Startup 57: Shipping and Handling

Rova 12

A massive moth perched in the center of the deck, wrapped in an indigo cloud of necromantic energy and attended by miniature skeletons. Its wings shimmered with hypnotic patterns of purple light and obsidian shadow, which could drive a man mad if he looked too closely. It had only one desire as it looked at all of us: to implant its eggs and spread its species across the material plane. Its larvae would hatch into terrible monstrosities, powerful enough to devour small villages in their feeding frenzy.

Fortunately, Yael’s father had it gelded before she was given a gloomwing as a mount, so Moonshadow couldn’t act upon such instincts. Without an ovipositor, the eldritch moth was basically harmless as long as we didn’t threaten it. That was very good, because it would have been very hard to load it down with sacks full of bone white coral without its cooperation. It could carry dramatically more back to the netherworld than Yael, so I’d been summoning it repeatedly for a few hours.

The actual collection had been bad enough, even with Kelizar swinging by a few times to give my whole crew water breathing. The coral had broken in such a way as to have as many jagged edges as possible, which I could only assume to be one last parting shot from the crew of the Saber’s Kiss. The real nightmare, however, had been storage.

The Enterprise was loaded down with the shit, as was Gobron’s Ship. The golems’ rampage had tainted multiple small reefs, and per Kelizar’s terms we needed to carry it all away when we left, unless we destroyed it or promised to return for the rest. I’d sent a few crates via devilgram to Jerry, who’d declared it toxic but not radioactive.

“Wear gloves and magically heal any cuts or abrasions,” his note had said, “but just being near it probably won’t be harmful.”

He found the bone coral interesting enough to keep the crates for study, but not enough to let me fill his cellar with it. I toyed with the idea of stacking fifty boxes into Nendra’s bedroom via devilgram, but was pretty sure that would be some hapless maid’s problem. There was a high chance she wasn’t even in Heslandaena at this point, which would mean that she’d never even know about my prank.

Yael’s family had, eventually, offered to take the materials off my hands on the condition I enchant any weapons or armor they might make with it. That seemed fair to me, as they didn’t expect me to work for free. I’d be sending the proceeds back to Kelizar, but even that could be turned around to my advantage with the right angle. Kelizar seemed like a level headed guy; when he was less pissed at me, I intended to explain my situation with Dovnu and ask for a loan. If I could turn a biohazard into a few thousand gold, then he’d know I was good for it.

As for the skeletons, scuttling about and loading sacks full of soaked coral onto the moth, those were courtesy of Dierdre of all people. The mission had promised me a “companion perk,” which usually meant a bonus feat or something for someone in my party. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that included Dierdre, especially since it included her in such a big way.

Favor of Shyka- the ability to take on multiple true forms while maintaining a consistent sense of self has drawn the eye of one of the Eldest. Shyka the Many has seen fit to bless Dierdre with the ability to do so deliberately, if with assistance. Once per level, you may choose a new species of fey. This creates a fey body that Dierdre may be summoned as, with all attendant abilities and instincts. You may summon her in any body she has each time you bind her. These bodies may be killed permanently, but Dierdre will not truly die unless all of her bodies are destroyed.

It had taken me a while for me to fully wrap my head around what that meant, but eventually I decided that if it was reversible then I might as well just try it. Dierdre agreed, and given the current situation I decided to go with a species I’d never dare to summon unless I already had some level of affinity: An Orphne.

Orphne were fey nobles that dabbled in necromancy. How that specific niche constituted a species was beyond me, but most fey tended to live in extremely narrow niches. Tiny knight, playful trickster, and apparently arrogant sorceress were not just personality descriptions: they were roles that a fey soul fully embodied.

