Startup 94: Always be Closing

The cannons roared, sending forth cannonball after cannonball across the surface to strike the general vicinity of the two latest aspirants. Great plumes of white foam exploded into the air, only serving to muddy the view further. No red, though. They hadn’t made contact. The gunnery team would need to be disciplined to save face.

Sam Irons wasn’t all that bloodthirsty. He liked to think of himself as a decent enough fellow. He’d only even worshipped Besmara so he could ask her to keep the storms and fighting away from him. That had worked while he was alive, she’d been quite accommodating really, but on balance he’d say the plan had backfired.

Lucky for him, it turned out he was pretty good at dealing with the situations he’d spent his whole life avoiding. Good enough to end up as the quartermaster on Besmara’s herald, the Kelpie’s Wrath. The second in command, in fact, since the Wrath didn’t think he needed a captain or a first mate other than himself.

Old Sam did all the work a first mate would do, of course. Someone had to. That meant he managed the crew, he dealt out punishments, he checked the supplies, and he led boarding parties. He didn’t breathe, he didn’t actually get tired. It was exhausting anyway, in no small part because of his captain.

“What are they doing?” The Kelpie’s Wrath growled in his mind. “Do I have to do everything myself? I’m giving them as clear a shot as they could hope for!”

“Don’t you worry, Cap’n.” Sam said, “I just thought it might be good to set some of our newer hands to the task. Get them a dash of seasoning before we trust them on a real job.”

“Securing my mistress’s island is a real job!” The Wrath roared, the rigging shaking with his fury. “Every fool I let through is a breach of divine command!”

Sam Irons did not gainsay his captain. The local high priestess disagreed, and Sam was more inclined to agree with her interpretation. The locals’ decision to test the island’s defenses was entirely reckless, but a bit endearing. They were usually so earnest about it. Besmara tolerated the Voyage because it kept the guardians sharp, no more and no less.

Sam looked through his spyglass again, trying to pick out the drow and the redhead, just in time to see a streak of white, flash frozen rain leap from the water’s surface towards the island. It seemed to Sam they’d have opened with that if things were really that simple, so he wasn’t at all surprised when he saw the red haired cleric running along the surface at a dead sprint.

The other ten redheads spreading out and doing the same thing were a bit more of a puzzle, but legible enough. Illusions, while the captain was still busy managing that whirlpool. Probably the best spell she had left; Major Image was one of Besmara’s domain spells after all.

Sam sent out a telepathic command to the crew.

“Focus fire based on the one closest to the shore. Double time, and use the canister shot. They’re making a break for it.”

The illusions were running in mostly straight lines. Sam kept an eye out for any of them taking proper evasive action; she’d need to be a damn fine illusionist if she was going to do fine control on all of them. Hell, she’d even sent half of the illusions further out to sea, towards the Wrath itself.

“Prepare long rifles. Anyone not otherwise engaged, we have target practice.”

Sam suspected that the crew would be able to pick off most, if not all, of the illusions and take out the real girl within a minute. The drow, it seemed, had given up on ending the Voyage together. Cold, but that was part of Besmara’s teachings too. She wasn’t getting away on the surface.

Well, perhaps she just slipped beneath the waves. If she did, then she’s Horven’s problem again. Hopefully she has a plan to evade him when he gets bored.

“Oi! Listen up, ye overgrown coffin!” One of the illusions running along the surface yelled. “She’s not going to fuck you! It was never going to happen! If you’d ever had a ghost of a chance, she wouldn’t have turned you into a ship!”

“WHAT. KILL THAT ONE.”

“It’s almost definitely an illusion, Captain.”

“I KNOW. THEY ARE STILL HER WORDS.”

The Wrath lurched beneath Sam’s feet as the ghost ship pivoted on the spot, a turn that ships one tenth its size would kill to manage. Sam felt the odd distortion in the world that always happened when the Wrath took control of a spell, and a great whirlpool opened up just behind them, just far enough back for the Kelpie’s Wrath to escape. All but one of the redheads vanished, one who had been approaching the shore at an oblique angle. She’d have been one of the last fired upon, if she hadn’t decided to taunt the Herald of a goddess.

The illusions flickered back into existence as the Wrath lifted the entire sea serpent they’d just killed upon a waterspout. It was still twitching as it sailed through the air in a graceless but perfectly aimed arc and landed directly upon the poor redheaded fool with enough force to shatter every bone in a mortal body. The rest of the illusions vanished a moment later, ending just as quickly as they’d returned.

