Startup 20: Choppy Waters

Arodus 8

Syl hardly had time to notice the sky darkening before the deck lurched beneath her. By the time she steadied her footing, another wave was surging towards the ship. Syl glanced at Sandara, confirmed she had her part in hand, and quickly counted heads. No one was missing.

Good. We don’t have time to fish people out of the drink. Hopefully this passes as quickly as it arrives.

“Ratts, put the men below on standby.” Syl snapped, “Tate, storm ropes. Ivey, take the helm.”

Aaron nodded before obeying Syl’s command and taking control of the wheel, quietly signaling his agreement. Syl was first mate, but Aaron had first stepped on a ship when he was only fifteen. She’d quietly been checking in with him frequently over the last week, asking questions she would never ask Sandara. More accurately, she would never ask Sandara unless the alternative was random guesswork.

Ivey moved with confidence, steering the ship without needing further direction. He listened to Sandara’s orders to the men, glanced up at the sails, and turned the ship into the wind. Syl briefly touched a flask at her hip, the mutagen she’d developed. It would make her faster and calm her nerves, but Syl knew better. She needed her wits far more than she needed agility; she couldn’t stab a storm.

What the hell are you doing, Emrys? I don't see any ships on the horizon; you’re the only weather mage in the area. Then again, that would be idiotic; nearly as idiotic as jumping to conclusions. Merfolk bandits, maybe? This is essentially a road along their border, maybe they don’t respect Fairwind?

Syl didn’t voice her thoughts aloud, not yet. The source of trouble was important, but not as much as securing herself. She slid a rope through a harness she wore, latching herself to the ship’s railing with a carabiner. She would need to keep shifting it as she moved, but she wouldn’t have to worry about flying overboard while she squinted out over the water.

If it is merfolk, they aren’t surfacing. Shit, is the hull secure?

She turned to look for Sosima, in case they needed eyes underwater. No luck. However, their enemy decided to reveal themselves without further investigation.

With a unified shriek, four serpentine creatures burst from the ocean, spreading massive wings as they did. The four circled the Enterprise, letting out squawks like angry birds from their snapping beaks. That’s when the lightning started.

https://postimg.cc/1nPpSx3T

••••••••••

You can always tell how far away a lightning strike is. Light travels faster than sound, so if you start counting seconds the moment you see the flash, you can roughly estimate the distance based on how long it takes to hear the thunder. Of course, it’s a moot point when you can see the lightning strike right in front of you.

Combat started as I ran up to the deck, shabbily dressed but ready to fight. I accidentally passed turn twice, as I ordered Autopilot to calm the weather. Then I accidentally moved too fast, which the universe interpreted as a run action.

Weather too intense: Wind control failure.

Weather too intense: Precipitation control failure.

Ok. This is why we have other tools, right?

I **** myself to pause as I burst out onto the deck, and took in the scene. It wasn’t great. I could barely make out much through the curtain of pounding rain, but I could see four blue-white lights and hear screeching birds.

Jaundiced Jape was twitching on the deck, faint trails of smoke frozen in the air above him. I could see him struggling to sit up and take in mouthfuls of air. My first instinct was to go help him; I knew some basic first aid, and was strong enough to support one lanky half-orc. I breathed in the salty air, and considered what I knew.

If I don’t need my hands to do something bigger, I can help Jape while Autopilot works. So, what are those things doing?

I looked at my logs, and was surprised to see very little. Jape was struck by a bolt of lightning, but mostly the creatures seemed content to let the storm do its work.

Of course they would. We can’t even see them through this rain, and apparently they can take pot shots at us with lightning. Even if they are planning on swooping down and tearing us apart, they’d want to wait until we were exhausted. If I can maintain fair winds all day, these things can probably take the storm in shifts if they are using magic anything like mine.

Hopefully this isn’t a literal act of god; if it is I’m going to need to think of something else. Oh yeah, and my quest dialog is pretty sure I’ll piss off Gozreh if I kill his hit squad. Wait, is Gozreh a dude? I don’t know much about any gods but Besmara and Pharasma.

Gozreh has both male and female aspects so it is most appropriate to use female pronouns when speaking of her as a single entity, as those are more intrinsically respectful. Though I suppose that both the Father Sky and the Mother Ocean are displeased with us at this moment. (Knowledge Religion: 19+1=20)

The world lurched back into motion, and I stumbled towards Jape to the best of my abilities. If nothing else, I needed to clear the doorway for Sosima. Varossa’s team were also jogging up the hall, presumably having heard the call for all hands on deck.

Damn it Autopilot! I wasn’t seriously asking about Gozreh’s gender identity in the middle of a battle!

You objectively did.

Oh shut up and let me plan.

I took a long look at my options, reading through Besmara’s boon in my menu and deliberately suppressing any questions that crossed my mind. The sound faded as raindrops froze in the air. Working on the assumption that they were using the Weather sphere, that meant they were pumping up the wind and precipitation to levels beyond what I could impact. That meant they were at least level 7 when it came to weather control.