Dierdre sat languidly upon the poop deck, sipping at a glass of wine which she handed to a goblin skeleton whenever she wasn’t drinking. She was human sized in this form, with pale lavender skin and hair; she probably could have passed for a half-drow if not for her extremely exaggerated pointy ears.

https://postimg.cc/5XVMWL0c

I had several goblin corpses left over after taking Gobron’s ship, since sending them to Jerry was so spell point intensive, so she had enough raw materials to work with. Not quite enough that I was happy to see her using one as a glorified coffee table, though. Despite doubling in height and becoming stronger than most men on the crew, she seemed allergic to any form of physical labor.

“Have the ones in the depths found any more coral?” I asked, “Kelizar seemed pretty serious about cleaning this up.”

“It’s doubtful there are any shards left that are large enough to be hazardous; I’ve had my skeletons scouring the area all day.” She said, leaning back in her folding chair, “Could you move to the left, Emrys? You’re blocking my sun.”

Her indolence was no act, but she was doing quite a lot more than she seemed to be. Each and every skeleton she controlled was able to share in her skills, including Perception and the six ranks of Profession (sailor) she refused to use herself.

We’d dropped a team of eight skeletons over the side of the ship and had them do a search pattern, picking up each and every piece of bone coral in a wide area and carry it to a flat shelf, where the rest of my water breathing crew gathered it up and hauled it to the surface. The skeletons worked tirelessly, following the last order she’d given to them right up until she sent them a new mental command. They were also immune to the hypnotic patterns on a gloomwing, so a few of them had been given the important job of loading the extraplanar moth.

There was objectively no doubt that she was earning her keep… unfortunately objectivity wasn’t the only way to look at the situation. The crew had been shooting her dirty looks all morning, since they were doing the exhausting and repetitive work of pulling thirty pound bags of coral out of the ocean, only to hop onto the deck and see a woman idly watching while she sipped a drink she wasn’t even willing to hold for herself half the time.

“Is there any chance you could at least stand up? Something to make it clear that you are actively managing the skeletons? Maybe wave your hand like a conductor or something?” I asked, leaning in. “This is bad for morale. I don’t think I’m going to have a mutiny or anything, but the guys really aren’t a fan of the whole idle rich audience thing. Sosima’s the only person on the crew I haven’t heard some kind of complaint from.”

“Why should I worry about what the peasants think of me?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused, “The only task left to them is brute labor that my servants are quite ill suited to. I’d just as soon remove them from the equation entirely, if I had a few more buoyant servants. Their technique leaves much to be desired.”

“About that, could you also stop calling them peasants?” I asked, wiping sea water off my forehead. “Or carry a few bags yourself, instead of just yelling about how they are doing it wrong?”

“I’m already doing more than my fair share of work.” She said primly, “Why shouldn’t I make myself comfortable while doing so, if I can still far outstrip the masses?”

My eyebrow twitched. She wasn’t necessarily wrong, but Autopilot had told me enough about how her magic worked that I was pretty sure managing the skeletons took, at most, one command every fifteen to twenty minutes. She was chiming in with “helpful advice” because she was bored, but that didn’t translate to any willingness to lend a hand.

“Please, just humor them?” I asked, leaning in close, “I do. Controlling the weather isn’t all that hard either, but I make a point to give them a hand. Bring them water, praise their work, that kind of thing. They like it.”

Dierdre tuned out my words, instead focusing on our close proximity. I’d been in and out of the ocean all day, so I wasn’t wearing a shirt and my toned abdomen was on full display. I was still pretty thin and feminine by my own standards, but I suppose that among the more elfin fey I looked ruggedly handsome. It was certainly flattering, but I didn’t really have time for her to get horny on me just then. I snapped my fingers in her face.

“Hmm?” She said, “Oh I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t speak to the servants if it makes them uncomfortable. Is there any chance I might visit the other ship later? I would love to congratulate Rosie upon her new position before it is gone.”

Well at least she seems to maintain relationships across bodies. She still likes me and Rosie, but anyone she doesn’t have more than a passing acquaintance with already barely registers as a person to her. If this is how she acts with people she generally likes, I’m glad I never tried to summon one of these. I’m especially glad she can go back to pixie once we don’t need the skeletons; I’m used to slightly defiant, not genuine confusion at the idea of other people having feelings.