••••••••••

Naomi tried her best to look angry, which apparently should have been easy. She was legitimately enraged, and according to Cog she usually looked at least slightly angry. The moment she was trying to look the part of a stern disciplinarian, however, she had no idea what to do with her face.

Rawna’s girls gathered before the shrine of Callistria Rawna kept in the common room. It was the biggest symbol of authority available, and Cog had grown up in the goddess’s faith.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

I don’t know. I wouldn’t trust a dame like that. All emotion; she’s trouble. What if she doesn’t like that Cogward left her? You know the saying about a woman scorned?

Milo didn’t bring that up until they already had half the assembly ready, so all it did was put Naomi more on edge. Their plan was simple: put Cog on trial.

Once they were all present, Naomi clapped her hands once and spoke above the annoyed chatter. Most of the girls were looking at Cog, currently tied to a wooden chair, with great interest.

“Alright everyone.” Naomi said, “There has been a fairly serious accusation leveled against Crimson Cogward here. As bosun he would normally be in charge of disciplinary action. Given that the captain, the first mate, the second mate, the quartermaster, the sailing master, and the local port authority are all unavailable, I’ve asked our gunnery chief to oversee the trial.”

Naomi gestured towards Rowe, who had a finger knuckle deep in her nose and seemed to be digging around for something. She sat on the edge of the altar, and was kicking her legs like an impatient child. Rawna gaped at her.

“Is there truly no one else available?” Rawna asked.

“Well there’s also the mistress of arms, but she’s incapable of speech and talks with her hands.” Naomi said, “I believe you saw her yesterday. The tall ratfolk woman.”

Rawna blanched at the mention of Filli, and shook her head.

“I suppose this is fine.” She said.

It’s for the best. Rowe will probably threaten someone with a gun by the end of this, but Filli would be asking why we even bother with the trial.

“Excellent.” Naomi said, “So, Miss Silk. Would you be so kind as to stand before the altar?”

The half-drow woman warily complied, seeming to realize that she was in danger. She kept glancing furtively at Cog, as if she expected him to rear up and attack her.

“Don’t worry.” Naomi said, “He is quite securely tied. Now, are you ready to speak.”

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready to talk in front of everyone.” Silk said, and let out a sob that came completely out of nowhere. “I’m so scared.”

Naomi glanced out at the crowd of girls. Most seemed to be reflexively taking Silk’s side.

A group like this doesn’t survive by not trusting their own. We're gonna need to work this crowd pretty good.

“Don’t worry.” Naomi said, “It’s just us girls here. I’m sure everyone here is familiar with the worst aspects of men. Our judge here narrowly escaped forced marriage before she became gunnery chief.”

“After.” Rowe said, correcting Naomi, “Join crew, then adult, then fifty seven attempts after that. Mostly shoot kneecaps. Or dick.”

Naomi’s eye twitched.

“That was while you were on leave, yes?” Naomi said, “I don’t remember hearing about anything like that happening from the crew.”

“Ratts tried once when drunk.” Rowe said cheerfully. “Very drunk. Was nice though. Stopped when he saw gun. Never fired. No need.”

Naomi felt a brief desire to find that dirty little halfling and strangle him, but elected to let that particular topic drop. It wasn’t helping.

“Just tell us what happened.” Naomi said tersely. “You don’t need to go into detail, but I need you to be honest with me.”

Silk took a deep breath and fanned herself with her hand.

“Alright. Well. He… he forced himself upon me. Of course, I was assigned to him and I was ready to do anything reasonable, but then he… he asked to…” Silk said, covering her eyes with her arm and looking away. “I need time and preparation for something to be put in my rear. Especially a large cock like humans have. He didn’t want to wait, or take it slow. So instead he pulled out a knife and…”

She sobbed again. She’d even managed a few actual tears this time. Naomi wrote down her statements one at a time.

“So you let him know you did not want this?” Naomi said, “You believe a reasonable person would agree that what he did was wrong?”

“Yes, obviously!” Silk said, shifting from inconsolable sobs to anger in a flash. “He is a monster!”

“Very well.” Naomi said. “Tuya, would you be willing to read what is on this paper?”

The marble skinned woman blinked at being called up, but complied. In an even, steady voice she read the list aloud.

