and volcanic eruptions. The camera brought her closer to the ground and she could see small cities of various designs and even armies fighting. Zooming in further, she could see a small group of people fighting with swords and magic against some kind of monster when the Limitless Lands logo popped into focus. The system verified her credentials, and she waited while the game finished loading.

Sally found herself standing in front of the counter at the back of an old store. She could smell the dusty air and feel the rough wood of the counter. An old-time cash register was at the end, and a small bell was placed in front of where she was standing. A card in front of the bell asked her to ring for service. Sally did just that, the pleasant ting of the bell echoing throughout the empty shop. A strange little man emerged from behind a curtain and approached. He was fully grown but only a few feet high, with pointed ears and only four fingers on each hand. Sally knew there were other races besides humans in the game, but seeing one in the flesh was bizarre.

“Good day to you. I’m Finley and this is the Commencement Commissary, where we will begin your journey in the Limitless Lands. Please wait while I locate your gamer data.”

“Uh, hi, Finley. Look, I don’t have any gamer data and I’m trying to find my brother in the game,” she said.

“Oh, that’s fine. We do get the rare person who hasn’t played games anytime recently. What is your brother’s name and gamer ID tag? I’ll be glad to show you how to send him a friend request so the two of you can communicate,” Finley offered.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to communicate with him, at least not yet. I was kind of hoping I could just watch him in the game, see how he is doing.”

“Hmm, viewing someone’s gaming activity without their consent isn’t possible unless their profile is public. Please tell me your brother’s name and I’ll check for you.”

“He’s Craig Larson. Do you need anything else?” she asked, giving her brother’s date of birth and current city of residence.

He took a few moments, pretending he was searching for the information in a large book that had magically appeared in his hands. “Oh, I see, this is a special situation,” the small man—she thought they were called halfies or something—said. He stood perfectly still, frozen in place while the game did something. “It appears your brother is in a program that requires special permissions to view. Clio said she would be happy to explain his situation to you.”

“Who’s Clio? And yes, I’d like an explanation if it’s possible,” Sally replied, starting to get confused. The halfie man didn’t reply and instead motioned for her to go behind the curtain that separated the sales counter from the back of the store. She stepped behind the curtain and found herself in a cozy little room with a table set for tea. An elderly woman with a happy smile motioned for her to take a seat.

“Hello, may I offer you a cup of tea?” the old woman asked her.

“Yes, thank you. I take it you’re Clio?” Sally asked.

“I am, and I also happen to be the AI that controls the game world. You’re Sally Burman, maiden name of Larson, are you not?”

“I am,” Sally said, a bit creeped out that the AI knew this much about her. She calmed down when she realized the game had most of her information already from the extensive account-creation process. This AI, Clio, took a sip of tea before continuing. Sally left hers untouched. From what the game store clerk had told her, the high-end gaming pods allowed the player much more sensory input, including tasting food and drink. Her rig didn’t provide anywhere close to that level of complexity.

“Your brother is in a special medical program, one I also control. What do you know of his condition?” Clio asked.

“He was severely injured in an accident at the shipyard and the prognosis isn’t good,” Sally replied.

“He was very seriously injured indeed, but I won’t bore you with the medical details. In fact, I’m not authorized to disclose any nonpublic medical information for any under my care, other than information that is already publicly available. Suffice to say, he is under my care and is responding positively to the treatment.”

Sally wasn’t exactly in the frame of mind to interrogate the doctors at the hospital about her brother’s condition during her visit earlier, so to hear that her brother was responding to the treatment, whatever it was, gave her a surprising sense of relief.

“I know you requested to observe him in-game,” Clio continued. “Normally, you would be able to do that without any problems, given his feed was tagged for public viewing. If he had selected a private gaming experience, I could send a request and see if he would grant you permission to observe. Unfortunately, your brother is not in the game with other players. At least not yet. His condition is a special circumstance, which is all I can tell you at this point. For now, I’ll gladly submit a request to allow you full access to both his gaming information and his medical condition. While we wait for a response, would you like to play?”

“How long will this request take? Can I contact someone directly?” Sally asked. She had no desire to really play the game; she just wanted to observe her brother. At least she thought she did. All these hoops she had to jump through might just mean it was time for her to try and forget him. No, she couldn’t do that. She still hated him, but there was also concern for his health. In addition, she was a Larson, and the Larsons didn’t exactly like to be told no.

“The request has already been made, but feel free to follow up here, within the game, or through the special number I’ll send to you. I’m sorry I can’t do more at this time, but I do have a suggestion,” Clio offered.

“And what would this suggestion be?” Sally replied, getting a bit annoyed at this point.

“You may wish to invest in a more capable gaming rig if you think there is any chance of wanting to interact with your brother.”

“Sure, thanks,” Sally replied shortly, then logged out of the game. She could have almost believed that Clio person was real, up until she started trying to upsell Sally. There was no point in staying here. This wasn’t some attempt to reunite with her brother or reconcile their differences. No, this was an attempt to . . . Well, she didn’t know what she was attempting to do or if this game was going to help in any way.

Sally started to call the main desk to cancel her reservation and book a flight home but then stopped. She would sleep on it and see if she could sort out her feelings before making any rash decisions. She had already made too many of those in her life.

Chapter 17
~

Larson awoke with a start. He hadn’t died again; he had apparently just been sleeping. Maybe his new body did need a longer period of rest, at least occasionally. He was thirsty, hungry, and confused about how long he had been out. From the position of the sun shining through the window of his cabin, he judged that it was midday, well past the time a captain needed to be going about his duties. He gathered his things, checking that the coins had been untouched during his rest before leaving the cabin.

“Captain on deck!” Tarley shouted. The man was at the tiller, as usual, keeping the Gull Dropping on her course. Larson slithered aft to join his first mate. “Glad you’re up, Captain. Given your normal sleeping habits, or lack thereof, I was starting to get a bit worried.”

“Just how long have I been out?” Larson asked.

“A good fourteen hours, give or take,” Tarley replied to Larson’s shock.

“I didn’t intend to be out that long. What’s our status?”

“Nogreb reports the repairs are holding up quite nicely. The ogre does good work, I’m happy to say. The crew has been worn to the bone, but we’re headed in the right direction and should make port in another week or so,” Tarley reported.

“Excellent, I’ll see if I can speed our passage a bit,” Larson said, embarrassed to have slept so long. He had tried showing the crew that he was willing to work harder than any of them. Time would tell how often his body would need these longer periods of rest.

Larson made the rounds through his ship, inspecting everything and showing the crew he was back at work. The men and women of his crew did look tired, but the overall mood had been good since they were on their way back to civilization. Nogreb gave him an update on the ship, his tone and mannerisms closely guarded, giving Larson no hint as to his reaction to their previous conversation.

Thankfully, the hold remained dry and the repairs, while necessarily rough given the tools available, were well crafted. The prisoners were still secured to an oar. Larson made sure they hadn’t been abused and were given a ration of food and water. He still wasn’t sure what to do with them. Was there even any law enforcement to turn them over to? It might just be best to kick them overboard before they reached port.

“Not throwsing up my meat anymore,” Bartholomew said as Larson approached the area where the ogre had been nesting during the trip.

“Yes, but it does seem that the sea intends to disagree with us in every manner it can, brother,” Bug added. His head still looked a little green around the gills.

“Tell me, what are your plans once we make port?” Larson asked the ogre, curious where he would head next.

“That depends on our reception at Stratwall Harbor. The Free Isles are quite tolerant of the various races, but an ogre? Well, we still can cause a bit of consternation among some of the local governing bodies. Should the port prove amenable to our presence, we will seek work to fund our research,” Bug told him.

“What exactly is it that you’re trying to research?” Larson asked.

“We hope to find whatever secrets we can of the mechanical variety. There have been a great many technologies lost to the world, and it is our quest to bring them back, to find some way to harness the power of something other than magic,” Bug said. Larson could see the passion in his eyes as the ogre looked forward to the search. Maybe that was the answer for Bug Bartholomew; the journey was the objective, not whatever he found.

“Well, if you find yourself needing work to fund your next expedition, I could always use a ship’s engineer,” Larson asked. He was pretty sure the ogre wanted to find work on dry land, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I thank you for the offer, Captain, but I don’t believe the sea is for us. It’s a bit more dangerous—” Bug started to say before his brother cut him off.

“Dangerous and barfy, it is.”

“Yes, Bartholomew, it is dangerous and, how you so elegantly phrased it, barfy,” Bug finished.

“Well, the offer stands. Please keep it in mind,” Larson told them and made his way to the bow of the ship.

Feeling refreshed after his long rest, Larson started to use his power, channeling mana into the sea around the Gull Dropping and coaxing a few more knots of speed from the ship with his Command the Currents ability. Larson lost himself in his work, pausing only to let his mana recharge and to grab something to eat and drink. He was happy to see that their provisions would be sufficient to see them to port, even if the ogre, finally feeling better, was making his best effort to eat everything in sight.

Using his power was still a challenge that required concentration, but it did seem somewhat easier than the first times he had used it. Larson didn’t know if that was a result of him leveling up, practice, or some combination of the two. Wanting to get to his destination as quickly as possible, he spent every available minute adjusting the water against his hull and seeking out any favorable currents.

Instead of seven days to reach Stratwall Harbor, they approached it after only five. The island was much larger than the tiny, unnamed place they had run aground on, and the port was bustling with activity. A large city had grown up around the port. Buildings covered the valley where the port was located, and a large fortress in the southern part of the city covered the harbor.

Cargo vessels plied in and out of the harbor, and as the Gull Dropping sailed in, a small craft approached and ordered them to heave to just outside the harbor mouth. Tarley warned him the ship was an official Stratwall Harbor customs launch, so Larson allowed them to come alongside his ship, the crew throwing lines to secure the small boat and tossing the boarding ladder over the side for his visitors. A man holding a large book boarded, followed by a squad of armed marines. They were all wearing the livery of Stratwall Harbor, whose symbol was a golden seahorse.

“Who is the captain here?” the man with the book asked. Larson didn’t like his tone; it dripped with the self-importance commonly found in bureaucrats.

“I am. Captain Larson at your service,” he replied professionally. It never paid to antagonize the local officials, even if they were annoying.

“Very well, Captain Larson. I am Harbormaster Willoughby. Please present your cargo and passenger manifests so a proper tax assessment may be made.”

“Aren’t these types of things typically done once we’ve tied up at the pier?” Larson asked.

“Why yes, they are, but with your vessel’s reputation, let’s say it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I have no cargo to declare, and this vessel is under new, and now law-abiding, management. In fact, I have a couple of pirates held prisoner below. Would you like me to turn them over?” Larson asked.

The man looked confused at his offer. “Why would I want them? Everyone is welcome in the Free Isles so long as they don’t cause trouble. Sell them to the bondsmen yourself if you must. It’s not a task I have any interest in. This had better not be some ham-fisted attempt to secure my favorable report,” the man said with disgust. Larson’s officers had mentioned that most activity was allowed in the ports, including selling stolen cargo and selling people into a term of servitude. As long as you didn’t commit your crimes in the actual port itself, the authorities would look the other way.

“My men will have to verify your cargo or lack thereof. You do understand that failure to state your cargo, or intentionally misrepresenting what you are carrying, will result in rather substantial fines. Now, while these fine men search your ship, do you have a passenger manifest?” Willoughby asked.

“I don’t have a manifest since there is only one passenger,” Larson said, pointing toward Bug Bartholomew.

“Hmm, odd, even for Stratwall Harbor. I’m not sure we can count him as a single passenger. Perhaps charge per head? No, I think a bulk weight estimate for the ogre will be required,” Willoughby said, scratching notes in his book with a quill.

“Sir, the holds are empty. There’s hardly any crew, either,” one of the men inspecting the ship added.

“Ridiculous. This begs further investigation. Make another sweep while I confer with the captain in his cabin,” Inspector Willoughby ordered.

The marine nodded and had his squad spread throughout the ship to make another search. Larson led the inspector toward his cabin, figuring this was where the man would hit him up for the anticipated bribe. Tarley had told him to expect as much and also informed him of what the going rate was for a “clean” inspection certificate.

“Now that we are alone, Captain Larson, do you have any cargo you might have forgotten to declare? I’ll be happy to arrange an immediate favorable assessment and take care of any required official fees,” the man offered.

“Nothing more than I previously reported, but it is possible that I may have unintentionally overlooked something. Perhaps this will cover any lapses in memory I may have had?” Larson said, handing over a small bag of coin with the appropriate bribe already counted out. Willoughby opened the bag and looked inside, swirling through the coins to verify the amount. Larson had given him a half dozen fins and two scores of scales, which Tarley had said was on the higher end of the spectrum for harbor entry.

“I’m afraid this will not be sufficient. You see, your vessel has quite a nefarious reputation, and before you ask, I know you claim it is under new management. To protect the harbor from any unwarranted disruption, I’m afraid I’ll have to secure a safety deposit. On behalf of the harbor, I assure you,” Willoughby said.

The shakedown was worse than Larson had anticipated, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it if he wanted to bring the ship into port. “I’d be happy to provide a security deposit in the understanding it will cover any future visits to this fine port.”

“Agreed, and as for other official fees, we typically charge a scale per head for passengers, but your passenger will require special consideration. I’ll agree to five scales for his entry into town,” Willoughby replied.

Larson opened his purse and counted out the “deposit” as well as the five copper coins for the ogre. The inspector dutifully noted the passenger fee in his logbook, placing the five scales into a pouch marked with the port’s official seal. The bribes, which of course would never be turned over to the port, went into a separate pocket.

“A pleasure, Captain Larson. Enjoy your time in our fair city. You are cleared for slip number thirty-four,” Willoughby said, pointing toward the pier they were going to dock with. The man was practically giddy after having fleeced the Gull Dropping for as much as he could.

“Vermin. I’m not sure what you did to attract the harbormaster himself, but it must have cost us a fair bit of coin to see him off in such a good mood,” Shada said with disgust as the harbormaster left.

“It’s the way of the world, sadly. Tarley, take us in,” Larson ordered. The ship furled its small sail, and the crew manned the oars to guide them on the last little bit of their journey. Once the ship had docked, Larson called all hands to the boarding plank and had the prisoners dragged up as well.

“We’ll take our leave, Captain Larson, and wish you good fortune,” Bug said.

“You two be safe, and I hope you find what you’re looking for,” Larson told the brothers. The ogre gingerly stepped off the ship and onto the dock, as if worried the sea was going to suck him in. Once off the ship, the ogre stomped his way toward dry land, easily clearing a path through the bustle of the docks.

Larson turned and addressed the assembled crew. “Thank you all. We’ve made it to port, and even though we’ve had many losses, we have all earned our freedom. True to my word, any of you who wish to leave may do so. I intend to stay in port for a few days to look for cargo, make repairs, and take on a new crew. Make your choice. Once you sign on as official crew, I’ll hold you to your word.”

All his officers elected to stay, as well as the cook, Gilroy. Larson handed a small bag of coin to each crewman who had chosen to leave, giving them a hundred scales to help them on their way.

“Sir, I’d like to sign on. You may be harsh, but you’re fair. I don’t know of any captain that would risk his life to save his crew as you’ve done for me. I’ll sail with you to hell and back,” Creech said.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Creech, but let’s not try sailing into the abyss anytime soon,” Larson replied, shaking the sailor’s hand. “Now, for those of us that are still on board, we have a lot of work to do. Tarley, you and Creech can see about finding some crew for our ship. We need some hands that know what they’re doing and aren’t afraid to get into a scrap if need be. Nogreb, I’ll need you to try and get an idea of what our repairs will cost and who we can trust to do them. Shada, I’d like you and Gilroy to see to our provisions. Get everything we’ll need for a long voyage—everything that’s in our budget, that is.” Larson handed her roughly a third of their remaining coin.

“I’ll find some likely lads and lasses, but with our ship and the reputation it might have, I’ll need to offer a bounty: a fin or two per head,” Tarley advised. With a sigh, Larson handed over a hundred fins and a couple hundred scales. He also paid off the officers and remaining crew, compensating them for their service and giving them some pocket money so they could enjoy themselves in port. It would most likely be several days or weeks before they were ready to move on.

“As for these three,” Larson said, pointing toward the pirate prisoners. “I think they deserve a bit of their own medicine. They wanted to use us as slave labor, so I think we’ll turn the tables on them and sell them off to the bondsmen. That way, they would be somebody else’s problem and they might even help fund our next adventure.”

Everyone had a spring in their step as they left the vessel. A full coin purse tended to do that to a person.

Tarley paid a pair of town guardsmen to keep an eye on things at the ship while they were away. He said that stealing a ship from the port was almost unheard of, but with their somewhat shaky legal ownership of the Gull Dropping, someone might make a claim on it and slip off while they were gone. Handing a few coins to the town guard was cheaper than finding a new ship.

The town was bustling with activity and there seemed to be no end to the number of taverns, inns, and shops lining the winding streets. The port was in the western section of town, and the wealthier sections, including the imposing stone fortress, were all to the south. A uniformed force of guards controlled access to this section of town, only admitting those who were residents or had some business inside.

The northern part of the port town was full of warehouses and merchants dealing in bulk goods. That was where Larson would have to try scaring up a cargo once his ship was back in order. To the east were the bad parts of town: lots of drinking establishments and rough-looking characters. It was also where the bondsmen plied their trade, the town accepting them if they followed the rules. The main rule seemed to be sell whatever you stole here but commit your crimes somewhere else. Strangely enough, it seemed to work, at least on the surface.

The crowds stayed out of his way; a naga with a spear pushing pirate prisoners through the streets wasn’t something most people wanted to get involved with. There were an astonishing array of races in port. He saw that humans made up the bulk, but in his short journey, he encountered elves, dwarves, halflings, orcs, goblins, and what he thought might be a troll. It looked like Bug Bartholomew wouldn’t have any trouble fitting in.

Passing a few scales to a beggar got him directions to the bondsmen’s street. Apparently, selling bonds was big business in Stratwall Harbor, a way to turn a profit on captives and a method for the unfortunate to settle their debts without the stain of outright slavery. There were at least a dozen storefronts offering services, and they all were doing a brisk business. With nothing really to go on, Larson picked a shop called Ironhound Bonds and pushed his charges inside.

“Be with ye in a jiffy, sir. Just finishing up here,” a rotund dwarf said from behind a desk. The shop itself was a small affair, with only room for the dwarf at the desk and a small waiting area. A downtrodden man sat across from the dwarf, talking in a low voice as if embarrassed at being there.

“Ha, don’t whine to me, Lucian. You’re the one that took out the loan. If you couldn’t pay it back, you shouldn’t have asked me for the coin. You’ve missed your payments, and I got no choice but to put you on a contract. Look, I’ll find you something easy. You don’t look like much for hard labor, and there’s always a demand for those that are good with numbers,” the dwarf said to the man, pushing a piece of paper in his direction.

“But what about my family? How will they survive while I work off my debt?” the man asked.

“That is a problem, but you know what? It’s not my problem. Don’t make this hard on yourself. Sign or you’ll be in default and I’ll send you to the mines to work off your time,” the dwarf replied.

The man reluctantly signed and pushed the paper back.

“There’s a good lad. I’ll try to find you something nearby so you can see your family every once in a while. Now, have a seat on the bench while I try to find some work for you,” the dwarf said, waving Larson over as the man took a seat on the bench near the back wall. It was securely attached to the floor, and manacles were neatly stacked underneath. “What have we here? A naga with a trio of friends. Something tells me you’re not here to take out a loan. What can old Ironhound do for you?”

“I seem to have acquired some no-good pirates I wouldn’t mind having taken off my hands, provided I get a few coins for my troubles,” Larson said.

“Pirates, you say. How do I know these aren’t some innocent sailors you hornswoggled?” Ironhound asked.

“You don’t,” Larson replied.

“Woah, that’s not exactly the best way to build value in a transaction, friend. Normally, this is the part where you try to make me think you’re a paragon of virtue who’s ridding the seas of pirates and only seeking fair recompense for your actions.”

“Tell me, is there anything I can say that will make you pay more than you plan to pay?” Larson asked.

The dwarf stroked his beard in contemplation before bursting out with a chuckle. “No, come to think of it, there’s not. I think I like you. What’s your name?”

“Captain Larson.”

“Well, bless my soul, an actual captain. Do you even have a ship, or are you one of those tavern captains that never commanded anything more than the table his ale was sitting on?” Ironhound asked of him.

“I command the Gull Dropping. It may not be the prettiest ship in port, but it’s mine. It used to be theirs,” Larson said, pointing at his captives. “But they and their friends made the mistake of trying to take me prisoner.”

“Impressive. I take it you’re only seeking to place bonds on these three because the rest of the crew met an untimely end?”

“Aye, though I wouldn’t say their end was untimely. I think I timed it just right,” Larson said.

“I suppose you’ve got a point there, Captain Larson. Though there is always a demand for folks looking for sailors on the cheap, I have a bit more trouble placing pirates with gainful employment. To be honest, they’re not good for much of anything except for being used up in the mines. The going rate for simple miners is twenty-five scales per year of the contract, but I’d say this pair is in better shape than most, so I could give you thirty a head. The maximum contract for ones you just dump on my doorstep is ten years, but for miners, I only do five since they typically don’t last much longer than that. Even with five years, there’s a good risk they’ll expire before their contract does.”

“I understand you have to try, but I’ve struck a deal or two in my life, Mr. Ironhound. Strong backs are worth far more than a few copper a year. A few silver per year, that sounds more realistic,” Larson countered, having no real reference to the value of a servitude contract.

“No, I think thirty copper per man, per year, is more than fair. If you like, you can try the other bondsmen, but they’ll most likely give you less than I am,” Ironhound told him. “I’ll tell you what, thirty-two scales per head, per year, and I’ll give you a discount if you want to buy any of the contracts I have in-house.”

That would sweeten the deal and maybe provide another way to crew his ship. The downside was that he wanted people who chose to be on the crew, not destitute people who had to sign away years of their life to pay a debt. Curious, he decided to ask about the man on the bench.

“Tell me, what type of work do you do, Lucian?” Larson asked.

The man looked over to Ironhound, seeking permission to answer. The dwarf nodded. “I owned a shop, sir, a small outlet that sold a bit of this and a bit of that,” Lucian replied.

“How did you fall on hard times?”

“Robbery, sir. Our store was hit one night. They took what they wanted and burned the rest. I asked for a loan from Ironhound to get back on my feet, but they hit me again after I reopened,” Lucian told him. Larson had thought this sort of thing was kind of rare in town, so it was surprising that he was robbed twice.

“Seems to me that getting hit twice means someone had it out for you,” Larson replied.

“True, the lad’s tale is sad, but so is virtually every other bondservant’s tale. Lucian’s problem is that he didn’t know how to grease the wheels,” Ironhound added.

“If you mean pay extortion and ‘protection’ to a bunch of petty thugs, you’re right. I refused to submit to their threats,” Lucian said. Larson could see a bit of fire in the young man. He had his principles, but principles were tough to have when you couldn’t defend yourself from the ones threatening you. There might be an opportunity here if the long-term plans Larson was starting to form played out the way he wanted. Having an easy way to dispose of cargo—in, say, a shop he was a partner in—would be a big benefit.

“So, Ironhound, was Lucian here any good as a merchant?” Larson asked.

“Aye, he could work a deal better than most. Inflexible but honest as the day is long. He could have made a good living for himself if he had just played along. I don’t like to pay for protection or grease the wheels of government, but it’s the nature of the beast in Stratwall Harbor. Why do you care, Larson?” Ironhound asked.

“I might have need of a shop in port. Or at least a stake in one. How much would you need to get back into business on a small scale, Lucian?” Larson inquired.

“To rent a small storefront and acquire the minimum level of stock to get started, why, that would cost a half ducat or more. If you don’t mind trying to make it on a lean inventory and opening in a less savory part of town, you could do it for a bit less, I’d think, provided nobody runs you off.”

“I got a deal for you, Ironhound. I’ll give you these three in exchange for Lucian’s bond,” Larson offered.

“I don’t know. The lad can read and write. Some demand for that sort of thing. How about this? You give me these two and fifty scales for each year of his contract,” Ironhound countered.

“How many years is his bond?”

“Just ten years. I took a risk on setting him back up a second time, and he had only begun to pay me back when he was burned out again.”

“I’ll give you the pirates and a landsmen gold in your hand right now. You’ll also get the first crack at any other ‘volunteers’ I come across in my adventures,” Larson said.

“I think we’ve struck a deal. Just make sure I don’t find you even setting foot in another bondsman’s office when you have any further business to conduct, and I better not hear you’ve mistreated the lad. He’s not a bad sort, just hit a patch of bad luck,” Ironhound agreed. Larson paid up, helped him chain the pirates to the bench, and took Lucian’s contract from the dwarf. Larson waved for the distraught merchant to follow him as they left the shop.

Chapter 18
~

“Okay, Lucian, where does your family live? Let’s go meet them,” Larson ordered.

“They have nothing to do with this. I’ll work for you, but I won’t see them come to any harm,” Lucian demanded.

Stopping in his tracks, Larson reared up on his coils, looming over the merchant. Lucian shrank back at first, then stood defiantly. He had a backbone under his meek exterior—Larson liked that. There was really nothing the man could do, according to the contract, which Larson had skimmed over inside the office. There was a lot of legal mumbo jumbo that prevented Larson from exceeding the limits of the contract, the main one being he couldn’t hold a bondservant past their contract date, but other than that, just about anything else was fine. Larson opened the contract to the relevant portion and pointed it out to Lucian.

Should the signer of this contract refuse the legal commands of the contract holder, he will be branded by a bondbreaker and subject to summary incarceration or execution at the direction of the contract holder.

“I mean your family no harm. I just want to see the measure of the man that will be working for me for the next ten years,” Larson asked. Lucian pointed toward a small side street, leading Larson toward the run-down section of town. The man was silent as he tromped toward whatever hovel his family was housed in. Larson followed a good distance behind him, watchful for any trouble in the seedy neighborhood.

“Hey, Lucian, what are you doing back here? I thought you were off to the mines or some other equally unpleasant line of work,” a voice called out from the front of a seedy tavern. Larson fell back a ways, and Lucian watched as a trio of thugs wearing mismatched leather armor started to follow the hapless merchant.

“Maybe he jumped his bond. That’s it—we’re going to have to bring him in, along with his whole family this time, I think,” one of the men said. Two of the group were younger, while the one doing all the talking had some age on him, along with a cruel gleam in his eye. He wasn’t going to let Lucian be; he wanted trouble, which was just fine as far as Larson was concerned. These men were no better than land pirates, picking on the weak for amusement or profit, and Larson found he liked killing pirates.

“Stop, Lucian. Don’t make me ask you again,” the leader said. Larson followed behind the trio as they tailed Lucian. The men all held daggers now, subtly trying to hide them from the people in the crowd, who weren’t going to be a problem. They seemed to have sensed that some trouble was brewing and had suddenly found other places they needed to be. Larson pulled his shield and spear from his back and closed the gap between him and the trio of thugs, who were focused on Lucian and oblivious to Larson’s approach.

