NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 57: Well at Least I’m Leaving This Island a Captain
Erastus 6, Afternoon
When someone is generous with resources, I usually expect them to be in good shape. Basically healthy, or possibly fat, but not skeletal. Aaron Ivey was so gaunt that I felt pangs of sympathetic hunger when I looked at him, reminding me of old pictures of Holocaust survivors more than anything else. His shirt hung off of him in loose flaps, and if his face was anything to go by his whole body looked like a shrink wrapped skeleton. Moreover, I definitely expected him to be far happier about possibly going free.
“No, no. Nobody gets off this island, mate.” He called down from the ledge overlooking us. “You’re doing better than most, but it’s only a matter of time before you run out of tricks. I’m sorry to say this, but I need you to get the ill away from me. I’m not having an outbreak on my property.”
“I’m telling you, we killed hundreds of the things.” I yelled, exasperated. “Syl is pretty sure that with Sandara restoring the worst affected, most of us will make it out ok.”
It’s only a DC 13 fortitude save and it does 1d3 dex and con damage per failed save. Sure, that’ll kill someone if they are unlucky, but it’s more a slow wasting away sort of thing. Syl can give everyone a +4 on their saves and heal 1d4 ability damage to a handful of people per day. Two successful saves, and someone is out of danger. The odds of someone actually dying from ghoul fever when she is watching them are basically nil. The real danger was us getting attacked while everyone was disabled.
“If any one of them turns, they’ll rip the rest of you apart.” He warned. “No, no, you all need to clear off. I’ll let you do the air elemental thing for another day then I want you off my land.”
That isn’t enough time even if I was ok with dropping the mission and leaving this guy to rot. I’m willing to risk a bad roll. Autopilot, you’re up.
“Please sir. I am uninfected.” I pleaded with him. “Allow me to make my case to you face to face like a man, instead of all this calling back and forth at a distance.”
Ideally I would be able to convince him, but if not I could consent myself with closing the distance on what was obviously a ranged combatant.
Ivey stared at me, his eyes darting wildly as he looked for any sign of infection. I met his gaze with difficulty, staring up at the hatefully bright sky. Almost without thinking, I called clouds to hide the sun and shade my eyes.
“Fine. Just you, though.” He relented. “You aren’t going to convince me to turn this place into a hospice long term, but we can figure out a better plan. Let me get the rope.” (Diplomacy 17+8=25)
“No need to risk that.” I assured him, and leapt to the higher ledge with levitate. “I needed your permission, not your assistance. I want to work with you, Aaron.”
He scrambled away several steps, eyes widening with momentary panic, before he could master himself.
Not used to having guests, I see.
I pretended I didn’t notice, preferring to look around the small plateau that Aaron called his home while he composed himself. It was a cluttered but orderly place, mostly blanketed with berry bushes and the occasional tree bearing green fruit. The small red berries certainly didn’t look like they’d be enough to sustain a person alone, even if the trees were fruit bearing, but I didn’t recognize either surface plant regardless. (Knowledge Nature 3+2=5) In any event, Aaron was hardly a picture of health. If they were what he was eating, they were doing the bare minimum. A dozen strategically placed barrels caught the rain, ensuring that he’d always have water in a climate as wet as the Shackles.
I noted a large pallet of boxes covered in sail cloth and secured with ropes. A total mystery. (Sense Motive 5+1=6).
Probably extra storage. That hut doesn’t seem all that big and I don’t think he’s wearing fancy Chelish lady dresses on most days.
“You might as well come in, since you’re here.” Aaron said after composing himself, shuffling towards his house.
Aaron had built a small black hut and slathered it in tar like a ship’s hull, leaving it waterproof but highly flammable. It had a few slits for windows and a weathered old door that I was almost certain he hadn’t built himself. It was elaborately carved to depict a ship; maybe it was a famous ship, maybe it was just the platonic ideal of a ship. I couldn’t tell.
Then again, maybe one year he just got really into making doors and carving pictures of ships and that was how he spent a few months. I will not judge a castaway for having a few creative hobbies.
Aaron’s small one room refuge had an excessive amount of seating for a hermit terrified of people. A bed, a sofa, multiple wooden chairs, and sea chests covered with deteriorated cushions cluttered the space, made worse by the scattered tools which littered the floor. I nearly stepped on a shovel, which would have definitely popped up into the air if I hadn’t noticed it.