“Cogward forced himself upon Silk. Cogward and Silk had anal sex. Silk did not consent to anal sex. Cogward forced the encounter to happen more quickly, making the experience painful and upsetting for Silk. Cog threatened Silk with a knife. Silk did not deliberately indicate a desire for rough treatment. Silk made her honest desires known to the best of her abilities. Any failure to communicate on Silk’s part was due to a heightened emotional state. Cog is a dangerous man. A reasonable and moral person would condemn Cog’s actions.”

The crowd of girls looked at Cog in stony faced condemnation. They were ready to throw him to whatever wolves were available. Only Rawna and Silk seemed ill at ease. The half orc matron’s eyes were narrowed, trying to figure out what came next.

“Ladies.” Naomi said, “Would you agree that if these statements are true, that Crimson Cogward is guilty of a heinous crime?”

A unified chorus of “yes” came back.

“Officer Rowe, what is the punishment on the Enterprise for forcing oneself upon another member of the crew?” Naomi asked, “Since Captain M’Dair made it quite clear that he considered all hired entertainers to be part of his crew?”

Naomi legitimately didn’t know. She’d never seen anyone punished for anything more serious than drunkenness or shirking work on the Enterprise. For all his recklessness in other areas, Emrys genuinely seemed to be good at hiring decent people.

“Not on ship anymore.” Rowe said promptly. “Drop off on nearest shore with bag of fish and a knife.”

So marooning. Sounds about right.

“But since Silk is here, I think Captain M’Dair would instead confine him to his quarters until we are away from Besmara’s Throne.” Naomi said, “Then we’d maroon him at the next island.”

Rowe nodded.

“Captain does stuff like that.” She agreed. “I say ocean is closer than shore.”

“Very well.” Naomi said, and took the paper from Tuya. “Now Silk, I need you to read that paper again in the exact same words.”

Silk did so, nervously glancing at Rawna the whole time.

“Good, good.” Naomi said, and placed one hand on Silk’s shoulder. “Now do so again.”

Naomi invoked Milo’s power.

“Cogward-“ The words caught in Silk’s throat. Her eyes widened in panic.

One could not lie within a Zone of Truth.

••••••••••

The Karkinoi that noticed Syl’s boat rowing away from the ship seemed to think that the smaller boat would be easier prey. They were wrong, of course, but they only learned that when they reached the surface.

Syl, knowing what she might fight today, had picked up a light pick. Essentially a hammer meant to pierce through tough hides. When one of the Karkinoi surfaced, she would crack their shells with one hand, and the other would drive her sickle deep into its body and tear at least one major artery free. Once that was done, it was only a matter of surviving while it bled out.

Kiko, Sora, and Conchobar were doing their best to row as quickly as possible, and managed to make their trip short enough that Syl only needed to kill two of the things. The whole band charged up the stone steps, ready to a fight. One of their own was in danger.

They walked in on the sight of a massacre.

Syl took in the scene clinically, as she always had. Viscera spilled out over the stones. An elven head, which appeared to have been roughly torn off, lay a few feet from the top of the stairs. Conchobar and Kiko were both vomiting behind her; Sora refused to look.

No active threats. Good.

In the center of it all, her entire body caked in gore, Sosima was on her hands and knees. A stream of red vomit left her mouth in great heaves, full of red chunks of what had once been elves. Syl saw cracked shards of bone mixed into the pile of vomit.

I’ll need to check to make sure she didn’t pierce herself with splinters of bone. That could be serious.

Syl calmly stepped over a bisected elf corpse to reach Sosima, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“We are here.” She said calmly. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Sosima tilted her head up to look at Syl, golden eyes meeting white. Her tears had already cleared tracks through the gore. Perhaps she had been crying even as the blood was spilled.

“I never wanted you all to see…” Sosima said.

“It’s alright.” Syl said, “You’re not a monster, but having the ability to become one is a useful trick.”

Syl looked around again, noting where Sosima had pinned one of the elves to the arch with her sword. It seemed to be lodged into a deep, freshly opened crack in the stone. The elf had died trying to pull it out.

“I’m guessing there’s a reason you don’t do this more often.” She added, “Vishgurv is involved, yes?”

Sosima nodded numbly, rocking back to kneel and hug herself.

“He’s a right bastard, I think.” Syl said. “I think we are all looking forward to when you can let go of him.”

She squeezed Sosima’s shoulder again through the bloodstained mail. The Gillwoman looked up at Syl silently, her lip quivering like a child awaiting punishment.