“Look, Nax,” Lucian said, addressing the leader. “I’m on contract now and I’ve got nothing more for you to take. I’m done with you and your Shining Tower thugs.” Lucian was almost in tears. His eyes widened in surprise as he watched Larson approaching from behind the thugs, weapons in hand.

“No, you got something else for us: you got a wife and child. Sure, we can’t take them to the bondsmen, but we’ve got other, less reputable clients that would pay good money for them. You tell them to come along quietly with us and I won’t kill you. Might hurt you a bit, but I won’t kill you,” the man named Nax said.

“My bondholder won’t be happy with you assaulting his worker,” Lucian replied.

“I don’t care about your stupid bondholder,” Nax started to say.

“You really should care, since he’s right behind you,” Larson said as he thrust out with his spear, the twin prongs of the weapon easily piercing the thug’s cheap leather armor. The other two men stood there, stunned at the sudden, violent appearance of the large naga. Larson didn’t waste any time, activating both charges of his Shield Bash ability to target the men. The shield clanged twice as it lashed out faster than Larson thought possible. It was a completely different feeling than using his mana—and a bit disturbing, as his body responded to the ability and acted somewhat out of his control.

The blows cracked into the men, knocking them from their feet but not doing much damage. Larson thrust again at Nax, who suddenly wasn’t there. The man had disappeared and instantly reappeared behind Larson. His cheap knife drove deep into Larson’s back, causing searing pain. Blood flowed from the wound as the man twisted his blade.

The leader of the trio was out of tricks at this point, and Larson imbued his spear with water magic, adding slashing damage as he struck. Twisting around, Larson ignored the burst of pain that flared in his back when the blade was ripped out. Blindingly fast, Nax almost dodged Larson’s blow, and only one tine of the spear caught his hip. While only a partial blow, it was enough to release the magic held within the spear. The thug’s hip was flayed open, dropping him to the ground as he tried unsuccessfully to pull the slashed-open flesh together and staunch the blood that was pumping out.

One of the younger thugs regained his feet only to meet the spear imbued with bludgeoning damage. What it did to the thug’s head wasn’t pretty, and Larson could hear Lucian retching in the alley as the final thug stood and backpedaled away from the angry naga. Larson was having none of this, reaching out with his tail and looping a pair of coils around the man before he could get out of range.

Reveling in his newly enhanced constrictor power, Larson began to squeeze, feeling and hearing bones crack as the man shuddered once before expiring. He dropped the dead thug to the ground and confirmed that Nax was bleeding out rapidly and no longer a threat. His own health was down by a third, with more ticking away by the second. Larson stopped moving, allowing the bleeding to stop and his body to start the healing process. Lucian had backed up against the wall of the alley, still terrified by the explosion of violence he had just witnessed.

“Lucian, find their coin purses and strip off any armor that isn’t damaged or soaked in blood. Set aside their weapons also,” Larson ordered.

Acting in a daze, Lucian fumbled with the task, obviously uncomfortable with touching the rapidly cooling corpses.

“Don’t let that little skirmish shake you, Lucian. These men meant to harm you and your family. It’s only fair they contribute to some form of restitution,” Larson told him. Lucian did as he was asked, passing Larson his finds.

One of the men’s cloaks wasn’t too soaked in blood, so he used that to bundle up the weapons and armor. The coin purses held only a handful of scales and a single fin, not a huge haul, but better than nothing. Each of the men was armed with a dagger. Poor quality weapons, but they were sharpened to an evil edge. The armor wasn’t all that great, either, and he could only salvage the somewhat decent-quality boots from the dead thug Nax and two sets of still-serviceable leather bracers.

Looting from the petty thugs reminded Larson that his own gear left a lot to be desired. His weapons were of good quality, but he had no armor and wore only a threadbare and stained shirt. At least he didn’t need pants and the scales on his lower body were about as tough as leather armor. One of his priorities would be to buy some presentable clothing; it wouldn’t do to have the captain meet the new crew his officers were gathering while he was dressed in rags.

“We’re done here. Get moving,” he ordered, passing the bundle of gear to his bondservant. “Tell me about this Shining Tower group. Are they the ones that burned you out?”

“Yes, sir, they’re the ones. They have a headquarters in the warehouse district and do their shakedown scam over several of the poorer neighborhoods,” Lucian said. His hatred of the Shining Tower was obvious; they were to blame for his downfall.

“How many of them are there?” Larson asked.

“Nobody knows for sure, but they had three or four groups like Nax’s running the streets. I’m sure there are probably ten or so at their warehouse, but that’s just an educated guess. I hate to say it, but they’re going to cause you trouble now that you’ve killed three of their members.”

“They can try,” Larson replied. His bondservant didn’t answer and stopped at the front of a run-down tenement building. The place looked like it was about to fall down, and an old drunk passed out in front functioned almost like the building’s own stench-filled welcome mat. Up a set of rickety stairs, Lucian stopped in front of a door, knocking once before entering the one-room apartment. Larson followed him in, weapons at the ready in case this was some kind of trap.

“Daddy!” a little girl of about six or seven called out, running to embrace Lucian. The man dropped the bundle of gear and picked up his daughter, holding her tight as tears streamed down his face. The child’s mother tried to place herself between the girl in Lucian’s arms and the giant naga with the spear pointed at her. The woman was young, in her late twenties, and had probably been beautiful at one time, before their hard life had worn her down. Seeing there was no danger, Larson stowed his weapons.

“I take it this is your family, Lucian,” Larson said.

“Yes, sir. What do you plan to do to them?” Lucian asked.

“Dear, is your guest from the Shining Tower?” the woman asked, her voice cracking in fear.

“No, Nyla, this is my bondholder, Captain Larson. He asked me to bring him here, but I don’t know the purpose of it,” Lucian answered.

“The reason I brought you here was to take measure of the man I’ll be working with. A man who cares for his family first, and whose family obviously cares for him, is someone I want to do business with,” Larson told them.

“Daddy, is he a snake man?” the little girl asked, her parents trying to shush her before she offended Larson.

Instead, Larson chuckled at her outburst. “Children are wonderful. They speak their minds with no guile. I suppose I am a sort of snake man, little one. I’m from a race called the naga.”

“I like your scales. They’re shiny,” the kid said.

“I’m sorry, sir. She doesn’t mean to offend you,” Lucian started to argue.

“No worries, Lucian. She’s just being a kid. What’s your name, little one?” Larson asked.

“I’m Millie. Pleased to meet you,” the girl said, trying to curtsey while still in her father’s arms.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Miss Millie. Can you play on your own for a bit? I need to talk with your mommy and daddy,” Larson told her. The girl scampered off to play with a threadbare doll on the only bed in the room.

“What can I do for you, sir? You hold my contract,” Lucian said.

“First, I’ll do this.” Larson took the rolled-up contract and lit it from the single candle burning at the table. The paper burned down slowly, Lucian watching with confusion. Throwing the remains in a wooden waste bin, Larson summoned a bit of water to quench the flame before it spread.

“Why?” was all Nyla asked, holding her husband’s hand in a tight grip.

“Why? Because I won’t have someone work for me unless it’s of their own free will. The pirates I had no problem selling to the bondsman because they tried to enslave me. You’re just a man who fell on hard times and needed a break. You’re free to do what you want, but I have an offer for you. It will take a lot of work, but I think you’re the right man for the job.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t know what to say. You’ve given me ten years of my life back. Tell me your deal. I’ll do whatever you want,” Lucian offered.

“I want to set up a shop in town, a place where I can sell off goods and things I might acquire in my journeys. You’re an honest man, and I trust you to watch over things while I’m away at sea. What do you say, Lucian? Do you want to open a store again?” Larson asked.

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Nyla replied for her husband, who just nodded along.

“But I don’t have anything to start a shop with since the Shining Tower stole or burned everything I owned,” Lucian argued.

“That won’t be a problem. While I don’t have the funds to start our store just yet, that should be taken care of in a day or two. For now, take this,” Larson said, dumping some coins out of his pouch and pushing over a pair of landsmen gold and a pile of scales. “This should get you a residence in a better part of town. This is no place for a child to grow up. This stack”—Larson paused as he stacked ten scales on the table—“is for Millie to get a new toy with.” At hearing the word “toy,” Millie perked up, but to her credit, she stayed where her mother had told her to stay.

“Lucian, I want you to start scouting for locations for our business, somewhere close to the warehouse district or with access to a separate warehouse since we may also be dealing in bulk cargo. This time, make sure to budget for some decent security. When the Gull Dropping is in port, you have an entire crew that can swing a sword, but while we’re gone, you’ll need to find some skilled and reliable guards. I’ve got some plans to work out and I’ll be in port for a time while my ship is being repaired. Once you’ve found a home, send me a message with your new location. Make finding a shop location your priority—I have a feeling we’ll be supplying you with some goods in the not-too-distant future.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll get started as soon as we find a place to stay. I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem to be enough,” Lucian told him.

“You can thank me by working hard and making our business a success. As far as a salary goes, let me know what you think is fair. You’ll also receive a cut of ten percent of the net profits from any business you manage for me, agreed?”

“Yes, sir, Captain Larson. We agree,” Nyla said for her husband.

“Good, I’ve got things to do, so for now, get out of here and find your family a new place to stay,” Larson told him.

“What about the Shining Tower? They’ll be looking for me and for you,” Lucian said, the fear returning to his face.

“They won’t have to look very hard since I plan on paying them a visit real soon,” Larson said. He stood up to allow them time to get their move organized. They didn’t seem to have any furniture, and he had left them enough coin to at least buy a few new things once they found a safer place to rent.

“Oh, one more thing, Lucian. Do you know somewhere I can have a magic item identified? I picked this up . . . Well, you don’t want to know where,” Larson said, showing Lucien the necklace he had picked up from the makon mage.

“Hmm, if it’s not too powerful, I may be able to help. Any merchant worth his salt learns the simplest divination magic. Knowing a shopkeeper can spot a fake keeps the customers honest.” After handing over the necklace, Larson watched Lucien mutter a few words and run his hand over the necklace before handing it back. “There, you should be able to understand what it does now.” A system prompt appeared when Larson held the necklace again.

Lesser Mana Stone Necklace of the Elements: This item provides a small boost to the wearer’s mana pool and regeneration rate. The item is only useable by elemental mages.

That was perfect for him. Larson put on the necklace and saw his mana bar expand a small bit. It wasn’t enough to, say, cast another Imbue Weapon, but the extra bump would be nice when channeling Command the Currents. He would check on the improved mana-regen rate later when he was back on the ship. Remembering the other item he was curious about, the bag of strange red crystals, Larson passed it over to Lucian, who tried to identify it for a moment before shaking his head.

“No luck with this one. It doesn’t appear to be magical, but it is strange. Perhaps an alchemist might know more,” his new partner advised.

Larson said farewell to the family and made his way from the run-down tenement, heading back in the direction of the port and his waiting ship.

The Shining Tower goons would be the perfect way to test his new crew’s combat abilities, as well as provide some further funds. If they’d been shaking down a whole section of businesses, they must have a reasonably full piggy bank. It would be a piggy bank Larson had no qualms about smashing.

Chapter 19
~

Larson stopped at a clothing merchant on his way back to the port. The area near the docks had several options for him to choose from. He bought a few sets of heavy-duty work clothes as well as a few nicer things, just in case. He did save quite a bit since there was no need to purchase pants or shoes, one of the many benefits of being a naga. There were also several vendors specializing in various arms and armor. Larson needed something light and flexible that wouldn’t be destroyed if he had to use it underwater.

He walked through various smithies, watching the blacksmiths at their trade. The majority were humans or dwarves, with a couple of orcs who specialized in oversized weapons. One smith caught his eye since she was so unusual. Hammering away at what looked like a horseshoe was a diminutive halfling who was having trouble keeping her bright green hair out of her eyes while she worked. She looked like most halflings he had seen so far, except for when she used the hammer; corded muscles in her arm powered each strike, whereas most halflings he had seen had a somewhat flabby appearance.

“Is a smith making a horseshoe so exciting that you had to stop and watch?” the smith snapped at him as she stopped hammering and quenched the finished shoe in a bucket of water, steam shooting up between them.

“No, horseshoes are kind of boring. Well, I suppose I don’t have a use for any kind of shoe. So do you just make horseshoes, or do you have other skills?” Larson replied.

“I can create any weapon or armor that you can dream up. Sadly, this lot”—the halfling gestured toward the other smiths—“has the market cornered on weapons and armor. Nobody wants to buy a sword forged by a halfling, especially after they passed around a rumor that I can’t hit the steel hard enough to make a good blade,” she replied with frustration.

“Do you have any work other than horseshoes that I can inspect?” Larson asked.

The halfling nodded, opening a storage chest near the forge, and retrieved a pair of daggers sheathed in black leather. Larson pulled them from their sheaths. Both blades were razor-sharp and well-balanced. He could see no flaws on them, and fine etching with intricate patterns lined each blade. If he were in the market for a dagger, he would have no qualms purchasing one of them.

“These look as well-made as anything I’ve seen, though I can’t claim to be an expert. How about armor?” he asked.

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“I need something strong, light, and flexible. It would also have to survive being in seawater for long periods and not hamper my ability to swim,” Larson said.

“That’s a tough one. Steel is a bad choice. Even if you used an alchemical coating, the salt water would start to eat it away pretty quickly. There are always some of the rarer materials, like mithril, but those are insanely expensive. I think something could be done with natural scales, but finding a proper backing is a challenge. Most leather or cloth will corrode or change shape if it’s immersed in seawater too often, hampering the effectiveness. It’s a challenge, but it’s one I would love to test my skill against,” she replied. Larson could see the gears working in her head as she thought of the best way to tackle the problem.

“I’ll take a risk on you. How much do you need to get started on this?” he asked.

“Hmm, I really have no idea until I figure out the right materials to use. How about this? You front me fifty fins, and I’ll try out a few things. If I don’t have a solution for you in a few days, you get your money back. When I create an amazing set of armor for you, pay me what you think it’s worth and let everyone know who made it for you,” she offered.

“And just who is making it for me? I’m Captain Larson of the Gull Dropping, by the way.”

“Felicia Burrowton, at your service,” she replied with a bow. Larson fished out five landsmen gold, leaving him with only a scant handful of lesser-valued coins in his pouch. He would need to pay the Shining Tower a visit sooner rather than later, Larson thought as the halfling took his measurements.

“Do you have anything that might fit me that’s ready to go? It’s not going to be underwater, and I . . . Well, let’s just say I may have a spirited evening planned and would love something more than my new shirt to protect me from any damage,” Larson asked.

Felicia rummaged through a few chests, finally pulling out a chain shirt that was a size too large for him. “Not exactly a great fit, but I can tie it off for you. I made that for an orc that paid a deposit and never returned. Consider it a loaner until your real armor is ready, and if you run into an orc named Austin Lavelle, let him know his armor is ready,” she said, helping him tighten the armor with some thin leather straps. Although it would keep a blade away well enough, it wasn’t pretty, but that wasn’t the point.

“Thank you. When should I come back to check on the progress?” Larson asked.

“Three days. By then, I’ll know if it’s possible or not,” Felicia replied.

“Great, I’ll see you in three days, Felicia,” Larson said. The smith was also able to give him directions to an alchemist. She couldn’t vouch for his skill or reputation, only tell him where he was located. It was a bit farther into the town, in a respectable area just outside the gates to the southern city. Several other, more specialized trades had storefronts here, but this was the only one that interested him at this time. The shop was called Sarvo’s Elixirs, and it occupied a small storefront. Through the front glass, Larson could see various delicate glass vials and bubbling concoctions stacked haphazardly around the store. A bell gave a tinkling sound as he entered, and he found himself the only customer in the cluttered place.

“Welcome to my shop. What can Sarvo get for you today? Oh my, I haven’t seen a naga in ages. Do you mind if I get a few samples of scales from you?” a disheveled middle-aged human asked, pulling a frightening-looking pair of shears from behind the counter.

“Woah, no, there will be no scale-chopping today. I’m just here to see if you know what this is,” Larson said, holding out the small pouch of red sand.

“Really, I must insist. I don’t know when I’ll have the opportunity again,” the man muttered, ignoring the sack as he moved closer to Larson, opening and closing the shears like a sadistic barber.

“Last warning: back off. You go for a scale, and I’ll skin your hide,” Larson hissed, drawing his dagger; the shield and spear wasn’t an option in the cramped confines of the shop.

“Fine, ruin my day. Here, give me that and let me take a look. By the way, who are you, and what type of naga are you, exactly?” the dejected Sarvo asked, opening the bag and sifting through it with his hands.

“I’m Captain Larson, a water naga, if that makes any difference,” Larson told the alchemist. It might have been a rash statement, giving away information about his background when he didn’t need to, but it appeared his naga type somehow increased Sarvo’s interest.

“Indeed, it does make a difference. Now let me look at this. Bah, this is just some sorcerer’s sand, not nearly as interesting as a water naga scale. I’ve never experimented on it myself, but other alchemists have discerned that it has no useful properties. It’s just pretty sand infused with some unusual elements. It’s useless, but it somehow picked up an interesting name, which makes people think they’ve stumbled across something rare and valuable. Now, there is some minor monetary value to collectors and fools, but not more than a handful of copper. I might want to experiment with it in more depth, but I’m not willing to pay much for it,” the man said. Larson didn’t like that the man had placed the pouch on his sales counter, obviously confident that Larson would sell.

“No, I think I’ll keep it for sentimental value,” Larson said, reaching for the bag.

“Hold up. Why don’t we work out a deal? You look like a man that might find himself in a scrap now and again. How about we split the sand? You keep some for yourself and I get the other half. I’ll trade you a few potions for a discounted price,” the man offered. Now this was a deal Larson was interested in, given the effects the healing potion had on him back during the battle with the pirates.

“That might work. I would like some healing potions or anything else you might think would be useful to a man who does find himself in a tussle now and again,” Larson told the alchemist.

“We might have a deal. Let me see what I can offer. I’ll sweeten the deal if you let me take a scale or two,” the man countered. Larson did need some extra coin or potions. Perhaps a few of his scales wouldn’t matter.

“Fine, but I take the scales in my own way. You’re not getting anywhere near me with those shears. First, you show me what you’re offering for the sand and my scales,” Larson said.

The man rummaged around the shop, mumbling to himself as he considered various vials full of strangely colored elixirs. Larson waited as the alchemist placed three small red vials on the counter: one with green liquid in it, a pale blue one, and one with a thick, greasy black sludge.

“There, that’s my offer, but I pick the scales you give me. I’ll not settle for some old, dried-out ones about to fall off on their own,” Sorvo said. Larson looked at the vials, the system highlighting them for him.

Minor Healing Elixir (enhanced): This elixir was crafted by a skilled alchemist. In addition to providing normal, short-term enhancement to your healing, this potion also grants a small amount of immediate health regeneration.

So the red ones were an upgraded version of the healing potion he had used after the pirate mage burned him. He pushed the three of those to the side and looked at the blue and then the green potions.

Minor Stealth Potion: This potion allows the drinker to better blend in with his surroundings for the next 5 minutes. While it does not render the drinker invisible, they will be much harder to spot.

Elixir of Water Breathing: This potion allows the drinker to breathe water for 30 minutes.

The stealth potion would be good for tonight’s activities, but he wasn’t sure there would be a use for the water-breathing potion. After considering it, he realized the potion might be useful for one of his crew. The next time he had to explore the depths, it would allow him to bring a comrade. He pushed the pair of potions over to the healing potions before inspecting the last one.

Vial of Power (experimental/enhanced): This elixir was crafted to permanently enhance the imbiber’s power. How this newfound power will manifest itself is unknown. There is the danger of a profoundly negative effect. Crafted by a skilled alchemist, this potion will have an enhanced effect.

Mystery experimental potions were not something Larson was interested in. He pushed the black vial to the side and pulled out his dagger. Selecting a likely spot midway down his coils, Larson loosened three scales, prying them from his body and placing them on the counter to the delight of Sarvo.

“There are your scales, but I’m not drinking that. You’ll have to come up with something better,” Larson countered, handing the black vial to the alchemist.

“Why? Who knows what you might unlock? Can you pass up the potential for power, all for a measly few scales that will grow back in less than a day? I crafted this myself, and as you can see, I am an exceptional alchemist,” Sarvo boasted. Well, maybe it wasn’t a boast, given the system’s description of the sludge, but the fact that the alchemist hadn’t tested it on himself didn’t bode well for its safety.

“No, you need to sweeten the deal some other way,” Larson insisted.

“Hmm, how about this? And you have to drink the elixir of power right now, in front of me. If something were to go wrong, you would have me here to fix it,” Sarvo said as he placed more items on the counter, adding six additional healing potions and another of the water-breathing and stealth ones. On top of the vials, he placed a small leather bag that the system identified for him.

Bag of Potion Storage: This bag will magically store up to 50 small potion vials. The enchantments on this bag will protect its contents from any harm and allow the bearer to pull any potion from inside it with a thought.

Now that was intriguing and something he never thought could exist. Still, this world had magic, and that seemed to make just about anything possible if the mage was clever enough. Doubling the potions and throwing in the bag was tempting, but he was wary of the strange experimental potion. Maybe there was another way to do this.

“How about I skip the experiment and throw in some more scales?” Larson offered.

“No, you’ve given me all I need for my experiments. I want these badly, I admit, but I don’t have any use for more than a few. You have my final offer: an exceptionally useful magical item and potions to save your life. Well, fine, I’ll sweeten the deal one last time.” Sarvo placed a final vial on the counter. It had a strange yellowish-green color and was larger than the other vials. Its round container was the size of a large apple and had a good heft to it.

Acid Flask (enhanced): This potion can be thrown at an enemy or placed in a location ahead of time. When the command word is spoken by the wielder, the flask will explode and spray a 10-foot area with highly concentrated acid. This potion was created by an expert alchemist and has a secondary effect. When the potion explodes, it will also spread out tendrils of a sticky web, all of which are infused with acid. The webs and acid will last for up to 2 minutes before their power dissipates.

The acid flask could change the course of a battle, but drinking the black sludge was a risk. Still, hadn’t he taken risk after risk since arriving in this new world? With the alchemist here, the dangers would be mitigated to some extent, wouldn’t they? These potions could save lives and win a battle—it was worth the exchange.

“Deal, hand over the goo and get ready in case this goes south,” Larson said, taking the Vial of Power from Sarvo and removing the stopper. The scent of rotting food assailed him, and he thought the sludge was moving on its own. Holding his nose, he downed the contents of the vial. It tasted worse than he could have imagined, and he thought he could feel it crawling down into his stomach on its own. When the potion hit his belly, a searing pain erupted, causing him to drop to the floor in agony.

“Oh, don’t be a whiner. A small bit of discomfort is to be expected. It will pass soon, and we’ll see the results of my experiment.”

Larson fumbled for one of the healing potions on the counter, seeking something to counter the pain clutching at his gut. He missed the potions and only managed to grab the sadly empty potion bag, holding it tight to his chest as the pain intensified and a white glow appeared around his body.

“Hey, uh, you might not want to be holding onto a magical item while the potion is working . . . Oh, it’s too late now,” Sarvo warned belatedly. The glow around his body now encompassed the magical potion bag, which began to smoke and burn in his grasp. Larson screamed as the flesh was burned from his hands, which were somehow bound to the magic bag. The pain in his belly dissipated and the glow around him slowly subsided. The potion bag was gone, burned to ashes along with most of the flesh on his hands. The pain from that didn’t dissipate, nor did the shock of seeing burnt and exposed bones and tendons.

“Here, drink this,” Sarvo said, opening one of the healing potions and pouring it into Larson’s mouth. As the potion hit, he felt an instant moment of relief, and the most badly burned flesh began to heal. The pain was still there, and still horrible, but it was getting better by the second.

“You’ll need to wait two minutes to take another healing potion or it won’t have any effect,” Sarvo told him, watching the slowly ticking clock on the sales counter. The first potion had helped, but Larson’s hands were still a gruesome sight of burnt skin and bloody tissue. The pain throbbed seemingly in time with the ticking clock. After the two minutes of torture were complete, Sarvo poured another potion down Larson’s throat. The instant healing effect of the potion went to work even as it enhanced his body’s normal healing.

By the time the second potion had run its course, his hands were almost back to normal; he only felt a rapidly fading remnant of pain when he tried to pick something up. Strangely enough, he could feel another sensation that was different from both the pain of the burns and the tingling of the healing magic in the potion. This was something else, and it was explained by a system prompt that appeared in his vision.

The interaction of the Vial of Power with the Bag of Potion Storage has created a permanent change to your body, granting you the Void Storage ability. You can access a small, unique plane of existence anytime you wish. This mini plane can be used to store up to 1000 cubic feet of physical objects. Whenever necessary, you can think of an item in the plane and reach behind the veil to instantly retrieve it. Anything placed within the plane will be kept exactly in its current state. Living beings cannot breach the plane.

“Well, what happened? Your body didn’t get turned inside out by the interaction with storage magic, so I assume you’ve had a positive result. At least you didn’t explode like the last one I tested,” Sarvo said.

“Wait, an explosion wasn’t described as a possible side effect. As for what the outcome was, I can now do this,” Larson said, taking off his shield and willing it into storage. His hands glowed slightly as he reached past the barrier he now controlled, and the shield seemed to disappear. With a thought, his hands reached in and retrieved the shield.

“Ho, a great discovery. The infusion of a magical storage device has imparted you with a version of that power. Here, take your agreed-upon reward and begone. I have work to do and results to document,” Sarvo said. Larson picked up the remaining potions. Sarvo was too impatient to put up a fuss when Larson demanded a replacement pair of healing potions since two had been used to repair the damage his experimental potion had caused.

Larson placed his potions into storage, along with his spear, shield, and purse before leaving the shop. As he made his way toward the port and his Gull Dropping, he made himself a promise to not volunteer for any other magical experiments.

Chapter 20
~

On the docks, Larson noticed that Tarley was back aboard the Gull Dropping, along with a small gaggle of people he assumed were his new crew. As he closed in on the ship, he could see that the prospective crewmen were quite a diverse lot. He had mostly humans, along with another orc and a pair of halflings, for a total of twelve new crew.

“Attention, captain on deck!” Tarley bellowed out as Larson came aboard. The new sailors formed a ragged line and stood at varying states of attention. “Sir, we have twelve sailors with an interest in joining our crew.”

“Hmm, do this lot have any experience?” Larson asked.

“Aye, every single one of them has worked on one type of vessel or another,” Tarley replied.

“What about weapons skills? This is a dangerous trade, and a man has to defend not only himself but his shipmates when we’re attacked,” Larson asked, loud enough for the assembled crew to hear.

“Aye, they can all hold a blade, spear, or bow, but there’s not a marine in the bunch,” Tarley said.

“Listen up, men. The Gull Dropping has experienced a strange history. I don’t know if Tarley and Creech have told you, but we were all once prisoners aboard this ship, chained to the oars below. We freed ourselves from those chains and fought off the pirates to claim the ship as our own. I don’t yet know what the future holds for our vessel. Other than that, I will be setting up some cargo runs. We may also be called upon to defend ourselves or even go on the offensive when necessary,” Larson said.