My team had been working around the clock for days, and we were just about ready to weigh anchor and get back to business. I’d lost a lot of time to this fiasco, and I’d lose more by visiting the nearest port on the Dahak Isles: Dragonsthrall. After all, I needed to maintain the lie that I’d only noticed the haunted ship in passing, and there was no good reason for me to sail this far north and then pivot south without doing anything else.

It wasn’t a waste of time. It was time spent deliberately to accomplish a clear goal. Just more time than I intended. I’m even most of the way to level 7. It’ll be fine. I can still make this work, I’m sure.

••••••••••

I’d thought long and hard about who I wanted to put in charge of Gobron’s Ship. Long term, I had every intention of developing my business beyond The Enterprise, so I needed to test people out for management roles. Gobron’s Ship was built for people who topped out at below five feet tall, which meant I was picking from among the smallfolk.

I can’t go with Narwhal. He’s too erratic, and Sandara would have an absolute field day claiming it’s because he slept with me that one time. Since, of course, most of my officers have already done so.

Rowe, the obvious choice, was also an utterly terrible option. She was extremely competent and brilliant, but also incredibly erratic and blunt. If I put her in charge and anyone disapproved of a single decision she made, I was almost certain that she’d consider pulling out her gun to be part of pulling rank.

I also don’t really want to let her go long term. She can barely cover procedures in the best of times, but she’s pretty great to have around when SOPs break down.

I didn’t think Conchobar’s nerves could take the pressure just yet, but he’d impressed me enough to be slotted in as first mate. That left Rosie or Ratts, and I decided to go with the one who had both seniority and a mastery of basic hygiene.

“You’re sure you’ll be fine?” I asked, “I’ll send someone over as long as we are in line of sight, but if we get separated by another storm my teleporters won’t know exactly where you are.”

“You’re as bad as my mum.” Rosie said, “It’s only a day trip. I can manage.”

Yeah, but the last time I split off from my crew, I came back to a siege.

I was resisting the urge to kneel down to speak to Rosie; apparently that was considered condescending on Bag Island. I didn’t see anywhere convenient to sit down either, so the only play left was to tower over her and stand a few feet away so the angle wasn’t too ****.

“Maybe it’s a day trip, maybe not.” I said, “You’ll be in command for a while if we don’t find a good buyer.”

“Do you trust me or not, Emrys?” Rosie asked, crossing her arms.

“Sorry, sorry.” I said, “I guess I’m just jumpy. Last time I left a ship alone, Sosima almost died. I’m sure you’ll handle anything normal, but my life seems allergic to normal.”

Rosie nodded solemnly. I wasn’t trying to undermine her authority, but she’d already lost one arm for me.

“I get it.” She said, “We’ll be fine. We checked the charts, and this ship is all paid up on permits. We aren’t likely to get attacked around these parts; frankly that brine dragon was pretty ballsy to extort us.”

Yeah, because he can summon whirlpools and has an army. No one is going to commit to a naval war with him over a glorified toll.

“Do you mind if I do one last inspection of the hold before I go?” I asked, “I’d like to check on Conchobar, too.”

“Go ahead.”

I headed down, crouching in the hallways, and knocked on the first mate’s door. Conchobar let me in, and I sat on the massive gorilla fur rug. The massive black pelt was too big for the closet sized room, bunching up at the walls. I didn't get the impression that Gobron allocated much space for his officers in the floor plan.

“Are you sure I can’t talk you out of making me first mate?” Conchobar asked, pleading. “I was just pretending to know what I was doing when I fought the dragon!”

“Same.” I said, smirking at the little guy. “I’m not exactly a trained professional, either. I think you can manage it, but if you can’t, then that’s why Rosie is the one actually in charge. That, and one other reason. Any dice?”

