Skull and Shackles Session 21: Vines and Skulls

Once again, the waters of the cove were still--oddly still, considering the north wind was beginning to pick up, heralding another child-storm broken off from the Eye of Abendego.  Clouds streaked the sky.

"So... Okay, I feel bad about that now," Chopper commented, casting a wary eye at the weather.

"I feel like that might have been more productive at sunrise, Captain," Reiko admonished.

           

Chopper emitted some unintelligible mumbles that ended with, "So's your face."

"All due respect, Cap'n, that don't make sense,"  Cochobar told him.

           

"It always makes sen . . . Oh, nevermind. For what it's worth, I'm thinking the guardian monster ain't tied to the sunrise. Just seein' the Relevant Bit so we know where to climb

"Possibly, but it's pretty dark in the cove any time during the day and night, except sunrise to probably around late morning.  Who knows what the cove will look like during the morning hours?"  Reiko pressed.

           

"Who ever heard of a guardian monster that's afraid of the dark?" Chopper demanded.

           

"Afraid of the light, you mean,"  Feruzi corrected.

"No, I said it right."

"Sadly, you meant it wrong."

           

"I didn't mean to suggest that it was afraid of the dark, only that it will be much, much, MUCH easier for us to see when the sunlight is shining directly in there,"  Reiko continued, beginning to get aggravated.

"Fine. Whatever.  I want lights all over the deck. And maybe some rum. A little dancing..." Chopper shook his head. "No. No. Just the lights."

"We'll keep the ballista loaded as well,"  Ezikial told him.

           

"That's probably the wisest thing I've heard all evening," Reiko grumbled as they began laboriously moving the ship.  The wind helped some, but in these close quarters it was as likely to drive them up on the rocks as blow them in the right direction.  The Crisis drifted out over the dark bowl of the cove.  Her crew gathered nervously at the gunwhales, surveying the water.  Ezikial looked up at the crow's nest and yelled a warning as thick tentacle-like vines erupted from the canopy above, sweeping across the deck of the Crisis.  Reiko ducked as one groped after her; another snagged Grok around the waist and yanked her skyward.  Rosie all-but vanished in the coils of a third tentacle-vine, while a fourth got Chopper around the ankle and hauled him upwards, ass-over-teakettle.

           

"Oop!" he yelled. "Save the ladies! I got this!"  The tentacles began to contract along their length and Chopper watched in horror as the skin around his ankle and thigh flushed dark red and began to feel horribly numb--a deep lassitude gripped his muscles.

 "BESMARA!" Ezikial grated, firing the ballista at the canopy above and producing a brief rain of slimy vegetation and a high-pitched squealing noise.  "Dar, Insawa! Reload that!"  Something that might be a beak gnashed within the canopy and the victims rose to a height of sixty feet.

           

"Feruzi, shoot that!" Reiko yelled, pointing to the beak and blobby plant mass above them.  She yelled and charged the vine still flailing at her, severing it cleanly. 

Feruzi shot her a horrified glance, seeing Chopper pulled inexorably upward, then scowled and aimed her bow at the central mass.  Vile sweet-smelling fluid rained onto the deck as she fired three arrows in rapid succession. "Let go of my Chopper, vile beast!" she yelled.  Another vine descended and grabbed Maoud.  Chopper thrashed wildly as the creature's beak emerged from the vegetation and snapped at him, tearing a bloody stripe across his chest and nearly crushing his ribs.  A second ballista bolt ripped through the canopy nearby.

Reiko leaped for the ropes and began to climb rapidly, trying to get in range to cut Maoud down.  Feruzi took careful aim and shot another barrage.  The vines writhed in vegetable agony.  Chopper slashed at the beak with his axe, yelling and bleeding.

"Cmon, ye blighter!  Is that all ye got!"

"DON'T ENCOURAGE IT!"  Feruzi shouted, horrified.

Copper's axe caught in something deep in the creature's body.  Taking the haft with both hands, he braced his feet and pulled with all his might, tearing open a mass of green, pulsing tubes.  The creature, whatever it was, shuddered violently all over, jerking its tentacle-vines almost hard enough to break its captives in half.  Then, slowly, it began to tear free of the canopy and topple toward the water below more than a hundred feet below.

"Uh oh,"  Chopper remarked, struggling to get free.

"Leila, catch Rosie!" Feruzi yelled.  She grabbed the base of the rope Reiko was climbing and gave it a powerful shove, sending the samurai into Chopper's path.  Reiko clutched Chopper's belt and they swung back out over the ship, thumping into the mainmast and sliding down into the rigging, bruised, winded and covered in blood but still alive.  Ezikial grabbed a dangling vine and cracked it like a whip, swinging Grok in a fast, tightening spiral that ended with her safely on the deck, albeit rather more green of complexion than was her usual wont.  Leila flipped off the sterncastle and caught the hurtling Rosie, absorbing their mutual momentum in a series of acrobatic turns before landing nimbly.  Haroun, Dar, and Insawa raced to catch Maoud, but the ballista hindered them and the Rahadoumi sailor crashed to the deck.  Sandara and Chopper reached him at almost the same moment, but he was already gone.

"Damn," Chopper said softly.  Unable to find anything else to express the sick feeling twisting his stomach, he repeated himself. "Damn."  Feruzi poked him worriedly.

"What's this enormous hole!?" she demanded.  He looked up at her, face tight with pain that wasn't only physical.

"Failure."  Feruzi frowned and helped him to sit back, gently squeezing his shoulder and resting her cheek against his for a moment.

"What was his name?" Chopper whispered in her ear.

"Maoud."  He nodded and repeated it several times, committing it to memory while Sandara doctored his ribs.  Subdued, they tidied up the body--Haroun weeping silently to himself--and cleared the vegetation from the deck.  The Guardian of Mancatcher Cove slowly sank, to the distaste of the sharks.

"Sunrise, then?" Feruzi asked finally.

"Right," Reiko told her.  They settled in to wait for morning, tired but too shaken up to sleep.  Deep in the night watch, Feruzi suddenly stirred.

"I heard something," she told Reiko, rushing off toward the stern.  "Get a lantern over here," Feruzi ordered.  She picked up her boarding pike, gripping it in the way that caused it to extend twenty feet, and flailed away at the side of the ship.  "Something is down there messing with our rudder."  Chopper appeared at her side, a boarding axe in each of his hands, and straddled the gunwhale, apparently intending to climb down and investigate.

"Oh no you don't!" Feruzi yelled at him.  "Sharks, remember?"

"I'm not gonna get in the water," he grunted.

"If you go down, you need to be on a rope so we can pull you back up," Feruzi insisted.  The head of a sahuagin emerged from the water about fifty feet away before disappearing again.  Feruzi growled, but no more sahuagin appeared and the noise had stopped.  They watched alertly for some time, but no further activity was forthcoming.  Shortly before dawn, Chopper gathered the crew on the deck.

"Listen up, you lot. We've already lost Maoud, and I don't aim to lose anymore! We got fishmen in the cove with sinister intent, and while the away party is . . . away, ye'll need to be extra vigilant. Repel any would-be boarders with extreme prejudice. Is that clear, sailors?!"

             

"Aye aye, sir!"

"Right, then. Let's find this toothy whatsit."

           

As the first light of dawn peeked into the darkened cove from the east, the jungle cliffs came alive with patterns of shadow and light in a thousand fanciful, ever-shifting shapes. When the sun was fully up the cliffs would return to their normal appearance, but for a few moments they were almost magical with a display of shadow art. In the half light, a group of caves and crevices on the cliff face took on the appearance of a grinning skull. As the morning sun illuminated the shadow that resembled the skull’s mouth, a previously unseen glint of gold sparkled brightly in the sunlight, as if the skull had a gold tooth

"I kin scarce believe I'm seein' such a thing," Fishguts said in awe.  Reiko grinned.

"And there Captain Chopper, is the Grave Lady's prize tooth."

"So what is the meaning of 'wayward orb'?"  Feruzi asked.

"Cap'n Wolfe lost one o' his eyes," Fisguts told her.  "Th' right one, if I recollect."

The four officers climbed down into the ship's boat with Sandara and began rowing for the 'tooth', finding a mass of gold set into a crevice between the stones where it would catch the dawn light.  They pulled the boat up onto the beach and looked upward speculatively at the twin caves above them.  Chopper swung a grapple speculatively.  "So, did that mean HIS right or OUR right?"

"That one," Reiko said, pointing.  Feruzi began climbing the rock face with expert ease--apparently the months aboard ship had honed her skills considerably.

"Ruse, yer doin' in the hard way, but you're making it look easy," Chopper commented.

"Don't . . . distract . . . me . . ." she grated.  The other three followed using the rope.  In the cave entrance they found the rotten stub of a wooden boom, likely used for hoisting heavy loads.  Chopper pulled the rope up after them and secured it.  "No sense helping those sahuagin blighters if they're inclined to follow us."

The opening ascended into the cliff face, initially a tight fit between various vines and roots but it widened further in until they reached a point just below the island's surface.  Sunlight filtered down through a rent in the earth overhead, just enough to provide for the growth of a single gargantuan tree.  Its massive buttressing roots blocked any hope of further progress.  The many fissures and crevices in the bark vaguely resembled a wrinkled human visage surmounted by a craggy crown, the spreading roots a hoary growth of beard.