“They’re stout-hearted lads, sir,” Tarley argued.

“They may think they are, but it’s easy to have a stout heart in a warm tavern with a first mate offering you coin to sign on. Listen up, if any of you don’t think you have what it takes to sail and fight for this ship, leave now. No questions will be asked and you can keep the signing bonus you’ve gotten already.”

Larson waited. A few looked hesitant. He wasn’t sure how much Tarley had emphasized the amount of combat he expected and was worried the first mate might have tried to sugarcoat things to entice more crew. As it stood, Larson only had a dozen new crew, which was still much fewer than he wanted.

“I don’t want to sign up for some pirate vessel or warship,” one of the humans complained.

“Fair enough,” Larson said. “We’re not pirates, at least not ones that would take an innocent vessel. Pirate ships, thieves, and scoundrels we’ll take on. We’ll beat them and take what they have, but we won’t ever harm an innocent while I’m in command. In fact, we’ll have a bit of blade work this evening. There’s a local gang of thugs that’s attacked one of my employees and burned down a shop we have a stake in. We’re going to visit them, kill them, and take any loot they have.”

“What? I want to sail, not fight,” the same man complained.

“Then off with you, and thank you for your time,” Larson said. The man scampered off, along with another human and the orc. “Nothing shameful in leaving now that you’ve got the whole story on what’s expected of you. Any others? If you sign on, you’ll be bound to me and this ship. I’ll not abide traitors, turncoats, or malcontents on my ship,” he told the remaining group.

A younger human looked especially nervous, his eyes shooting over to the trio that was leaving.

“You, do you want to leave as well? Go right ahead. Nobody will hold you here,” Larson asked.

“Captain, sir, I’ve never fought before, other than with fists, but I do need the work. I’ve got a mom and two younger brothers I’ve got to care for,” the man said, fear and indecision plastered on his face.

“What’s your name? There are safer jobs ashore, lad. Life at sea is a hard one, and I’ll expect a lot from you. You’re young. Tell me, what kind of work have you done so far?” Larson asked.

“They call me Kipper, sir. I worked a fishing boat for a year, but the captain was a drunk and ran the ship aground. After that, I worked where I could, sweeping floors, cleaning an inn, whatever would pay me a scale or two to put some food on the table,” the man said. Larson thought the kid was probably too young for this job. He was likely only sixteen or so but was willing to risk his life to provide for his mom and brothers. This was not the job for him, but there might be another option.

“You need more experience before I’ll take you on my ship.” Larson watched the young man’s expression change from one of fear to one of disappointment. “That being said, I do have another business venture we’re starting ashore. I own part of a shop that will be setting up soon and I believe the man in charge of that, Lucian, can use some help around there. Stick around, and once I know where we’re going to put the shop, I’ll hire you on for a fair wage,” Larson told him, watching as the young man perked up at the thought of a safer job in the city.

“Sir, a man dropped this letter off for you. I think it may be what you’re looking for,” Tarley said, handing over a two-page note.

“We’ll get to that in a minute,” Larson said. “For the rest of you, if you’re still wanting to sign for a year of service aboard the Gull Dropping, you’ll make your mark on the roster.”

Tarley took over and had the men line up, using a fresh page from the old ship’s roster. While he was doing that, Larson looked at his note.

Captain Larson,

We’ve found a place to rent in the dock district. I have the address at the end of this note. There are a few likely spots to open our shop in. All I need are the funds and your blessing to get started. I’ve also started to look around for some security and have found a couple of guardsmen who will work on their off-hours to help secure the store once it’s open.

I’ve enclosed directions to the Shining Tower’s warehouse. Let me know if there is anything else you need from me.

Thank you again for your help and generosity. I eagerly await getting our business started once you’re ready.

Lucian

My new address is 1122 Bogton Way, Warehouse District.

Larson slithered to his cabin, scratching out a reply that introduced Kipper to Lucian and requested that he hire the young man for their shop.

“Kipper, get in here,” Larson shouted, startling the young man, who hustled over to the captain’s cabin.

“Yes, sir, what can I help with?” Kipper asked.

“Go to this address and speak with my business partner, Lucian. He’ll let you know what he wants you to do, but it will likely be a bit before we’re ready to open. In the meantime, use this to keep some food on the table for your family. Do not make me regret trusting you and don’t even think about stealing from me. If you betray my trust, I will kill you in a very painful manner,” Larson said, putting the fear of the naga into the lad by summoning his spear to his hand and imbuing it with magical energy.

“Aye, sir. I’ll work hard and do right by you. I’ll help Mr. Lucian get things running and we’ll make you lots of money, we will,” Kipper said. Larson sent him on his way with enough coin to feed his family for a few weeks.

He now had a total of ten crew, the eight new arrivals along with Creech and Gilroy. He’d have to triple that before he felt comfortable heading out to sea again. The raid on the Shining Tower would be a good test for the new men, but he didn’t expect too much from them. Based on the skill of the three goons he had killed earlier, Larson wasn’t too worried about their chances. While he was in his cabin, he took the time to gather any of the remaining coin stored in the room, which wasn’t much. Using his newfound Void Storage ability, Larson stowed the coin away where it would be much safer than in his cabin.

“Beg your pardon, sir. Nogreb is returning,” Tarley called to him. Larson went out on deck to meet his bosun. Nogreb spotted him, taking a moment to look over the new crew, which Tarley had set to various tasks.

“Sir, I’ve purchased a new mast, along with rigging and fresh sail, and it should arrive here tomorrow for us to install. It cleaned out all the funds you gave me, but it doesn’t appear that anything can be done on the cheap here. There are also a few places we can dry-dock the Gull Dropping to refit, but it’s not going to be cheap,” Nogreb advised.

“Well done. I have something to discuss with the officers, but it will wait until Shada returns. For now, I’d like you to start running the new crew through their paces with weapons. We need to see which of them has any skill. Hopefully most of them will know where to stab the pointy end,” Larson ordered. Nogreb saluted, and after he consulted with Tarley, they began splitting up the new crew and testing their weapons skills in between the shipboard tasks Tarley had set for them to complete.

By late afternoon, Shada and Gilroy had returned with a small pushcart full of provisions. It looked like a decent haul, but there were a lot more mouths to feed with the new crew he had signed on. Shada and Gilroy both looked a bit frustrated and worn out; each carried an overflowing pack with more supplies.

“You don’t exactly look happy, Shada. Any trouble?” Larson asked.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. Someone made a play for my purse, but the point of my blade scared him off. After that, the riffraff left us alone. The only real trouble we had was finding enough preserved provisions at a fair price. This isn’t exactly a cheap place to do business. For now, I’ve got enough to see us through a week, but with the new mouths to feed, I think it will only be about three days’ worth.”

“Good work. Gather the other officers and meet me in the cabin,” Larson ordered.

After seeing to it that the new crew were all doing something productive, his officers gathered, a bit unsure of what he had planned.

“All right, first things first, we now have a new business partner in port, one who is going to help us start a new shop. Lucian is his name, and he knows this town well. I want you to run your purchases through him. He’ll know who to see and where we can get the best deals to avoid getting ripped off.” Larson shared the merchant’s home address with his officers.

“Next, when we inherited Lucian, we also inherited some problems. There is a local gang called the Shining Tower that had some beef with our partner, burning out his previous shops because our man didn’t want to pay bribes and protection money. Out on the street, a trio of Shining Tower thugs attacked us. I killed the three of them, but there will undoubtedly be further trouble with the gang. The headquarters for these clowns is inside the warehouse district and I intend to end them before they become more of a problem. Tonight, we hit their headquarters and kill or capture any of the thugs there. After we deal with the Shining Tower, we help ourselves to everything they own.”

“Sir, how many of them can we expect to fight, and how skilled are these thugs?” Tarley asked.

“We think there will be less than a dozen at the headquarters, but they probably have a few teams out in the poorer eastern district at any given time, shaking down the locals. I propose we bring a half dozen of our new crew on the raid. Find the ones with the most skill and get them armed. Shada, do you still have funds left after buying provisions?” Larson asked.

“Aye, sir. We only spent a small portion of what you gave me. I didn’t want to purchase more until we found some more reasonable prices.”

“Very good. Take what you have remaining and see to what weapons and armor you can find for yourselves. Whatever’s left we can use to buy some armor and a few more weapons for the crew. Make sure to get some ranged weapons while you’re out—and plenty of ammo for them. There is a smith nearby, a halfling named Felicia Burrowton. See her first and I think we’ll get a decent price,” Larson ordered.

Staying behind after sending his officers out to get new gear, Larson ran the crew through several drills, from manning the oars to repairing unexpected damage. The new arrivals did a mediocre job, and they had a long way to go before they became a well-drilled team. Whipping them into shape would take much longer than an afternoon, but the new men all showed they had at least the most basic skills for him to build upon.

When it came to weapons drills, their skills were worse than their shipboard ones, as was to be expected. Out of the eight new and two existing crew, Larson found six who proved a bit better than the rest and selected them for the raid. These he gave the pick of the weapons locker, and three of them chose spears, two grabbed cutlasses, and the last, one of the halflings, asked for a bow or crossbow. For now, Larson gave the halfling one of the long daggers, assuring him that a ranged weapon was on the way. While he worked the crew, Larson pulled up his ship’s information, happy to see that things were improving.

Ship’s Complement for the Gull Dropping:

Crew: 10/60

Specialized crew: 0/10

Officers: 3/4

Prisoners: 0

Passengers: 0

Crew armaments: average. Your crew is equipped with good-quality steel melee weapons, but you lack ranged weapons and skilled crew to use them.

Crew armor: none

Other equipment: none

Crew:

Level 1 sailors: 10. Your crew have all had some experience on various vessels and can perform simple tasks when ordered under the direction of an officer. They possess minimal fighting skills.

Officers:

Larson, ship’s captain, level 2

Tarley, level 3 first mate, unknown second class: Tarley provides a 3% bonus to crew morale and a 3% bonus to the ship’s speed.

Nogreb, level 3 bosun, unknown second class: Nogreb provides a 3% bonus to ship repair speed and a 3% damage reduction from all damage dealt to the vessel.

Shada, level 3 ship’s surgeon, level 2 shaman, unknown third class: Shada provides a 3% resistance to any sickness for all crew. Wounded sailors under her care recover 3% faster than normal.

Average crew health: 100%. Your crew is well-rested and well-fed, ready for any task they are called upon to perform.

Morale: 87%. Most of your crew are new and a bit unsure of how things will turn out. They are happy to have gainful employment, and the living conditions are acceptable.

Things looked a bit better than they had on the desperate voyage into port, but Larson still needed quite a few crew to handle the ship for any prolonged voyages. His ship’s officers were now all showing as level 3 in their current roles. They all still had some mysterious other classes, but there wasn’t any chance to ferret out what those were just now. He would have to build trust further before they shared their secrets.

After being gone for only about an hour, his ship’s officers returned, pushing the small cart Shada had brought back from her earlier trip. Piled in the cart were various weapons and pieces of armor. Tarley now sported a studded leather jerkin and had kept one of the cutlasses they had recovered from the Coral Destiny. Nogreb was decked out in a light chain shirt and leather pants that had been reinforced with metal studs at all critical locations. He wore a pair of long knives on his belt and had several smaller ones in a bandolier around his chest.

Shada had almost identical armor to Nogreb, but her choice in weapons was much different. She had a new shortsword sheathed at her waist and a large rectangular, curved shield strapped to her back. She also had a pair of javelins slung within easy reach over her shoulder. The cart was full of a half dozen lower-quality leather jerkins for the crew they planned to take into battle. In addition to the armor, a few round wooden shields had been purchased; they were well-used but had a little life in them still. A pair of crossbows were also in the cart, along with several bundles of bolts.

They were armed as well as their funds allowed, and as the sun sank in the west, they prepared for their fight.

Chapter 21
~

Before they lost the sun completely, the crewmembers going on the raid were armed and given some time to spar with their new weapons. All but the halfling opted to use the shields the officers had just purchased, and with a little work, they all found a leather jerkin that would fit them. The armor wasn’t the best, but even leather could turn a blade or cushion a blow that might otherwise prove fatal.

He divided up the assault force into teams led by Nogreb and Shada. Larson would leave Tarley back aboard the Gull Dropping to get the crew ready to install the new mast tomorrow. Larson’s first mate was the least skilled of the three officers in combat, and he didn’t want to risk losing him in what might be a difficult fight. Nogreb took charge of the two men with the cutlasses and the halfling with the crossbow. To their surprise, the halfling, a man named Quix, proved to be a deadly shot. The crossbow they had found was a little bulky and difficult for the halfling to reload, but he managed well enough.

Shada took some time to work with the three crew who had chosen shields and spears for their weapons, showing them the basics of fighting in a formation and supporting each other. As for himself, Larson was more comfortable fighting on his own; his strange mix of skills and magic didn’t lend itself to a rigid combat style. No, he would be the one to lead the charge and allow his crew every advantage they could get. His venom had also replenished, giving him a last-resort weapon.

As darkness fell, the town guard began to light street lanterns around the docks, which, along with the nearly full moon, allowed them to navigate the streets without too much trouble. Larson led the group. The evening streets were crowded with workers and sailors heading to the various pubs and inns for a meal and a drink or two. While Larson wasn’t unusual enough to draw more than a few looks, his intimidating size and angry scowl discouraged any of the pickpockets or other petty thugs that plied their trade in the docks area.

Leaving the taverns and shops that lined the docks, Larson’s force began to pass the large warehouses that stored the goods that flowed into and out of the port. As they neared their target, Larson held the others back, slithering his way forward and peeking around the corner of a warehouse that blocked the view of their objective.

The headquarters of the Shining Tower didn’t look like much more than a partially collapsed warehouse. Most who weren’t paying attention would just pass the place by, but Larson could see two indicators that it was the place he was looking for. The first clue was the recently painted image of a golden tower on the otherwise dilapidated building. His other clue was the trio of bored-looking thugs slouched against the main door of the place.

Taking his time to make a complete circuit of the building, he spotted two other points of entry. At the back of the warehouse was a small door leading to what looked like an abandoned office area. One of the long sides of the warehouse was a loading dock with several huge sliding doors to move cargo in and out. Most of the doors had been boarded over, but one was partially open, and a single thug sat there, guarding the entrance. From the number of times the man took a pull from a metal flask hidden in his cloak, Larson figured he wasn’t in top form. Once he got the lay of the land, Larson returned to his crew, confident he hadn’t been spotted. After giving them a rundown of what he saw, he gave orders for the attack.

“Shada, you take your team to the loading docks. Try to take out the guard that’s posted there—silently, if possible. He didn’t look like he was very on the ball, so you shouldn’t have much of a problem. Once you’ve entered the warehouse, start clearing toward the main entrance, where I’ll take Nogreb and his team to force entry. Once inside, we’ll eliminate any other Shining Tower thugs and begin securing the cargo. Any questions?”

“No, give us two minutes to get into place before you hit the front,” Shada requested.

Larson nodded his agreement. “Sounds good. Now, everyone, take one of these.” He passed out one of the precious healing potions to each of them. It left him with only one potion for himself, but he didn’t want to lose any of his crew if he could help it. Shada took her team and moved off to get into position for the attack.

“Quix, can you hit the one on the right?” Larson asked, moving back so the halfling could peek around the corner at the three guards.

“Aye, sir. Easy shot,” Quix replied.

“Good. Nogreb, you and one of the crew take the man on the left, and I’ll take crewman Hillbright and we’ll hit the guy in the center,” Larson said, counting down in his head the time that Shada would need to get into place. When it was time, Quix stepped out from the corner of the warehouse and knelt, aiming at the far-right thug as Larson and the others made their move.

There was a good hundred feet between the warehouse they were hiding behind and their targets. Most of the street lanterns in the area had been put out, likely by the Shining Tower to cover their activities. The lack of light and the inattentiveness of the guards worked to their advantage, and Larson closed to within thirty feet before the guard on the right turned to look at him in shock. The man delayed in shouting a warning, which proved fatal as a crossbow bolt suddenly appeared in his chest with a meaty smack.

“What gives, Lars?” the man in the center said with a drunken lisp, walking toward his fallen companion and only hearing Larson at the last moment. The man reached for his dagger as Larson’s shield slammed into him, closely followed by the spear. Movement to the left drew Larson’s attention even as he thrust his spear a second time into the drunken thug.

The final thug must have been quicker, or perhaps a little less drunk, and was almost on Larson, a rusty but sharp dagger leading the way. He tried to get his shield up in time but found he didn’t need to, as first one and then another dagger slammed into the thug’s neck. Nogreb and his men arrived just after, the orc pulling the two small throwing daggers from the dead thug and cleaning them on his victim’s shirt.

“Nice work, everyone. Quick and quiet. Now . . .” Larson paused as he heard combat inside the warehouse. “Move in—quick. It sounds like Shada’s got her hands full,” he ordered, pushing open the door and entering the partially collapsed warehouse.

There were a few lanterns placed about, but for the most part, the inside of the warehouse was dark. Various crates and containers were scattered about, but there was plenty of open space to maneuver in. With her team, Shada had pushed past the door to the loading docks, only to find herself fighting a desperate battle against a half dozen Shining Tower thugs as another four ran to join the fight from an office in the back.

“Let’s get at them, boys. Quix, try and support Shada,” Larson ordered, charging toward the thugs who were rushing to reinforce their comrades. One of the crew with Shada took a cutlass slash to the neck, going down even as Shada killed the man in front of her. A crossbow bolt slammed into the thug who had slashed his fallen crewman, but Larson had his own fight to deal with now.

He imbued his weapon with slashing damage as he attacked the first thug. Even the glancing blow against his foe proved devastating when enhanced with magic. The thug almost completely dodged Larson’s strike, but the tines of the spear grazed his belly enough to cause the magic to discharge. The magic gutted the thug, and his insides poured out onto the floor of the warehouse. Pulling his shield up as cover, Larson scanned the battlefield.

Two of the other reinforcing thugs turned to engage Nogreb while the two crewmen with him wildly swung their cutlasses. The final thug held back, raising his hands, which started to glow red with magical power. Larson hadn’t expected any magic-users among the thugs, and this one was equipped and dressed in the same cheap black leather armor and clothing as the others. As the mage thrust his hands forward, a half dozen glowing darts of light flew out, two of which streaked toward Larson.

Crouching behind his shield, he was shocked as the two darts curved around it and slammed into his side. The blows knocked the breath from his lungs, the borrowed chain shirt preventing a more serious injury. The health indicator on his interface only dipped a small amount. Nogreb wasn’t quite as lucky; a dart hit him in the unarmored left shoulder, punching a bloody hole before the magic was expended. The orc staggered back, holding the bleeding wound. The thug he was facing began advancing on his now-crippled opponent.

Larson charged the thug, who was already bleeding from a pair of puncture wounds to his abdomen, which Nogreb had dished out before the spell hit. Pushing more mana into his weapon, Larson added blunt damage. The thug tried to backpedal as he closed, stumbling against a crate and giving Larson an opening. A stab to the chest finished off the already-wounded thug; the magic damage proved to be overkill.

Both of his cutlass-wielding crew were down, hit by the mage’s spell. Perched on a crate to their rear, Quix was rolling about in pain, fumbling with his healing potion after catching the last magic dart. The mage was already casting another spell. The light glowing on his hands made Larson believe it was going to be another swarm of darts. Leading with his shield, Larson charged the mage, but he could see that he wasn’t going to be fast enough.

Activating Shield Bash, he almost made it to the mage in time. A flurry of new magic darts flew from the mage, only four of them this time. They curved around to avoid his shield and once again slammed into his side. While the borrowed chain shirt had been enough to hold back a single dart on each side, the double hammer blows shattered links and pierced deep into his flesh. Larson was having trouble staying upright, but then his Shield Bash kicked in, the strange system ability punching out with the shield even as he fell to the ground. The mage was smashed in the face. Blood flowed from his nose as he was knocked off his feet and stunned.

Larson could hardly breathe and knew at least a few ribs had been broken by the magic darts. To add to his misery, bits of metal from the armor had been driven deep into his wounds. The bleeding was uncontrolled, and he was feeling light-headed as his health bar rapidly dropped. Holding the image of a healing potion in his mind, Larson reached into his storage, pulling out the precious vial. He sucked down the faintly cinnamon-tasting potion just before he lost consciousness.

His eyes popped open and he came to, the intense pain of his wounds returning as the potion continued to work. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but it looked like the battle had gone in his favor during his absence. Nogreb hovered over the mage, slicing his throat with one of his razor-sharp daggers before he used his good arm to start throwing daggers at the three thugs who were still standing. One went down, and the final pair turned to flee, only to be cut down by Shada and the last spear-wielding sailor. After dropping the final foe, Shada sheathed her sword and slung her shield, then ran toward Larson to begin casting heals. Larson shook his head, pointing toward the downed crewmen. He was going to live, and her magic would be better used to save a life rather than just relieve him of some suffering.

Shada made her way around to the wounded and dead, healing those crewmen who could be saved. One of the spearmen and both of his cutlass-wielding sailors had been killed. The others were still alive, with the crossbowman Quix surviving only due to his quick downing of the healing potion Larson had given him. After doing what she could for the others, Shada cast a heal on Nogreb, mending his shoulder wound enough to allow him some movement of his arm. Her mana reserves were down to nothing, and Larson had to wait before she could cast a heal on him. The spell popped his fractured ribs back into place, a rather painful experience, and knitted them together enough that he could pull himself upright. His sides were still a mess, but the bleeding had stopped for the moment.

“I’ll be out of mana for a while. I’ve dug a bit too deep into my reserves,” a visibly exhausted Shada said.

“Thank you. You’ve saved lives here today. Now, let’s sweep this place to make sure we don’t have any surprises waiting for us,” Larson ordered. They broke up into pairs, an officer with a crewman as they swept the now-quiet warehouse. The warehouse floor was clear of any other threats, and they pushed toward the back of the building, where several small offices were located. The first one Larson and Quix cleared was empty except for a bunch of bedrolls; thugs assigned here must have lived in this room.

“Sir, we found some prisoners tied up in one of the offices. Nogreb asked that you come over as soon as you’re done here,” a sailor told him.

“Very well. I have one more room to clear. Head back and watch the prisoners with Nogreb. Keep them tied up until we can sort out who they are,” Larson ordered.

He and Quix found the last office door locked, so a couple of bashes with his tail were required to cave in the thin interior door. Leading the way with his spear and covered by Quix’s crossbow, Larson entered the room. Unlike most of the warehouse, this room was clean and well-kept, filled with nice wooden and leather furniture. A row of file cabinets lined one wall, and a stout iron safe was bolted to the floor.

“Let’s go check those prisoners. Then we’ll give this room a better search,” Larson said. He found Nogreb twirling a dagger in front of five strangely dressed human men. They all wore tan-colored robes and leather sandals, but instead of looking like merchants or even mages, they all were muscular and in good shape, save for the beating the thugs must have subjected them to.

“So who are you people?” Larson asked.

“I take it you are our liberator?” one of the men replied. He had a large mustache and a precisely trimmed, pointy beard.

“That remains to be seen. I’ll ask again, who are you and why are you here?” Larson asked, suspicious about how this many strong men were captured by the unimpressive thugs.

“I am Ibn Hasma, the honored first dervish of the late Sultan Ilkhan, and these are the Blades of the Desert. We are at your service, and who might I have the pleasure of addressing?” one of the men, the obvious leader of the small group, responded.

“I am Captain Larson of the Gull Dropping. So, Mr. Ibn Hasma, how exactly did you find yourselves in these luxurious accommodations?” Larson asked.

“A sad and, might I add, somewhat embarrassing tale. We were sent here to guard the last surviving member of Sultan Ilkhan’s family, who was seeking asylum in the Free Isles. You see, there was a bit of a disagreement within our lands, and another, shall we say, more belligerent branch of the royal family saw fit to dispute the sultan’s claim on our territory. Alas, we were overpowered on the field of battle and dispersed out into the cruel world, away from the blessed sands of Imix.” The man shook his head at the memory, pausing to gauge Larson’s reaction.

“I’m still not hearing the part about how you ended up here. I’m a busy man and can’t wait around for you to get to the point,” Larson said impatiently.

“My apologies, sir. I shall endeavor to be succinct in my exposition. Where was I? Oh, yes, we were dispersed upon the winds and all that. Well, this last scion of the honored royal family happened to be a rather elderly and corpulent man possessed of very poor health. Sadly, he expired even as we neared this cursed port. Normally, our lives would be forfeit for failing to protect our charge, but since he had expired of natural causes, we would be expected to submit to entombment with our charge.

“But I thought to myself, Ibn Hasma, there are no surviving members of the late and honorable Sultan Ilkhan’s family, and it would be wasteful to deprive the world of our skills by entombing ourselves with our former master. So I and the Blades of the Desert decided to strike out on our own. We found an inn of less than savory repute and proceeded to drink ourselves into a stupor before seeking some new path in our lives. I fear the swill posing as ale that we all ingested must have been laced with something to render us unconscious and at the mercy of these vermin. I believe they intended to sell us into whatever form of slavery these so-called Free Isles participate in. We awoke to a considerable headache and the sounds of conflict, which is where you enter into the tale of my life,” Ibn said, finally finishing his story.

“That was a rather roundabout way of saying you got something slipped in your drink and got crimped by these thugs. The only question now is, what to do with you?” Larson asked.

“Why, my dear Captain Larson, any story worth telling is worth telling to its fullest. As for our future, I believe that, should you decide to free us, I would be honor-bound to offer you our services for a reasonable fee. May I assume that, based on your recent victory, you may have at least some small need of skilled warriors?” Ibn Hasma asked. This could be a good opportunity for Larson. His ship’s crew looked like they would be eager enough to pitch in during a fight, but if these five were as good as they claimed, they could form the basis of a marine force or, at the very least, help him train the others in personal combat.

“Ibn Hasma, I think I just might be able to use your men. I can’t offer much more than a simple wage along with food, a bunk aboard my ship, and a share of any prizes. If that works for you, consider yourself part of the crew,” Larson told them.

“We have an agreement, Captain. I and the Blades of the Desert are at your service until such a time as we feel the need to strike out on our own. I would be glad to shake your hand to confirm our agreement, but I find myself unable to,” Ibn said, trying to move his tied wrists. Larson could see that their bindings had been placed way too tight, and the men must have been in some pain because of it.

“Nogreb, cut them loose and put them to work. There’s an office with a safe I haven’t had time to look through. See what you can do with the safe and if there’s anything else in there we might want. Ibn, you and your people spread out and help us find anything of value inside this place. I’ve got a ship to outfit and a business to supply with goods.” Larson was a little leery of setting the strange swordsmen free, but he needed all the help he could get if he wanted to pillage this warehouse of anything of value before more members of the Shining Tower or some other group of brigands showed up.

“Captain, sir, there’s a large force of town guard outside that is asking for you,” Shada said, her hand going to her sword when she spotted the five men scrounging up weapons from the fallen.