Conchobar sighed and reached into the back of the goblin wardrobe. He pulled out a corkscrew shaped golden horn, etched with scales and carved into the shape of a dragon’s head. It had been absolutely covered in grime when I first retrieved it from the Saber’s Kiss, but that had wiped off like it was made of teflon.

“I’ve experimented with it a bit,” Conchobar said, “There’s a song it wants me to play, but there are long pauses and sections that just trail off. The more complete parts I’ve been able to puzzle out are definitely bardic, but so far the only effect I managed to pick out was to make gold glow.”

“Well, that fits the name, I guess?”

The horn was, at least according to Autopilot, a minor artifact called The Horn of Riches. My mission log, in turn, confirmed that this horn was one piece of the Three Reasons to Live that Varossa was looking for.

So we’ve got cash. What are the other two “reasons to live”? Ass and grass?

I’d combed through my reference document to find out what artifacts were, but it was extremely coy beyond saying they were powerful, impossible to reproduce, and nearly indestructible. From my personal experience, they seemed to be massive pains in the ass.

I couldn’t identify it. It wasn’t like my scroll of inverted reactions, which had no magical aura to speak of. It had an aura, a strong one made of swirling stripes of red and violet, but Autopilot couldn’t read it beyond the title, the fact it was an artifact, and a few schools of magic. It was called The Horn of Riches, and its magic was Evocation and Enchantment.

So the magic that is good at generating energy, and the magic that can mess with people’s brains. The light might be evocation, but where’s the enchantment?

“I can’t identify the artifact, but maybe I can identify the spell?” I suggested, “Give it a shot.”

Conchobar shrugged and held the horn to his lips, blowing gently. The horn trilled, sounding a lot more like a flute than I was expecting, as he burst into a bombastic song in D major.

The flute’s aura flared, and a small pile of gold coins on Conchobar’s table began to glow softly. He hit a high note, and one of them flared bright enough to sting my eyes. I closed them on instinct, which was fine since I could see the magical auras just fine through my eyelids.

Will Save 20+8=Critical Success

Will save, eh? Okay, now we are on to something.

I examined it from across the room, squinting my closed eyes. The light probably accounted for evocation, but I wasn’t sure where enchantment came in.

Will Save 16+8=24 Success

“Yep, that’s definitely not just a light spell.” I said, “I think its trying to enchant me. Have you shown this to anyone else?”

“Of course not.” Conchobar said, stopping the music. “You told me not to.”

“That explains it. I don’t think I could charm myself if I wanted to.” I said, “It would probably be a disaster if I could. Not being able to see your own actions in a bad light sounds like a good way to get in a lot of trouble.”

The flaring aura died down to a residue after he stopped playing, which my spell resistance drank up like a sponge. I waited ten seconds, and there didn’t seem to be another save on the way.

I signaled for Conchobar to start it up again, and though I could power through a few more will saves, Autopilot didn’t manage to figure out what exactly the flute’s light did from the aura. (Spellcraft 5+11=16) Even when I deliberately failed the save I wasn’t entirely sure what effect it had on me. It didn’t become obvious until I tried to put down the glowing coin I’d been examining. I put it in my pocket.

I furrowed my brow, pulled it back out, and slapped it down on the table. Once there, I immediately palmed it so that Conchobar wouldn’t see me putting it back in my pouch.

“It’s probably just to draw the eye.” I said, “we might be able to use it to ambush someone. Have some of our men hiding in the shadows nearby, strike while the enemy is focused on the gold.”

“What, are they going to just ignore the guy playing a golden flute?” Conchobar asked, “Is this thing only useful as a set?”

I smiled at him, finally able to pull out the coin and toss it onto his bed.

“I’m not entirely sure yet.” I admitted, “but it certainly does something. I couldn’t help but try to keep it while you were playing.”

I scratched my chin thoughtfully.

“Test it out on two people at once tomorrow, eh?” I said, “Just don’t do it near anyone armed.”