Startup 73: In Default

Rova 27, Midnight

Naomi bolted through the dark corridors, relying on memory to carry her to the right place. She needed to find Cog, or Syl, or anyone really. Anyone better equipped to deal with the people chasing her than she was. It wasn’t a big ship, and her cry had done its work. She turned a corner and nearly ran into a figure in the darkness, who grabbed her by the arms.

“What happened?” He asked, in Aaron’s blessedly familiar rasp.

He looked her over, reaching into his belt pouch full of magical berries.

“Mutiny.” Naomi said, catching her breath and trying to pull Aaron away with her between gulps of air. “Varossa.”

Naomi vaguely remembered something about Aaron being in the Chelish Navy with Lady Aulamaxa, but he was also a very thin man. Even with Cave Mother’s powers, the years on Bonewrack Isle hadn’t been kind to him. He certainly didn’t look ready to fight six binders alone, and the slap of rapid footfalls against wood echoed around the corner.

“Tell Cog.” He said, “He’s with your mother.”

Aaron firmly pulled her hands off of his jacket and pushed her down the hall before turning away from her. He pulled a handaxe from a sling at his belt, and both it and his off hand flickered to life with blue-white fire that illuminated the hallway with eerie radiance. He stood at the center of the hall, legs spread in a wide, low stance and put something in his mouth.

“You heard the man.” Milo snapped at her. “Move!”

Naomi looked back over her shoulder one last time before sprinting away. When she circled around to the intersection near the brig, she stopped at the sound of combat. Looking around the corner, she saw Cog, Syl, and Narwhal holding off five of the cultists with crossbow bolts whizzing past them. She didn’t freeze again, didn’t need a reminder of how useless she was; she hid around the corner with her mind ablaze. If everyone already knew about the mutiny, she didn’t have anything left she could do.

Milo was not a warrior spirit. He was a truth seeker, envoy of the Scholar constellation. The spirits of his constellation did very little beyond sharing knowledge and instincts. Milo’s knowledge included the competent use of firearms, but she didn’t have one of those. The only people on the crew who really used guns were goblins.

Goblin weapons.

Naomi turned on her heel, and ran back to Lady Aulamaxa’s room and the hidden key to the armory.

••••••••••

I jogged across the rooftops, only ever taking a few steps between energy leaps. I’d been scrolling through my chat log while autopilot etched runes, and suddenly an explosion of updates had popped across my vision. Everything from Rowe throwing a fire bomb to Syl getting shot, even one of the Vishgurv cultists getting killed by a third party. Worse, it was all happening at around the time they’d been planning on transferring Lubo. It seemed that a few days of relative inactivity had pissed someone off, because my life was getting a lot more aggressive very quickly.

I’d more or less immediately summoned Ve’ra and ordered her to steal my identity and run interference. It was the best tool I had if I wanted to leave immediately, short of convincing the guards to escort me on foot. That would add minutes to my commute, at least, and if the fighting was already ongoing I didn’t have minutes.

The problem came when I got to a high vantage point and took a second to look around. I wasn’t sure where exactly my crew was. They were supposed to be on the ship, but Rowe knew better than to toss alchemist fire around on a wooden ship. Combined with the pillar of smoke I could already see forming, I had a choice to make.

Dash to the fire, or make a beeline to my ship?

I wanted to go to my ship; it was my territory. It was also the place that I’d been most directly forbidden from setting foot. The fire, if it was created by Rowe, was in a neutral location.

I don’t have enough spell slots to waste after all that summoning. Factoring in the slots I need to burn to keep Ve’ra active for as long as possible, I only have 3 spell slots left over and an hour to do what I need to do and get back.

Ok, I’ll check the fire; I can make a localized downpour to stop it before it spreads, then figure it out from there.

I turned my head to the side and used energy leap to turn on a dime, redirecting my momentum. I hoped that I wasn’t heroically sacrificing my crew to help someone who left the stove on overnight. If I did, at least I’d have done a good deed to balance out the blatant parole violation.

••••••••••

Everything made sense. It was bad, but it made sense. Syl’s arms moved on impulse, almost independently, as she fought off two of the cultists. She danced with them, slashing with her blades, releasing streams of scarlet as she picked out and severed veins. No arteries yet, she was too busy dodging. In this state of thoughtless ****, the locked away parts of her mind that thought about anything other than her immediate surroundings sat back and grumbled, barely audible over the surging rush river of adrenaline.

She’d known from the start that letting these people form a group was a bad idea. Emrys had shown her that outsiders could be fine if engaged with as individuals and equals. It had been an adjustment, but he’d proven his methods well enough. Even Cave Mother was alright if engaged with as a talking head that gave advice, like one of the grannies back home.

Her sickle flashed out, flashing silver in the lantern light, tracing a long line of blood along one of her opponents’ arms. Enough that he dropped his knife. He still had claws, but the loss of a few inches of reach might be vital later. She would have aimed for something more vital, but she’d needed to duck to avoid a crossbow bolt through her eye.