“They’re with us, Shada. At least I think so. Let’s go meet the guard. I think this night is about to get a little crazier,” Larson said. Attracting the attention of the local authorities was never good, especially if what was attracting their attention happened to be a killing spree inside a warehouse.

Chapter 22
~

Shada led Larson out through the main door of the warehouse, Quix and the two spear-wielding sailors accompanying them. A line of a dozen town guardsmen stood at attention, covering the entrance, and Larson could see more slipping around the sides of the building, toward the other exits. In front of the line of guards stood an officer and an older man dressed in fine clothing that gave off a distinct air of I’m better than you.

“I’m Captain Larson of the Gull Dropping. How may I be of assistance, Officer?” Larson asked the guard officer, who looked a little taken aback by the huge, blood-covered naga in front of him.

“We have reports of illegal activity in this location and that there might be some kind of disturbance going on here,” the officer replied.

“No, there’s nothing illegal going on here, at least not anymore. A gang of thugs calling themselves the Shining Tower were here, but we came to claim some of our lost property from them. Sadly, they responded to my friendly inquiries with violence, and my crew and I were forced to defend ourselves,” Larson said, trying to look innocent.

“Hmm, I sincerely doubt that is the extent of what is happening here. Stand aside so the good officer and his men can do their work. Captain Racle, have your men retrieve the Shining Tower survivors. I would like to question them personally,” the well-dressed man ordered.

“And you are?” Larson asked, moving aside to let the town guard inside, then sent one of his crew to tell the others to stand down. Larson knew he was a formidable opponent, but fighting the entire town wasn’t something he could do, at least not yet.

“I, if you must know, am Lord Thruston Mox, one of the leaders of this fine city,” the man replied.

“Good to meet you, Lord Mox. Sadly, you won’t find any surviving Shining Tower members inside. We tend to defend ourselves very vigorously when attacked,” Larson replied.

“It appears you are quite efficient. Now, let us go inside and have a little private chat, Captain Larson. There is something we need to discuss,” Mox told him. It didn’t exactly come across as a request—it was an order. Larson didn’t see any point in causing a stink at this time. After all, a lord of the city could be a valuable ally. Mox led him to the back of the warehouse and into the office that held the safe.

“Sir, do you need anything?” Nogreb asked. The orc had been going through the desk as they came in.

“No, Nogreb. Head out to the warehouse and take charge of the recovery operations,” Larson ordered.

“Hold up for a moment. I’m assuming you have some documentation for what you intend to take from this warehouse. I know you’re claiming that you have some goods in here that might have been stolen from you. This is a city of laws, dear captain, and our laws require documentation to prove you are the owner of something like, say, a ship,” Mox said, and Larson understood the not-so-subtle threat.

“Very well. Nogreb, begin to sort out our things, but don’t leave with any of our goods until Lord Mox has inspected our claim to them,” Larson ordered. Nogreb saluted and left the room, leaving Larson to hear whatever Mox was up to.

“Good, now that we’re alone, I think we have a few items to discuss, Captain Larson. Imagine my surprise when word reached me that a warehouse I have some financial interest in was under assault. While these Shining Tower characters weren’t exactly impressive, they did keep things under control here. Now I will have to expend considerable effort to see that this area remains working for the good of the city. Perhaps we can do something to help each other out?” Mox finally got around to asking.

Larson considered his response. It was obvious this Mox was on the take from the thugs, and the last thing Larson wanted was a conflict with one of the twelve lords that ran the city. The fact that Mox hadn’t just ordered Larson arrested gave him hope there might be a deal to make.

“Lord Mox, I’d be glad to consider any offer you might have,” he replied.

“Excellent. A reasoned response, not what you expect from a pirate captain,” Mox replied.

“Hold up there. I’m not a pirate, just an honest ship owner looking to ply his trade,” Larson argued.

“That’s odd. I believe the dossier I keep on piracy in the area has implicated the ship you claim to be the captain of in several attacks. Why, the very respected Captain Helia of the Sea Jumper has reported an attack by your vessel recently,” Mox argued. It took Larson a moment to remember where he had heard of Helia and the Sea Jumper before. He had helped her fight off the pirates, and Larson received a broken mast for his good deed. She knew the pirate ship had changed hands but had apparently neglected to pass that information on. He made a note to deal with Helia and her ship if they ever crossed paths again.

“The Gull Dropping is under new management. We were being held prisoner by the pirates and overpowered our captors, taking the ship for ourselves,” Larson replied.

“An interesting story, true, but it does put me in a bit of a quandary. I have to uphold the law, and when a known pirate vessel enters the port, I have no choice but to impound it for the good of the Free Isles,” Mox told him.

“I take it you haven’t ordered me and my crew in chains because you may have something we can do for you?” Larson asked.

“Indeed. Perhaps we can use a pirate to catch a pirate. There is a particular pirate, a loathsome individual that calls himself Furious Fontaine. This Fontaine has taken my son, as well as the son of another lord. The lads were scooped up by the pirates when some of their crew slipped into port recently. I have received the inevitable ransom demands and need someone to pay the brigand and recover my son Jonathan and Lord Buxton’s son Theodore.”

“Sure, that’s a task we could easily accomplish, but why hire me when you have all the resources of this port at your disposal? I’m sure you have several warships that could make the exchange,” Larson argued, fearing he was being set up for something.

“This is a delicate personal matter, and it would not do to have too much attention placed on my son. He was always an impressionable young man and has romantic illusions as to what the life of a pirate is like. There is a good chance he offered himself up for capture in some foolish attempt to join their crew. I want you to pay the ransom, recover my boy, and then eliminate the pirate threat,” Mox said.

“And what are you offering? Just the threat of imprisonment and of impounding my ship isn’t much of a motivation,” Larson asked.

“I can offer something very valuable for a man like yourself. As minister of defense for the port, I have the authority to issue letters of marque on behalf of the Free Isles. In essence, Captain Larson, I can give you a legal license to become a privateer, which permits you to commit piracy of a sort. There are certain restrictions, of course, but you would have an almost free hand against any other pirates and vessels of nations that we designate as hostile.”

It was a very attractive offer, one that opened great possibilities for Larson and his ship. Legal authority to attack other pirates and the like had the potential to be very profitable, even more so once he and Lucien got their store up and running. The stolen cargo the pirates had plundered would become his. He had to counter his excitement with the realization that this deal was a bit sketchy and he didn’t trust this Lord Mox in the least. For now, he would take this deal and try to grind out any advantage he could get.

“I think we can agree to this, only I will need that letter of marque up front. My ship also needs some repairs as well as provisions to be laid in, which I would expect you to cover. I also need some coin to upgrade our equipment and weapons,” Larson requested.

“Don’t overstep your bounds, Captain Larson. I will see to it that your vessel is provisioned, but that is the extent of my largesse. I will also be taking that”—Mox pointed to the safe—“as well as the cabinets and desk. You can use whatever else you scrounge up in the warehouse to fund your necessary repairs. These are coordinates for the meeting with the pirates, and you will be expected to arrive in ten days. Any later and we risk having my son, and our deal, killed. One day after the deadline, I will meet you at the same location to complete the transfer. At that meeting, you will get your letter of marque and I will get my son,” Mox countered.

“Agreed,” Larson said, reaching out to shake hands and seal the deal.

“Excellent, Captain Larson. I hope this can be the start of a profitable relationship. Send some of your crew over to my estate tomorrow and my people will see that you are properly provisioned. Fair seas, Larson. I will see you at the rendezvous. Do I need to mention that I expect my son to be alive and in good health when I recover him?” Mox said as he left, then ordered the guard to load up the items he had requested. Once the safe, desk, and cabinets were taken to a waiting wagon, the town guard left.

“What exactly happened with the two of you?” Shada asked.

“We have just been given our first job. We’re going to rescue Lord Mox’s and Lord Buxton’s sons from some pirates. In return, we’re going to be given a letter of marque for the Free Isles,” Larson told them.

“That’s amazing. With a letter of marque, we can do just about anything we want at sea,” Nogreb said, clearly excited by the possibilities.

“True, but our targets would be limited. In fact, I believe we’ll try and specifically target pirate vessels and raid any of their bases we can locate. That way, we’ll be well-received at any of the ports in the Free Isles,” Larson replied.

“Our ship isn’t exactly in any state to take on pirates, sir. What are we going to do about that?” Shada asked.

“First, we clean this place out for anything valuable,” Larson said. “Tomorrow, Shada, you’ll take some of the crew to retrieve provisions from the estate of Lord Mox. Nogreb, send one of our men back to the ship. We’re going to need all hands to sort through the warehouse. Have the messenger stop at Lucian’s place and get him over here also. We might need his help in figuring out what is worth the effort of hauling away. Too bad Lord Mox took the safe with him.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I had a peek inside before you came into the office. It held mostly documents, many of which I bet would be embarrassing to Lord Mox if they became public knowledge. There was a bag of coin, which I thought you might want,” Nogreb said, tossing a small coin pouch to Larson. It turned out to be another dozen landsmen gold, 412 fins, and a similar number of scales. Not a fortune, but enough to help pay for repairs and hire more crew.

“Nice work, Nogreb. Now let’s get the rest of the place picked clean,” Larson replied.

The offices were mostly empty. The cargo strewn about the main warehouse was going to be their only chance of finding some decent loot. Of course, Larson had the dead thugs searched for valuables, which netted him a handful of scales and the weapons from both his deceased crew and their opponents.

As they started on the crates, Lucian arrived, along with Kipper. They jumped right in and helped sort through what they’d found. As Larson had suspected, most of the containers held trade goods that were not very valuable. Included in the lot were several loads of household goods like plates, utensils, and crockery. Larson had a good selection sent over to the Gull Dropping for his crew to use. The rest would go with Lucian to a small storage building he was renting; it was good stock for the shop they were going to open.

One of the crates held the weapons and armor that had been taken from Ibn Hasma and his men. Their armor consisted of thick leather reinforced with metal rings they wore under their robes. Each of them had a conical metal helmet with a spike on top. For weapons, they all wielded curved scimitars, and Ibn wore two at his waist. The Blades of the Desert held small bucklers in their off hands. The bucklers featured a metal spike in the center, allowing them to be used for both defense and offense. Long, curved knives that were almost shortswords rounded out their weapons, save for two of the men who had short bows and quivers of arrows strapped on their backs.

There weren’t any other exciting finds, but there were more items for the shop as well as some blankets and the like that could be used on the Gull Dropping. Lucian was able to rent another cart, and they spent an hour ferrying the goods over to the ship and the storage building he had secured. After gathering all they could, Larson led the last of the crew still working at the warehouse back to the Gull Dropping. By the time they finished, it was the middle of the night, and as they passed one of the still-open taverns, Ibn stopped him.

“Captain, my men and I need to stop here for a moment and take care of something. Please do not interfere. We will be back to the ship shortly,” Ibn said, leading the blades toward the scummy-looking inn. They drew their weapons as they approached, and the bouncer stared at them in shock. This must be the place where they had been drugged and kidnapped. Larson sent the others ahead, sticking around to see how this played out.

“You, who is it that ordered us drugged?” Ibn commanded. The bouncer made the mistake of going for the studded club that was leaning against the door. One of Ibn’s men thrust his buckler forward, the steel point piercing the bouncer’s eye socket and killing him instantly. The group threw open the door, Ibn bellowing as they entered the inn.

“This establishment has foolishly tried to injure me and my men. All who work here will now be slain for that offense. The rest of you patrons must leave now or share their fate,” Ibn ordered. Larson watched through one of the dirty windows as the dozen or so patrons of the place tried to decide what to do. About half held up their hands and skulked out the front. The other half drew blades and joined the employees to face off against Ibn and his warriors.

Larson was still unsure of his newly hired marines, but if this was the bar where they were drugged and kidnapped, he wasn’t going to try and stop them. The bartender pulled an axe from behind the bar and called to the back. A handful of kitchen staff ran out, wielding meat cleavers and various types of knives. The two servers on duty pulled daggers and joined in. The patrons who chose to stay and fight wielded a variety of weapons, and the whole group outnumbered Ibn by better than two to one.

Ibn didn’t hesitate, confidently stepping into the room as he began to twirl his twin scimitars. His men spread out, their weapons at the ready. With a shout, the bartender charged Ibn, trying to split the man in two with an overhead strike of his axe. One of the scimitars lashed out, deflecting the axe as the other raked across the bartender’s belly, spilling his guts onto the ground. Several more patrons and workers charged Ibn, whose blades became a blur as he deflected blows and returned precise strikes. The so-called Blades of the Desert were also impressive, showing skill as they whittled down the numerically superior foe.

Ibn dropped another pair of opponents, and his men had each made at least one kill, causing the seven remaining defenders to back away. The inn didn’t have a rear entrance, but one of the servers tried to open a side window and climb out. A blade intercepted her and cut her down as she made it halfway through. The two remaining patrons threw down their weapons and held up their hands in surrender. Ibn wasn’t taking any prisoners and executed the unarmed pair without hesitation. Knowing they had no other option, the remaining workers charged, only to be taken apart by Ibn’s warriors, who now held the advantage both in skill and in number.

Ibn searched behind the bar, finding several small coin purses he tossed to his men before they searched their victims for more, taking whatever valuables they could find. Larson entered the inn and considered having Lucian come collect the booze and foodstuffs here, but someone was bound to have heard the battle and the town guard was likely already on its way. Larson didn’t want either himself or his people to be found at the scene of a second massacre tonight.

“Well fought, Ibn. It looks like you live up to your title,” Larson said.

“Do you find fault with my methods?” Ibn asked.

“No, you showed no mercy where none should have been expected. The people here drugged and robbed you with the intent of selling you into slavery. I would have done the same,” Larson replied.

“It is good to know our new employer understands the way of retribution. I believe we will get along well with you and your crew,” Ibn replied, motioning for them to leave.

As they made their way back to the ship, Larson came to a decision. “Ibn, I would like you to become the officer of my marine detachment, which your men will form the core of. It will mean a better share of any prize we take, but I would require that you agree to serve for at least a year,” Larson told him. The system had revealed that he could command one additional officer, but what would happen if he exceeded the limit was unknown.

“A year? I think I can agree with that. This should be a most interesting time,” Ibn said, slapping Captain Larson on the back.

“Oh, I think you’ll find things are about to get even more interesting than you think,” Larson said as they came into view of the harbor and the Gull Dropping. Standing right beside the ship, and in obvious discomfort, was Bug Bartholomew. What could he be wanting that would make him risk coming this close to the sea in the middle of the night?

Chapter 23
~

“Bug Bartholomew, what brings you back to the Gull Dropping?” Larson asked. He had thought he had seen the last of the unusual ogre, given his fear of water.

“We’s broke sumfing,” Bartholomew said dejectedly.

“My brother is right. We had a bit of an incident in town,” Bug added. “You see, the majority of the establishments in this fine port town have rather restrictive entry points. When we tried to enter various ones in search of employment, structural damage ensued. The proprietors were understandably cross at the damage we caused, forcing us from their establishment.”

“You mean to tell me nobody would hire you? Even if they didn’t know your mechanical aptitude, surely someone would want a strong ogre for some kind of work,” Larson said.

“Oh, you are correct. There were various offers. Most of those involved the less-than-savory elements of this fine town asking us to physically assault one person or another,” Bug replied.

“We waz supposed to crush them, crush them to goo,” Bartholomew added.

“You two weren’t up for that sort of thing?” Larson asked.

“Well, I saw the practicality of the situation, but my brother also has a say in what we do,” Bug said.

“Aye, and I says we’s should go back to the ship. I likeses it here and I likeses eating the shark people.”

“But I thought you were averse to being near the water?” Larson asked.

“Well, let’s just say our aquaphobia is no longer a universal fear,” Bug added.

“You’se the scareded one. I’m just a bit prensive,” Bartholomew said, looking at his brother with irritation.

“The word is ‘apprehensive,’ brother. I admit, the fear was more ingrained in my psyche than that of my brother. After his experience aboard the ship, he has somehow overcome his fear. Now, I know that my fear is irrational to an extent, so I’m willing to give it a try if you could use our assistance,” Bug asked. Larson had no problem having the ogre on his team; he was a powerful combatant and brilliant when it came to engineering.

“Whoses those guys with the spikey heads?” Bartholomew asked, gesturing toward Ibn, intrigued by the spikes on their helms.

“Greetings, Bug Bartholomew,” Ibn said with a bow. “I am Ibn Hasma, formerly the First Dervish of the late Sultan Ilkahn and now the commander of the marines aboard the illustrious Gull Dropping. My faithful companions are the Blades of the Desert, though I suppose we should all look into a new title now that we have changed employers.”

“Well met, Ibn Hasma and the Blades of the Desert,” Bug replied. At least the introductions were without incident. Hopefully the two would work well together. Larson then tried to get on with hiring the ogre.

“Bug Bartholomew, I’d love to have you back. All my officer slots are now filled, but if you don’t mind being a crewman and working with the bosun, welcome aboard. As soon as I’m able, I’ll get you promoted to ship’s engineer,” Larson offered. A strange thing occurred when he made the offer. He had initially tried to make Bug Bartholomew the ship’s engineer, an officer’s position, but found he couldn’t say it. As far as he could tell, the system hadn’t taken control over him, just blocked him from doing something that exceeded the parameters of his status screen. Larson didn’t like the feeling and began to worry about how many other decisions and actions were being influenced by the bizarre system that governed this world.

“I think we will agree to that, though we would need some immediate funds to resolve our outstanding debts with a pair of merchants in town. It would take around twenty fins to resolve that, but I would also like to request a similar sum in order to acquire some materials for a special but necessary project,” Bug countered.

“We got to buy new doors for the stores and we’s are going to make a floaty thingy,” Bartholomew added. Though every coin was important, Larson couldn’t pass on hiring the ogre brothers. He handed over the coins, adding a small sum of scales in case they needed anything else.

“That should take care of it,” Larson said. “Before you purchase anything, go to my business partner, Lucian. He’ll steer you in the right direction and might even arrange the purchase for you so we don’t have to pay for more destroyed stores. Hurry up with whatever you have to do. In the morning, we’ll be installing the new mast and rigging. I’d also like your input on modifying the ship so you can make it belowdecks if we need you down there.”

“Aye, Captain. We’ll take care of our personal needs this evening and then rejoin you to prepare for our next day’s labors,” Bug said, taking the coin. The ogre then stomped his way back into town, nearly bowling over Ibn and his marines.

“Quite an interesting character, that one. I look forward to speaking with him further,” Ibn added.

“We’re lucky to have him. The big guy may not look it, but he’s smart and can fix almost anything. I’m sure he’ll find some ways to improve the Gull Dropping,” Larson said before leaving Ibn to find a berth for himself and his men.

“Sir, I take it we’ve got the ogre back in our employ?” Tarley asked.

“Aye, he’ll be back after he takes care of some business in town. Tomorrow, I’d like you to head back out and try to find us some more crew. We got a little bit of coin from the raid, and the cargo we recovered has quite a bit of value, but that will take time to sell. You can take Creech if you think he’ll help, and you might want to see our new marine commander, Ibn, and have a couple of his boys join you for some extra protection. I think the Shining Tower is done for and the few thugs still out there will probably just drift on to new debauchery, but there’s always the chance some of them might want revenge.”

“Aye, sir. I think we can round up a few able lads to help crew our ship,” Tarley said.. Larson knew his first mate had been catching bits and pieces of the story about their fight at the warehouse, so he spent some time going over their new challenges and opportunities to make sure they were on the same page. While Tarley wasn’t exactly the most formidable in combat, he had more knowledge of running a ship than anyone, save for Larson himself.

He pulled up his ship’s status to see how the new crew additions had changed things.

Ship’s Status:

Vessel: Gull Dropping

Ship type: merchantman

Size: small

Hull: 81%

Ship’s armaments: none

Cargo: none

Supplies: water for 90 days and food for 2 days

Tools and repair materials: 18%

Ship efficiency: 34%. Your ship’s efficiency is being hampered by a lack of trained crew. As your crew expands and they have time to work together, your ship’s efficiency will improve. Your current efficiency level will reduce your ship’s speed, resistance to damage, and ability to maneuver.

Ship’s Complement for the Gull Dropping:

Crew: 7/60

Specialized crew: 5/10. Your specialized crew consists of 4 marines and an engineering specialist.

Officers: 5/5

Prisoners: 0

Passengers: 0

Crew armaments: average. Your crew is equipped with good-quality steel melee weapons, but they still lack ranged weapons and the skilled crew to use them.

Marine armaments: good. Your current force of marines wields high-quality weapons they are well-trained in using.

Crew armor: very poor. Your crew has only a few damaged suits of inferior leather armor and some well-worn shields.

Marine armor: above average. Your marine forces wear leather armor reinforced with steel rings and chainmail at various points. Light and flexible, this armor allows the marines to move freely, but it is not as effective as heavier armor types. In addition to the armor, your marines carry small bucklers into battle, improving their melee defense but offering little protection against ranged attacks.

Other equipment: none

Crew:

Sailors, level 1: 7. Your crew have all had some experience on various vessels and can perform simple tasks when ordered under the direction of an officer. They possess minimal fighting skills.

Marines, level 4: 4. Your marines are drawn from a group of warriors formerly known as the Blades of the Desert. This experienced band of warriors is skilled and deadly.

Engineer, level 5: 1. The ogre Bug Bartholomew is acting as a specialized engineer on your crew.

Officers:

Larson, ship’s captain, level 2

Tarley, level 3 first mate, unknown second class

Nogreb, level 3 bosun, unknown second class

Shada, level 3 ship’s surgeon, level 2 shaman, unknown third class

Ibn Hasma, level 5 dervish, level 0 marine commander: Until Ibn becomes more adept at fighting as a marine, he offers no specific bonuses to the ship or crew.

Average crew health: 100%. Your crew is well-rested and well-fed, ready for any task they are called upon to perform.

Morale: 88%. Most of your crew are new and a bit unsure of how things will turn out. For the most part, they are happy with their pay, and their living conditions are acceptable. At this level of morale, your crew operates at normal efficiency.

There were some interesting changes, and Larson was happy to see both morale and ship health improving. He was painfully short of crew, and the new category of ship’s efficiency told him what he already knew. He wasn’t sure why the system was adding new information categories, but he wasn’t going to complain about more data.

Weapons and armor for his sailors were still subpar, but until he finished outfitting the ship, he didn’t want to spend more of his rapidly dwindling funds on it. He wasn’t surprised to see that Ibn was level 5; his battle inside the inn had shown the man and his troops were deadly. The fact that he was a level 0 marine commander was interesting and indicated he was a great fighter but had a lot to learn about fighting at sea. At least Bug Bartholomew was showing as part of his specialized crew. Hopefully, when Larson leveled up again, he would be able to promote the ogre.

Checking his experience bar, Larson saw he was closing in on level 3 and only had about 18% to go before reaching it. All the fighting had helped, but the system also granted experience for his actions, which likely included recruiting and cutting a deal with not only Lucian but also Lord Mox. With the way his life had gone so far, Larson didn’t think it would take him too long to reach the next level.

He took his normal momentary rest, still unsure of when the longer rest periods would occur. He spent the rest of the night making the rounds on his ship, speaking with the crewmen on watch. Larson tried to make a point of knowing those who served under him. Calling a crewmember by their name let them know they were valued by their captain.

“How are you feeling, Quix?” Larson asked when the halfling took his turn at watch, which was the last one before dawn.

“Good, sir, thanks to our surgeon, Shada, and that potion you gave me. Thank you for that, sir. Not many officers would give something like that to a normal crewman,” Quix answered.

“If a captain doesn’t do what he can to protect his crew, he isn’t much of a leader in my eyes. Sadly, I can’t afford to pass out any additional potions until we can get some income generated,” Larson said, not wanting to set any unrealistic expectations about what he would be providing. The three dead sailors from the raid on the warehouse hadn’t had time to use their potions and Larson had returned them to his storage space.

“Understood, sir. Didn’t expect you to hand them out like the rum ration, just glad you did before our last scrap,” Quix said.

“You did well with that crossbow, Quix. I need every sailor I can get, but I would be glad to present you to Ibn for promotion to a marine if you have any interest,” Larson told the halfling. He was painfully short of crew, but the man was deadly with his crossbow and had kept a cool head in the fight at the warehouse, despite being seriously injured.

“I think I’d like that, sir,” Quix replied.

“Great, I’ll let Ibn know, but I can’t cut you free from your duties as a sailor until we have a chance to recruit more crew,” Larson told him.

He walked around the deck as the sun started peeking over the horizon. It was funny how he still considered moving around on his lower body to be “walking”; the term seemed to be stuck in his brain as another artifact from his previous life. He wished he could remember more about it, but other than practical knowledge that had transferred over to his new life, everything personal was gone. His musing was cut short when he spotted Bug Bartholomew stomping his way back to the Gull Dropping. The ogre had several crates and bags secured to his body.

“What’s with all the cargo, Bug Bartholomew?” Larson asked as the ogre came aboard and began unloading everything where he had previously made his nest.

“We worked with your contact, Lucian, who was extremely helpful. I have a lot of the tools and things I need to evaluate our vessel’s condition, but I will need to get with the blacksmith, Felicia, to have some of these tools properly sized. Our first order of business is to get our floatation device constructed,” Bug said, starting to lay out various materials and tools.

Larson left him to it, sending Quix to rouse his officers. They had a lot of work to do, and now that the sun was coming up, it was time to get started.

“Good morning, everyone,” Larson said. “We’re under time pressure and we need to get the ship ready for our upcoming voyage. Tarley and crewman Creech will head out to recruit more hands, while I want Shada to collect the promised supplies from Lord Mox. Nogreb will stay here to work with Bug Bartholomew in getting the ship ready. Ibn, I’d like you to send a pair of your warriors with Tarley and lead the others to protect the crew going to collect supplies. Our goal for today is to get an overall assessment from the ogre on what the ship needs, get the supplies laid in, and start putting together a complete crew. I’m going to check on Lucian and see where we are with sorting the cargo we liberated from the warehouse. You have your orders, people. Make it happen.” Larson dismissed the officers from his cabin.

They didn’t expect the mast to be delivered until the afternoon, so most of the crew would accompany Shada to gather their supplies. Crewman Gilroy was cooking up a large pot of some oats sweetened with honey, along with some sausages they bought the day before. Now that the ogre had joined them, the cook was going to have to recalculate how much to prepare for each meal.

The port was waking up and workers crowded the streets as Larson made his way to the warehouse district and Lucian’s home. Their new home was an apartment above a modest-sized warehouse. Before going up, Larson made a quick tour of the area, pleased it was a much safer neighborhood than the one they had been forced to live in before. He knocked firmly on their door and was happy to see their daughter Millie had answered while clutching a new toy.

“Hi, Mr. Captain Snake Man. Want to see my new dolly?” Millie asked.

“Of course, that’s why I came over. What is your new friend’s name?” Larson asked.

The girl held out the doll but refused to let him touch it. “This is Petunia,” she proclaimed.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Petunia.” Larson made a show of shaking the doll’s little hand and pretending to tip his hat, causing Millie to squeal with laughter.

“Millie, I need to talk with Captain Larson. Please go play in your room for a while,” Lucian told her, ushering the kid toward a door at the back of their new home.