"The 'old king'?"  Feruzi asked.

"That's my guess," said Reiko.  Feruzi found a humanoid skull among the roots, its hollow eye sockets directed toward the earthen floor.  Chopper produced a shovel and they set to digging in turns.  Ten feet down through the nasty, rocky soil they found a layer of wooden planks laid across what was, evidently, a pit.

"Bloody hells, it's about time," Chopper grunted.  They were all filthy and sweaty.  The wooden planks revealed a vast cavern in the rock, dropping twenty feet to still, dark water below.  The remnants of a wooden platform and stair clung to the wall but the wood had long since rotted in the damp.  Reiko cracked a sunrod while Sandara cast a spell that should render them able to breathe underwater if necessary.  With care, they descended into the water and found a sloping, submerged tunnel leading southwest.  They followed it for some distance, then were abruptly attacked by sahuagin coming from both directions at once.  Reiko cleaved two down before they had a chance to realize they were overmatched; a brief and brutal melee followed, with the few remaining sahuagin fleeing to the southwest.  The five adventurers followed but lost them in the dark, finding instead a section of tunnel that rose above sea level, creating an air pocket.  The floor was sand with a few items of furniture scattered about, including a table and chair, a bed with a sagging frame, and a crude fence of driftwood.  The entire cavern was overgrown with vines bearing tiny violent flowers that filled the air with a cloying sweet fragrance.

"Inkskin smelled like this . . ." Chopper muttered.  He sniffed again, then his eyes crossed and he folded in on himself, asleep.  Some of the flowers began to extend fine tendrils and creep toward him.  Reiko sliced at them, sheering them in half and replacing the fragrance with a vile stench.  Holding their breath as best they could, Feruzi and Ezikial helped her rapidly dispose of the remaining carnivorous vines.  Sandara crouched and examined the sleeping Chopper.

"He should wake up in a minute or so," was the verdict.  They set to rummaging through the few items while they waited, and Sandara proved to be correct; Chopper regained consciousness quickly and looked around.

"I think these are xtabay plants of unusual size.  Didn't know they existed," he muttered.  Feruzi turned up a wand in the bedclothes and a small coffer next to a large glass jar underneath the bed.  The coffer held three potions, but the jar contained the preserved severed head of a vicious-looking Tian man with pock-scarred cheeks, a tattoo of a kraken on his forehead, and all his teeth broken out.  A label, written in crude Minkaian, clung loosely to the side of the jar.  Reiko read it and gasped.

"Whass it say?" Sandara asked, fascinated by the gruesome spectacle.

"It's a name. The name of my father, as he was known on the seas."

"Thass... thass yer Da?!"         

Government Program Roulette

It occurred to me today that government "insurance" programs--social security, welfare, food stamps, subsidized school loans, anything where the government offers some kind of guarantee or assurance or "safety net"--are like a giant game of Russian Roulette.  Somebody is getting shafted by these programs so other people can "benefit", and engaging in any of them is an enormous gamble where you can only hope that "somebody" won't be you.

Social security is bankrupt and needs to end, but whoever's left holding the sack when the benefits finally get cut gets reamed.  They had to pay in, but they get nothing back out whatsoever.  And this could happen at any time--it just awaits a big enough fiasco for it to be politically palatable to make cuts, and cuts there will be.  Yet, somehow this is claimed to be more secure than saving money you control on your own recognizance?

Student loans are another example.  How many people get sufficient benefit from going to college that it's actually a worthwhile investment for them?  Very, very few of the people I know, that's who.  A good 80% wind up working in jobs that by no means should require a degree of any sort just to manage their overwhelming debt.  To keep that job, they have to go further into debt by buying a car, which ties them to further expenses like car insurance, gas, repairs, etc. etc.  Five years down the road, they're bored with their job but they have no savings and can't afford to look for another one--nor could they afford to move if they got one.  Start their own business?  Yeah, if they had savings to support them and time and energy to invest. But those are consumed by the simple maintenance of their debt and car and housing and food.  And they're not even working in the field they studied.  Then the government decides to raise the rate on their student loans.  Russian roulette.  The only way to win is not to play.

The really nasty part is that the more these programs are created, the more it becomes prohibitively difficult not to play.  The list of losers keeps growing and the opportunities for people who opt-out continue to shrink.  In the end, somebody is going to have to bite this bullet.  Nobody wants it to be them, but it's inevitable given the nature of the system.

Lead with your Head

I think one of the major things holding me back in my life is that I have crushing anxiety issues--I am MORE afraid of success, ANY success, than I am of failure.  Any kind of success creates a chain of responsibilities that must be followed-up on.  Write a novel?  Now you have to edit it, send it out to publishers or self publish, promote it endlessly, engage with fans and detractors both, and write another one.  I start a part-time job at a retail store (I've held AT LEAST six jobs EXACTLY like this one at various points in my life) and I am PETRIFIED.  I have broken down in tears more than once.

Failure hurts, but it's kind of liberating, too--when nothing you can do will fix the mess, you might as well do what you want.  I think I may be addicted to self-sabotage--when things get challenging, I want to throw everything out and start fresh.  Starting something is fun and gets me all enthusiastic.  Keeping it going is another matter.  I don't need a fresh start.  I need to buckle down.

There are some things in my life I've actually managed to complete and even follow-up on, but I have no idea why.  It has something to do with my emotional stance when I start the project, that much I know, but for the life of me I can't seem to figure out what causes it.  Some things I just decide to do, and then I do them.  I might get tired or annoyed midway through, but I still manage to finish it somehow.  So, what's the difference?  And, more importantly, how can I manage to do this on command?

I suppose the thing to do is to look at my successes, few as they are, and try to figure out what's different about them, if anything.  My only glimmerings of a clue at this point is that the times I've been successful at things, I . . . didn't have any particularly strong initial emotional reaction to them.  Does that sound strange?  I mean, when people talk about success, don't they always tell you to "follow your passion" or do something that makes you super-excited or similar?  This does not work for me.  Enthusiasm PARALYZES me and turns into helpless terror that cuts off my judgment and eventually I bail out from sheer desperation.

Every single colossal failure or bit of stupidity in my life started out with enthusiasm.  I think I may use enthusiasm as a sort of anesthetic to push myself into doing things I really don't want to do.  But like rage, enthusiasm cannot be maintained long-term.  It might get me to start an ill-advised effort, but it won't get me to finish it.

I'm not saying enthusiasm itself is bad--I've experienced enthusiasm in the course of my various successes, as well as satisfaction, fatigue, annoyance, etc. etc.  I just think that when I'm enthusiastic at the start of something, this is a sign that I'm hiding my real feelings from myself and I won't be able to carry it through.  I'm anxiety-ridden.  When I start something my natural response is dread, not enthusiasm.  I start work at Meijer tomorrow and I'm totally dreading it.  I have zero enthusiasm.  But I'm going to do it anyway, because I decided to.

That seems to be pretty universal with the successes I've enjoyed.  I just decide to do them, and then do them.  No passion, no enthusiasm--maybe even a bit of dread.  As I sit here contemplating this, analyzing it, my dread has faded away from my awareness, leaving only the functioning of the analytical part of my mind.

I read an article not too long ago about a bit of research that seems to indicate that your emotional and analytical functions are mutually exclusive--engaging one shuts the other one off and vice versa.  So, that may very well be the secret to my successes--I get my analytical apparatus engaged and let my emotions, whatever they are, just tag along.  Emotions are fickle (well, mine are, at least) and cannot sustain an effort, but I can analyze shit FOREVER. I can forget about dread, physical discomfort, lack of food, lack of sleep, you name it.

So, why don't I just DO that?   Because there's a kind of "switch" that has to be operated.  I don't know if it's true for everyone, but most of the time I seem to be in emotional-operations mode; coasting along, letting my feelings run the show.  Hungry?  Go eat.  Bored?  Go play a game.  It takes some kind of special effort or preparation to turn on the analytical--it's never automatic.

So, maybe what I really need to do is to create a habit of turning on my analytical mind regularly.  I HAVE this habit, but I tend to dissipate my efforts in stuff that's enjoyable but not all that productive.  Facebook.  Playing games.  Some rewarding little ritual that pulls me in and settles me down for work.  Maybe list out the various things I want to work on and create a little ritual for each one.

Stop trying to feel my way into accomplishing something.

Skull and Shackles Interlude: Clothes Make the Woman

*Note:  Technically this interlude falls in the timeline before session 20, however I had writers block and didn't get it done before it was time to post the session writeup.

"Are you well, Lady?"  Feruzi asked.

Lady Agasta seemed to give this some consideration.  "Well enough, considering.  I'm still alive, unlike poor Royster."

"You were very fond of him?"

"Of course.  I think his loyalty was all that kept me going, sometimes."

Feruzi frowned.  "He seemed . . . fond of you.  More than fond."

Agasta smiled sadly.  "Yes.  I know."

"Then why didn't you marry him?  Why marry Chopper instead?"  The frown deepened.  "Why marry anyone?"

Agasta cocked an eyebrow at this series of questions.  "Is something bothering you, my dear?"

"Marriage seems such a troublesome matter.  Feruzi is only here because her sister Ukele ran away from it--ran away from it twice--and caused a mess of troubles.  That, and no man in the village would have Feruzi for a wife, so she was available to do the chasing.  Now Captain Pegsworthy is sending Feruzi gifts that make no sense.  Why all this . . . this trouble."