Hell, she was even growing comfortable with Sandara and Cog’s faith. They made sense. They chose entities that aligned with what they already believed and formed a symbiotic link. They gained objective benefits for what seemed to be almost no cost, and more importantly they maintained their individuality.

Cog was next to her, weathering a rain of blows from three cultists. He couldn’t do anything but defend, not when outnumbered like this. He had multiple patches of rapidly drying skin, rashes that Syl recognized from the first time she’d really spoken with Emrys. Aberrant slime. Potentially fatal if untreated. Causes **** and escalating dehydration as the body loses the ability to retain water. She noted the threat, determined it to not be immediate, and moved on.

This cult? This was exactly what she’d thought religion looked like when she’d come to the Shackles. Everything that made her people ban contact with the outer planes in general. When people get access to easy power, they lose their minds. Even Emrys was a bit unhinged, but at least he got something substantial out of it.

Narwhal was doing his best, but he was chaff by the standards of the crew. He’d grown stronger and more coordinated, just like any ally of Emrys, but he was still just a normal man. He could probably beat just about anyone in a tavern brawl, but he wasn’t fighting random drunks. He was fighting a six foot tall shark woman that was earnestly trying to kill him. She marked him as needing reinforcements.

They had no reinforcements, at least not until Aaron came back with the crew. Even without him, they should have been headed to battle stations. At least a few people should have come here, not just the two night watchmen. Where were they?

••••••••••

https://postimg.cc/5HhwtHwf

The corridor was narrow, which made sense for a merchantman designed to carry as much cargo as possible. Wide enough for two people to walk together, but that was pretty tight confines for a fight.

Aaron popped three berries into his cheek. A mistake allowance, in effect. Each berry could cancel out roughly one strike, if it came to that. He readied his axe and primed the wellspring of ghost fire Cave Mother bestowed upon him. Dangerous enough to the living, but unlikely to do more than damage the siding on the Enterprise. Perfect for ship combat.

Five of his new students turned the corner, right on schedule. Pedro, Joseph, Catalina, Jean, and Koyo. They crowded together, with Koyo in the back craning her neck to see over her taller companions.

Not good students; grudging students who hadn’t even bothered to fight him when he tried to save their lives. They’d been **** to take his lessons, but they should have listened. They had brought this upon themselves. He didn’t want to hurt them.

“Stop it.” He said, in the same voice he used in the classroom. “You’ll get yourselves hurt.”

Aaron held out his axe out in front of himself, radiating cold blue-white light that washed out the corridor. He wasn't a particularly strong man, but he didn’t need to be. They were mostly unarmed, and he wasn’t. That gave him reach. The axe wasn’t a weapon, it was a barrier they would need to pass to get to or through him, and it was infused with Cave Mother’s power.

Power that they’d know was no threat to them if they’d listened to me, of course. They aren’t undead, but I need the light if I’m going to hit anything and the axe makes a lot more light.

“Get out of the way, old man.” Joseph said, “We aren’t going to let you kill Miss Lubo.”

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up.

That’s what they thought was happening? Captain M’Dair shot that idea down weeks ago.

“We aren’t.” He said. “You can go back to bed. Or watch.”

If he could get them to listen, he could avoid all of this stupidity. If he could keep them talking, he could keep them out of the fighting.

“You think we’ll just buy that?” Catalina shouted, “No more lies.”

She muscled forward past Joseph and lunged forward, already transforming into her war form. The soulless eyes reminded Aaron of long years alone, watching friends far better than these become monsters. A jet of Cave Mother’s flames lanced forward into Catalina, and she stumbled back. She howled in pain, clutching at the bleached white patch of dead skin on her chest, flaking away in clumps to leave a shallow, bleeding hole.

No discipline. No seasoning. This girl thinks she knows how to fight. She thinks she’s tough. She has no idea.

“Stop.” He said more forcefully. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

They didn’t listen. They **** Aaron to defend himself. May the gods forgive him.

He released a flood of spirit fire, emptying out his reservoir. Hopefully he’d last long enough for it to refill on its own. It washed over all of them, stopping Jean and Koyo for a moment. It only enraged the rest, even as it seared off skin and hair with its blinding radiance. They powered through, and Aaron moved on to his axe.

The five assailants got in each other’s way, trying to squeeze past one another and strike Aaron as he carefully stepped back, aiming his axe for outstretched hands and knives that came too close to hitting him.

Even so, even **** into two lines, they outnumbered him two to one. Their flailing limbs were unpredictable; he didn’t know where they were going to aim because they seemed to pick completely at random. More than anything, most of them were half his age and far stronger than he was.

They **** him back step by step, fading back whenever he managed to score a hit, and cycling back in. He crushed the first berry in his mouth, then the second, then the third, each a pop of tart sweetness and a flood of comforting, revitalizing warmth.

••••••••••

Hinson was taking a new and interesting avenue to harass Rowe, that was for sure. Most didn’t actually enlist others to help kidnap her. There was Gobron of course, but even he’d stuck to people that were already his subordinates. It seemed that Hinson had just gathered a crew off the street on his way over, and claimed she was already his mate.