“Good to see you, Lucian. I wanted to see what your initial assessment is of the goods we recovered,” Larson asked.

“It’s not bad, mostly plates, tableware, bedding, and other household goods. The stuff will sell at a slow rate, but it will sell. We should probably get a small shop ready, and with what we’ve collected, I can keep it running for quite a while without having to purchase more inventory. The only expense would be wages and rent,” Lucian said. It was good news, but Larson hated to ask about how much it would cost to set up even a small shop.

“How much will this cost me to get you started?”

“It’s not that bad. I have a location selected between the warehouse district and the eastern part of the city. It’s a place that gets good foot traffic for a wide variety of customers. It’s not a good spot to sell high-end goods, but what we currently have in inventory is perfect for working-class folks that live in the area. I can get the rental if we prepay six months of rent, and the rent would be forty fins per month. The major cost of a new shop is inventory, and we’re very well-supplied for the time being,” Lucian said, wincing as he told Larson the total cost.

“That’s not exactly cheap, but with the coin we found in the warehouse, I think we can swing it.” Larson handed over what Lucian had requested. Thinking about how much money he had left released an interesting feature of his interface. When he thought about it, Larson instantly knew how much money he had in his storage.

Ducats: 0

Landsmen gold: 0

Fins: 386

Scales: 1877

This didn’t count whatever the other officers had left over from their purchases the day before. He would need to keep whatever was left to pay for repairs. Larson went with Lucian to see the location of their new shop, which was exactly as the man had described. For now, Lucian’s family, along with Kipper, would start moving goods over to the shop. Larson would send a work detail to help if he was able, but work on the ship and training were going to be his priorities as he and his crew readied themselves to meet this Furious Fontaine and his band of pirates.

Larson resisted stopping by to check on his armor, knowing Felicia wouldn’t be done with it yet. Instead of bugging her, he decided to spend his time helping to install the mast. When he arrived back on the docks, Larson didn’t recognize the Gull Dropping. It looked like the ship had been through a battle. Large sections of the deck were torn away, and the upper part of the bow was in shambles. Among the chaos, Larson could see Bug Bartholomew ripping up planks and knocking over railings on his ship. The ogre better have a good explanation for the destruction, or Larson would be happy to shove him overboard so he sank in the harbor.

Chapter 24
~

“What is going on with my ship?” Larson shouted as he boarded.

“Oh, hi, Cap’in Larson. We’s renvating the ship to makeses it bettah,” Bartholomew said.

“Yes, I found something interesting, Captain. Let me show you,” Bug said, waving him over to where the ogre was currently pulling up part of the deck over the bow. “Look here. The current deck is built up over an older and much better-constructed one. Based on the design, I would say our ship originally started life as an Imperium war galley. Sometime afterward, it was modified and built up to add a third deck. From the original design, I guessed we would have only a single lower deck and a small ballast area beneath it,” Bug said, pointing out the evidence to support his theory.

“Interesting, but what does that have to do with you tearing apart my ship?” Larson asked, still not happy with the level of destruction he was seeing.

“Let me ask you this, Captain: what do you envision our ship’s primary mission will be, given the task we have been assigned and the reward that has been offered?” Bug asked. It was a good question. It looked like they were more on the path of becoming privateers, and hauling cargo would be secondary, if done at all.

“We’ll be privateers,” Larson replied.

“Exactly, and what type of ship would you like to be at the helm of if you need to pursue or engage another vessel in combat? Would you prefer to be at the helm of the current Gull Dropping or at the helm of a faster, purpose-built warship?” Bug asked.

“A warship, of course. Do you really think there’s a warship underneath here, and if there is, can you revert the ship back to its original state?” Larson asked, excited about the possibilities.

“Yes to both questions. The ‘upgrade’ to the ship that allowed it to move more cargo was sloppily done, but the bones of the war galley beneath are solid. I intend to strip down the new work and restore the ship to its original purpose. With all the extraneous material removed, we might even gain a knot or two of speed out of her.”

“Do you have time? We need to sail in a few days if we are to make the rendezvous with the pirates,” Larson asked.

“It will be tight, and I’ll need most of the crew to assist me, but it isn’t very difficult work. I’ll be making a few modifications in order to improve upon the original design, and there are some things I would like to implement that we’ll have to skip for the time being. Once we have more time and access to a dry dock, we can make our ship even better, but for now, I’ll concentrate on returning it to its original state.”

“What other modifications are you thinking of?”

“Why, the entire rudder assembly needs a complete redesign,” Bug advised. “For now, I’ll just replace the rudder pin with a new one. That’s cheap enough of a repair and we can do it without a dry dock. The ship originally had a ram attached to it, but that was removed during the redesign, so I’d like to add it back. We have a dozen banks of oars on each side, but the ship originally had fourteen, which would help with ramming and overall speed in combat.” Larson wanted all the extras Bug Bartholomew had suggested but would have to wait until he had more coin to play with. For now, he gave Bug half of the coin he had left, allowing the engineer to do what he needed to do with the Gull Dropping.

“Get with Tarley and Nogreb. Have them send over any free hands they can spare. We should have some more crew aboard today once Tarley works his magic with recruiting. Shada’s gathering our provisions, and once she’s done, her group can help as well,” Larson ordered. Bug Bartholomew waved him off, going back to work and arguing with himself over what to tackle first.

For the first time in a while, Larson didn’t have anything urgent to do. He jumped right into helping the ogre with the renovation of the Gull Dropping. Larson wanted to start drilling more with the crew, but he would get better results once they were at sea and had real sailing tasks to perform. For now, he would keep them working hard at getting the ship in order.

Being the best-suited for the task, Larson volunteered to go over the side to replace the rudder post. It took several hours, as the old one was warped and didn’t want to leave the housing. He eventually had to drill through and attach a line to the old post, having the ogre pull it out of the housing using his prodigious strength. Thankfully, the housing survived the stress placed upon it, and the new post went in smoothly, attaching to the old rudder without any further problems.

After he dried off, Larson helped with tearing up the new decking to expose the warship underneath. The cook, Gilroy, even pitched in, returning early from gathering provisions at Lord Mox’s estate. Gilroy informed Larson that the others were still packing up supplies and might be there for a while. He brought back with him the small cart full of provisions for their evening meal. While he worked on the meal, Gilroy spent any free time removing nails, screws, and wooden pins that could be salvaged for later use as he stirred the pot of stew that was now simmering away.

Larson made a note to keep watch on his bowl tonight for any stray bits of metal or wood that might have found their way into the meal. By late afternoon, Shada arrived with a trio of wagons laden with the food and supplies provided by Lord Mox. Larson took a break from pulling up deck planking to see what his ship’s surgeon had scrounged up.

“How’d things go, Shada?” Larson asked.

“Well enough. I don’t think they were expecting the number of crew we had to supply,” Shada told him.

“What do you mean? We’re down to seventeen of us,” Larson asked.

“Sure, that’s how many we have right now, but Lord Mox didn’t know that. I told him our ship’s complement was fifty sailors, ten marines, and six officers. Oh, I also let him know one of our crew was an ogre that ate as much as ten humans,” Shada said with a sly smile on her face.

“Well done. What was his reaction?” Larson asked.

“Lord Mox wasn’t there, of course. Some jumped-up servant that controlled the estate was dealing with us. The little man protested before finally emptying out their larders and lending us the wagons. I’ll go back tomorrow to gather the rest.”

“Good work. I’ll need you to keep everything parked near the ship, at least until we finish tearing things down.” Larson spent time explaining to her what Bug Bartholomew had found and what they were doing to improve the ship. It would be some time before the deck was rebuilt and the storage areas were ready for the provisions.

“Hey, you lot can’t leave that here. There’s no storage of cargo on the docks. This area is for loading and unloading, not storing,” a pair of town guardsmen ordered, pointing toward the wagons, which were obviously not getting unloaded anytime soon.

“No! You not messes with my food!” Bartholomew shouted, pounding his way across the ship, causing Larson to worry he would crash through to the deck below.

“Stay back,” the guard said, his hand on his sword.

“Woah, everyone, hold on here. Stand down, Bartholomew. Bug, get your brother under control. Now, as for you, this is just a temporary situation until tomorrow. Surely we can make an exception and keep the angry ogre happy, can’t we?” Larson asked. Normally, he was used to his own appearance intimidating others, but this time, the guards were totally focused on the ogre.

“I . . . I don’t know. We have rules,” the guard stammered.

“Why don’t I go ahead and pay the storage fee now. I trust you lads will keep an eye on our belongings tonight and make sure nothing happens to them,” Larson offered, pulling several copper coins from his storage and handing them to the guards.

“Well, I suppose we can make an exception. This is only for one night, though. If that stuff is still here tomorrow evening, I won’t have any choice but to haul it off,” the guard said.

“Agreed. Thank you for your efforts, gentlemen,” Larson said, glad to have cheaply smoothed over the situation. Shada’s group got to work helping with the Gull Dropping’s rebuild. Larson was strong, easily able to pry up a deck plank without any tools. He was feeling impressed with himself until he spotted the ogre pulling up three or four at a time with each hand. When it was time for chow, the entire ship had been stripped down, the ogre promising he would be able to rebuild what was needed the next day.

Just before they ate their meal, a hearty pork stew with various root vegetables and fresh-baked bread, Tarley and Creech arrived with the recruits. Larson was a bit disappointed to see only six recruits had been found, what he thought was a poor result for the pair recruiting all day. To his credit, the four humans and two orcs he had recruited all seemed to know what they were doing when Larson put them through their paces. He was also glad they all understood what the goal was and that the Gull Dropping would become a privateering vessel.

Tarley said the need to find sailors who weren’t afraid of getting stuck in a fight was hampering his efforts. Most of the available crew in port were purely looking for a berth on a cargo or fishing vessel of some sort. Tarley would try again tomorrow, this time looking into the seedier bars and taverns. The rougher clientele just might be a better fit for what they wanted to accomplish, but they would require more vetting.

The meal was excellent and most of the sailors opted for a second bowl. Gilroy complained about needing a bigger pot, a purchase Larson quickly approved. Bug Bartholomew ate several platters of food and even talked the cook into letting him lick the pot clean. Larson made sure Gilroy knew the pot had to be thoroughly cleaned after each meal. He didn’t want ogre spit seasoning their food.

Like before, Larson slept only for a moment, this time on the deck; his cabin was also torn apart in the demolition. He spent the remainder of the night on watch, allowing at least a few of the crew some extra sleep and using the time to get to know some of the other sailors. They all seemed eager enough, and despite the bustling nature of the port, finding good work on a ship wasn’t always easy. Crews on the better ships were reluctant to leave, and new openings were usually filled by someone referred by another crewman.

Once morning arrived, Larson sent Shada out to gather the rest of their supplies while most of the crew began reconstruction of the Gull Dropping. Tarley and Creech took Ibn and a pair of his marines to recruit more crew. The other pair of marines accompanied Shada. Bug Bartholomew, Larson, Nogreb, and all but four of the crew who accompanied Shada got to work right after a quick breakfast of pastries and fruit from their new supply of food.

Work went quickly since most of the framing was already in place and they had to do only minor modifications. The ogre saw to it that the passages and ladders for the ship were all improved, allowing larger creatures like himself enough room to move, which also made it easier for Larson to use the stairs. With only a single deck below the main one, headroom and cargo space was increased. His ship’s officers had small cabins in the bow, some belowdecks while Bug and Ibn were in the forecastle. The sailors and marines had hammocks strung throughout the main galley above the rowing benches. The aft section held the ship’s stores and a small area for cargo.

On the main deck, the raised forecastle also housed the armory. With more crew coming aboard, Larson would likely have to use up the last of his dwindling coin reserves to make sure the crew had decent armaments. They had gathered some weapons from their raid on the Shining Tower warehouse, but the quality of the weapons the thugs had used was poor and not anywhere near as good as the items he had recovered from the shipwreck.

Above the forecastle was a raised fighting deck with enough room for a siege engine and several archers. The raised quarterdeck still held Larson’s cabin, which was now much expanded. He didn’t need the room, so he had the ogre separate it into two compartments. The empty one could be used for more cargo space or perhaps as separate marine quarters when they had more crew. Above the quarterdeck was the ship’s wheel and more space for ranged combatants. Larson thought the deck area looked a bit too open, so he had the crew fashion crenelations along the railings to provide some cover from return fire. They had more than enough lumber for this after tearing apart the ship the day before.

At midday, the new mast and rigging finally arrived, a day later than promised. Bug Bartholomew took charge of getting the mast installed, a task that required every hand still aboard. Once the mast was set and secured, they installed the rigging and sail. Nogreb had found a deal on the new sail; it had been ordered by a ship that never returned to pick it up. That seemed to be a real risk for the businesses in a port town like Stratwall Harbor. With ships coming and going, some went missing or never returned to port for one reason or another. Instead of a normal white or off-white color, the new sail for his ship was a dark green. Larson found he rather liked the look and was glad to see that Nogreb had also negotiated for plenty of spare sailcloth to effect repairs or replace the sail if it was damaged.

The ogre set about adding much more robust bracing to the mainmast. This would help them keep at least some sail up in foul weather without the risk of the mainmast breaking. As the crew completed the rigging, Bug Bartholomew had a small crow’s nest constructed near the top of the mast. They would now have a better view of the sea around them and hopefully be able to spot threats, or targets, before his ship was identified. New oars Nogreb had negotiated into the mast also arrived. They were used but in much better shape than the ones they currently had; the old oars would be kept as replacements. It wasn’t uncommon to lose some when maneuvering closely with an enemy.

From the old mainmast, Larson had a smaller bowsprit made. It gave a bit more sail, improving the ship’s top speed and reducing their dependence on rowing, which was a good thing considering the current lack of crew. It was late afternoon by the time Shada returned, the wagons refilled with victuals for their voyage. With the buildout mostly complete, she had the crew begin transferring the supplies onto the ship, much to the relief of the port guards, who were getting nervous about having to confront the ogre again over cluttering up the dock.

With most of the reconstruction complete and the remaining work well in hand, Bug Bartholomew left for a bit to meet with the smith, Felicia, about some components for a siege engine. The ogre had plenty of lumber and tools; he claimed he was only missing a few steel parts needed to build a complete scorpion he would mount on a swivel at the bow of the ship. Shada, oddly enough, decided to accompany him, adding that she had a few ideas that might improve the ogre’s final design.

As the exhausted crew ate their evening meal, Tarley returned with his recruits. This batch was a bit different from the others he had recruited and comprised a group of eight halflings. His first mate motioned Larson over to meet the potential new crewmembers.

“Captain, sir, these lads wish to sign on with the Gull Dropping. They’re off a ship called the Dunwallow, which was attacked by pirates earlier this month. Casualties were high and the damage to their vessel left the captain with no choice but to sell their ship for scrap,” Tarley explained.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure Tarley has already told you about our plans. We expect to see action against pirates once we sail. In addition, we’ll soon earn our letter of marque and become privateers for the Free Isles. Are you all fine with this?” Larson asked, wanting to make sure they knew what they were signing on for.

“Aye, sir. You give us a crack at some pirates and we’ll serve you well. I can speak for the lot of us when I say we want some payback. We’ll work and fight hard, sir. Don’t you worry,” a halfling named Jacil responded. He had a look of determination on his face, one mirrored by the other diminutive sailors.

“Welcome aboard. Get yourselves some chow and find a spot to hang your hammock. Tarley will see that you’re placed on the watch roster,” Larson said, happy to have more hands aboard. Time was running out, and tomorrow was the last day he could spare to spend in port before they needed to set sail.

Chapter 25
~

When morning came, Larson assigned his officers their work for the day. Tarley would continue his recruitment with the understanding this was their last chance to find more crew. Shada was going to make the final purchases they needed for the various ancillary items the ship might require on their voyage. Larson was planning to take a trip to the blacksmith, not only to see if his armor was ready but also to check on what weapons might be available for purchase. If he had no luck there, perhaps Lucian would be able to help. Nogreb would stay with the ogre to put the finishing touches on the Gull Dropping and build a couple of ship’s boats from the piles of leftover lumber. There were also plans to seal up the hull with pitch. Ideally, they would use it on the exterior joints as well, but without a dry dock, that wasn’t possible.

With everyone assigned a task, Larson left the ship, greeting the dockyard town guardsmen as he passed by. He had made sure the ones on duty at mealtimes got a helping of whatever Gilroy had cooked up. The free meals seemed to generate some goodwill, and their hands no longer strayed to their weapons when the ogre stomped by. Larson had left the ship early enough that traffic was sparse, and as he neared Felicia’s shop, the sound of her hammering on something rang out.

“I was wondering when you would come back. I finished your armor up yesterday. That is why you’re coming to visit, isn’t it?” Felicia asked.

“Aye, we’re sailing with the tide tomorrow and I’d rather not do so without it,” Larson replied. “I also wanted to check on whatever weapons and armor you might have for my crew. We’ve got some good-quality gear, but I’ve added a few more hands that need equipment to see them through a scrap.”

“First, try this on for me and see how it feels,” Felicia said, pulling a set of dark gray leather armor from a rack at the back of her shop. Larson looked at the leather, not sure what creature the rough hide came from. The armor was also covered in rings of what he initially thought was painted steel, but they felt more like stone. He put on the armor, finding the fit nearly perfect. Whether it would fit his needs as well as it fit his body was a completely different question.

“What is this? Leather isn’t going to hold up too well underwater, and are these stone rings? If so, they’ll shatter at the first blow,” Larson complained, not exactly excited about what he had purchased.

“Let me explain. The leather was crafted by a friend of mine out of dire shark hide. It’s stronger than normal leather and won’t soak up or warp when submerged. Those ‘stone’ rings aren’t—they’re actually wood.” Felicia held up a hand to stall his incoming argument as she moved over to a short, thin tube of the stone-like material the rings of his armor were made from. She heated the material in the forge. It sure didn’t burn like wood and instead began to glow a dull orange color.

She pulled the tube from the fire and began to hammer at it, the material resisting her strikes but eventually forming into the shape she wanted, in this case a larger version of the rings attached to his armor. After quenching the material, she passed it off to Larson. It had some heft but was much lighter than steel or stone. The halfling blacksmith handed Larson a shortsword and had him hit the ring. He placed the ring on the counter and struck it with a powerful blow. The blade connected with the material and bounced off while leaving only a small divot behind.

“That stuff is called steelwood,” Felicia said. “It’s from a certain type of tree that grows in places that have been heavily infused with magic. The material doesn’t burn, and a smith can shape it like metal if they’re careful. It won’t soak up water and is nearly as strong as steel. What you have now is essentially a ring mail armor that’s perfect for your needs. The shark skin is a bit more expensive than normal leather, but not prohibitively so. As far as the steelwood goes, it’s fairly plentiful and there aren’t too many smiths that work with it, so I was able to gather a supply for a reasonable cost.”

It was perfect, exactly what he needed. The only problem now was the cost. Sure, the halfling had mentioned the materials weren’t too difficult to acquire, but there was no way it was going to be as cheap as more conventional armor. Larson needed every coin he had. Fortunately, there was something he had almost forgotten about, and it could be enough to cover what he needed.

“This is perfect. What do I owe you over and above the deposit I left?” Larson asked. The smith stood there, thinking for a moment before she replied.

“Just like my previous offer, pay what you think it’s worth. I just ask that you direct any business you can in my direction.”

“Money’s tight after all the work I’ve had to do on my ship. Take these as at least partial payment. I’ll make sure my business partner comes to you whenever he needs some smithing done and also to purchase stock for the shop,” Larson said, passing over the pair of small red gemstones he had recovered from the sunken wreck. He had no idea if that was sufficient to compensate the halfling or if he was overpaying.

“This’ll do. Now, you said something about needing more weapons?” Felicia asked. They began negotiating for the rest of the weapons and gear he would need, finally coming to an agreement after a bit of hard bargaining. Felicia didn’t have that much to choose from but could provide him with a dozen spears, a half dozen shortswords, a pair of crossbows, and a couple of boarding pikes. In addition, she was able to provide another half dozen leather jerkins for his medium-sized crew, three of which were halfling-sized. Four more small wooden shields rounded out his purchase. Not all his crew would have armor, but they would all have a well-crafted weapon to use.

After stowing his purchases inside his storage, Larson returned the damaged chain shirt he had borrowed. Felicia didn’t look all that happy about its condition. Larson made a final stop to check in on the shop Lucian was putting together. The location still looked like a good one, and Larson stopped for a while to enjoy an ale at the inn across the road from the store and watch the foot traffic. A pair of customers entered during that time, one of whom left carrying several purchases she had made. After paying his tab, Larson headed to the shop, the bell over the door giving a friendly ring as he entered.

“Captain Larson, how are you?” Kipper asked as Larson entered, the young man pausing from stocking shelves to greet him.

“Good, Kipper. It looks like you’re fitting in nicely to your new job,” Larson said.

“Aye, sir. It’s not the most exciting job, but I do without some excitement when it means a steady wage,” the young man told him.

“Larson, what brings you here?” Lucian asked, entering from the back of the shop.

“I wanted to let you know we’re leaving with the morning tide, and I wanted to make sure you’re going to be okay while we’re out at sea.”

“We’ll be fine. The guard patrols keep a sharp eye on things here, unlike in my old neighborhood. Business has been steady and I’m throwing anything we make over and above our rent and wages back into new inventory,” Lucian advised. It was good to see the shop supporting itself, but Larson wanted to see it not just support itself but begin to make him some serious coin. He needed to be patient, though; it took time to build a new business.

“Keep at it. I hope to have more inventory for you when I return. In the meantime, if you need any smithing work done or some inventory of that nature, make sure you visit Felicia Burrowton, if at all possible. She’s done right by me so far,” Larson advised.

“Sounds good, sir. Just stay safe out there,” Lucian told him.

Larson took his time on his way back to the ship, stopping for a meal of fish and chips at a small stand near the harbor. The place had been busy, which was always a good sign that the food was fresh. He sat at the small counter of the open food stall and watched the harbor, enjoying a bit of time to himself. Watching the ships move in and out of port was soothing; the sea had always been important to him, both in his old life and in this new one.

He tried to remember anything of his previous life, but other than the knowledge pertinent to being a ship’s captain, his past was a blank. Larson could tell that his personality hadn’t changed, as far as he knew. His morals, honor, and determination were also carryovers from his other life. But the little things were missing, things he wished he could remember. Had he been married? Did he have any children? Did anyone miss him in the other world now that he was gone?

The answers didn’t come to him, even when he sat and pondered these questions for several hours. Ships moved into the harbor, and others moved out, though none of them brought the answers he sought. Simple things like the taste of the sea on the air and the ocean breeze blowing past him were the same here as they were in his old world. People were the same as well, no matter the race they hailed from. Orc, elf, halfling, human, naga, or ogre, they were people and not all that much different from the humans of his old life. People here were capable of the same evil, the same good, and all were faced with the same moral choices no matter the world they strode or slithered upon.

Where did that leave him? He had chosen a hard path and could even now change his mind and go for a simple life if he wanted, perhaps working the store with Lucian. No, that wasn’t who he was. Larson was driven. He had an unquenchable need to face down adversity and conquer it. A lust for battle flowed in his blood now, and he would take up the mantle of a privateer and live that life to the fullest. He was on a path of conflict, which would likely result in his new life ending sooner than he would like. What happened next? Was there yet another world waiting for him after this one? Would he remember any of this life when he passed on to the next?

He wouldn’t figure out the answers by sitting at a fish and chips shop, so he left a nice tip for the patient shopkeeper and returned to his destiny—the Gull Dropping. The ship sitting in the harbor no longer resembled the awkward vessel he had fought so hard for. His ship was now something different. The low-slung deck and crenelated railing made the vessel look predatory. Completing the ferocious look was a pair of eyes that had been freshly painted on the front hull. Larson remembered that in his old world, people had painted them on their ships for various reasons, whether it was for good luck, to please the gods, or to intimidate their foes. These eyes were completely in the latter category. Instead of normal eyes, these were reptilian. His ship was a viper, ready to strike, and it waited for his command to launch itself at a foe.

“Welcome back, Captain Larson. We’ve gotten everything nearly completed while you were gone,” Nogreb told him as he boarded. Indeed, the ship looked squared away, the crew working on fine details or cleaning up the mess that had resulted from all the new construction.

“Quit circling around the mukok, Nogreb. Tell the captain what we’ve done,” Ibn said as the other officers gathered around.

“Fine, fine. Follow me, captain. It might be best if we took the ship’s boat,” Nogreb said, leading him over to the recently completed ship’s boat.

The freshly constructed ship’s boat was large enough to hold twelve crew and was stored on davits over the port side. A similar boat was in the middle of construction on the starboard side. The boat swung out and was lowered by the crew. Nogreb and Ibn grabbed the oars and rowed the boat behind the Gull Dropping, only now it looked like it was no longer called the Gull Dropping. In dark green letters outlined in gold, the name Sea Venom was written over the aft of his ship. Larson sat silently in the boat, looking at the name. It fit their newly renovated ship.

“It’s . . .” He paused, watching the officers eye him nervously. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s perfect. Three cheers for the Sea Venom!” Larson shouted to the crew who had gathered aft to look at his reaction.

“Sea Venom!”

“Sea Venom!”

“Sea Venom!”

The crew loudly cheered, gathering the attention of everyone on the dock. They rowed back to the newly rechristened ship, the crew pulling them aboard. Larson had their undivided attention, a moment he wasn’t going to let go to waste.

“The Gull Dropping is dead. No longer will its sordid past follow us. The Sea Venom is borne in its stead. The reputation of this new ship is up to you. Will you serve her with skill and daring? Will you serve her not only for yourselves but also for the man or woman next to you? Will you serve her with violent action when needed? I ask you, men and women of my crew, will you make this a vessel worthy of its name?” Larson shouted to the crew.

“Yes!” the crew—his crew—shouted. There was no hesitation in them. It didn’t matter that they were new and didn’t know each other well. Larson could sense that they, like him, wanted a new start. They would build something great here, starting with this one ship. They would build something new and cleave a bloody path through anyone who got in their way.

Chapter 26
~

Larson saluted his crew and then had them get back to work; there was still much to do before they sailed in the morning. He remembered the purchases he had made at Felicia’s smithy and headed to the armory compartment, which had been relocated to the empty compartment next door to his cabin. He began pulling out the weapons and armor he had stored away with his new ability. While he had been gone, someone had cleaned and mended the armor the crew had used in the attack on the warehouse. The racks he had recovered from the shipwreck were there, filled with the weapons that had rested for who knew how long at the bottom of the sea. Freshly constructed racks lined the walls, ready to receive the weapons and armor he was unloading.

After finishing up stowing the new gear and seeing to it that the armory was secured, Larson went up to the forecastle to see how Bug Bartholomew was coming along with the siege engine he was assembling. The scorpion he was working on resembled a giant crossbow. He must have scaled the weapon up a bit, since it looked larger than Larson had expected, even for a siege engine. There was also a strange modification that Shada was helping to install. Where a normal weapon like this would have one set of arms to fire the bolt, this one had two.