He’d decorated the walls with glass-covered paintings of landscapes, women, and ships, and had a statue of a woman ensconced on one of the chairs near his bed. The table held heaps of tan colored paper, which seemed to be mostly covered in words handwritten in dark red ink.
What are those? His memoirs? Dear diary, I sat on a cliffside and regretted my choice of career. God, I hope those aren’t written in blood.
Aaron had hung a single lantern from a rope in the center of the room. It had the slightly too-white color I’d come to associate with eternal flames, which I confirmed with a brief sweep of detect magic. I’d only been planning on checking the lantern, but another aura piqued my interest. The statue glowed with a flickering aura of conjuration magic. It wasn’t a magic item by most technical terms, as the magic wasn’t anchored properly for that. The marble bust had an active enchantment on it. Unfortunately, I could not identify it beyond the educated guess that it was somehow related to spirit binding. (Spellcraft 6+9=15 partial success)
Must be lonely up here. I wonder if the magic statue is here to… uh… keep him company. If so he’d best hope that Empress Abrogail Thrune II never finds out he’s pleasuring himself to a sculpture of her namesake. (Knowledge Nobility 18+2=20)
“Sit wherever.” Aaron muttered. “Sorry the place is a bit messy. Have you eaten today?”
“Not since I woke up.” I told him. “You are fine. There is no reason that you would have cleaned up for me.”
He picked up a berry from a bowl and handed it to me. I looked at the single red berry, which looked a bit like a pale pink raspberry, trying to hide my skepticism, and popped it into my mouth. It was extremely tart, like it might not be quite ripe, but I smiled and nodded at Aaron anyway. As I swallowed, I noticed a warmth flowing through my body. I needed a few moments to recognize the familiar feeling.
It feels like Sandara’s healing spells. The fruit is charged with positive energy, which may be how he’s subsisting on nothing but berries. I believe Druids are known to do something similar. (Spellcraft 20+9=29 critical success)
Autopilot continued to chatter in the back of my head about the Goodberry spell and its many logistical implications, even citing variants that bless mushrooms and charming historical anecdotes. I wasn’t sure if this was just the natural 20 or if I’d somehow stumbled across a special interest of his. It all would have been great dinner conversation among some of my nerdier friends, but I had a fifty-something hermit to talk to.
“Thanks. I needed that.” I told him, smiling. “I hope I’m not coming on too strong, but I really think you could be a great asset when we leave the island. You’re obviously one hell of a survivor, so I’d like to offer you a job. If you don’t want to work with me, you’ve still done a ton to help us out and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
“It’s fine, mate.” He answered. “We breathers need to stick together.”
“That's the thing, though.” I told him. “I’ve got a mass grave of ghouls down by the shore and a servant of Pharasma personally escorted their souls away. I’m planning on rustling up a few more Esoboks to go hunting on my way off the island, and I genuinely believe the ghoul threat will be over when they are done. You don’t need to stay here.”
“I’m tellin you, mate,” Aaron said, “you need to manage your expectations. Those things are just about endless on this island. Only reason they left me alone was that I don’t have any meat on my bones. If you can get off while the fires are still holding them back, do it. Don't stick around, and don’t come back.”
“Aaron.” A feminine voice snapped. “He has a ship, no?”
Aaron and I whipped our heads towards the corner of the room. The bust had shifted to look at us. The voice that issued from its unmoving lips was scratchy and mature, like a woman who’d been smoking for decades.
Sure. Why not have a talking statue. Better than a volleyball.
“I do.” I confirmed.
“And this is the man who you’ve been complaining about?” The bust of Queen Abrogail Thrune I continued. “With the air elemental?”
“He is, Cave Mother.” Aaron answered, looking down at his boots.
Autopilot, do we have a file on Cave Mother?
She’s a spirit of the first circle. Restricted to military use by Chelish doctrine, meaning that she has combat applications and is deemed dangerous to expose school children to, but isn’t intrinsically dangerous or disruptive when dealing with mature adults. I have no idea how she is possessing this statue, but Ivey certainly had a long time to do whatever it is he did. (Knowledge Arcana 8+8=16)
“Then wait. You are skin and bones; you will die if you stay here much longer, even with my magic sustaining you.” Cave Mother said testily. “If he manages to get off the island, he can weigh anchor and send the elemental back for you. The ghouls are poor swimmers; they won’t be able to pursue even half a mile out to sea.”
Shit. That’s a perfectly logical plan, but I’ve got a time limit on the mission.