Agasta's chuckle was deep, resonant, and cultured.  "Exactly how old are you, dear?"

Feruz bristled.  "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Humor me."

"Feruzi has nineteen summers, if it matters.  Ukele has only sixteen, but every man in the village was after her like a pack of dogs after a bitch in heat."

"Oh, how very flattering."

"They deserved it.  They made so much fuss for the war-chief that he declared a games so she could choose the best to be her husband.  It lasted for ten days and kept everyone in the village from their work before she made up her mind.  And then she vanished."

"That sounds more like a cattle auction than a courtship to me.  I'm glad I wasn't born to your people."

Feruzi shook her head, not in disagreement so much as correcting a misapprehension.  "It was so unseemly.  Ukele did not even have her own hut yet.  Usually, when a woman is decides to marry she establishes her own hut and the man just moves in with her.  They stay married until he leaves or she kicks him out.  Ukele couldn't be put to all that work, no, she has to make up to every man in the village and nearly cause a brawl."

"Did you ever think that maybe she didn't want to get married?"

"No?  Then why was she always showing it off?" Feruzi gestured to Agasta's dress.  "You show off, you marry Chopper.  That makes sense."

Agasta's eyes rounded in shock, then she burst out laughing.  She laughed so long and so hard that Feruzi began to look mulish.

"Feruzi doesn't see what is so funny," she said stiffly.

"Oh, my dear, you are fantastic.  I don't 'show off' for Chopper.  I dress this way because I like to.  It's who I am, and it makes me happy.  I would dress this way even if I lived on an island by myself, or an island filled only with other women, although I admit that would be rather dull."

"Do you like Chopper?"

"Of course, dear.  He's a sweet young man.  But I wouldn't have married him just for that.  Maybe a fling, but that would have made Royster so terribly unhappy."  Agasta's face fell and she sighed.  "Poor man.  I wish . . . oh, but there's no use in wishing.  Besmara does as she wills with us all."  She visibly put aside her grief and brightened again.  "But you, don't you have any fancy clothes?"

Feruzi huffed in offense.  "Feruzi got new clothes in Senghor!"

"Those things!  They look nice enough, but that's a suit, dear.  You wear it to work in.  I mean something you wear just to wear it--because it's beautiful.  Every woman should have some thing beautiful for herself.  And, yes, to show off to a man if you want to.  But it's really for you, dear."  Feruzi shook her head mutely.  "Oh, well, we'll see about that!  I'm sure there's something in my closet we can make over to suit you.  Let's go look!"

"Oh . . . Feruzi doesn't want to take up your time . . ."

"Nonsense.  It'll be fun to play at being a girl for a while.  Take my mind off things."

Skull and Shackles Session 20: Legendary Loot

Studying the dead sorceress' skin revealed an elaborate map--one curiously without labels or names.  Chopper copied it down on a sheet of parchment and sent for Fishguts.  The old salt turned the map around several times, then let out a whoop that echoed across the cove and nearly took Chopper's hat off.

"This map mus' lead ter Mancatcher Cove, Cap'n, if we c'n read it!  What be these 'ere scratchin's?"

"It is Minkaian," Reiko said.  "In Taldane, it might read:

"From blue bight’s embrace
Spy the Grave Lady’s prize tooth
With the Dawnflower’s first kiss
Climb the Captain’s wayward orb
To claim old king’s hoard."

"Some sort o' riddle, then.  Sorry, Cap'n, I heard o' Mancatcher Cove, but that be all I know," Fishguts said, sighing.

"I know it," Reiko informed him.  "Nearly a century ago there was a captain called Cyrus Wolfe, a mage of some kind.  He hunted the coast of Garund for the most part and was so successful the Free Captains offered him the Hurricane Crown.  It is said that he laughed in their faces.  It is believed that Wolve divided up his treasure and hid it in several different places, but most of them have either been discovered and pillaged or are simply lost.  Mancatcher Cove is supposed to be his greatest hoard--and it still remains untouched.  Wolfe selected an uncharted island shrouded in dense jungle and surrounded by forbidding cliffs, save for one cove said to be so deep it descended into the pit of Hell.  Wolfe used his sorcerous powers to reach into that pit and call forth a guardian that could crush any ships attempting to enter the cove.  Copies of this map are not all that uncommon in the Shackles, but no one who sets out in search of the treasure ever returns."  She stared levelly at Chopper and began counting under her breath.

"Except us, of course," Chopper announced.

" . . . three," Reiko muttered.  "I take it you wish to set off after this legendary treasure, Captain?"

"Was there ever any doubt?"

"Of course not, Captain.  Let's raise anchor and be on our way."

"So, what sort of demonic creature awaits us, exactly?"  Feruzi asked when they were under sail, Tidewater Rock receding into the distance.

"Kraken," Chopper opined.

"That sounds delightful," she responded with no evidence whatsoever of delight.  She sighed.  "At least I brought arrows for demons.  Or whatever it proves to be."

"I'm sooo booored," Chopper complained.  "Bards, tune me!"  Conchobar appeared as if by teleportation.  "What, no Rosie?  Have you not sealed the deal?  What is up with that?"

"I'll wear her down yet, Cap'n," Conchobar said.

"She is definitely warming up to you," Chopper told the gnome.  A loud boom shook the entire vessel and acrid-smelling smoke began to leak from the hatch.  "Ho now, what's that?"

"Prolly Mr. Hands an' 'is grenades," Sandara sighed.

"Gren-which?"

           

"SANDARA!" Ezikial bellowed, staggering up onto the deck.  He looked dazed.

"Oh good. He's gone deaf," Chopper said.  "Twit."

"THAT DIDN'T WORK RIGHT."

           

From below, they could hear Rosie's inventive swearing.  She concluded with: "Welp, thass one wall that'll ne'er bother anyone agin."

           

"As long as it wasn't an outside wall, we should be all right," Reiko said.

           

"I MADE A HOLE IN THE DECK!" Ezikial bellowed helpfully.

           

"Feruzi wonders, if this goes on eventually we will have replaced every party of the ship. Is it, then, still the same ship?"

"Yes," Reiko said.  "Unless all parts are replaced at the same time."

"SCORCH MARKS ADD CHARACTER!"

           

Reiko winced.  "Sandara, if you would please . . ."  With his hearing restored, Ezikial was much quieter.

After repairing the wall, Chopper resumed his place on deck and began messing around with his new magical spyglass.  A column of smoke was revealed on the horizon--a pair of ships, side-by-side about two miles away.  Cog turned the wheel slightly and they closed rapidly on the scene.  A pirate brig named the Vorsfang was burning.  The other ship was a single-masted Chelish naval cutter, the Famished Mane.  Chelish marines were fitting slave collars on the surviving pirates and dragging them below.   

"Well now," Chopper mused.  He pulled out a coin and flipped it. "Heads, the pirates. Tails the Chelish." Then he caught the coin in mid-air with a sneer. "Take those devil-spawned bastards!"

"I don't know why you even bothered flipping that coin. You already knew the correct answer," Reiko said.

           

"For. The. Drama!"

           

"Riiiight."

           

"Dar, Insawa, let's get the chain shot loaded first."  Ezikial barked.

           

Busy with their captives, the Chelaxians didn't notice the far-from-stealthy Crisis until she lurched into grappling range.  Ezikial was first over, his bullet punching right through a breastplate while he laughed at the blood.  Chopper followed, swinging his axes.  The Chelish marines quickly surrounded them, but they were driven back by a hail of arrows from Feruzi's bow.  Ezikial grinned at the marines and sketched an ironic bow, stepping to one side like a sniffy butler.

"Gentlemen, meet Reiko."  Unfortunately, their acquaintance was brief.  But not entirely without incident.  They located the captain, cowering behind the wheel, and she eagerly surrendered her vessel.  Ezikial pointed his pistol at her, but Chopper shook an admonishing finger.

"Knock it off, Mister Hands.  We get it.  You're extremely scary.  Let's see what we can do about all that burning instead."

"Vorsfang still have a captain?!" Chopper called when they were all assembled on the deck of the Mane.

"Me, Captain," a rough voice called.  "Well, I'm the Captain now.  Hkarogawa Saburo.  We are in your debt."  The man had Tien features and subtly pointed ears.

"Duh," Chopper said graciously.  "Captain Chopper of Crisis."

"I will vouch for this man, if I may have a moment to speak to him in private," Reiko told him.

"Er... Hey, sure. Why not, eh?"

"Thank you Captain. By your leave then."  Reiko gestured for Saburo to follow her.  They spoke quietly for some time, then Saburo and his crew swore loyalty to Chopper and departed for Tidewater Rock with the Chelaxian captain in the brig.

The Crisis sailed into the archipelago of small, nameless islands around Mancatcher Cove.  The cove itself was easy to locate, piercing the eastern flank of the westernmost isle The islands were surrounded by nearly sheer rock cliffs with few beaches, and were buried under a shroud of prolific jungle growth.  The Cove was almost perfectly round, the water a deep indigo.  The jungle crew thickly atop the cliffs bordering the cove; massive jungle trees that spread their canopies over the bowl and shaded the water, giving it a cave-like quality.