“What gives with the scorpion?” Larson asked.

“A little trick our ship’s surgeon came up with. A most impressive display of ingenuity,” Bug said.

“Orc lady is nice and smartses like Bartholomew,” Bartholomew added.

“It wasn’t some stroke of brilliance on my part, just something I remembered seeing when I visited the Imperium. The upgrade will give us a more powerful initial volley, but the reload speed will be a bit slower until the crew gets enough practice,” Shada told him.

“What’s the rate of fire after the initial volley and how many bolts do we have for this thing?” Larson asked.

“With a trained crew of three, the weapon will fire two rounds per minute,” Bug replied. “An expert crew might get as many as three. As far as ammo goes, I’ve been crafting it myself. Felicia forged me two hundred steel tips and the shafts are simple wood. I have fifty or so assembled and supplies to finish up the full two hundred bolts. I figure it will give me something to do while we’re at sea.” Two hundred rounds should be more than enough for the type of battle Larson expected to fight.

“Good work. It looks like the second ship’s boat is almost complete. Any other projects you have cooking, Bug Bartholomew?” Larson asked.

“I gots more shooty things for da ship,” Bartholomew said.

“Yes, brother, we have an additional pair of weapons for the vessel. They are an upgraded arbalest design that we’ve been working on, though they are without the ingenious modification that Shada suggested for the ballista.” Arbalests were large crossbows with a powerful draw and required a windlass to pull back the weapon’s arms. They also had a slow rate of fire, but the flat trajectory, long range, and high-velocity bolt should make them more effective as an antipersonnel weapon than a normal bow and arrow. Bug Bartholomew designed the frame of the weapon to easily install into a swivel mount, one of which was placed on the main deck below the forecastle while the other was up on the quarterdeck. He had made or purchased two hundred bolts per weapon—again, an amount that should be sufficient for the coming battle.

With the siege engine and the heavy arbalests, Larson was feeling much more confident about their odds in a long-range fight. He helped install the weapons, verifying they had a good field of fire. The arbalest on the quarterdeck was higher up and a bit better situated than the one on the main deck. He would have preferred to mount the main deck one on the forecastle, but it would have hampered the field of fire for the ballista. The ogre only had the time and funds to build two of the arbalests, but the flexible mounting setup meant they could switch them from one side of the ship to the other when needed, the ogre having the foresight to install swivel mounts on either side of the Sea Venom.

At sunset, Tarley and his party returned to the ship. He appeared to have much more luck this time, and another twenty-two potential crewmen followed him onto the Sea Venom, all of whom looked somewhat worse for wear. Larson couldn’t afford to be picky, and once he had a short chat with each of them, they were all hired on. Most were from the same crew, jumping ship when it became obvious their captain had no intention of paying them what they were owed. A sailor’s pay wasn’t all that much; a good portion of their compensation came in the form of the room and board the ship offered. A basic seaman, like those in his crew, earned only one or two scales per day, not enough to survive on dry land, but at sea, when you had no expenses, the pay could add up to a respectable amount by the time they made port.

Larson could have offered only a scale per day if he had more time to scrounge around for crew, but he wanted to give the higher wage of two scales, which would make the crew more likely to sign on for another voyage when this one was complete. His specialized crew earned four scales per day and his officers eight. It wasn’t much, at least until you considered that once they were officially a privateer vessel, the men could earn a share of any prizes they took at sea or plundered from a raid. The first mate kept the pay books, and the crew would receive their pay when they returned to port after a voyage. Sadly, far too many would drink, gamble, or be swindled out of their money by the time the ship was ready to head out again.

After everyone had been fed their evening meals, Larson called his ship’s officers, along with Bug Bartholomew, into his cabin. The ogre had planned for his need to move about the ship, fashioning hatches that were larger than normal—oversized for most of the crew, but a tight fit for the ogre. With the ship’s officers sitting at the small table in his cabin and the ogre sitting on the floor, Larson started the meeting.

“First of all, thank you for your hard work and support. We’re ready for the task at hand and I intend to sail with the morning tide. Based on the coordinates I have received, the rendezvous with this pirate should be about three days’ sail from here. While I can use my powers to speed our passage, I feel it’s more important that I spend my time helping you drill the crew. They need to begin learning to work and fight together. Everyone in this room is deadly in a fight, but it won’t do us any good to win our personal fights if all our crew are slaughtered in the meantime.

“Ibn”—Larson paused as he looked at Shada; the orc had proven deadly in the warehouse fight and had some skill at leading the men into battle—“along with Shada, will work on training up the crew in combat. Nogreb and Tarley will drill them on their sailing and damage-control skills while I come up with a few surprise challenges for all of you to deal with. Bug Bartholomew will continue working on anything the ship needs and finish up crafting the ammo for our siege engines. Come to me if you have any problems with the new crew. If anyone thinks they can cause trouble on the Sea Venom, they’ll find I have no qualms about tossing them to the makon,” Larson ordered. He then passed out healing potions to any who didn’t have one. He had recovered the unused ones he gave to the crew for the fight at the warehouse, now having just enough for his critical personnel.

“Ibn, a moment of your time please,” Larson asked, and the others shuffled out of his cabin, the ogre squeezing through the oversized door frame with some effort. “Crewman Quix demonstrated some skill in our fight at the warehouse. In fact, I think he performed better than anyone other than the officers in the battle. He’s deadly accurate with his crossbow and has a cool head in a fight. I want you to consider him for one of your marine slots. He’ll need your help to develop more melee skills, but having an extra ranged specialist isn’t a bad thing.”

Ibn seemed to consider his options for a moment before replying. “Very well. I can see where he might benefit our little band of marines. Having someone with sailing knowledge may help my other men. We’ll give the lad a chance.”

“Good. If Quix doesn’t look like he’s working out, let me know. He’s a good sailor and I have no problem taking him back as part of the regular crew,” Larson added.

“Oh, Captain Larson, another thing I wanted to mention now that I have your attention. My men are no longer the Blades of the Desert, given our change in occupation. I propose we now be called the Fangs of the Serpent,” Ibn suggested.

“Earn it first. Then you can call yourselves the Fangs of the Serpent. Until then, you’re my marines,” Larson decided, wanting to see more from the man other than skill with a blade. Ibn and his warriors had a lot to learn aboard a ship before he would consider them some kind of elite force.

“As you wish, Captain. We strive hard to earn the title in your eyes,” Ibn assured him, then bowed with a flourish before leaving the cabin. Larson spent the night on the deck, talking with the crew on watch. He eventually walked over to where Bug Bartholomew was sprawled on the deck, piecing together scorpion ammo.

“How’s the ammo coming along?” Larson asked.

“Fun, but I’se keeps getting stabbed by the pointy bits,” Bartholomew replied.

“Yes, brother, we need precision, not speed,” Bug said.

“I forgot to ask you earlier. What did you end up working out for a flotation device?” Larson asked, genuinely curious. While Bug still seemed apprehensive when near the edge of the deck, he didn’t seem nearly as fearful as he had been before.

“Oh, we’ve come up with a rather novel solution to the problem.” The ogre pulled up his shirt to reveal a leather vest underneath. He didn’t seem inclined to wear any armor and was only clothed in a giant loose-fitting shirt and canvas pants. “We’ve lined the vest with a material the smith showed us. It’s a type of plant that is exceptionally buoyant, so we’ve fashioned some into a vest and some for our legs. According to my calculations, it won’t keep us afloat on its own, but it should give us time to inflate our secondary floatation devices.” From a pouch at his waist, the ogre pulled out a huge, rubberized ring equipped with a straw-like attachment to inflate it. It looked like he pretty well had things covered.

“Good work. Take one of these for emergencies,” Larson said, handing the ogre one of the water-breathing elixirs.

“Thank you. Hopefully we won’t need it, but if we do, it could be a lifesaver,” Bug said.

Larson continued his trek around the newly remodeled ship, but something at the back of his mind was bugging him. He made a beeline to the ogre once he figured it out. “Bug Bartholomew, do we still have a good supply of wood leftover from tearing down the ship?”

“Aye, sir. Much of it is stowed belowdecks for emergency repairs, and there’s still a pile near the railings.” The ogre pointed to the neat stacks of decking boards lashed securely to the railing.

“I’m a bit concerned the pirates would see us as a warship and get cold feet about approaching. Could you fashion something from the leftover lumber to make our profile look like something more innocuous than an Imperium war galley?” Larson asked.

“Hmm, that would be a fun exercise. Yes, I believe we can craft some subterfuge for our upcoming encounter,” Bug said. Larson left Bug Bartholomew to it, the ogre already muttering to himself and arguing over the best way to accomplish the task.

The morning sun was rising, and the crew ate a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and biscuits the cook had whipped up. Larson was finding the reluctant chef Gilroy to be an indispensable, and exceedingly popular, part of the crew. With Quix transferring to their marine force, Larson now had forty-two able-bodied sailors to work with. He had Nogreb lead thirty-two of them to man the oars, while the remainder, including all the halflings, stayed on the top deck to cast off and handle the sails once they were clear. The Sea Venom had twelve oars on each side and would need a crew of forty-eight just to fully man them. He would have to finish this mission with an understrength crew and hope he had time to bring the ship up to a full complement once they returned to port.

Before they had a chance to cast off, a messenger from Lord Mox dropped off a heavy leather bag as well as further instructions. The bag was filled with steel washers that had the weight and sound of coin. It was a decoy for the pirates, a tool to lure them into a trap. In terms of instructions, Mox advised that the pirates had informed him they would wait at the given coordinates each morning, ready for the exchange. As long as Larson and the Sea Venom made it to that area before the deadline, they should run into Fontaine and his crew. He was to leave no pirate alive, save for the two lordlings. Lord Mox would meet them at the same coordinates, but only after the deadline had expired. It would be bad for the pirates to see two ships appear at the meeting place.

“Cast off all lines,” Larson ordered.

The deck crew scrambled to remove the four that secured the ship to the dock.

“Push off,” Larson ordered.

The oars on the starboard side, where they had been tied to the dock, pushed against the pilings there, slowly moving the ship into the open channel.

“Oars out,” Larson commanded. Eight oars on each side extended and awaited his next command. He ordered them to back away from the pier, the ship turning as Tarley held the tiller over. Once they were clear, he had them begin a slow stroke out of the harbor, the tide helping move them toward open water. The men were rough; the strokes of the oars were not as synchronized as they should be. He had a couple of days to work on that as they headed toward their destination. Not a lot of time, but it was all he had.

Once the ship reached open water, Larson confirmed they were on the right course and ordered the sails unfurled. The large, green canvas of the mainsail snapped open, catching the modest ocean breeze. At the bow, the ogre had fashioned a small bowsprit that held a much smaller rectangular sail, but it, too, was contributing to their speed. The halflings and crew selected for the top deck seemed to be the right choice; they had inherent agility that assisted them while climbing about the rigging.

“Sir, we’re clear of the harbor. Do you want me to bring in the oars?” Tarley asked. Normally, that would be the right call so the men could rest, but with their poor coordination, now was the perfect time to put them to work.

“No, Tarley, I think they need more work,” Larson replied. He then called down to Nogreb and had him put the men through their paces, working on timing their strokes before moving on to various speeds and maneuvering. He kept them at it for an hour, exhausting the crew, but by the end of their efforts, they were starting to pull in time. He ordered Nogreb to continue the training for another hour in the evening and at the same times tomorrow.

Larson didn’t just train the oarsmen hard; he also worked the rest of the crew. Drills to furl and unfurl the sail were held, with Tarley and Larson occasionally designating some of the men as casualties, requiring the rest to work even harder. During the day, portions of the crew had weapons training, working with both Ibn and Shada. The ship’s surgeon had proven to be one of the best fighters among the crew and was excellent at leading a shield wall. She worked with most of the halfling crew topside, having them use spears and the pair of boarding pikes to offset their normally shorter reach.

The sailors would rotate during the day from one post on the vessel to another, learning multiple jobs so they could fill in wherever needed. Bug Bartholomew taught the men how to properly control a leak, contain a fire, and man the pumps. The ogre had the foresight to purchase a half dozen portable pumps, converting them to a foot pump mechanism from the standard hand crank to make them more efficient. Precut patches for the sail, wedges for leaks, and larger planks for more substantial repairs were prepared ahead of time, and the sailors all had some practice at using them.

At noon, Larson had the ship pull in the sails while the crew ate their midday meals. During that time, he had his marines practice launching the ship’s boats. They did poorly, which caused Larson to leave the ship adrift for another hour to give them more time to work out the kinks. He could tell Ibn was frustrated; it wasn’t the type of fighting he was used to, but the man never complained and threw himself into the task. As a skilled swordsman, the desert fighter knew that intense practice was needed to improve, and while a bit of time at midday and again in the evening wasn’t much, it would help his men become somewhat competent in boarding another vessel.

Bug Bartholomew unveiled another of his creations. Wide, reinforced boards were placed at several points on the ship. A sharp metal spike gleamed at one end, and a stout hinge on the other end secured each board to the deck. When the Sea Venom was alongside another ship, these boards would be dropped down, the spike holding the two vessels securely. Larson remembered that the device had been called a corvus. A small railing was built on one side of the corvus, but men still needed to have good balance to cross over to the enemy ship. They didn’t have another ship to test the corvus on, so the ogre stacked crates in the middle of the deck, running a similar-width board between them and having the crew practice crossing over without falling.

They ran into a problem when the crew for the upper deck, consisting of mostly halflings, took their turn at the oars. Not only were they physically weaker than the other races, but they also didn’t have enough reach to man the oars effectively. Bug Bartholomew came to the rescue once again. He developed an extended handle that could be clamped to an oar, giving the halflings enough reach to make a full rowing motion. It didn’t help compensate for their lack of physical strength, and if the topside crew was required to row, the ship wouldn’t be setting any speed records.

While they didn’t want to waste any siege engine or arbalest ammo, Larson felt it necessary to have the crewmembers who would be working the weapons fire a few real shots. For practice, the ogre had fashioned simple wooden rods of a similar size to the real ammo. They used up a hundred of the practice rods, along with a dozen real scorpion bolts and two dozen real arbalest bolts. By the time they finished the drills, Larson had selected the crews for the weapons. Three of the orcs assigned to the oars shined while operating the scorpion, securing that as their duty in a fight. Not surprisingly, two of the halfling crew proved best at the arbalests. Their reload speed wasn’t that great, but their accuracy overcame that deficit. By the end of the day, the crew and officers were exhausted. Those not on duty headed below to their hammocks as soon as they were able.

The next day proved to be more of the same as far as training was concerned, and the crew continued to improve at all the tasks required of them. If anything, the second day at sea was harder than the first; Larson and the other officers drove the crew and themselves to their limits in their last attempt to train before the coming battle. Between training sessions, the ogre had patched together several wooden panels that could be affixed to the sides of their ship, changing its profile into one that resembled a simple trading vessel. Bug Bartholomew said he would improve upon the design when he had more time, but a quick trip out in the ship’s boat proved that at a hundred yards or more, the effect was realistic enough to fool most observers.

They had prepared all they could. Tomorrow, Larson would slow the pace of training as they closed in on their prey. It was nearly time for battle, and Larson found himself eagerly awaiting the coming fight.

Chapter 27
~

They were close to their destination: a stretch of open sea near a tiny island. The island itself wasn’t much, perhaps a single square mile of sand with a sad scattering of palm trees near the center. They were several days early, but the pirates were supposed to show up each morning, not that Larson put any trust in pirate punctuality.

He had the crew set the sea anchor, keeping them from drifting too far off from their rendezvous coordinates. With nothing else to do, he had the crew continue their training. It was a bit more difficult with their camouflage deployed, but even that was good practice for when they had to maneuver toward the pirate vessel. They would make the best of their time, and every hour the pirates delayed improved the skills of his crew.

“Sail off the starboard bow!” the halfling stationed in the crow’s nest called out, interrupting the training drills they had been working on. Larson had been sparring with some of the crew, teaching them how to counter a spear and shield combo attack. He put his weapons into storage and slithered up to the quarterdeck to get eyes on the approaching ship. It looked like a small caravel type of vessel. The two lateen-style mainsails would give it much more speed than his ship, but in calm winds, his oars would be king. Sadly, there was a moderate wind today, but if this ship was the pirate vessel they were here to meet, Larson didn’t think a long-range sea battle was in the offing. They would want to board to collect their prize.

The caravel was on an intercept course with the Sea Venom, and the solid black flag told the world these were pirates. Larson remembered that various flags designated a pirate in his old world. Here, it was a simple black flag. He hadn’t been given much information on the pirate or his vessel. The ship approaching them was smaller than the Sea Venom, but he had no idea how many pirates were stuffed aboard.

“Beat to quarters. It looks like our guests have arrived,” Larson ordered.

Tarley barked down to the crew, and one of the humans began pounding out the call to arms on the drum once used to sound the count for the slave rowers. The crew snapped into action, heading to their assigned posts and following the instructions drilled into them over the last couple of days.

Larson needed as many blades on deck as possible, and leaving the bulk of his crew at the oars was foolish. He left a dozen men below to row and maneuver if they needed it. They would also act as damage-control parties or as a reserve for the coming fight. Ibn opened the weapons locker and began handing out gear, starting with the two arbalests. The halflings assigned to the weapons stooped under their weight. One by one, his crew grabbed their assigned weapons and moved into position.

For an overall strategy, Larson hoped to lure at least part of the pirate crew over to his vessel, giving him a chance to overwhelm and destroy a small portion of the enemy force before the main fight began. Shada and the halfling shield wall took position along the port railing, leaving the starboard rail, which faced the approaching ship, open and inviting for the pirates. Most of the crew were placed in the officer quarters, armory, and even the captain’s cabin, hidden from direct view and ready to rush out when the signal was given. Other than the halflings and the crew on the siege engines, Nogreb led a half dozen sailors who lingered near the four corvuses placed along the starboard side. The halflings with the arbalests prepared their weapons but kept them hidden below the railing. They could mount them and get the weapons into action within seconds, but their firepower would be hidden from the pirates for now.

The pirates continued to close, showing no fear in their approach. Larson made a note to himself to see about purchasing a spyglass the next time he was in port. He didn’t spot any sign of siege engines on the pirate ship, and if he hadn’t needed to make the prisoner exchange, he could have made them pay dearly as they closed. His scorpion was hidden behind one of the false panels, but the crew of the weapon was ready to kick the panel away and engage when ordered to do so. The sails on the pirate ship were lowered, leaving it to drift slowly toward the Sea Venom over the last few yards.

“Ahoy there. I assume you’re here to bring me coin and collect these two,” a loud voice boomed out. A huge figure stepped onto the deck from below, hauling two young men. The figure towered above them, standing easily over seven feet in height. It was a mix of man and bull, something the system in his head categorized as a minotaur. The creature wore a patchwork armor of leather with metal plates attached at odd places. In his hand was a huge double-headed axe he waved around with seemingly little effort.

“I take it I’m speaking to Furious Fontaine,” Larson asked, shouting across to the pirate.

“Aye, you have that honor, naga, and who am I addressing?” the minotaur responded, his bovine snout speaking without difficulty despite its odd shape.

“I’m Captain Larson of the Sea Venom. We have what you requested. How do you want to make the exchange?”

“Tell me, Captain Larson, why the ridiculous wooden panels? What are you trying to hide?” Fontaine asked, ignoring Larson’s question.

“Apparently it was a poor attempt at disguising my vessel. The Sea Venom started life as an Imperium war galley and I didn’t want to scare you off if you saw an old warship was here to meet you.”

“Oh, no worries there, little captain. I don’t scare very easily. Permission to come aboard to make our exchange?” Fontaine asked.

“Permission granted, for you and no more than ten of your crew.” Larson held up the bag of fake coin, shaking it to let the pirate hear the clink of the worthless metal inside. A plank was thrown across the two ships, and Larson could feel the tingle of magic working.

“Binding planks, sir. They want the vessels secured together,” Tarley warned from his position at the wheel. Larson nodded his understanding, walking over to the plank with his bag full of fake coin.

“Come along, lads. You’re going home to Mommy today,” Fontaine said, pushing the young men across. Larson thought the two young men looked the part, but he foolishly had not gotten a detailed description of the two hostages.

“This is yours,” Larson said, tossing the bag of fake coins to a spot over near the ship’s rail.

Fontaine kept his place on the boarding plank, not moving toward the coin he was supposedly there to collect. “A pirate knows the clink of gold, of silver, and even of copper, and that bag holds none of those things,” he growled as he walked across the plank, his crew following behind even as a second board was thrown across and magically secured to the Sea Venom. Fontaine threw the two young men back onto the pirate ship before charging across, his eyes and body glowing red as he roared in anger at the attempted deception.

“At ’em, boys. Cut down those pirates!” Larson shouted, pulling his weapons and standing to face the minotaur heading directly toward him. The false panels were kicked down and the crew on the scorpion unleashed their first bolt, the shot taking a pirate off his feet and hurling him off the boarding plank. Not to be outdone, the two arbalests got into the act, focusing on the enemy ship’s forecastle, where some pirates with bows had gathered.

Fontaine flew across the deck, and Larson had no time to react other than by getting his shield between himself and the minotaur. The pirate captain lowered his head. Two sharp horns rammed into Larson’s shield even as the pirate’s axe flashed out to cut down a crewman coming to Larson’s aid. One of the horns stabbed right into his forearm. Pain and blood exploded from the wound as the minotaur shook his head, tossing Larson against the port railing.

Shada’s halfling shield wall charged forward, the long weapons jabbing at the minotaur and the pirate crew following closely on his heels. Larson rolled upright; his serpentine lower body made the maneuver an easy one to execute. His shield was lying near the railing, so he placed it back on his damaged arm, grimacing as it rested against his wound. He readied his spear in his good hand, took a firm grip, and channeled slashing damage into the weapon as he closed on the minotaur.

Fontaine growled as a halfling’s spear pierced his shoulder and another weapon skittered off one of the metal plates sewn into his leather armor. The minotaur’s axe flashed down, cleaving a pair of halflings in two before he turned his attention back to Larson. Needing to slow down the monster, Larson extended his fangs and shot a stream of venom at Fontaine. Reacting quicker than he thought possible for such a large opponent, the minotaur grabbed one of his own crew and pushed the man into the deadly stream. The venom hit the pirate crewman in the neck, burning into his flesh as he screamed in agony. Fontaine dropped the crewman and snorted in anger; some of the venom had splattered onto his chest, where it sizzled and tried to dissolve its way through the leather armor. Larson’s best chance at ending the fight quickly had failed.

Fontaine scraped his hoof on the deck, preparing to charge once more. Larson stood his ground, ready to counter the charge with his enhanced spear when a pair of daggers flew over his shoulder and buried themselves into Fontaine’s face, narrowly missing his eyes. Nogreb pushed past Larson, his bosun reaching into the bandolier across his shoulder and pulling out another dagger. At the same time, a sailor leaped in front of the minotaur and wildly swung his cutlass. The crewman missed his blow and was gored by a shake of the minotaur’s head. Fontaine then changed the target of his charge to Nogreb, who continued to pepper the minotaur with throwing daggers.

Fontaine raised his axe overhead as he closed the distance to Nogreb. Larson moved to Nogreb’s side, spear out to meet the charge while the orc continued trying to slow down the minotaur with a hail of daggers. Fontaine ignored the wounds and chopped down with his axe as Larson’s spear bit deep into the minotaur’s side, releasing the magic energy stored within. Larson could feel the deck vibrate and heard a meaty smack when the minotaur’s axe swung down. Fontaine released his axe, and the magic in Larson’s weapon poured out. Armored plates sewn into Fontaine’s leather armor prevented a complete evisceration, but the minotaur was bleeding heavily. He staggered back from Larson, lost in the swirl of battle that now covered the deck of the Sea Venom.

Larson slithered over to check on Nogreb, only to find that the powerful blow from Fontaine had split his bosun from the top of his head down to his chest. Larson was stunned at the loss of one of his officers. The crew had taken losses before, but the orc was the first of his inner circle to die. Nogreb had been there from his first moments in this world, and despite his anger at the killing of Maggot, he had been a loyal officer.

Pain brought Larson back from his musing; a pirate had slashed a cutlass across his back, the weapon failing to crack through the steelwood rings in his armor but no doubt leaving a bruise. Lashing out with his tail, Larson took a grip around the pirate’s neck. A quick contraction of his muscles produced the satisfying crack of the pirate’s neck breaking. Dropping his victim to the deck, Larson fought his way back up to the quarterdeck, trying to get a feel for how the battle was progressing and to find out where Fontaine had gone. Another pirate fell to his spear as he made his way through the melee, though most of the pirates now tried to avoid him, seeking easier opponents to fight.

“No! You hurtses Bartholomew’s friend, bull man,” Bartholomew roared across the deck, causing the swarm of battling pirates and sailors to break away from the ogre. Larson slithered up the steps to the quarterdeck, watching as the ogre stomped his way over to Fontaine and knocked aside the small knot of pirates trying desperately to defend their captain. Bug Bartholomew surged forward, grasping Fontaine and hefting him into the air. The minotaur thrashed in the ogre’s grip; his immense strength was no match for Bug Bartholomew, who now had both hands in a firm grip around the minotaur’s chest. Fontaine flung his head about, his sharpened horns goring the ogre’s hands, but Bug Bartholomew ignored the painful wounds as he began to squeeze. Even above the din of battle, Larson could hear the minotaur’s ribs crack one by one, and the roar of anger from Fontaine became a higher-pitched shriek of pain before cutting off completely with a final crunch of bone.

The ogre swung the minotaur’s body like a meaty club, knocking pirates off the boarding planks while stomping others down. Here on the quarterdeck, Larson found that the halfling manning the arbalest was down, and Tarley was being pushed back from the tiller, trading blows with a pair of pirates. Larson charged into the fray, not willing to lose another of his officers in this fight. His spear pierced the side of one pirate and his tail wrapped around the legs of the other, throwing him off balance and leaving him easy prey for Tarley’s next attack. Tarley finished his opponent and stood next to Larson, watching the battle unfold.

On the main deck, the battle had decidedly turned in Larson’s favor. With their captain killed, the pirate crew was wavering. Ibn and his men stood in a circle around the mainmast, cutting down pirate after pirate, while Shada had reformed her shield wall and began to push their foes into the meat grinder of Ibn’s blades. Several pirates tried to throw down their weapons and surrender, but Larson’s crew was giving no quarter. He rejoined the fray, fighting his way over to Shada and joining her shield wall as they pushed forward. Shada paused briefly over the corpse of Nogreb, a line of tears washing away some of the blood splatter that covered her face.

The last of the pirates retreated to their ship, one of them uttering a command word that unlocked the boarding planks. Larson signaled to the crew stationed near their corvuses, and the devices slammed down, metal spikes embedding into the pirate deck and holding the ships fast. Larson followed his crew onto the smaller pirate ship, cutting down the depleted remnants of the pirate crew. A handful fled belowdecks, and Larson left Ibn to organize teams to ferret them out.

“Shall I take prisoners, Captain?” Perhaps it might be wise to save a few to help crew the prize. As much as Larson wanted them all cut down, it was a good argument. He had won a prize that needed to get back to port if he was going to cash in on it.