“We can throw a party or something when that happens, and you can tell us everything you can’t say now.”

Sosima leaned against Syl’s thigh and let out another ragged sob. Syl stayed with her. None of the other three were ready to go that far. They could guard the stairs.

••••••••••

I felt when Ve’ra’s body was obliterated by the Kelpie’s Wrath, and signed “now” to the splashing water next to me. The almost invisible lines of bright blue illusion magic trailing off of her snapped and her Major Image ended. Invisibility wasn’t quite as effective in the ocean as it was on dry land, since it made a hollow in the water, but the surface was choppy enough that I hoped we’d be ok.

I was working on the assumption that a divine herald was better at seeing invisibility than I was, so Sandara and I were swimming as fast as we could towards the shore. Our entire escape plan relied on a very angry ship believing, with complete confidence, that he’d pasted Sandara and there was nothing more to be done about me.

Sandara had decided to keep Ride the Waves up, almost certainly figuring that cutting the time we were exposed by 80% was worth the extra visibility under arcane sight. We were both swimming as hard as we could, making a final mad dash assisted by the magical current.

The rocky, coin strewn ocean floor rose to meet us, and soon I was scrambling on my hands and knees in the churning waves. An invisible force, the redhead that I knew to be Sandara, hauled me to my feet and we waded the last few hundred steps as quickly as we could manage. I wasn’t going to stop moving until I was safely on land. Preferably somewhere that was dry at high tide.

We coughed up water as we splashed towards shore, panting heavily.

“How,” I puffed, “how did you know what to say to it?”

“The Kelpie’s Wrath?” Sandara said, “I guessed.”

“You guessed?” I asked, spitting in a vain attempt to get the taste of salt off my tongue. “Sounded pretty pointed to me.”

“Yeah, well. He was a pirate in life.” Sandara said, “I asked why a pirate would become a herald? Not just live their life following Besmara, but really dedicate themselves to her.”

“And your only explanation was that he was a simp?” I asked, taking a gulp of air.

“A what?” Sandara asked, “Is that some drow insult?”

“Sure.” I said, “Short for a simpering idiot. Someone who’s never going to touch the person he’s in love with and should know it.”

“I’ll need to remember that one.” Sandara said, squeezing her hair like a sponge.

We were only ankle deep in water by then, and after we trudged a few more feet we collapsed on the shore into a field of tall, stiff grass. I looked around just long enough to see that there was nothing present except a few coconut trees and a sheer cliff further inland. It also wasn’t raining, not even a little bit. Moments later, a jolt of energy ran up my arm and my mind cleared.

Sandara has cast Lesser Restoration

You are no longer fatigued

“Come on, mate.” Sandara said. “Let’s not drop our guard until the award ceremony.”

“Oh?” I groused, “but these jagged rocks are so comfortable.”

I pulled myself to my feet, and we climbed the rock wall in record time. I cheated by casting levitate, but that felt like it was in the spirit of the Voyage.

An elderly woman with dark, leathery brown skin sat in a wooden rocking chair at the top of the cliff. She had a spyglass in her hands, which glowed with white divination magic. She placed it into her lap as we hauled ourselves over the top of the cliff. Her hair was tied back in white braids stained yellow by smoke, and her dark eyes glared at Sandara disapprovingly.

“Did you have to rile him up like that?” She asked, “He’s going to be insufferable for months.”

“He was trying to kill me ya dumb biddy!” Sandara replied, asking no questions about who this was.

I looked at her a bit more carefully. Under magic sight she had an aura of powerful chaos, shimmering colors that twisted around her. Sandara had something similar, but it was more of a shimmering after image. I was pretty sure that this woman was either an outsider or a damn powerful cleric.

“Sorry about that.” I said. “So, what happens now?”

The elderly woman smiled at me, showing glistening teeth made of enchanted gold. She ambled to her feet, grabbed her cane, and led us down the shore, clearly in no particular hurry.

••••••••••

Sorry about the missed week. A combination of work and illness kicked my ass for the last month, and so I’ve been doing a lot more work on a story that’s, frankly, a lot easier to just shit out because it’s just dumb fun to me.

Basically, you guys are actually caught up to my patrons. With that in mind, after this arc (when all these threads come to the end and they leave the island) there will be a while when I have this thread on hiatus. I will probably post SOMETHING here just to fill space, and it’s basically the first chunk of the actual original novel I’m trying to write. Just because that’s something that is already written, even if it’s still just an early draft.