"We may have best luck at sunrise, Captain," Reiko suggested.

"Use the ballista to tear holes in the canopy letting the light in?"  Feruzi offered.

"Nay. Weigh anchor. We'll await sunrise, as Reiko suggested," Chopper decided.

           

"Ship over there, Captain," Ezikial alerted them as they settled down to wait.  He pointed to one of the smaller islands off to the east.

"Good eye, Gunner. All hands, eyes sharp!" Chopper enthused.  The farglass revealed a dark ship with black sails.  He could not read her name, but the flag was definitely of pirate provenance.  "Poachers, you reckon?"

"I think that was the Thresher, Captain.  Belongs to Inkskin, that sorceress we gutted," Ezikial told him.

"Fookin' 'ells.  T'hell with this. Let's get 'em."  They left the Cove behind to make for the Thresher, who eagerly joined the attack.  Chain shot made a mess of the Thresher's sails while Feruzi peppered the deck with arrows.  Insawa fired the second ballista under Ezikial's direction and the Thresher's wheel exploded into splinters.  The rest of the fight was decidedly one-sided, even the massive half-orc first mate unable to rally his pirates.  When he fell, the rest promptly surrendered.  Feruzi eyed them speculatively, remembering the carnage at Tidewater Rock.

"Put them in a boat and use them to test the Cove," she said grimly.

"I like this idea,"  Chopper told her.  "Make it so."

             

The Thresher crew were not happy at this idea, but Chopper made it clear enough they had no choice.  They climbed into the Thresher's boat and slowly made their way into the Cove, staring into the water and jumping at every shadow.  All seemed calm.  Then something struck the boat from below, forcing the bow up and nearly swamping it.  It struck again and spilled the men into the water, where a trio of hammerhead sharks made short work of them.

"That...did not provide as much information as I hoped."     

Skull and Shackles Interlude: How the Strife was Won

"Run us over starboard a bit!  I said starboard!  STARBOARD!!!" Pyxes bellowed.  Ionni hastily reversed the rudder, but it was too late--the newly-renamed Strife crunched to a halt on the gravel.  "Ye silly bitch, don't ye know what starboard means?!

"I be knowing yer words full well, ye yam-blasted scummat, but wich way be I turnin yon thingy?"

"WHAT did you call me?!" the half-orc oarsman demanded.  The drekar rocked violently as he struggled to get to her past the other crew.  Ionni shrank back at first, but she sensed the disdain from the other remnants of Svard's crew at her display of weakness.  Her eyes narrowed as she sought backup.  Pellal was solid, as always, and Kuun could be relied upon not to back down from a fight.  The other two former slaves were unknown quantities.  Salmonix was temperamentally unstable, a combination of his elvish ancestry and long indenture; he was the only one among them who was born a slave.  That left Vrinege, the Mwangi pygmy.  Even her facial expressions were indecipherable.  She sat in the rigging with the halfling triplets from Svard's crew, Knotte, Knoose, and Knobbe.  Ionni glanced at them and was surprised to see Vrinege grinning widely and the halflings making surreptitious gestures of encouragement.  It made sense, though--Pyxes was the largest of the oarsmen and appeared to lack any vestige of a sense of humor.

Heartened, Ionni straightened up and unleashed a torrent of abuse. "I called ye yam-blasted, ye lank-haired, slime-breasted, rot-breathed turd o' a scurvy rat!  E'en the fleas won't bite yer filthy carcass, ye spindle-shanked, cork-eared, limp-knobbed blighter!  Ye . . ."

"I'LL KILL YOU!!!" Pyxes bellowed and charged across the remaining deck.  Ionni ducked and Pellal stuck out a foot, tripping the half-orc, who went over the side.  Pyxes grabbed Pellal as he went down and they fell overboard together.  Ionni jumped on the struggling men and began viciously kicking any part of Pyxes that was available.  In seconds the melee became general, with the other oarsmen rushing to Pyxes aid.  They never reached him, however; the sail came down and flattened them to the deck.

"What are they doing?" Reiko muttered, taking out the spyglass she'd inherited now that Chopper had a magical one.  She watched as the assorted oarsmen of the beached Strife squirmed their way out from under the sail, only to be met at the edge by a halfling and forced to surrender or be skewered.  By the look of it, no one was inclined toward the skewering option.  Once they were all subdued, the dark-skinned little pygmy hopped up on a rock and addressed the group with a broad grin and a number of expressive gestures.  The oarsmen exchanged baffled looks.  Vrinege gestured emphatically.  One of the oarsmen got to her feet, took two steps, made a grab toward the pygmy and was instantly on the ground, writhing in pain.  Vrinege addressed the other oarsmen again.  Emphatic head-shaking.

Herding the large, muscular brutes like a cattle-dog, Vrinege got the Strife back into the water, got the sail replaced, and without further incident the patrol around Tidewater Rock resumed.  It was a good thing, too--the mast of the Crisis was repaired and it was time for her to set out again.  Vrinege would make a good person to leave in charge of defending the island in her absence.

Capitalism Problems

Many, many times when I discuss Capitalism with people who are critical of it I will point out some problem or difficulty caused, as always, by a lack of proper Capitalism, and they will respond with some version of the question "but how will Capitalism SOLVE that?"

This is, of course, unanswerable, but the reason WHY it is unanswerable is what makes Capitalism the only proper and moral economic and social system.  Capitalism doesn't solve ills.  It does not prevent ills.  It is not a magic fairytale cure for injustice, hate, failure, injury.  There is no solution to the fact that humans are human, nature is nature, existence exists, we are all fallible and will some day die.  If you even attempt to create a system for the purpose of solving these problems you are engaging in nothing short of a full-out, no-holds-barred deathmatch with reality.  And that is a fight that no one can win.  No one and nothing can solve reality.

What Capitalism does is to free the mechanism of human action to create solutions to specific problems by recognizing that while nothing and no one can solve all problems for all time, each person, when free to think and then to act, can solve some problems for some length of time.  Failure to fix everything is not equivalent to failure to fix anything.

Here's where it gets kind of sad.  Many people comprehend this idea that you can't fix facts and thus it's necessary for individuals to have freedom, and then what do they do?  They try to solve freedom for everybody for all time and engage in precisely the same sort of error.  Then, when they fail miserably at the impossible task they've set for themselves, they conclude that freedom itself is the problem and revert to looking for their magical fairytale fix for reality.  It's mind-boggling.

Skull and Shackles Session 19: The Honeymoon

If Tidewater Keep was so crowded with all these new guests, McCleagh grumbled to himself, why couldn't he find any of them?  It was early morning, a time when most pirates were snoring in their bunks, but from the looks of things nearly all of them had risen early, belted on their weapons, and wandered off.  At least their Captain was still in Lady Smythee's rooms, a fact that did little to brighten McCleagh's mood.  He suppressed bitter thoughts with the efficiency of long practice.  Lady Smythee looked favorably on the arrangement, and that was all that should concern him.  Well, perhaps not all.

"I'm concerned about the safety of the castle's inhabitants while they're about their duties," he told Chopper when the man finally emerged in search of some breakfast.

"Seems you should be, aye.  Are ye thinkin' there's a nest o' the fish men hereabouts?"

           

"I'm not sure. They could be coming to attack from miles away."  McCleagh sighed.  He hated to ask, but there was no doubt the pirates were competent.  "Could you . . . keep an eye on the people?"

Chopper nodded without hesitation.  "Course we can.  Can send the Devil's Pallor out to patrol, as well."

"Not at all, Sergeant. Your people are my people now. I aim to protect my people."  With that in mind, Chopper grabbed some hard bread and cheese to munch on and set off to locate his people.  Feruzi was the easiest to locate, perched on a rock where she could shoot at sea birds and occasionally, by accident, at Rotgut the parrot, who seemed to be making a game of interfering with her aim.  She locked her gaze on a puffin, arrow leading it as it dove toward the water, and then there was a startlingly loud boom.  The bird exploded into a cloud of feathers and Ezikial, hunched behind a rock further down the shore, blew the smoke away from his pistol with a satisfied expression.

           

"I do not think we can eat it, now," Feruzi commented.

"Might be, it's time to taunt some bleedin' fishheads," Chopper told her.

"You know where the sahuagin are?"

"No, but they'll be back.  Up to us to keep watch."

"Fair enough.  Not much worth hunting on this island, anyway."

Nightfall found Feruzi and Ezikial keeping watch among the ballistae on the keep roof.  It was an excellent vantage to see the mob of sahuagin that burst from the cove and charged the door, open to admit the goatherd and other groundsmen.  Ezikial fired his pistol at them, striking one and causing it to stumble.  The weapon's report was echoed a moment later by Reiko's enraged shriek as she barreled into the sahuagin, following them over the stunned civilians and through the doors.

Feruzi cursed.  It would take far too long to navigate the purposefully narrow stairs and ladders to reach the ground floor, so she simply jumped off the roof, bounding down the stone face for a distance and then collapsing into a heap on the gravelly beach to absorb the force of the fall.  Even so, she felt her bones creak from the impact and knew she'd done herself some damage.

"Are you all right over there?" Reiko asked.

"Fine," Feruzi insisted.

"Right, then."