“Aye, Ibn. See if you can get some of them to surrender. I think the fight has pretty much gone out of them after they saw their captain taken down by Bug Bartholomew,” Larson said. Ibn got to work, his men excelling at this type of fight.

“Did we do it? Did we win?” Shada asked, joining Larson on the pirate ship.

“I think so, but not without cost.” Larson gestured toward the fallen Nogreb. “He said I owed him for killing Maggot back when we were prisoners. I suppose I owe him a bit more now. He put himself in front of Fontaine, taking an axe that very well might have targeted me.”

“What are your orders, Captain Larson?” Shada asked, not sure what to do now that the fight had been won.

“Let’s get our people organized and make sure we didn’t miss any pirates. Find out where the two lordlings have scurried off to. I suspect they’re hiding somewhere. I want casualty figures and information on any damage the Sea Venom might have taken. I also want you to scour the pirate ship for any loot,” Larson ordered. Shada nodded and got back to work. He and Tarley organized things aboard the Sea Venom while Shada did the same on the pirate vessel. While they worked, Ibn and his marines were able to track down the last of the pirates.

A flashing icon at the corner of his vision let Larson know he had leveled up once more. Before he could dig into any changes, Quix called out from the crow’s nest. The halfling had perched himself up there with a crossbow for most of the fight, and Larson would be willing to bet he had racked up a considerable number of kills. Several arrows were stuck into the side of the crow’s nest, but the enemy’s return fire hadn’t touched his marine.

“Sail sighted. Broad off the port quarter!” Quix shouted. Climbing up to the quarterdeck, Larson could see the faint image of another ship heading toward them. This was far too soon for Lord Mox to arrive, and Larson had a bad feeling that his battles for the day were only just beginning.

Chapter 28
~

The ship was closing with them more slowly than the pirates had; this vessel was larger and carried a lot of sail, but the wind was against it, and it remained too far off to make out any other details. Larson sent a messenger to let Ibn know his time was limited and everyone was needed back aboard the Sea Venom before this new contact closed in. It would take some time for the vessel to get close enough to identify, so Larson began to review his new level. The system might have offered him some helpful options.

Larson, ship’s captain, level 3

Your maximum crew limit has improved.

Your Command Presence ability has improved. Crew and officers no longer need to be in direct line of sight if they are aboard ship or within 100 yards of their assigned vessel. In addition, while under the effects of Command Presence, your crew will perform their shipboard duties 5% more efficiently. All bonuses for Command Presence require that crew morale be at or over 50%.

New class ability unlocked.

Chart a Course: This ability grants a small bonus in choosing the best course to take and dangers to avoid while in the open ocean. This ability scales and improves as your level increases.

Your racial ability Create Water has improved. You can now create up to 3 gallons of water per day.

The improvements were more incremental than groundbreaking this time. Larson had hoped for something to give him an edge in battle, but it looked like he would have to do this the hard way. With the loss of Nogreb, he had an open officer slot, into which he promoted Bug Bartholomew as the ship’s engineer. The big guy might become the new bosun at some point, but he wasn’t sure if bosun was the best fit for the ogre.

“Sir, we’ve got the headcount and Ibn says he’s found and either captured or eliminated the remaining crew of the pirate vessel. According to the prisoners, the ship is called the Lost Soul,” Tarley reported. Larson pulled up the information in his interface, wondering if he could have checked it to verify losses before the headcount had been completed. Somehow, he doubted the system would make things that easy for him.

Ship’s Complement for the Sea Venom:

Crew: 27/70

Specialized crew: 4/11. Your specialized crew consists of 4 marines.

Officers: 5/5

Prisoners: 8

Passengers: 0

He had lost fifteen crew along with Nogreb in the fight. The number would have been much worse if not for Shada’s magic. She had stabilized all the critical cases and continued to heal the worst wounds among the crew whenever her mana allowed it. Ibn and his marines pulled the prisoners out of the hold and had them lined up on the deck of the pirate vessel, hands secured behind their backs. Two of the prisoners were the lordlings Larson had been sent to rescue. It looked like he didn’t have time to sort them out just yet; he had to decide what to do with the ship bearing down on him.

Larson considered his options. With his depleted crew, he couldn’t man both ships effectively in a fight. The Lost Soul would be abandoned for now. She shouldn’t drift too far if things with the new ship came to a fight, and he would need every hand aboard the Sea Venom to fight the next battle effectively. He called his officers over for a quick word.

“First, we don’t have much time. I’m promoting Bug Bartholomew to become our ship’s engineer. I don’t have a good feeling about that ship bearing down on us, and I don’t think it’s wise to just sit here and wait to see what they intend. I want the sea anchor set on the pirate ship and have everyone back aboard the Sea Venom. We’ll sort out the Lost Soul after we deal with our visitors. Ibn, take the prisoners below and chain them to the oars. Let them know if they perform well at the oars, I won’t kill them. Should they cause any trouble, I’ll see that their end is a long and painful one. Two of them are supposed to be the hostages, but we won’t know that for sure until we can confirm with Lord Mox. For now, put them to work, but let your men know not to bruise them up too badly.

“We’ll meet the approaching ship at sea. Get our scorpion ready to engage and put the arbalests on the . . .” Larson paused, using his new ability to view the sea between them and the approaching ship. If he placed the arbalests on the port side, the sea and wind would be a bit more favorable. “Put the weapons on the portside mounts. Let’s keep two of the marines belowdecks to watch the prisoners. I also want eight of our own crew down there to help with the oars. Everyone else will prepare the ship for action. Get to work, people. Time is short.”

As the remaining work parties came back aboard, two of Ibn’s marines ran into a cabin on the quarterdeck and emerged with a large wooden chest bound with brass straps. From the way they shuffled under the load, the chest appeared to be heavy. Ibn came over to explain as his other men led the prisoners belowdecks and Tarley sorted out the rest of the crew while he saw to removing the corvuses holding the two ships together.

“Sir, I spotted this inside the captain’s cabin of the other ship and thought it might hold something we don’t want to go down with the Lost Soul should there be an unfortunate accident.” Ibn gestured toward the chest with a flourish. Larson had them stow the chest inside his cabin. He would have to inspect it later, after they saw to their visitor.

They pushed away from the pirate ship, the sails of the Sea Venom filling slowly with wind as Tarley worked the rudder to put them on course. The wind had died down to a mild breeze at this point, forcing Larson to use the oars for most of his speed. Picking out four more of the crew working on deck, Larson sent them below to help with the oars. It left him with only fifteen crew topside, and five of those were operating the weapons. Ten working the sails was more than sufficient, and he could always pull the crew from below if things came to a boarding action. The crew kept their arms and shields close at hand.

The distance between the vessels began to close rapidly as the Sea Venom headed toward the intruder. His crew was well-drilled in rowing by now, and while the pirates he had pressed into service at the oars weren’t exactly pulling in time with the others, at least it didn’t appear that any were actively trying to hamper their progress. His scorpion was fully loaded, the two oversized bolts ready to fire at his command. The arbalests were also ready to go, a human crewman stepping in to replace the fallen halfling on one of the weapons. Bug Bartholomew moved some of their camouflage panels over to hide the presence of the scorpion. Larson wanted it to be a surprise if it came to a fight.

Quix was still in the crow’s nest, and another sailor was climbing the rigging to bring him another bundle of bolts for his weapon. Larson slithered onto the forecastle to get a better view, leaving Tarley at the tiller. Shada continued to make her rounds, and once all the serious wounds had been taken care of, she healed the wound in Larson’s arm. While the laceration had stopped bleeding, it was painful and kept him from using the shield effectively. He ordered her to hold off on healing any of the other less serious wounds, wanting her to preserve some mana.

As the other ship approached, Larson realized the lines of the vessel were familiar. There were three main sailing masts with lateen-rigged sails, but the ship didn’t have any oars. The Sea Venom would have the maneuverability and perhaps the speed advantage if the winds didn’t pick up. Recognition hit him as he watched the bow-mounted ballista aim at his ship. He couldn’t make out the name, but the row of marines holding familiar two-pronged spears and shields told him where he had seen this ship before. It was the Sea Jumper, the vessel that fought with the Gull Dropping and allowed him to escape his bonds. He also remembered his parting words with the Sea Jumper’s halfling captain, Helia, and the ballista shot to the mainmast that nearly doomed them all. Helia had stood on the deck, laughing at his misfortune. It was an insult he would be more than happy to repay, but first, he wanted to know why she was here.

“Steady on the main battery. If it turns to a fight, focus your fire on their siege engine,” Larson ordered.

He shouted over to the arbalest crews, Quix, and the pair of marines armed with bows, telling them to focus on the mercenaries. Ibn and his boys were good, but Larson also remembered the thrashing the mercenaries had given the pirate crew in the earlier battle. He had Tarley and the oarsmen stand ready for maneuvers if the Sea Jumper fired. They could hopefully maneuver away from the shot or at least throw off the enemy’s aim at long range. His scorpion had a more powerful initial volley and was likely more accurate since Bug Bartholomew had built it. They closed to within firing range of the siege weapons, and the other vessel pulled in some sail, lowering its speed. It looked like Helia wanted to parley or at least get closer before causing trouble.

“Ahoy, who commands the Sea Venom?” a voice shouted from the other ship—Helia.

“It’s me, Captain Larson. State your business or shove off,” he shouted back.

“Oh, the jumped-up pirate slave still claims to be a captain, does he? You’re just the scum we were looking to find. I think you have a couple of lordlings on board that I’m here to take off your hands,” Helia said. How did she even know they were here or what their mission was?

“No, everything we have aboard is ours to keep. Just how did you find us?” Larson asked, not sure if Helia would reply.

“Why, a little bird in port told me of your task. In fact, he said if we were to relieve you of the cargo or beat you to it, I would gain the reward you were promised. It looks like you’ve done all the heavy lifting for us, so why don’t you heave to and let my men collect the prize? If you do, we’ll let you live,” Helia said, confident in her larger and better-crewed vessel. She hadn’t spotted the scorpion hiding behind the makeshift cover, and Larson was glad to keep her attention away from it.

“We’re not helpless this time. Now we have teeth,” Larson said as the distance between the vessels dropped to fifty yards—easy bowshot and ridiculously close range for the siege weapons.

“Ha, a pair of oversized crossbows are no match for a ballista. Don’t be stupid, Larson. Surrender,” Helia shouted.

Larson could see that she had replaced and perhaps expanded the number of mercenaries under her command. There was now a score of the well-armed warriors, and the rest of her crew, which vastly outnumbered his own, were armed and ready for a fight. This wasn’t going to be solved by words; it was time to start the killing. Bug Bartholomew must have sensed his response. Behind him, Larson could hear the ogre pull back the cable on the portable ballista mounted on his arm.

“I think you’ll find the Sea Venom’s fangs are a bit larger and more deadly than you thought,” Larson said and ordered his men to fire. Bug Bartholomew pulled down the camouflage panel covering the scorpion, dropping it into the sea as his scorpion crew took aim at the enemy ballista. One after another, the weapon’s two bolts launched across the small space separating the two ships. The first hit one of the ballista’s arms, shattering the steel and sending pieces of the weapon flying into the crew around it. The second bolt took out one of the weapon’s operators, the force of the blow hurling the man over the railing and into the sea below.

The Sea Venom’s other weapons fired a moment later, bolts and arrows flying into the assembled mercenaries. Three of the warriors fell to the deck, either dead or wounded. The others got their oversized shields up to defend themselves in time. Larson’s men began to reload their weapons as the enemy responded with a volley from their archers. A dozen of the enemy crew standing behind the line of mercenaries were armed with short bows. They rushed their shots, startled by the Sea Venom’s initial volley, but despite their poor aim, two of Larson’s crew fell on the deck and called for help as the arrows hit home. Shada rushed over to the fallen, her shield expertly placed between the enemy and herself as she tried to save the wounded.

“I wish we had some cannon,” Larson mumbled to himself as he watched the men trying to reload, finally feeling the pull of the oars as the crew sought to put distance between the two ships. He wasn’t sure how the thought had entered his mind. Visions of weapons from his old world appeared: fire belched and huge iron balls smashed wooden ships to flinders. Other images appeared, and great steel vessels fired enormous weapons at ships too far away to see clearly. His recalled memories stopped as a ball of flame shot from the aft of Helia’s ship, slamming into his scorpion, setting the engine on fire, and engulfing all three crewmen in white-hot flame. They screamed high-pitched wails of pain for just a moment before the impossibly hot fires consumed them.

Larson initially feared that the enemy ship had acquired a cannon, the weapon conjured up somehow by his thoughts, but then he realized the source of the fire as a man on the quarterdeck who chanted as he began to build another ball of fire in his hands. A damage-control team was trying to douse the flames around the now-hopelessly ruined scorpion, but thankfully, the intense heat ended as the spell’s magic was consumed, leaving only normal flames behind. He had to stop the enemy mage or the ship would be burned down around them.

A pair of arrows from his marine archers deflected off some magical barrier surrounding the mage, who was going to finish his spell before the slower arbalests and crossbows could make their next shots. Larson reached into his mana pool and formed his Create Water spell directly over the mage’s head, sending a gallon of seawater over him. The spell was able to penetrate whatever barrier was around the mage; the protective spell must have only prevented physical objects and didn’t stop Larson from conjuring water inside the protective barrier.

The mage flinched as the water doused him. Some of the liquid hit the growing fire spell, flashing instantly to steam and causing the mage to scream out as it hit the side of his face. This was no simple hedge wizard or tired ship’s mage; the man was good, and despite the dousing and the pain of his burns, he kept control of his spell. With a look of anger on his scalded face, the mage poured more mana into his spell, this fireball growing even larger than the first.

With a loud crack, the protective shell around the mage failed and the shaft of a ballista bolt quivered in his chest. The look on the mage’s face turned from anger to pain as he collapsed to the deck, the spell in his hand too far along to just dissipate away harmlessly as he died. The magical fireball left the mage’s hand and flew into the center mast of the Sea Jumper, exploding and engulfing the sails. Flames spread rapidly along the rigging as some of the blast slammed into the deck, killing some crew and setting several fires.

“Take that for burnsing up my scorp-e-on, stupid mage!” Bartholomew shouted out, furious his hard work had gone up in flames and working frantically to reload the weapon strapped to his arm. Another volley from Larson’s archers peppered the decks, taking down more of the Sea Jumper’s crew and mercenaries.

“Take us out of range of their short bows but keep us in arbalest range,” Larson ordered. Tarley relayed his orders to the oarsmen below and worked the tiller to bring the Sea Venom about. Larson then used the two remaining gallons of water from his Conjure Water spell to help douse the flames around the scorpion. The damage-control team of four worked furiously, hauling up buckets of seawater to extinguish the remaining flames before they could spread. Larson’s spell seemed to help, and they looked to have the situation under control.

A final volley of arrows landed on the Sea Venom as they passed out of bowshot of the other ship. The volley was poorly aimed and only contained a half dozen arrows this time, which all harmlessly struck aft, below the deck railing. Larson had the arbalests concentrate on the archers. If he could take them out, then they could close in and allow his other ranged weapons to come into play.

“Bartholomew, see if you can put some holes below the waterline,” Larson ordered, watching as the ogre’s next shot hit just at the waterline, where it wedged into the hull planking but did not do much damage. The next shot wasn’t much better, deflecting off the water and bouncing uselessly off the hull. While the portable ballista on his arm was powerful, it wasn’t exactly a ship-destroying siege engine. The ogre turned his attention back toward the crew on the deck of the Sea Jumper, all of whom were engaged in either finding cover from the arbalests or fighting the growing conflagration in their rigging.

With most of its sails burning, the Sea Jumper was running adrift, and Larson had the Sea Venom slowly circle its prey, the arbalests and the ogre keeping up a steady and deadly fire. The enemy crew were dropping one by one, and the fires began to grow as more and more of the crew sought cover from the incoming bolts instead of trying to battle the flames.

As they completed another circuit around the stricken ship, Larson saw that his enemies were trying to put a lifeboat in the water. Helia, the mercenary leader, and an assortment of their crew were piling in as they abandoned their ship. Fights broke out as the crew realized their only other lifeboat was burning to a crisp. A line of mercenaries held them back from the functioning lifeboat, killing the panicked crew as they swarmed toward their only hope of salvation. The crew overran the thin line of mercenaries as the lifeboat pushed off from the ship. Several of the panicked men dove into the water and swam for the lifeboat, only to meet the blades of those aboard as they sought to keep their overloaded boat from being swamped.

Larson ordered the Sea Venom to open up the distance between the ships as the fires spread and flaming cinders began to blow from the doomed Sea Jumper. Many of the crew on the enemy vessel were overcome by the heat and smoke, but at least a score of them had jumped overboard, and they were paddling toward the lifeboat. Fins began to break the surface of the water. All the fighting and blood spilled nearby had been ringing the dinner bell, and the first diners were happy to see the buffet splashing helplessly in front of them.

The lifeboat pulled toward the Sea Venom, the mercenary leader frantically waving a white kerchief over his head in surrender. Larson ordered his ship to halt, the action encouraging the lifeboat crew, who rowed with renewed fervor as they approached the Sea Venom. Larson let them get close enough to hear him.

“So, Helia, it looks like you’re in nearly the same position I found myself in not so long ago. You’re adrift with no help in sight. Perhaps you’ll make it to the island in time,” Larson said, pointing toward the barely visible island in the distance, an extremely hard journey in an overloaded lifeboat.

“Help us. Take us aboard and I’ll see you’re paid well when we make port,” Helia shouted up to him. She and the rest of the survivors in the boat looked pitiful with their soot-covered faces and clothing.

“I don’t think I will. You see, I’m not exactly the forgiving type. Instead of thanking me and my crew after we helped you defeat the pirates, you fired on our ship, taking out our mast and leaving us to die. I think I’ll return the favor. Bug Bartholomew, put a hole in that lifeboat,” Larson ordered.

The ogre gave an evil grin as he aimed. Then the weapon on his arm let off a loud clack and fired. Larson watched the bolt burst through the bottom of the lifeboat, skewering the leg of one of the crew on its way. Water spurted up from the hole, Helia and the others frantically trying to find some way to plug the leak.

“Plugging that hole might be too easy a task. Give them a few more,” Larson ordered. The helpless crew aboard the lifeboat squealed in fear as the ogre reloaded and fired again and again, leaving them no hope of controlling the leaks.

“Your point is made, Captain. Shouldn’t we take them aboard? They’re helpless out there,” Shada asked, concern in her voice as she walked over to the railing next to Larson on the forecastle.

“No, they would have killed us all and taken the prize today if they could. They left us to die once before, and I will not stay my hand when I have them in my grasp,” Larson said firmly. Shada didn’t look like she agreed but wisely kept her arguments to herself. Larson kept them there, just out of reach, backing up the ship whenever one of them swam too close. One by one, the crew of the Sea Jumper were pulled down by the sharks or drowned from exhaustion. Only when the last had slipped below the waves did Larson move or speak.

“Learn from this today: never leave an enemy behind. Never assume your foe is doomed until you see them pulled under for the last time. We may accept surrender when it benefits us, as we did with some of the crew of the Lost Soul, but for ones that have wronged us, like the crew of the Sea Jumper, we leave only corpses behind,” Larson said, then ordered the ship to head back to the Lost Soul and whatever treasures he might find aboard her.

Chapter 29
~

With a sharp-eyed halfling in the crow’s nest, Larson was confident that any other intruders would be spotted with enough time for his crew to react. The Sea Venom tied up alongside the Lost Soul, and a work party went back across to search for valuables and inventory the cargo. Larson also crossed over to take a tour of his prize, leaving some of the crew behind to clean up the Sea Venom and gather whatever could be salvaged from the fallen. The minotaur, Fontaine, had run a tight ship. Things were stowed away as they should be, and the ship was as clean as could be expected for a vessel that had been at sea for an extended period of time.

Larson made his way to the captain’s cabin. He knew Ibn had secured the captain’s chest but hadn’t had enough time for a thorough search. Unlike his own cabin—at least he hoped it was unlike his own—the pirate’s cabin had a musty and unpleasant smell to it, something like a wet dog combined with a bad cologne. He supposed having a damp minotaur occupying the cabin would give it a bit of a funk. Just like the foul odor, the rest of the cabin was a total contrast with his own. Where Larson had simple furniture, Fontaine had an elegant four-poster bed with silk linens. The other furniture was high-quality, and Larson was drooling over the pirate’s desk. It was a deep black, lacquered desk with multiple drawers and cubbies for his various papers, charts, ink and quill, or anything else he might wish to squirrel away. Alongside the desk was a large, matching chart table, currently empty of charts.

A similarly finished set of shelves lined one wall. For the most part, the shelves held various knickknacks and curios Larson had no interest in, such as bronze miniatures of various ships, but they would bring in good coin at Lucian’s shop. One item did catch his eye: a slender brass spyglass. It looked almost too delicate to operate, and Larson was wondering how the ham-fisted minotaur had used it without breaking the thing, but once he began to experiment with the device, he found it to be superbly made. A quick peek out of the small porthole in the cabin revealed the lens to be the same high quality as the rest of the spyglass, and it magnified his vision well without limiting his field of view too much. He dropped it and any of the more valuable-looking curios inside his storage. The things would be too easy to break or lose if he let the crew try to sort through them.

A thorough inspection of the desk revealed typical writing instruments and more curios as well as a healthy amount of paper and ink. Strangely, there was only a single ragged and stained sea chart secured in a locked drawer of the desk. Larson felt a bit guilty at breaking the lock, but it wasn’t the type of lock that provided any real impediment and would only serve to draw someone’s attention, as it had with Larson. He unrolled the chart, flattening it on the chart table and using the built-in felt-lined clamps to hold it in place. Once he gazed at the map, the reason for it being the only one on the ship was made apparent by the system.

Salt-Stained Map: This map is magically enhanced to record everywhere the owner has visited. Other charts the owner has studied will be copied over to the map, but until the owner views a location in person, much of the detail will be obscured. Hidden dangers, hidden treasures, and places of interest may be revealed on the map when the bearer views them in person. The longer the bearer spends exploring an area, the more likely he is to find a hidden secret. This map is linked to the sea, and the ability to reveal secrets only works up to 1 mile inland. When the map passes from one owner to another, it will erase any previous information.

This map was a true treasure. Not having to haul around mounds of charts on a long voyage would be a huge benefit. If the chart somehow revealed a treasure or secret along the way, so much the better. As he watched, the map updated with all the information he had already viewed in other charts, greater detail occurring in the places he had physically visited. The system’s description of the item made it clear that not all secrets would be revealed, so he would have to remember not to dismiss something just because it wasn’t visible on the map. It also promised that the highlighted secrets weren’t all beneficial things; he would need to exercise caution when he explored something the map had revealed for him.

Larson placed the map in his storage, intending to dig into it further once he had more time. When examining the desk, he noticed a number of hidden compartments under several of the drawers. Most were empty, but one held a small leather pouch that Larson opened to reveal four shining gold ducats, a windfall for him and his crew. Under the pouch was a letter to Fontaine from Lord Mox. Larson opened it and began reading, curious to see what it contained.

Fontaine,

I have allowed my son to be part of your crew for too long. It is time for him to put away this fantasy of becoming a gentleman pirate and return home. You have profited well from the information I have sent you regarding the comings and goings of various vessels traveling through Stratwall Harbor, but it is time we end our association. I will send a crew to retrieve my son and his friend shortly, according to the attached plan. You will be paid handsomely for your efforts, and I take it I don’t have to remind you of the trouble I can cause for you if word of my support were to become known. Destroy this letter once you have read it. Should I find that you have failed to do so, I will see that you encounter a most painful end. Once Jonathan is handed over safely and payment is made to you, our business together is complete, and I do not wish to hear from you further.

Lord Thurston Mox

So Lord Mox knew that his son wanted to join the pirates; it wasn’t a kidnapping or some lark that his son had taken on his own initiative. Not only did Lord Mox willingly send his son, but he also supported Fontaine and his crew with news of easy targets, likely ones they could take without putting his son in too much danger. For whatever reason, Mox had decided it was time for his son, Jonathan, to return to polite society and saw an opportunity to use Larson to destroy the evidence for him.

That one of the lords of a small port town was corrupt was neither a surprise to Larson nor any of his business. He would have to be careful returning Jonathan to Mox; he didn’t want to become another loose end for the powerful man to tie up. Larson would have to see if he could turn the situation to his advantage. Getting his letter of marque was the key to his plans, and he didn’t want some corrupt lord or his son to disrupt that. It was time to speak with the two lordlings.

“Creech, get over here,” Larson called out to the sailor who was going over the rigging on the Lost Soul to make sure it was ship-shape. “I want you to organize a detail to haul the desk and chart table over to my cabin and bring my old ones back here. Before you see to that, have the two supposed lords unchained from their oars and bring them here, separately, starting with the Buxton boy.”

Creech took off to complete his task. The young man had some fire in his belly and would go far once he learned a bit more. If he continued to prove himself, Larson might have to start mentoring the lad directly, perhaps grooming him for an officer’s slot at some point.

Theodore Buxton was led into his cabin. The man looked young, not much older than eighteen. He wore the typical loose-fitting pants and linen shirt that seemed like almost a uniform among the pirates. There were no visible wounds on him, and the kid seemed terrified of the angry-looking naga in front of him, which was exactly the effect Larson was hoping to have.

“So who exactly are you? I want to hear it from your own mouth,” Larson demanded.

“Sir, I, uh . . . I’m Theodore Buxton, sir,” he responded.

“All right, assume I believe you’re Lord Buxton’s son. How exactly did you end up as part of a pirate crew?” Larson asked.

“Jonathan talked me into it. He didn’t want to strike out on his own, and when he met the pirates at that inn, well, he kind of forced me into it. I didn’t think we would have to hurt anyone or anything. I suppose we were just looking for a bit of excitement.”

“I take it you found all the excitement you wanted to find?”

“Yes, sir, I most certainly did. More than I cared to,” Theodore replied.

“Now what are we going to do with a lord’s son who acted the part of a pirate? Tell me, Theodore, did you kill anyone on the ships that Fontaine attacked?”

“No! I promise I was just a normal crewman, helping with the ship and learning how to sail. I wasn’t like Jonathan and didn’t do any of the killing, and Fontaine even assigned one of his crew members to guard me during any fighting,” Theodore said. That made sense to Larson, based on the letter he had read. Fontaine would not have wanted this golden goose to be hurt, at least not until he had the final payment Lord Mox had promised him. The idea that Jonathan was involved in the actual fighting was a bit odd. Larson wouldn’t have thought the young man would be willing to risk his own hide for a thrill.

“You’re leaving a lot of the story out, I think. Tell me more about Jonathan’s participation in the fighting.”

The young man looked down at the deck, struggling with how much to disclose. Theodore came to a decision, sighing in resignation before replying. “He went too far, sir. I didn’t want any part of the bloodshed, but Jonathan, he liked it—liked it a bit too much, if you get my meaning.”