It was innovative, but she didn’t really want people to start copying the strategy, so she’d thrown a firebomb at him.

He’d rolled out from behind the bar almost immediately, and he disappointingly wasn’t even on fire. Some kind of pale blue aura flared around him anywhere the fire touched. Rowe could, however, ensure he would at least be under fire.

Pearlteeth took out his horn for just a moment, long enough to play a few bars of its strange song and toss a handful of glowing copper coins out the front door, directly past the mob of goons. Every eye in the place flicked towards the coins, and the people closest to the door rushed out. The front line of the brawl, even if only briefly, broke and turned into a funnel heading outside as everyone turned to run after the coins. Rowe took the opportunity to focus her attention fully on the traitorous Hinson.

“Present arms!” She shouted at her girls.

Each of her companions, all but Pearlteeth, stopped firing for just long enough to roll up one sleeve and show Rowe their forearm. Much easier than asking them to stop firing. While she had their attention and they were no longer filling the room with noise and smoke, she put on her best chief voice.

“Open fire!” She cried, pointing at Hinson.

He had just tipped another table over and was hiding behind it. The table was a lot thinner than the bar, so Conchobar’s frantic orders to not throw another firebomb were entirely unneeded. She could just shoot through the table, obviously.

The problem arrived, perhaps unsurprisingly, when Hinson started playing his silver horn. He was a war chanter, after all, and as much as she hated to admit it he might have been better at it than Pearlteeth. After all, what else could explain the surge of strength from the hideous crowd of goblin males Hinson had brought with him?

If this is what the locals look like, no wonder all the goblin women like gnomes and halflings better. They look starving, and their arms are tiny. What kind of self respecting woman would let themselves be kidnapped by someone like them?

Pearlteeth was busy keeping the building from falling down, so Rowe focused on keeping him as safe as possible. Unfortunately, the goblins making their way towards him were somehow rendered tough enough to shrug off a blast from her shotgun aimed at center mass. She hit. She knew she hit, and the guy barely staggered back.

Pearlteeth was struggling with one of the other bar patrons to drag the barmaid out of the conflagration. Rowe had been careful enough that she wasn’t in the initial blast, but in retrospect she felt slightly bad. Then again, it was partially the bar owner’s fault. Tepache wouldn’t have burnt like that, and they really didn’t need anything else at an establishment like this.

“Pearlteeth!” She yelled, “Finish! We leaving!”

“If you give me the horn, I’ll call them off!” Hinson yelled.

Hah! As if we’d ever- wait what Pearlteeth what are you doing?

Pearlteeth had immediately turned and tossed his special golden horn to Hinson. He’d been enchanted, probably. Pearlteeth didn’t like fighting, but he wasn’t stupid.

Quite predictably, Hinson didn’t do anything to stop his goons. He dashed towards the back of the bar, probably headed towards the kitchens. He barreled through other goblins and half goblins as he did, though not many. He had to skirt dangerously close to the fire to get to the back.

“Come on, girls!” Rowe ordered in a chief voice of her own, “Follow! Get horn!”

She hadn’t really changed her plan to leave. She just figured out how to do so more productively. She and the girls grabbed the barmaid and Pearlteeth, who was busy staring at his hand in horror, and dragged them both into the back of the tavern.

Outside, it started to rain. It started to rain very, very hard.

••••••••••

Finally Koyo thought to aim low, diving down to bowl through Aaron’s legs. He kept his footing, but dropped his guard for a vital moment. His sword arm was slashed at the wrist by savage claws, and he dropped his blade. He had nothing left to ward them off with; they dived for him.

The cultists, especially the ones in their war forms, were stronger than him. He couldn’t stop them from dragging him to the floor. They overpowered him, black eyes staring down at him, their skin white and pallid in the light of his blazing hand.

Their black eyes. Their pallid skin. Their vicious fangs. They had him. They were going to eat him. He struggled, feeling the dirt floor of his hut beneath him as the ghouls pinned him down.

No. No. No. Not me. You don’t get me.

He dug deep and pulled upon the wellspring of power that flowed from Cave Mother. The cold fire filled him, wiping away everything else for just a moment.

You don’t get me.

The fire flowed out, searing the ghouls, driving them back with wave after wave of heat. One of them, the one who’d disarmed him, fell to the ground. His body writhed in agony as it dried out and flaked away in the spiritual flames.

You don’t get me.

Mother’s voice was saying something. Something urgent. He had to keep the fire going. If it burnt out he would die. They’d come back. They would eat him.

The spool of fire was fighting him. Refusing to flow into him. Why was mother abandoning him? Didn’t she know he was about to die? He tried, but the fire was gone. Cave Mother was gone. The fire in his hand and in his soul went out.

He stared at the ceiling of the hallway, eyes wide and unseeing. Laying amidst five crumbling skeletons, he whispered to himself.

“Not me. You don’t get me.”