Ezikial eyed the ground, but he was in no way prepared to mimic Feruzi's stunt.  He grabbed a rope and slung it over the side, burning his hands on the way down.  The Tidewater guards held the sahuagin at the ground floor ladder while the three pirates assaulted them from behind.  Finding themselves surrounded, they turned, jabbing with ferocious tridents.  One caught Reiko in the gut as she charged but she ignored the serious wound and cut it and one of its fellows to pieces.  Feruzi's arrows struck the one Ezikial shot earlier, finishing it off, while Ezikial waded in with his shortsword.

Chopper appeared at the top of the ladder, nothing on his person but his boots, axe, and the deep platinum necklace he now wore everywhere.  One of the sahuagin shrieked in rage at the sight before it, too, was cut down, ending the melee.

"So," Chopper asked casually, "Everything is under control down here?"  The surviving Tidewater guard coughed and averted his eyes.

"Captain," Reiko said in a voice that could only be described as strangled, "put on some pants."

"What?  Why?"

Reiko's eyes narrowed.  "Really?" she demanded.

"Weren't you supposed to be, uh, elsewhere, Captain?" Ezikial asked, mesmerized.

"You fired a shot.  It was distracting.  Be quieter," Chopper told him.

"I find that unlikely, Captain.  If you were doing it right you wouldn't have heard a thing."

"Heh."

"What in blazes is going on down there?!"  McCleagh called from the floor above.  He climbed down and surveyed the carnage.  "Besmara wept!"

"No, I don't think she did," Feruzi told him.

"Not usually, no, but that's twice in as many days . . . now . . ." McCleagh's voice trailed off as he noticed Chopper's state of undress.

"Uh, hey, Sergeant.  Quite warm here at Tidewater this time of year?  A-heh."

McCleagh's face reddened perceptibly and he quickly looked away, spotting the fallen guard.  "Oh, Conor."

"We'll find 'em. And we'll make an end of 'em," Chopper said sincerely.  Feruzi pushed him toward the stairs.

"Be sincere with pants."

In the morning, they held a small ceremony to rename the Devil's Pallor as Strife and sent it out with a portion of the crew to patrol around Tidewater Rock.  The day passed without event, but toward evening it began to rain.  And Rain.  AND RAIN.  For several days, raising an impenetrable fog.  On the third night, Ezikial was on watch aboard the Crisis when a pair of longboats slipped into the harbor, rowing at full speed toward the doors of the keep.

"Rosie! Sound the alarm, All hands!" he growled.

           

"Aye aye!"

           

Ezikial swiveled the forward ballista and launched a bolt, striking one of the longboats and sweeping two buccaneers overboard.  A loud crunching sound echoed over the water, indicating some damage to the longboat's hull as well.  "BESMARA!"  Reiko stepped out on the shore, arms crossed, waiting for them to approach.  Alerted by the Rosie's furious bell-ringing, Feruzi stumbled onto the deck and peered sleepily overboard.

"Whas goin' on?" she asked.  Ezikial pointed out the longboats.  "Hang on, imma shoot it."  She drew her bow, still half asleep, and managed to impale one of the attackers anyway.

"Ready the long boat. Step to it!" Ezikial shouted.

"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!!!" Reiko bellowed from the shore.  Feruzi continued to shoot even as the boats began to pull out of range, while Ezikial readied the ballista and fired again.  Then they both jumped down into the lowered boat just as the longboats came in range of the shore.  A cloaked figure in the second boat stood up and fired a lightning bolt at the doors, rocking them violently and splintering the wood.  Feruzi gasped in horror and redirected her arrows.  The figure screamed, revealing it was a woman, but she seemed more surprised than hurt.  She hurled another lightning bolt at the doors, blasting them apart and revealing Chopper just inside.

"What the fook?!" he demanded.  "Who blew down my FOOKIN' DOOR?!"  He then lowered his head and charged the ocean, running easily across the surface of the water to hack at the shocked attackers.

"I want cannon," Ezikial growled as his pistol shot went wide.  Reiko hacked at the buccaneeers who reached the shore, but they swarmed around her and through the doors.  The cloaked woman cast another spell and vanished from sight.  Feruzi cursed and switched targets.

The fighting was brutal; Reiko and Chopper were instantly surrounded and hard-pressed.  With help from Ezikial and Feruzi, they managed to retreat to the doors, where they were able to dispatch the attackers remaining outside, then they climbed to the guardroom to assist the three guards fending off a small horde of buccaneers.  By the time the attackers were cut down, only one of the guards remained standing.  Then a clap of thunder came from somewhere above them, and a woman screamed.  Chopper bellowed and charged up the stairs.  The third floor was empty, but they heard commotion on the fourth, arriving to a horror.  Five people lay dead--burned to a crisp--in the dining hall: three guards and Sergeant McCleagh.  Lady Smythee lay behind an upturned sideboard.  The caster sood in the middle of the room, grinning ferociously.  She was nearly naked, her skin covered in tattoos, and her teeth were hideously filed to sharp points.

Ezikial shot her in the chest.  She swore in Aquan and hurled a lightning bolt at him; he dove for the floor and managed to avoid being crisped himself.  Chopper charged her, grabbing her around the waist and throwing both of them out of the smashed window.  They crashed into the hardscrabble nearly fifty feet below, Chopper landing on top, but the sorceress refused to die, clawing at Chopper's chest in an effort to get at the necklace.  Feruzi's arrow entered her throat just above Chopper's shoulder and severed her spine.

Skull and Shackles Session 18: Opportunity and Knocks

"Ships ahoy!" called the lookout and the officers assembled onto the deck of the Crisis to see for themselves.  Two ships were visible near the horizon, quite close to each other. 

Ezikial's reaction was immediate:  "Bring up the ballistae!" 

Reiko frowned slightly while Chopper examined them through his spyglass.  "Captain?" she inquired.  One of the ships was clearly chasing the other, engaged in a full-out battle, but the colors were indistinguishable at this distance.

"Eh," Chopper shrugged, "take the winner?"

"Would it not be best to know why they are fighting, first?" Feruzi asked.  "Or even, who they are?"

Chopper glanced at her.  "Maybe, but . . . pirate."  He shrugged again.  "Feelin' lazy today.  Steady as she goes.  We'll get there soon enough."

"Right," Reiko said.  "Maybe you could go take a nap and we'll let you know when the good stuff starts?"

Chopper seemed to give this consideration.  "Nah."

"Right," Reiko drawled.  "You just leave everything to me."

"Duh.  I had to do all the work with the Dominator, so you layabouts should do something.  For once."  Reiko struggled to conceal a smirk as she turned away and began ascending the rigging.  Feruzi glared openly at Chopper.

"YOU did all the work?" she demanded.

"So you got some new scars.  You're welcome?"

"These are AMATEUR scars," she protested.

"Aye, aye, fair enough," he muttered, conceding the point.  As they neared, the lead ship heeled over hard and feathered until its sails luffed and it drifted to a stop.  The attacker, a Shackles drekar, ran in hard to guard its prize, rather like a dog with a meat bone.  Chopper chuckled.  "Aren't they cute.  Full ahead.  Mister Hands, test out your new toy."

"Sir?" Ezikial asked, glancing first at his new pistol and then at the still-distant ship.  An eloquent, incredulous eyebrow arose like a whale breaching.

"Shut up and let me quip.  Shoot them.  Hard."

"Shall we hoist the colors, Captain?" Reiko asked.

"I'll assume that is a rhetorical question, Ms. Mate."

"Of course, Captain."

The drekar loosed a catapult load in their direction as they continued to close.  The ship's name was now visible: Devil's Pallor.  It was absolutely swarming with pirates who looked none too pleased at the interruption.  Ezikial grinned as the catapult load tore through several sails; Chopper cursed at Cogsworth, who had the helm.

"T'ain't like steerin' a hummin'bird, Cap'n sir!"

"Not with that attitude, sailor!"

"Svard," Reiko said mysteriously.  "Cog, go get ready for boarding."  She took the helm.

"What's a Svard?" Chopper demanded suspiciously.

"A captain.  The captain of this ship is a Hobgoblin.  His name is Gortus Svard."

"What's a hobgoblin?!"

"It's a . . . hobgoblin.  You want I should draw you a picture?"

"A goblin with nailed boots," Feruzi muttered under her breath, trying to conceal a grin behind her hand.

"Feruzi is promoted to Ship's Loremaster!"  Chopper yelled.  "You can't define a word with the same damn word!"

"Sure I can."

"You'll clap eyes on him soon enough, Cap'n," Conchobar said mildly.

"BESMARA!" Ezikial bellowed.  The chain bolts swept the Pallor's forward deck, dispersing the pirates gathered there while the drekar returned fire and made a fair wreck of the Crisis's sails.  Feruzi spotted some better-dressed persons among the pirates and donated them some arrows while Chopper broke out his full cussin' vocabulary and the crew scrambled.  Reiko spun the wheel, but the Pallor was having none of it and swerved away effortlessly.  Ezikial fired his pepperbox despite the extreme range and managed to severely inconvenience one of the pirates.

Once again, the drekar came sharply about, but Reiko anticipated it this time and the Crisis surged into the Pallor's side.  A hail of grapples burst from the Crisis's decks and, as always, Chopper was among the first over.

"SVARD!!  Come face me, Chopper!  Captain Chopper!"  The hobgoblin promptly shot him with a crossbow, fortunately doing little damage, but Choppers advance became rather uneven.