“Do you really want to abandon all of your possessions for a looter to find?” I asked Aaron. “I’m willing to give you a share of the loot and feed you as long as you’re on my ship, but that’s not going to get you very far if you decide to leave the crew.”
“Begin packing now.” Cave Mother commanded. “It seems it’s finally time to decide what junk you actually wish to keep. And be sure to pack the booklets I instructed you to make. They were a waste of time if you don’t distribute them.”
“Yes Cave Mother.” Aaron said, chastened.
“My carpenter should have the ship ready to go soon, and I don’t want to waste time ferrying everything you own after we are already at sea.” I said, arms crossed. “We can start shipping things now, and I’d prefer to secure you on the ship in case you’re right. If you’d really like, we can even send you out to sea on the jollyboat.”
“You had a jollyboat?” Aaron exclaimed. “This whole time? Why did you stay here?”
“Because I’m not enough of a coward to abandon my whole crew, or enough of an idiot to believe they’d let me.” I said dryly. “I’ll let you leave at the first sign of trouble, and you can take along anyone you like. I’ll take anything in your home that you don’t bring along if you flee and we survive, however.” (Diplomacy 19+8=27 Success!)
“Deal.” Aaron said, his eyes lighting up.
“Of course.” Cave Mother muttered. “The opportunity to flee is what convinced you. Drow, he will go with you tomorrow morning. He will need to pack and gather provisions.”
“Fine by me.” I agreed. “I know a few people who might be willing to go with you, though it might be hard to take Cave Mother. That statue looks heavy.”
If I send Caulky and Scourge ahead but keep Plugg, they’ll probably tell a story somewhat closer to the truth than Plugg would.
“I can’t just leave her!” Aaron said at the exact moment Cave Mother answered, “He will survive without a vessel to speak to. If you would be so kind, I request a place on your ship. Perhaps as a figurehead?”
“I’ll let you sort that out amongst yourselves.” I said, excusing myself. “It’s none of my business.”
••••••••••
Erastus 7, early morning
Rowe carefully tapped an irregularly shaped plank into place. She’d spent hours measuring the hole, and just as long carefully carving the plug to match it perfectly. She wedged it into the hull, with only a few millimeters of space to spare, and had a team of four men hold it in place for several hours while she did the rest.
With liberal application of thick black tar, she sealed the crack. Then she had to go outside and rappel down to do the same from the other direction. She repeated the process several times as she layered on sailcloth, affixed it to the hull with staples and more tar, and smoothed it out so that the patch would disrupt the ship as little as possible. It was a patch job, but with occasional check ins and maintenance it would easily get us to a real shipyard for proper repairs.
Shame we can’t leave with the tide, but we should be able to manage in a couple days.
I watched with some curiosity throughout the whole process, assisting where I could. I was one of the only people on the crew who was fully healthy, and I thanked my lucky stars for that. Autopilot was fairly miserable, sluggish and irritable if I ever asked anything of him, but I felt the illness as nothing more than a somewhat bad cold. I sat down a lot, but I could power through well enough.
I’d decided to use the Royal Pardon I’d received from saving Sosima to make the ship mine. No one would ever think anything of the fact that my ship was stolen; it was in the past. I’d confirmed with the captives that we were still in hot water over the mutiny, but I suspected that Harrigan would be substantially less upset about a bunch of deserters if he didn’t take into account the ship they’d stolen. The Master of Gales and any Rahadoumi authorities would be equally indifferent to the chain of possession, with any luck. I could start fresh.
The ghouls didn’t harass us again; Litorias didn’t find many of them in her sweeps of the island, so I was thinking we’d at least convinced the survivors we were worth hiding from. If they had made another dedicated attempt on our lives with us all sick like this, I’d have put our odds as a coin flip. I was out of gimmicks, and half my party was busy providing medical care or repairs. Sosima or Cog was always on deck, keeping watch, but they couldn’t fight off ten ghouls alone even if they’d proven functionally immune to ghoul fever. Aaron was present too, but I didn’t really consider him a combatant. He never strayed far from the jolly boat, which he had ready to launch at a moment’s notice. I had no idea if Cave Mother could do anything but talk, but she seemed invested in getting off the island.
The voices in my head say that you being on the ship is good enough for them, so shine on you crazy hermit.