Control of lightning went to whoever was in charge of precipitation, at least according to my Storm Lord talent. I couldn’t whip up a storm like this yet, but if I could I would be able to direct one bolt per minute. Slow as molasses in a fight, but pretty handy in a larger battle.

So what I need is to talk them down or run them off, but they can fly and my team can’t even see them. Is there anything I can do that will actually hurt these guys?

Summoning? Nah. I doubt a falcon could even fly well enough to do much in these winds and my shadow can’t fly.

Calling? Yael could probably pop off on these things with those weird shadow tornados, but I don’t know if I can afford to fuck off for ten minutes to get her into the fight. Plan B.

I can’t see them well enough to ice blast them, but if I see one I can use fairy fire. If I do that, Rowe should be able to shoot it down. But then I’ll still have three to deal with and they’ll probably be pissy.

I considered the weather again, wishing I was just a tiny bit stronger with that magic. If I could improve visibility even a little bit, I could **** them to fight us or flee.

The reward for this mission was a weather sphere talent. Fat lot of good that’ll do me if my ship sinks on me. Wait.

I went to my missions tab and saw an option I’d largely ignored, since it hadn’t let me cheese the quest to kill Harrigan: Advance Pay. It would let me take a quest reward upfront, and keep the mission in my log until I finished it. It obligated me to follow through, but in a situation like this that hardly seemed like a problem.

Sosima might be able to tow me away to safety but we’d be stuck on an island or something, at best, and there’s no way that the whole crew survives. I already can’t afford to fail this mission. Fuck it, let’s see if we get a miracle.

••••••••••

“Come on you whoresons!” Sandara roared over the pounding rain, “Ya damn cowards! Too scared to show yer scaly faces!”

The men knew their work well enough; Sandara kept an eye out for any missteps, but she had time to throw out a few insults, as long as there was a goal in mind. After all, anyone who knew the first thing about divine politics in the Shackles knew that Xocothians, as aquatic creatures allied to Gozreh, were required by treaty to pay lip service to Besmara.

Knew that one without your help, thank you. I’d appreciate any suggestions though; I can’t honestly claim that literally screaming into the wind is a good strategy.

“You’re a bunch of yellow bellied cowards!” She taunted, “You know what’ll happen if ye kill one of Besmara’s favorites, now don’t you? If she sees you doing it? You’ll never be able to show your face in the seas! Yer god doesn’t even have his own realm for you to hide in!”

It was, of course, a lie. Besmara was fond of Sandara, but not that much. There were a dozen girls like her stepping onto new ships every day, and anyone would get spells if they stuck to the rites for long enough. That wasn’t the point, though.

Besmara knew the power of threats, and so did her chosen. She spent a lazy day to avenge one in one ten thousand wronged clerics at random, made it a spectacle, and claimed that one was her favorite. It was all a racket; clerics were pushed to be more devout so they could pretend they were special. Everyone in the Shackles “knew” that Besmara had favorites. It was a lie, but it was as good as any armor.

One of the Xocothians dove for her, creating a tunnel of wind so it could snatch at her. Its claws sank into her back as it took hold of her arm and body. Maybe it was planning on dragging her off to an island to get her out of the way.

Hah! Fooled you!

As the Xocothian seized her, Sandara smiled. Emrys’s subtle magic took hold, the one no one seemed to notice. In all fairness, it didn’t usually manifest quite so overtly. Normal people were caught off guard, or got flustered. They wasted effort, flailed around, or stepped on their buddy’s toes. Not a single person that Emrys had vetted had ever done that, as far as Sandara could tell. Oh sure, they could make fools of themselves, but they never lost a moment.

As cleanly as if they’d planned an ambush, everyone on the deck who was close enough stopped what they were doing and focused on the outsider. Cog wrapped his arms around the tail, pinning it to the deck so that half the crew could beat it like a goblin getting mouthy at a dwarven bar.

It wasn’t particularly **** to mortal weapons, but many hands make light work. Most of the men were only irritating and disorienting the creature, but Sosima came in with a cry and slid her blade down its length like a fish. That must have hurt the bastard; the wound split like a seam down its length, each side melting into water or clouds. Where one Xocothian had been, two elementals fled in opposite directions. They could reform into the full creature given a few hours, but it was out of the fight.

Sandara winced when she saw Captain Lanteri and her boys finish off the two elementals. Ruthless, and probably wise for most enemies, but Gozreh tended to be a bit sore when someone killed her servants. She could reform them, but it took conscious effort on her part to do so. Gozreh hated having to think that hard about anything; it made her feel too human.

Oh well. Can’t put it to waste.

“For Besmara!” Sandara roared. “Come on then! We’ll give you nice, clean deaths. You won’t have to tell your god that you failed, or mine that you succeeded!”

••••••••••

I heard a deep, contralto laugh in the back of my head as I selected the random encounter and chose Advance Pay. It was almost identical to completing a quest, though it did effectively pass the turn and **** the menu closed. The big snake thing must have had DR or something, because even with the whole crew focusing their fire it almost got away.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and Gozreh will blame Varossa? Then again, she is on my ship so it’s probably a moot point for now.