"Poisoned bolts?  Aw, c'mon."  Ezikial burst past him and stabbed Svard right in his nice armored coat.  The hobgoblin dropped the crossbow and beat Ezikial back with a wicked-looking falcata.  "Oi, I'm the Captain, ye silly bitch!" Chopper complained and attacked as well.  Svard shot him a furious glare and delivered a blow that nearly took Chopper's leg off.  Chopper's eyes widened in pain and shock, then Reiko came up behind him and took Svard's head right off.  Ezikial gave a gleeful laugh and began mowing down the surviving crew with his sword. 

"Surrender, dogs, and live to see another sunrise!" Chopper called.  He blinked.  "Mr. Hands!  Let them surrender!"  Ezikial skidded to a halt.  "Good man.  Take our prisoners and commence looting.  Signal my wish to parlay with the . . ." he squinted at the other ship "Sea Chanty."  Ezikial pouted slightly but did as he was told.  The other ship, a Sargavan merchantman by the look of it, hadn't gotten very far, but they didn't appear to be slowing, either.

"Pursue?"  Ezikial asked.

"Duh.  Pirate.  Reiko, you're in command of the Devil's Pallor until we can come up with a better name.  Now, let's go get some bloody gratitude."  The Crisis caught up with the Sea Chanty without any real effort--the Sargavan's hastily raised a white flag.

"Ahoy and you're welcome!" Chopper boomed as they came within hailing distance.  "Permission to come aboard?"

"I am in no condition to deny you my hospitality," the Sargavan Captain, a tall, thin woman, said grimly.

"Appreciated," Chopper said, crossing over and bowing.  Behind him, Ezikial reloaded and cocked his pistol.  "Captain Chopper of the Crisis.  Glad we could lend a hand to you folks.  Nasty business.  Bloody pirates, amiright?"

"Ah . . . yes," the Chanty's captain said, obviously uneasy.  "If it please you, Captain Chopper, I suppose I should reward you for your aid?"

"Much obliged.  We'll be out of your hair once we make sure you're well enough to go on.  And what your cargo entails."

"Fruit and wool," the captain said promptly.

"A pleasure," Chopper said after the Chanty disgorged a portion of its cargo.  He took the captain's hand and bowed over it gallantly.

"I . . . would have to agree."

"Back to the ship!" Chopper ordered, and they disembarked, Chopper smiling and waving vigorously even while Sandara attempted to get at his wounded leg.  Even as the Sea Chanty pulled away, the wind began to pick up, bringing with it increasingly heavy rain.  The next day was violently stormy and the Crisis lived up to her name, sending them all scrambling to keep her afloat, until, CRACKOOOM a bolt of lightning blinded and deafened them.  The top half of the main mast toppled, swinging wildly as the rigging came violently unrigged.

"Besmara's tits!" Chopper swore.  "All RIGHT, I'll quit singing!  Message bloody received!"  Feruzi and Ezikial raced to hack the ropes loose and free the mast from the ship before it could damage the hull and sink them, while Reiko brought the Devil's Pallor as close as she dared, ready to render assistance.  Fortunately, they avoided total catastrophe, and while the seas were heavy, the remainder of the trip back to Tidewater Rock was uneventful.

"Even the gods hate you, apparently," Feruzi remarked to Chopper as they made the ships fast in the cove.  She flopped down, exhausted.

"From time to time," he agreed, then froze.  "Wait, what do you mean 'even'?"  Feruzi marshaled a look of faux innocence.  Chopper's eyes narrowed in mock severity, but he was too tired to maintain it for long and flopped down next to her.

"Whew," he said. "Still, a profitable voyage."

"Lady Smythee should be impressed."

"Should be.  Still, you know, women."

"Not as much as you might think.  Are you going to marry her?"

"Aye."  Feruzi waited, but no more seemed forthcoming.

"Aye?" she asked.

"That's what I said.  You going deaf?"

"No . . ." Feruzi took a breath to demand full disclosure, then stopped and patted Chopper on the shoulder companionably. "I am sure you know what you are doing."

"You ARE?!"

"Aye."

Lady Smythee and Sergeant McCleagh met them at the front door.  "Thank Besmara you're here," Agasta said without preamble.

"Oh?" Chopper asked.

"We were attacked."

"By sahuagin," McCleagh added.

"That has been going around lately," Feruzi intoned.

"We lost Zander and Mardus's leg is . . ." Agasta shook her head.  "You're a surgeon, aren't you?  Can you help him?" she appealed to Chopper.

"Yes, ma'am."  McCleagh led the way into the keep while Agasta returned to her rooms, taking them to the back workshop where Mardus Siggs, the teenage grandson of Lady Smythee's personal servants, lay on a worktable padded with blankets.  He was gray-skinned and drenched in sweat, clearly very ill.  Chopper broke out his supplies and began examining the wound.  With quiet professionalism, Chopper cleaned out the infection with a mixture of potent herbs and distilled rum, then set the bone while Sandara looked on, ready to assist with magic if mundane skill proved insufficient.  The pain brought Mardus back to consciousness, but he endured without complaint until Chopper finished.

"Good lad," Chopper remarked as Mardus settled back.

"That was fine work, Cap'n," Sandara beamed.

"Are they gone?  The fish men?" Mardus asked, his voice slurring.  McCleagh nodded.

"They attacked in the evening, while he was out with the goats.  We sent Zander out to call him in to dinner . . ."

"'E gave 'is life t' save me . . ."

"I'll honor 'im with a proper funeral, if'n ye like," Sandara offered

"He deserves honor," Chopper murmured.  "Rest up, son."

"How have you fared otherwise?" Feruzi asked while Chopper cleaned up.

"Well enough," the sergeant said.  "We've had some word of your exploits now and again.  Very impressive."

"HE would not let us be otherwise," Feruzi grumbled, pointing at Chopper with her chin.

"Lady Agasta should be pleased to entertain his suit.  If that suits him, of course.  And we had a delivery for you, Ms. Feruzi.  We have it upstairs."  She looked askance at McCleagh until she realized Chopper was looking over her shoulder with a nearly identical expression.

"All . . . right?"  She followed McCleagh with Chopper and Sandara tagging along.  McCleagh handed Feruzi a long wooden case that opened to reveal an ornate bow and a roll of parchment.  Her hand shaking slightly, Feruzi unrolled the note, read it, and boggled.

"What should I do?" she appealed to Chopper.  "This is . . . expensive."

"Marry him?" Chopper suggested.

"Um, no.  Should I accept it? Or send it back?"  Chopper gave her a look she usually reserved for him.  "Do you think it wise to take on the responsibility implied by such a gift?"  His eyes slowly closed and opened, his expression changing not a whit.

"You're not getting any younger, and on this crew the odds of you getting much older are reduced vastly reduced."

           

Feruzi fingered the bow cautiously.  "Well . . . if I intend to return it, I should place it in his hands myself.  And there's no harm in making use of it until then.  Right?"

"Right.  Now that's settled, I've got a wedding to attend."   

Skull and Shackles Session 17: Tooth and Nail

The jungle seemed to close in around them; landmarks vanished into a mass of vegetation and the faint rustle of the river was quickly drowned out by the drone of insects.  Sandara tried swatting them away from her face, but it was futile.  "This makes Bonewrack Isle look like a paradise," she complained.  Feruzi shrugged and continued her examination of the underbrush.

"There do seem to be jaguars about," she said finally.  "They climb trees.  Better than we do.  So watch above as well as to the sides.  There are larger creatures about as well--solitary ones--but I do not recognize their markings.  They are almost like midget elephants."

"Dinosaurs?" Reiko asked.  Feruzi blinked.

"Oh, those great beats?  I have seen them.  My father had one as a pet for a time, but it looked nothing like these tracks."

"I've never seen one myself, so it's only a guess."

"Do they climb trees?" Feruzi asked.

"Not these," Chopper said, looking over the tracks.  "Herbivores, by the look of it.  Maybe horse-sized."  Sandara sighed in relief.

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Well, they still might trample us, but at least the meat would go to waste.  Until the scavangers got to it, of course," Chopper concluded cheerfully.  Sandara shot him a dark look.

Feruzi nodded.  "Herbivore does not mean placid.  Let us move on."

They chewed their way through the brush for nearly an hour before the weeds abruptly gave out at the foot of the immense stone ziggurat they saw from the river.  Crude icons of jaguars were carved on every dark, ugly stone.

"Charming," Chopper remarked.  "Well, no time like the present!"  He stomped forward and looked around the clearing.  Bushes rustled and he reached for his weapons.  "Company!"  A birdlike creature the size of a large dog burst from the brush, crossing the intervening distance in the blink of an eye and crashing into Ezikial with talons extended.  The massive dewclaw on its left foot raked along his leg as he attempted to fend it off.  "Capture it!" Chopper yelled, earning a dark look from Ezikial.

Three more little dinosaurs followed in rapid succession, two barreling into Feruzi and the third joining its compatriot in an attempt to chomp any and all available bits of Ezikial.  Feruzi staggered back, covered in blood, and nearly fell.

"FOOKIN HELLS!" Sandara cried and slapped a healing spell onto Feruzi, slowing the rush of blood.  Ezikial fired on their attackers, knocking one away, and Feruzi pinned it with an arrow, killing it.  Chopper rapidly revised his strategy and waded in with his axes.