By getting Aaron on the ship with us, I’d secured another experience point and Spell Focus: Conjuration. A passive boost to my conjuration spells sounded great, until I realized that it didn’t actually improve my summoning spells at all. If I got a spell to summon an anvil above someone’s head, it would be great. Until then, it was basically useless. I’d gotten another +1 to strength from becoming a captain, brought autopilot to the illustrious rank of “average male strength.”
I’d had big plans about scavenging through the sunken ships to pad our pockets, which I still might do before leaving, but everyone on the crew was tacitly content to rest until the fever faded. Even with only second hand illness through autopilot, I couldn’t bring myself to push them harder than that if I didn’t have a mission on the line.
When I was on deck, I practiced my new weather magic. It was extremely versatile, but a bit slow and finicky compared to most of my magic. It took almost a full minute to reverse the direction of the wind for example, and required Autopilot’s undivided attention to do so. I didn’t think it would have many combat applications in close quarters, but it would give me something useful to do on the ship. I already knew I’d have Sandara take care of the sailing part of the job, since I didn’t know the first thing about rigging or tacking into the wind, but if the men knew I was keeping the weather on our side they probably wouldn’t mind that.
I had books to read from Plugg’s shelves, and Aaron had given me a pamphlet about how to summon and bind an aspect of Cave Mother. Sosima had told me it was accurate, but didn’t include any of the standard safety procedures most binders used when calling spirits. That was a common pitfall when learning rituals directly from spirits, apparently. Sosima and I, being healthy and useless in the medbay, spent hours on deck shooting the shit. We both avoided talking about our pasts in too much detail. I had picked up that she’d been going into show business but couldn’t as an open tiefling; I didn’t really need more than that to feel sorry for her.
“Why do you always have an illusion up?” I asked at one point. “You’re a Gillman now, right? Why always a tiefling face? Why not… I dunno, an elf or something?”
She shimmered for a moment, and examined her Gillman face with a small mirror she kept on hand.
“This face feels like a lie to me.” She explained after staring for a long while. Her face shimmered again, and the scales and blue highlights faded from view. “This is the face I wore to school for most of my life. By the time it was ripped away, I was almost thankful. Almost. Enough to feel strange seeing olive skin instead of red, in any event.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” I said, “I was just curious why it was always just tiefling.”
“Oh? Were you hoping for one of your own species?” She asked with a smile, her skin darkening to onyx and her hair becoming silvery. “I’m just guessing. Are all your eyes red?”
As her golden eyes shifted into uniform red, I felt my heart race. She looked pretty damn good as a drow, but Autopilot seemed almost scared to see her like that.
“Only those with potent magical blood have a chance of having red eyes. Gold, purple, and white are all also quite common. Certainly I wouldn’t ask you to take that form from day to day, but in the evening we might discuss options.” I told her, smiling. “Assuming you’re open to that. It’s so hard to stop myself from pulling on the horns.”
Sosima laughed and we returned to our watch. My thoughts turned inward.
What did they do to you, man?
They employed me and expected me to perform as befits a man. I was to sire daughters and assist my betters. I knew my role from a young age, though I admit I longed for more.
I looked over the plots tab again, particularly “A Renegade Male.” I wondered how hard all of these would be.
Return to the subterranean town of Heslandaena.
Ensure that the drow of Heslandaena will not attempt to control you with force or threats.
Have at least one female drow submit to your authority without active supervision
Be recognized by the Shackles Drow community as a hero, paragon, or leader.
Become the highest authority in Shackles Drow society.
Just being able to live my own life is an entire mission, with a reward and everything. I doubt that makes it a freebie. I’m going to need to deal with Emrys’s shit at some point, but honestly I’d rather avoid it for now. The other two aren’t much better. Facing down some mysterious enemy and somehow becoming pirate nobility by my own hand feel a lot more high stakes and epic. Compared to that, what’s the worst thing I might run into in drow land?
Probably my wife Nendra. Dovnu can be appeased with good work, and I think mother may be genuinely fond of me in her own way. Nendra can be awfully particular, and I don’t think she’d find you particularly amusing.
Hold up. You’re married? When were you going to tell me that?
When you asked.
••••••••••
End of book 1: Internship
Don’t worry, there won’t be a long gap before I continue the story. This is more to break things up in my mind.
Thanks to everyone for reading this far, I’m glad to have you. The next book, Startup, will include a lot more travel and a lot more of Emrys/Curtis getting to act instead of react. I’d be thrilled if you shared any thoughts you might have. Next week’s update will be a bit of a recap and the consolidated AMA, so if you have anything you’d like to ask I’m still open to more questions.
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