Once time stopped again, I eagerly brought up my character sheet. I was hoping for Intensified Weather. That would let me spend a spell point to power up my weather control by one tier, enough to clash directly with these snake creatures. At least what I got instead was on brand.

Cold Lord

When using control weather to create cold, increase the highest severity level you may create or alter by 1. In addition, you may create an area of up to 80 feet in diameter in the center of the affected area where the change in temperature is not felt.

It’ll have to do.

••••••••••

Varossa looked at M’Dair for a moment, as much as he’d earned, and sighed. He talked a good game, but the first time he was in a real fight he hunched over a fallen midshipman for nearly thirty seconds? Not very promising.

She flicked the sea water off of her mace and squinted through the rain, frowning. The sea beasts were obviously magical, obviously intelligent. They were willing to flee if badly injured, which was always a good trait to have in an enemy. Routs were where the real casualties came into play, after all.

“Creed, elf.” She said, holding out one hand.

She glanced at the bottle Creed handed her, checking to be sure today wasn’t the day. An extract of Alter Self, as requested. She downed a mouthful of the amber liquid and unslung her crossbow, loading as her body shifted. The ears were striking, as were the black, nearly monocolor eyes, but they were only the most obvious traits of an elf. She was proud that her lengthening fingers didn’t cause her to slip anymore. It only saved her a fragment of a second, but she had practiced for quite a while to compensate for inconsistency in her own body.

“Hinson,” Varossa snapped.

The handsome man cringed and began singing. Varossa rolled her eyes as she realized he was inspiring the men in their task of keeping the ship steady. They were doing fine without magical assistance; Varossa needed help if she were to make her shots count.

Oh well. At least he stopped standing around like a gormless fool.

The world seemed to sharpen and focus as her superior elven eyes adapted to the storm. Rain still impeded her vision somewhat, but with her eyes taking in more light she could make out the shapes of the serpents. She wasn’t able to pick out details, but the serpents had been kind enough to indicate the locations of their heads.

I wonder if the glowing eyes are practical in some way? The gods do seem to have a flair for the dramatic at times, but leaving in a weakness such as that seems terribly foolish.

Her first shot missed terribly, barely clipping the wing to absolutely no effect. She chalked it up to misjudging the winds, and her next shot did much better. It still only lodged into the creature’s center of mass, but that elicited a satisfying cry. It twisted around to rip the bolt out, trusting in its own supernatural toughness to deal with any consequences of that. Of course, it was kind enough to slow its orbit for the operation. The next shot landed in its eye.

That was enough to drive it off, splitting into two elementals. The water half dropped like a stone into the ocean, and was gone. The air elemental was only briefly visible; it was not so kind as to provide twin glowing beacons.

Varossa turned to the next, but was struck in the chest by a waterspout that arced over the side of the ship. She managed to steady herself before she was launched into the ocean, but it was a near thing. The railing cracked and splintered. A second horizontal column of water **** her back onto the railing, and she cursed as the jagged end jammed into her back.

Damnation, I like this coat.

The water was uncommonly cold, forming ice crystals upon her jacket and in her hair almost instantly. Unpleasant, but hardly an attack worthy of note. Indeed, Varossa realized quickly that the cold had nothing to do with her, nor was it intended to harm her at all. The rain in the air froze, briefly into hail and then into swirling eddies of snow.

As Varossa carefully pulled herself off the railing, she placed one hand over the injury to make sure nothing important fell out and flopped to the floor so as to not make herself a target again.

“Hinson!” She snapped. “Heal me.”

The snow created more contrast, if nothing else. It was far easier to see the enemy, against a backdrop of swirling white instead of shifting gray. A small advantage, she supposed. So M’Dair wasn’t completely useless; good. Her estimation of him went up another notch when a bolt of lightning speared down from the sky, and curved to strike one of the serpents.

••••••••••

Cave Mother watched, as she always watched. The battle seemed well in hand, once the children of Sea and Sky were exposed and the fire of the sky was wrested from their hands. The giggling green woman used her firearm to good effect, once she had that option. Of course, most guns would jam or explode when they were half filled with flash frozen water, but the magic of goblins was a curious thing.

Aaron was doing well; he stood firmly at his post and guided the ship to safety. Cave Mother had worried he was too broken to function around people. He was broken, of course, but not so much as to be useless. Perhaps he would repair himself, perhaps not, but he could be useful enough to justify supporting. That was a good first step.

A fragment of Cave Mother’s attention focused upon the woman Captain M’Dair had asked about. She quit the field after a single injury, though likely with the intention of returning. Blood dripped from her wound, and washed away quickly.

No.

There was no rain to wash away the blood anymore, only snow and ice. The railing was clean as well. There was no blood, for it had become something else, and vanished.

Ah. One of Omlan’s favored. All is made clear. So, do I tell the boy, or do I ask the Soul Weaver what my silence is worth?

The sky calmed itself with unnatural speed as the children of Sea and Sky fled, and the crew cheered. A victory well earned, though of course Sea and Sky had sent only a token **** to chastise the Captain. Further ill behavior after such a warning would likely invite greater censure.

I think the former. I have grown fond of these people. I would not see them harmed.