"What happened to 'capture it'?" Reiko asked, swinging her sword and neatly decapitating one of the beasts.

"There's two more!"

"Yeah, good luck with that," she drawled as a shadow passed overhead.  They looked up to see another deinonychus with blood-red feathers, its forearms grown into vast bat wings.  It shrieked a challenge in an unknown tongue, but the last part was unmistakable as it crashed into Chopper.

"KORO-KORO!!"

"Oh, aren't you adorable!" Chopper replied.  "Look, men, he's trying to hug me!"

"Did you just call me 'men'?" Feruzi demanded.  Koro-Koro grunted something and the battle was shrouded in darkness; they struggled to fend off the dinosaurs, who seemed to have tripled in number in the dark.

"It's a spell!" Sandara yelled, and cast something herself--the darkness abruptly lifted.  Ezikial took aim and shot one of the dinosaurs in the brain pan, killing it.  Another flurry of arrows impaled the fourth, leaving only Koro-Koro on the field.  Reiko slashed one of its wings and it screeched in rage, shredding her forearms and thighs with its claws.  Sandara fired off another healing spell, keeping Reiko in the fight.  Between them, Chopper and Reiko managed to force the demonic dinosaur to the ground and kill it.

"Whew!"  Chopper remarked, surveying the numerous and in many cases rather severe injuries his crew had acquired.  "Some things just can't be housebroken."

"That might possibly be the smartest thing I've heard you say in months," Reiko told him.

"The smell may draw more predators," Feruzi said while Sandara went from person to person, staving off the worst of the damage.  Feruzi nodded to the cleric.  "Some quick thinking with the magic.  Thank you."

"Hey, what're friends for?"

Chopper surveyed the clearing and discovered the remains of a long-dead dwarven warrior under a brush.  Ezikial looked around eagerly.  "There should be a gun around here somewhere."  The jungle conditions had made most of the dwarf's belongings useless, but he did find an odd, battered pistol with six barrels joined in a single housing.  One of the dwarf's teeth also yielded an impressive ruby, worth a fair bit on its own.  Taking this as sufficient plunder, they loaded up the corpse of Koro-Koro and returned to the ship.  They drifted lazily downriver while Ezikial bent to work over his gunpowder.  Feruzi sprawled on the deck to soak in the sun and rest off the remainder of her injuries, but Reiko was not so easily deterred and returned to work.  The sun was sinking behind the trees when Lysaro sounded the alert from the crow's nest.  The rigging of a large ship was visible around the next bend in the river.

"That can't be good," Kroop muttered, squinting into the twilight.

"Well, it can't be Harrigan," Chopper said.  Ezikial ordered the ballistae brought on deck and made ready.  "Let's try to evade for now."

"She'll see us if we run," Kroop told him.

"It could be Chelish," Feruzi commented, joining them on the sterncastle.  Chopper frowned.

"Want us to drop anchor so yer can scout 'er?" Rosie asked.  Feruzi nodded.

"Sounds sensible.  Ready the boat."  With the anchors in place, the Crisis held position, swinging slightly in the current.  Leila joined the officers in the boat and they rowed silently ashore and made their way overland to a position where they could spy on the other ship.  Chopper peered at it through his spyglass, making out the name, Dominator, and the Chelish colors flying at the mast.  The ship was huge, a three-decked man-o'-war with a high sterncastle and half a dozen covered weapon ports on the starboard side alone.  Catapults sat at fore and stern.

"Feruzi was right," Leila said faintly.  "Chelish."

"I think we will need a bigger boat," Feruzi muttered.  "Some sort of ruse or distraction may be necessary."

"I'm open to suggestions," Chopper said dubiously, regarding the Chelish warship with no small degree of alarm.

"Well, we could always set them on fire."  Chopper snorted and shook his head.

"Captain, ships like these have a rope-pulley steering system.  If we can cut the ropes that control the rudder, we could get away."

"You mean, swim under the ship?" Feruzi asked.

"No," Leila said, shaking her head.  "The rudder itself would be too difficult to reach.  You'd need to sneak aboard and reach the mechanism inside the cabin."

"Now that is bold," Chopper said.  "Anyone want to come with me?"

"Sounds pretty dangerous," Reiko told him.

Feruzi sighed.  "I am willing to try."

"Let's prepare, then," Chopper said.  They conferred, and Ezikial took Reiko back to the Crisis while Feruzi, Leila, and Chopper swam toward the Dominator.  Ezikial sealed his powder horn with wax and handed it to Feruzi in case of need.  She traded him her bow and arrows, knowing they would be of little use and would only get soaked.

"It won't do much damage, but it will make a lot of noise," he said.

They reached the Dominator's stern and caught hold.  Far above them, the House Thrune coat of arms was emblazoned across the sterncastle.  Below it were galleries of windows decorated with rows of ornate painted sculptured of various devils and infernal petitioners.  The carvings weren't all that attractive, but they made for a fine ladder with assistance from Chopper's boarding axes.  They reached the windows without mishap; inside, they could see the pulley ropes linking the wheel above to the rudder.  Leila checked the window and found that it wasn't locked.  She was about to swing it open when Chopper grabbed her arm.

"Hold," he breathed.  A man in a commander's uniform stepped into view, flanked by two Chelish marines, apparently on inspection.  He gave the windows a cursory glance as they filed into the room, then cursed and grabbed for his battleaxe.  Feruzi hissed, realizing he'd spotted her.  Leila slid the window open and Feruzi dove through, crossing the room in a single movement to slam the door closed, blocking the exit, but the maneuver left her open to a crushing axe blow that opened her arm to the bone.  One of the marines pulled out a whistle and blew furiously.  Chopper came through the window and stabbed the man in the back, sending him staggering and coughing.  Leila fired her shortbow at the commander, nicking him, while Feruzi peppered him with her fists, forcing him back away from the door.  He retaliated with his axe while the other marine stabbed Chopper in the side.  Feruzi slumped against the door, gravely wounded but still blocking the path.  Not knowing what else to do, she hurled Ezikial's powder horn and a vial of alchemist's fire into the pulleys.  For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, then soft yellow flames began to lick at the ropes and powder horn.  Moments later, it exploded.  Feruzi fell to the floor, shielding her face from the flames, while the commander turned to defend himself from Chopper's assault.  They could hear the alarm spreading through the ship outside.  Chopper battled the commander, hooking one boarding axe under the man's arm and burying the other in his skull.  Leila's arrows dropped the marines, and then there was nothing to do but trash the equipment and dive for the water.  Arrows fell around them like rain, but the marines seemed distracted by something on the water to the port side, giving them enough time to swim for cover and vanish into the jungle.

A loud BOOM echoed across the water and they realized that Ezikial was causing the distraction, firing his weapons at the soldiers trying to lower the Dominator's boats.  They ducked back into the water and joined him, rowing furiously for the Crisis, which was already moving toward them on the current.  The crew scrambled to get the boat back aboard while Reiko steered wide of the Dominator.  Rosie and Melissan fired the ballista, damaging the fore catapult badly enough that it could not fire.  The Dominator's aft catapult snapped forward, launching a fire pot that landed just behind them, and then they were away.

Skull and Shackles Interlude: The Eagle-Claw

"Good to have you back, Captain." 

Merrill Pegsworthy broke out of his reverie to acknowledge his First Mate with a cheerful grin.  "Good to be back, Mistress Loor."  The pause must have alerted her, though, because she eyed his expression closely, unconvinced.

"Somethin' happen?"

"Oh, no," he replied, gesturing toward the ship now receding into the distance.  "Tatsumi is well set up aboard the Kitsune--"

"The what, now?"

"Oh, some fancy of his, some kind of legendary fox creature, I understand.  But she is sound and on her way, as you can see for yourself."  This did not produce the desired response; if anything, Labella grew more uneasy.

"Are ye sure ye had no troubles?  We expected ye long afore this, truth be told."

Pegsworthy essayed a dismissive shrug.  "There were some troubles, but they were not ours.  Met some likely young folks with a newly-acquired ship; they helped Rickety fend off some sort of giant wasp attack.  So, of course we had to wait for him to clear up the mess and launch their ship.  Took a couple of days."

"New pirates, eh?  Well, they'll be in for some schoolin' if they think they can give us any trouble," she announced, somewhat to his chagrin.

"I doubt they'd want to, the first mate is Tatsumi's sister.  They seem like nice enough folks."

"Then the Shackles will swallow 'em whole and spit the bones."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, either.  They acquired their ship from that devil's son, Plugg.  You remember him?  Harrigan's Mate."

Labella spat on the deck.  "Not like to forget, me.  So he's dead, then?  Good, though I wouldna have minded doin' the job meself."

"From the sound of things, you would have had to outrun an arrow to do it, that archer of theirs is a fiend.  Never seen anyone shoot so fast in my life, and she killed Plugg herself according to Tatsumi's sister, spitted him right though his black heart!"  He grinned, bemused, causing Mistress Loor no small distress as she looked askance on her Captain's peculiar new mood.  "Must have been quite the sight!  Say, Labella, do I still have that Azlanti bow somewhere?"

Labella felt her jaw loosen as her heart seemed to writhe in her chest.  "The Eagle-Claw, Captain?"