“I see. Give me some detail. How far is too far? I wouldn’t have thought he was brave or skilled enough to cross blades with another crew in a boarding action,” Larson asked.

“He wasn’t that brave. At first, Fontaine goaded him into it, holding down a wounded captive and demanding we finish him off. I refused, but Jonathan didn’t want to look weak. He was so impressed with Fontaine and didn’t want to disappoint him. With that first thrust of his blade, my friend changed, and though he wouldn’t risk himself in battle, he gladly took care of the wounded for Fontaine. I don’t know what was worse, the bloodlust in Jonathan’s eye or the sick words of encouragement from that cursed minotaur captain.”

The comments unlocked a memory of his past life. Larson couldn’t see details but knew he had been the head of a warship that captured pirates in the act. The ships were large metal things, so unlike anything he had seen on the seas of this world. His men had rounded up a group of skinny, underfed pirates. The pirates included several young children, anyone who was big enough to carry a weapon. It was the kids that disturbed him. The shock of someone arming children to kill wasn’t the worst part; the worst part was the look in the eyes of some of the kids. He could see they loved it, loved the thrill of combat and the power they held over life and death. It was a look no child should ever express.

“You know what, Theodore? I actually believe you. I’m Captain Larson, by the way. Our plan is to rendezvous with Lord Mox in a few days to deliver you and Jonathan back to your parents. Of course, now that I believe you’ve not engaged in any actual acts of piracy, you’ll be freed,” Larson said, watching the relief on the young man’s face.

“Thank you, sir. I’m sure my father will reward you for your service,” Theodore replied. Larson would most certainly try to pry some coin from his father, but he would be more than happy with just the letter of marque.

“While you are free, I will ask that you help out the crew until we rendezvous with your father. We’ve taken casualties and I need everyone working to get my two ships ready to sail. Are you willing to help?” Larson asked.

“Aye, sir. I’ll help as much as I can. We learned the basics aboard the Lost Soul. Just let me know what needs to be done.”

Larson called one of the crew passing by, telling him to escort Theodore to Tarley for a work assignment. Once Theodore was taken care of, he had Jonathan Mox brought in. The young man tried to put on a strong face, but Larson could sense the fear hiding just below the surface.

“I take it you’re Jonathan Mox. Your father sent me to collect you,” Larson said.

“Consider me overjoyed with relief that some captain and his garbage scow of a ship were sent for my timely rescue,” the man said, his words heaped with sarcasm.

“First off, it’s ‘sir’ or ‘Captain Larson.’ You will show proper respect aboard my ship or you can swim your way home,” Larson threatened. It was an empty threat and he instantly regretted saying it. Never make a threat you don’t intend to follow through with.

“You and I both know you won’t do that. Just dispense with the petty threats. Fontaine was a much more intimidating figure and could pull it off better than some jumped-up snake man. You, I suspect, have some agreement with my father, some reward promised to you that you don’t want to miss out on. That being said, I expect to be freed immediately and given proper accommodations until my father arrives,” the little snot demanded.

“You’ll get what I give you. In this case, it’s a full belly and an empty hammock. You’ll only get those if you put in a day’s work to earn them. I don’t know what kind of deal you had with the minotaur, but my ship is a respectable one and everyone works,” Larson said. This time, the threat was real.

“I think not. I’ll be on my way now. I think this cabin will do nicely for my accommodations. The smell should abate without the minotaur’s presence, and I’ll need you to have some of your crew scrub the sheets for me before they’re fit for me to sleep in,” Jonathan said, standing to leave the room.

In a flash, Larson slithered out from behind his desk, looping two coils around the young noble, squeezing tight enough to hurt him but not tight enough to do any permanent damage.

“You don’t give the orders here—I do. Apparently your tutors never taught you manners. I wasn’t paid to do so, but I’ll go ahead and include a lesson in hard work with your rescue. Jacil!” Larson shouted, spotting the halfling walking past the open cabin door. “Come in and collect this prisoner. See to it he’s taken back to his oar and chained there until I tell you otherwise.” He was treading on dangerous ground. Lord Mox might very well seek to break their deal if Jonathan was treated poorly, but if he didn’t put the little turd in his place now, the lordling would cause no end of trouble.

“My father will hear of this. You cannot treat nobility like common pirates!” Jonathan spat, tearing himself from Jacil’s grip and storming out of the captain’s quarters. Larson was close enough to trip him with the tip of his tail, and Jacil was all over the nobleman, pinning down his arm and shoving his face into the deck. A trickle of blood ran from Jonathan’s nose, and he whimpered while the halfling held him in place.

“No more trouble out of you. Enjoy your time at the oars. It’ll be good for you, teach you some badly needed character,” Larson said. Another sailor came over to join Jacil, and the pair dragged the lordling toward the waiting oars.

“Ah, trouble with the cargo, sir?” Ibn said, having witnessed the kerfuffle.

Larson slithered over to Ibn, who was sitting on a barrel near the captain’s cabin, sharpening his twin scimitars. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. That one was Lord Mox’s boy, another corrupt official in the making, if I read him right. From what I heard from his friend, I think the lad has a cruel streak that goes beyond just the normal arrogance of nobility.”

“Might be trouble, sir. Lord Mox might not be pleased with his son’s treatment, and the lad looks just the type to whine at his daddy for revenge. I know his type well enough,” Ibn said. The man had served with the nobility of Imix, and Larson was sure the nobles in Imix didn’t act much different than nobility in other parts of the world, held to a different, and lower, standard than the people they ruled over.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Ibn, what made you decide to learn to fight with two blades instead of a blade and a buckler like your other men?” Larson asked.

“Advice from my father, who was the first dervish of the sultan before I held the post. He told me to win a fight and win it quickly. By holding two blades, I give all my efforts over to offense. A man using a shield has conceded some of his aggression and has allowed the possibility of defeat to enter his mind.”

“I would disagree. A man with two shields would be someone who has given himself over to defeat. A man with a shield and a weapon, on the other hand, is a realist and is ready for anything,” Larson argued.

“Ha, a good observation, my captain. A wrong observation, but a good one,” Ibn said with a laugh.

“Time will tell, Ibn, which of us is correct in our argument. For now, have the officers assemble in my cabin. Let’s plan our next moves and see what treasures the Lost Soul has given us,” Larson ordered.

Back in his cabin, he watched his officers file in, the absence of Nogreb painfully obvious. “Well done, everyone. Give me a rundown on our ships. Are they both seaworthy and do we have the crew to sail them both?” he asked.

“Sir, both ships are fit as a fiddle. The minotaur might have been lowlife pirate scum, but he wasn’t sloppy when it came to running a ship. We’ll need a dozen at a minimum to crew her. A score would be better. Our Sea Venom is a bit scorched from the fireball that consumed our siege engine, but other than the scorpion being a total write-off, the damage is only cosmetic,” Tarley replied.

“We lost the three crew on the scorpion, but the men hit by arrow fire are all back on their feet. Other than scrapes, bruises, and the like, the men are in good shape,” Shada advised.

“Excellent work, Shada. Bug Bartholomew, any chance of cobbling together another siege engine?” Larson asked.

“No, sir. If we could have reused the arms from the old one, I could make the rest, but that fireball was too hot and warped the steel,” the ogre replied.

“That’s too bad. How about the cargo? Tell me the holds of the Lost Soul were filled with gold and gems,” Larson asked.

“Sadly, no gold or gems, but what it was hauling should bring in some good coin. It looks like they took a ship that was carrying a load of steel. The hold is loaded down with over two hundred steel billets. Not only that, but we’ve also found three dozen barrels of this strange-colored sand. Not sure what it is,” Tarley said, handing over a small sack of what he had found. Larson recognized it instantly; it was more of the sorcerer’s sand he found aboard the wreck.

“Sorcerer’s sand, or at least that’s what it looks like. It doesn’t have any real purpose or value, other than as a curiosity,” Larson told them.

“Excuse me, sir. Might I see a bit of that?” Bug asked. Larson passed the pouch to the ogre, who pulled what looked like an oversized jeweler’s loop from one of his pockets and began examining the sand, losing all interest in the rest of the conversation.

Larson only had twenty-four able-bodied crew, which meant that sailing both vessels was going to be tough, but he had to do it. The prisoners would relieve some of the crew on the Sea Venom, freeing them up for use elsewhere, and with what he had left, he could barely sail the two ships back to port, so long as they didn’t run into any other trouble.

“As far as crew goes, here’s what we’ll do. Tarley will take command of the Lost Soul. I can only spare a dozen sailors, but I’ll give you the pick of the litter. Make sure one of them is a crewman trained on an arbalest. You’ll also take one of those. I’m going to also give you Lord Buxton’s boy. He’s been playing sailor aboard that ship and seems willing to lend a hand. I’ll also leave you two of Ibn’s marines, but I’ll need the rest here to keep an eye on the prisoners. I want both ships ready to sail as soon as we complete our business with Lord Mox. Our last, and hopefully not least, item on the agenda is to see what Fontaine’s chest holds. Ibn, would you do the honors since you had to lug it over here?”

The chest was securely locked, and after pulling him away from his investigation of the sorcerer’s sand, Larson had Bug Bartholomew go to work at defeating the mechanism. Ibn had offered to smash it open, but the chest itself looked like it might be valuable and something Larson wouldn’t mind having in his cabin. It didn’t take the ogre long, and the chest opened to reveal its contents.

The first thing that caught Larson’s attention was the three leather bags of coin sitting at the top of the pile. He wasted no time opening them and having the crew begin counting out the sum. The first bag was the largest and was full of just under ten thousand scales, the low-value coins that were most likely meant to be used as wages for the crew and other small expenses. While still mostly scales, the second bag also held nearly three thousand fins. The silver coins were a most welcome sight among the pile of lesser-value copper. Landsmen gold filled the smallest of the three bags, the exact count of it coming to 1973.

“That’s going to share out nicely, sir. I think everyone is going to be pleased to hear about our haul,” Tarley said hesitantly. It took Larson a moment to realize what he wasn’t saying. Many captains would be tempted to lie about the treasure count to keep a bit more for themselves at the expense of the crew. Larson was a harsh man, but he would never cheat those under his command.

“Announce the total count to the crew after you’ve figured up shares, Tarley. The cargo will have to be liquidated, but once it is, we’ll make sure that any who stay aboard will get their share. I also want the shares and pay of those we lost going to their next of kin. If they didn’t have anyone to leave theirs to, keep it in a separate account. We’ll use that account to help any of our crew who are injured and no longer able to work,” Larson ordered.

“Good call, sir. The men will be glad to see you’re dealing them square, sir,” Tarley replied.

“I want all of us to deal fair with our crew. If you can’t do that, you can find another berth on a different ship back in port. You’ll be hard on them—I’ll abide no shirkers on my ship—but I want them to know their hard work will be rewarded,” Larson said. Sadly, the rest of the crate held only minotaur-sized clothing, too big for most of the crew and too small for the ogre. It would go into the pile of things to bring to their shop. You never knew when a minotaur might come stomping into town in search of some bargain pirate clothing.

Tarley took charge of the ship’s accounts, calculating shares and setting aside that money for when they reached port. Larson was putting a lot of trust in the man, but since they had met, chained in the hold of the ship, Tarley had kept his word. Larson left the crew’s pay and shares locked in the footlocker, taking the rest and placing it into his inventory.

“We did find something on the minotaur, and I believe it has an enchantment on it,” Ibn said, sticking his head out of the cabin and calling for one of his marines to bring Fontaine’s axe. “We don’t have a ship’s mage, but I can tell this is no ordinary weapon.”

Larson would agree. The oversized axe triggered a system prompt telling him it was an unidentified magic item.

“Sir, depending on the enchantment, do you think I could take that as part or all of my share?” Bug Bartholomew asked. The axe was oversized for a human and just about perfect for the ogre to wield one-handed.

“Sure, we’ll have you go with Tarley to have it identified once we’re in port, and he can take a bit from your pay if it values out at more than your share. The same will go for anything we come across that one of the officers wants,” Larson said. With the loot counted, the crew got to work while they waited for the rendezvous with Lord Mox.

Chapter 30
~

The next few days were spent training the crew while they waited for Lord Mox to show up. Their losses from the battles were given a small ceremony that Shada officiated. Their bodies were sewn into sailcloth and weighted to sink down into the depths. Their enemies received no such formality and were simply dumped over the side to feed the sharks and other things that had lurked around the vessels since the battle. Around noon, the day before the deadline, a sail was spotted on the horizon.

“Looks like a patrol bireme flying the colors of Stratwall Harbor, sir,” Quix called down from the crow’s nest. The newly minted marine seemed to have claimed that spot, which was fine with Larson since the halfling had racked up quite a kill count while perched up there with his crossbow.

“This looks like who we’ve been waiting for, but just to be safe, clear the decks for action,” Larson ordered. The men, who had been well-drilled at this point, hustled to the armory, where they were assigned weapons, armor, and ammunition to prepare for a possible fight. With their depleted numbers and lack of a siege engine, any fight against an actual warship would be a short and deadly one they didn’t’ wish to participate in.

Larson kept the two ships tied together, choosing to appear less threatening by not maneuvering to meet the approaching vessel, which was twice the size of the Sea Venom. As it closed to within hailing distance, Larson could see a heavy ballista training toward their ship. The weapon was loaded and ready to fire, but the crews were more relaxed than they would have been if they truly believed action was imminent.

The bireme pulled alongside and cast off several lines that were tied to the Sea Venom. Extra-wide boarding planks were thrown down, magically attaching the two ships. Larson idly thought he would have to see about acquiring some of those when they made it into port again. A squad of marines in the livery of Stratwall Harbor boarded, looking confident until they spotted Bug Bartholomew, who wore a disturbing grin on both of his faces and wielded a small ballista on one arm.

“Ah, good Captain Larson, I take it you have accomplished your task?” Lord Mox said as he boarded the Sea Venom with another well-dressed man who Larson assumed was Lord Buxton. Larson had earlier sent for both lordlings to be brought onto the deck. They had tried to clean up Jonathan Mox, but the young man still looked a bit ragged from all the work they had put him through at the oars.

“Greetings, Lord Mox. We’ve done as you asked. The pirate threat is ended, and your son, I believe, is very excited to go home,” Larson said, motioning the two boys forward.

“Thank you, sir, for everything,” Theodore Buxton said, pausing to shake Larson’s hand as Jonathan pushed past, glaring at the pair.

“It was a pleasure to have you aboard, Theodore. I heard good things about you from Tarley. If you ever fancy taking to sea again, you’ll have a berth waiting for you here,” Larson said. His statement wasn’t fluff and pandering. The young man had proven to be a hard worker and had quickly learned the tasks assigned to him.

“Before we conclude our business, I trust the pirates were all eliminated?” Mox asked.

“Of course, there were a few prisoners among the low-ranking sailors, but all the officers and high-ranking crew sadly refused to surrender and had to be eliminated,” Larson replied. He would have liked to keep the prisoners secret, but both Theodore and Jonathan knew of them.

“I don’t suppose there was any correspondence or indication of the pirate’s motives?” Mox asked.

“No, sir. I searched the captain’s cabin and found nothing but some trinkets. Not surprising, as pirates aren’t known to keep evidence of their depredations.” Larson could see suspicion on Lord Mox’s face, the man calculating what he wanted to do with Larson and his crew.

“Enough pestering the good captain, Thurston. Our sons are returned safe and sound. Give the man his prize,” Lord Buxton said. Mox plastered an insincere politician’s smile on his face and dug a rolled-up scroll from his coat, the gilt seal of the Free Isles gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Of course, Lord Buxton, the man should receive his just rewards. Captain Larson, with the blessings of the Free Isles, the lords of Stratwall Harbor name you, your crew, and any vessels under your command as privateers in the service of the Isles. May you reclaim our seas from piracy and strike hard at any foes who dare encroach upon our waters,” Mox said, passing over the scroll.

“We will endeavor to serve the Free Isles well. Thank you for this opportunity,” Larson replied.

“Well, now that this unfortunate business is concluded, we’ll be on our way,” Lord Mox said, motioning for them to return to their ship.

“Thank you again, Captain Larson. I look forward to hearing about your further adventures,” Lord Buxton said and went back aboard the warship. The vessel was named the Retribution, and it was one ship Larson had no desire to tangle with anytime soon. The magical planks were deactivated and raised as the lines were cast off, and the Retribution pushed away from the Sea Venom. Larson watched it depart for a long while, fearful that Jonathan Mox’s treatment aboard the Sea Venom would goad Lord Mox into ordering the ship to come about and destroy them for their temerity. He finally relaxed as the ship passed beyond the horizon.

They had done it; they were now free to operate as privateers under the full blessing of the Free Isles. Plans formed in Larson’s mind. Many paths were now open to him, and he intended to make the most of every one. He was ready to make his mark on this new world. He wouldn’t take the opportunity his new life had given him for granted.

“Captain, your orders?” Tarley asked.

“Set a course for Stratwall Harbor. Let’s get the crew back on dry land and give them a chance to spend their prize money before we begin our next voyage,” Larson ordered. As soon as the men heard him mention prize money, they cheered their captain and their ship. The vessels separated and their sails filled with wind, pushing them back toward port. Larson stood alone at the bow of the Sea Venom, enjoying the afternoon sun, the sea-scented air, and the feel of a ship beneath him.

“I’ll tame you and the lands around you. The name of Larson and the Sea Venom will be both feared and revered across this world before I’m done,” Larson said to the sea around him. It was a perfect moment, one he would remember for this lifetime and, hopefully, for any that might follow.

Epilogue
~

“Trey, can you and Lou join us in the meeting for a bit?” Chairman Raines asked over his comm.

“Not a problem. We’ll be right there,” Trey replied. It took him a moment to find Lou, who was neck-deep in analyzing the latest data from the AI. He waved Lou over and they walked up the hallway, into the chairman’s office, where a virtual conference was taking place with the gaming division. Normally, Trey Raytak and his team dealt with just the medical side of things for Qualitranos, but occasionally they needed to coordinate where the two divisions overlapped.

“Trey, Lou, thanks for joining us. I wanted an update on the new program. I’ve heard from the gaming division and they were very pleased with you offering to help out with testing some potential new game features,” Chairman Raines said. Trey pulled up the information on the new model of medpod, as well as on the patient who was testing it. Some of the data was bittersweet; his own father’s experience inside Limitless Lands had helped shape this new process for patients with extreme brain injury and mental degradation.

“Yes, we have one patient currently being treated in the newest medpod model, Mr. Craig Larson, who was a retired business owner and Navy veteran,” Trey advised. “He was the victim of a tragic accident at a shipyard that left him with extensive brain damage. His condition was critical, but after initial treatment, he is considered guarded and continues to respond well to the treatment protocol.”

“I understand this treatment protocol includes a complete immersion into the game world?” Raines asked. It had been a tough call for them; nobody on the team liked having the patient believe he had died and been reborn in a new world. Their experience with his father and other patients with brain damage had led the AI to suggest this method as a means to prevent cognitive overload when they suddenly remembered emotional moments in their lives, preventing the very real risk of permanent memory loss.

“As per Doctor Greenway and the AI’s advice,” Trey continued, “the patient is completely separated from his previous life. Some benign experiences that would be useful to him in-game were transferred over, including his knowledge of business and his naval experience, but by and large, he thinks he has been reborn into a new life. When his treatment is complete, we will reveal to him that he is actually inside the game world, but until the damage to his mind is repaired, we need to keep him in the dark about where he is.”

“What does his playing the game have to do with helping him? I know our other patients agreed to play inside Limitless Lands, but most of them wanted to keep themselves entertained. Mr. Larson thinks he is living this for real, and as we know, the game can be brutal,” Raines asked.

“As with our other mentally impaired patients, Mr. Larson’s mind is being supported in part by the AI. A substantial portion of his frontal lobe was destroyed in the accident, and the AI, Clio, is having some success using the information she receives from his experience in the game to remap the other, undamaged parts of his brain. Without this treatment, the patient would lose the ability to speak as well as most motor functions when he recovers,” Trey explained.

“Since we’re trying to make this a realistic experience for him, what happens when his character dies for the first time? It’s going to happen sometime. I don’t think we’ve had anyone make it past level 10 without dying at least once,” Raines asked.

“Clio reports that she has several contingencies worked out for when this inevitably happens, and many of them will allow us to test some new game features. Lou can give you more information as far as the testing of the new feature is going,” Trey said.

“Okay, Lou, I’m satisfied we’re taking proper care of Mr. Larson. What has he been unknowingly helping us test?” Raines asked.

“Oh, really cool stuff, sir. We have an entirely new zone called the Free Isles that will feature more seafaring possibilities as well as underwater environments for the various racial types we plan to implement. Mr. Larson—or I suppose he’s Captain Larson in the game—is now a privateer and has engaged in shipboard, undersea, and land-based interactions within the new zone and with the NPCs living in it,” Lou advised.

“What about other playtesters? Won’t he encounter them and inadvertently learn he is in a game?” one of the managers from finance asked. Trey had almost forgotten there were nearly a dozen other folks on the call.

“So far, there aren’t any other players in the world,” Lou said. “The AI wanted to use his interaction to help build the rest of the content before we flood the place with testers. She likes to let the world cook a bit and see how the NPCs develop. She has them pretty much autonomous now. They function separate from any scripts and are much more realistic.”

“So how long is he going to be sailing around on his very own private server? We need to go to market with the expansion at some point,” Raines asked.

“Oh, not too long,” Lou advised. “The AI has just about finished building out the NPC dynamics and the various world features. We did receive a request from a family member of Mr. Larson’s who wants to join him, or at least observe him, in-game. The AI believes she can work to make that happen without any risk of memory loss. Something about making the family member’s character totally different from anything Captain Larson would remember from his old life.”

Trey had been a bit surprised when the request from Sally Burman showed up in his to-do box. Apparently she was the only surviving blood relative of Mr. Larson, and they had been estranged for many years. Their lack of interaction over the last several decades, as well as the new character features Clio was implementing, made it possible to have her in-game without posing a risk to Mr. Larson. Trey’s daughter, Lauren, had met the woman while volunteering at the hospital and pushed him to let her play when he happened to mention it over dinner.

“Anything else that we plan to implement using Mr. Larson as our personal alpha tester?” Raines asked.

“Oh, yes, we’re going to see about mixing some more advanced technology into the world, and Clio has set some things in motion that should have Captain Larson experimenting with the new features before too long,” Lou replied.

“Good work, people. Keep me up to date on how the new features and zone are shaping up,” Chairman Raines said, and they concluded the meeting. Trey had to admit he was looking forward to seeing how the AI was going to tie all the new features together and, more importantly, how Mr. Larson would react to them.

***

Sally looked down at the gaming rig, a little intimidated by the whole thing. She had been prepared to check out and head home but had received a message a couple of days ago; Qualitranos had not only approved her request to interact with her brother in the game, but they were also going to provide her with a top-of-the-line rig to enhance the experience. The hotel staff hadn’t been all that happy with her setting up the game pod in her room, but after hearing why, the manager moved her to a slightly bigger, and more expensive, room.

Now that all the barriers preventing her from seeing Craig inside the game had been removed, she was having second thoughts. Curiosity overcame her anger at her brother, and Sally closed the pod around her and entered the virtual world. The startup video completed, and she found herself once more inside the little emporium with the tiny man behind the counter.

“Oh, you have arrived. Clio has been waiting for you,” the dapper man told her, holding back the curtain that led to the small room at the back of the shop. Just like before, the old woman was seated in a chair, having tea and biscuits.

“Ah, Sally, so good to see you again. Take a seat. Did you decide whether you wanted to enter the game server your brother is on?” Clio asked. The old woman was so realistic that it was hard to believe she was just an AI.

“I believe I will. You mentioned there might be some kind of restrictions?” Sally asked. The AI had been guarded in their last conversation and implied there might be restrictions to Craig’s treatment.

“A few,” Clio said. “I have been granted release to give you information on your brother’s physical condition. He is improving, and his condition has gone from critical to guarded. One of the reasons we were so reluctant to allow you any interaction with your brother was due to a quirk in the memory-repair method we use. When damage is repaired and a patient recalls a particularly emotional memory, it can cause a backlash effect that blocks some memories from ever being reconstructed. To combat that, we’ve severely limited what your brother remembers.”

“So if I see him in-game, he won’t remember me?”

“Correct, but there is the danger that someone well-known to the patient can trigger early memory recall just by familiar mannerisms and speech patterns,” Clio replied.

“Well, what do we do to prevent that from happening?” Sally asked, worried this conversation was going to be a long and roundabout way of telling her she wasn’t going to see Craig.

“I can actively suppress some things, but I believe I have a compromise that might help both of us. Your brother has chosen a rather unusual race for his avatar in-game. Let me show you.” Clio brought up a screen showing some strange snake creature battling some pirate-looking people.

“That’s my brother? Which one? The snake guy or the pirate?” Sally asked.

“The ‘snake guy’ is your brother. It is a race called a naga, and he seems to have taken well to it,” Clio said.

“I bet. It must be easy for him since he could be such a snake here in the real world,” Sally snapped back.

“Oh, I take it you didn’t have the best of relationships?”

“That would be putting it mildly. We haven’t talked in a long time.”

“How long?” Clio asked.

“None of your business ago, that’s how long,” Sally said. She didn’t need to be lectured by a computer game.

“I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just that your relationship can have an impact on our options in-game. I don’t mean to pry into your personal business, but I have an obligation to do what is best for the patient under my care,” Clio said apologetically.

Sally took a moment to cool down. If airing their dirty family laundry could help with Craig’s treatment, she was willing to share. “Fine, we had a big family disagreement decades ago and I haven’t talked to my brother since then. I may hate him for what he did to me and my husband, but he’s the last family member I have, and I would like to see him at least once more before, well, you know. Of course, when I see him in-game, I don’t know if I’ll hug him or strangle him. Just tell me I don’t have to play some snake lady.”

“No, you don’t have to play a snake lady, and now you have me curious about how your first interaction with your brother will turn out. I will require that you select a character avatar that is something decidedly nonhumanoid to prevent any inadvertent memory triggers, which, along with your lack of recent contact, should make your interaction safe for his treatment,” Clio replied.

“Fine. What do I have to turn into and when do I get to see my brother?” Sally didn’t really care what form she took in-game but was kind of creeped out by snakes and spiders.

“I’ll have you in-game soon enough, though there will be a tutorial to get you familiar with how things work in the Limitless Lands. In term of what race you will play, tell me, Sally, how would you like to become a dragon?”

Afterword
~

Thanks for joining up with the crew of the Sea Venom as we start new adventures in the Limitless Lands world. There’s a lot more in store for Larson and his crew, and the next installment, Limitless Seas Book 2: Sorcerer’s Sand, will release in the summer of 2021.

Thank you to all my family and friends who support my writing, and I want to give a shout out to my editor, Bodie Dykstra of BD Editing, for all his hard work on this book. The cover artist, Peiro Mng (Gianpiero Mangialardi), has done a great job of portraying Larson in his naga form, and you can look forward to more of his work on future covers.

For the latest news on Limitless Seas and my other work, visit my Facebook author page at https://www.facebook.com/henegarauthor/

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