"That's the one."

Her jaw sagged again.  "The one ye said ye'd sell t'buy an ISLAND if ye ever decided t'retire, Captain?"

"Yes.  Wherever did I put it?"

"The bow that's worth more than the Bonaventure and everything else aboard her, COMBINED?!  THAT bow?!?!"

Something in her tone finally seemed to penetrate whatever cloud Pegsworthy's brain currently occupied.  He glanced at her, his eyes sparking dangerously.  "Is there some kind of point to this inquiry, Mistress?"

Labella forced herself into some semblance of composure.  No matter how easygoing he was, one did not scream at one's Captain.  Even if he'd clearly lost his mind.  Perhaps especially not then.  "N-no, Captain."

"Good.  So where did it end up?"

"It's still locked in yer safe, Captain."  She felt faint.  She was going to faint.

"Go fetch it out for me, will you?  And have Pinch find me some sort of gift case for it or similar."

"Besmara save me!" Labella squeaked.  The end had come.  The Captain was sending her on an errand that meant telling the notoriously ruthless quartermaster that Pegsworthy intended to give away the single most valuable object he'd ever had in his possession.  There was no help for it.  If she was going to have the hide ripped from her bones she'd rather it happen trying to talk some kind of sense into her beloved Captain.  "Captain, ye know I love ye like me own flesh and blood--"

"That's kind of you to say."  His voice was flat, hard.

"Aye, Captain.  And ye know I've ne'er disobeyed yer orders, not e'en when I thought ye were lettin' yer kind and noble heart rule o'er yer sense . . ."

"Yes?"

"So, I'm beggin' ye, Captain, don't go givin' THAT bow to some . . . some . . . strumpet!"

Pegsworthy's breath hissed between his teeth.  "Mistress Loor, I cannot help but think that I must have misheard you just there."  Labella flinched and hid her face with her hands.

"Nay, Captain, an' it please ye, ye can have me flogged afore the mast, but by Besmara's tits and nipples there's such a thing as whores, Captain!"  She hunched, shaking, not daring to look at him.  There was a long, horrible silence.

"Oh, dear," Pegsworthy said finally.  Labella felt him gently put his hands on her shoulders and turn her to look at him.  "Calm yourself.  It's not like that."

"I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't mean . . ." 

He squeezed her shoulders.  "No, I'm the one who's sorry.  My mind was wandering and I didn't explain myself well enough.  I'm not looking to . . . um . . ."  to her surprise, he faltered and looked slightly embarrassed.

"Get yer buoy bobbed, Captain?" she offered, anxious not to let him get distracted again.  His face twisted, caught between horror and humor.  He blinked repeatedly then finally frowned, although it was clearly a struggle.

"Yes, all right . . . that . . . what you said, and thank you so very much indeed for putting that image in my head at this moment--"

"Sorry, Captain."

He massaged his forehead with his fingers and sighed.  "It is a bit . . . extravagant of me, yes--"

"A BIT?!"

"Watch it.  It is MY bow, Labella, I took it as my share, won it with my own hands and rather more of my own blood than I care to part with.  It's doing no one any good where it is.  I . . . I would much rather see it in the hands of someone I believe I can trust, who has the skill to use it for its intended purpose.  If I sell it, it'll just go to some rich merchant or, hah, 'nobleman' who'll put it in a case so he can gloat over it at his drunken parties, and that just wouldn't be right.  It'd be like"--he gave a self-conscious little chuckle--"like throwing away a man because there was an accident and he got himself a bit of a limp.  Anyway, I wasn't planning on retiring just yet."

Labella was sick with horror.  Like the rest of Pegsworthy's crew she took it as an article of faith that anyone who thought the Captain was less than capable for being minus one leg was an idiot, a poltroon, and the worst kind of blind damn fool.  For him to mention it himself, well, that was unthinkable.  "Captain, I . . ."

"No, it's all right, I understand.  I'm not angry.  Be a good girl and go take care of it for me, would you?  It's been a long day and I'd like to sit down."

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

Pegsworthy sighed again as he watched her scurry away.  She was right, of course, he was being foolish, and it didn't help that he'd spent several hours while he waited for the rendezvous in pleasant contemplation of exactly what Labella assumed he was contemplating.  Time to put aside unlikely daydreams and focus again on the main chance.  Or maybe not so unlikely, considering some of the things he'd heard about Mwangi tribals . . .

STOP that, Merrill Pegsworthy, you old fool.  Not old enough, apparently.  Not by a long shot.  Have you finally forgotten what honor is, that you'd break the only word you still have?  If you're a fool, ADMIT it, so at least you won't be a blind fool.  He'd made an oath to himself years ago, when he'd first stolen the Bonaventure and turned to piracy to support himself and his crew, that no matter what happened he would never, ever lie to himself about what it was he was doing.  He would never pretend he was not a killer and a thief, never claim he was a better man because there were some evils he still shied away from committing.  It might bring you the love and loyalty of your crew, but you don't buy your way into the Light by claiming that well, you weren't as bad as you could have been.  You are a pirate because you couldn't bear to spend the rest of your life saying you were a cripple, so before you go getting all stupid over some woman, Merrill Pegsworthy, remember that SHE is a pirate TOO.

He sat down at his desk and unbuckled the straps holding the wooden peg to the stump of his left leg.  It had hurt all day, a weird, phantom tingling that seemed to originate in the part of his flesh that was cut away.  Whenever his leg hurt like this he always dreamed that night of being whole, an Eagle Knight, a seacaptain in the service of Andoran, fighting for the sovereign People who trusted him with their liberty and lives . . .

Who threw your own life, the lives of better men than you, and all your works away like they were garbage, of no use to anyone . . .

It was why he still wore his Knight's coat even though it made most Shackles people uneasy.  Not to remind him of what he once was, oh no, to remind him of what he wasn't.  Without it, he feared he would forget and start throwing away the lives of the men and women who depended upon him.  He owed them better than that.

Still, sometimes you had to think first about what you owed yourself, he decided, and reached for a piece of parchment.  Dipping his quill in the bottle of ink, he began to write.

Madam--

You have not vouchsafed to me the right to address you by name, nevertheless I hope you will not feel it an imposition if I beg you accept this token of my goodwill toward yourself, your Captain, and his newfound ship.  In truth, I feel somewhat in your debt for the magnitude of the service you have performed in ridding the world of several men who befouled her with every breath they took, so in that light I hope you will accept this bow, the Eagle-Claw, that it might aid you in the prosecution of many similar works in the future.

Was it getting dark already?  And here he'd written barely a paragraph. And his leg was cramping.

While much of the Eagle-Claw's history is obscure to me, I do know that it dates from ancient Azlant and may even have been crafted by those fabled peoples.

There, that was safe enough, surely?

The sockets upon the grip were made to contain ioun stones, although of course any such they once contained are long gone.  Still, you may be fortunate and come across replacements in your travels.

Come ON, Merrill, you can't send off barely half a page with a bow like this.

Perhaps you wonder how it came to be in my possession.

Doubtful.  Oh, well, press on, press on.

While I cannot make such claims with regards to many of my acquisitions, the Eagle-Claw came to my hands honorably enough.  Some years ago we took a man aboard who was adrift in a tiny boat far from any land.  He was sun-struck and nearly dead of thirst, but he claimed to be the last survivor of an Andoran merchant expedition to the island of the Sun Temple, having escaped bearing only this bow, the Eagle-Claw.  Being of Andoran extraction myself, I was intrigued, and though the man did die almost immediately despite all we could do to succor him, I determined to make sail for this legendary island and ascertain the course of events there.

We were never to make landfall upon the island itself.  Long before we came even to the suspicion of land in the distance, we were viciously set upon by none other than the Wormwood, flagship as you know of the vile Barnabus Harrigan, and two of her sister ships who were in the process of stripping a vessel so badly damaged that her name and provenance were impossible to determine.  The resulting battle was a terrible one, for Harrigan seemed determined that no one should survive to bear hence the tale of this plunder.  Had not one of my other ships arrived, I have little doubt that the Bonaventure, along with myself and all hands, would now rest at the bottom of the Arcadian Ocean.  Since that time, whenever I have encountered any of Harrigan's ships they have taken every opportunity to do ill to me and mine, though they are restrained from outright hostilities in many cases by the will of the Pirate Council.

Having witnessed your bravery and skill and heard of your sufferings at the hands of Harrigan and his ilk, I had no thought but that the gods must will for you and this bow to be together.

Pegsworthy hesitated for so long that the ink dried in the quill and he was forced to dig out his pocket knife, trim the quill, and clean it before cutting a new point.

So, I hasten to carry out that will and hope you will look favorably upon me in the future when we might have opportunity to spend time together ourselves.

Entirely at your service,

Merrill Tantrey

"Gods," he breathed, staring at his signature.  That name!  He hadn't used that name in years, a decade even!  Yet here it was, coming out of his pen as if it were completely natural and right.  Scrape it off, some part of him hissed in panic, but no, it would leave a mark and who aboard that ship of lubbers would know, anyway?  Still, he must not lie and misrepresent himself.  Inking his quill one last time, he added a final word.

Merrill Tantrey Pegsworthy

There, it was done.  He set the parchment aside to dry.  The rest he could leave to Labella, before he thought too much more about it and really did drive himself insane.