Joe stored his gear in the small trunk and leaned his weapon against a wall. He sat down on the trunk and stared nervously at the entryway into his small sanctuary. The door had a small hook and eye holding it closed, which Joe had used. It did not give him any sense of security. Joe was expecting at any moment to see one of those who were hunting him boot through the flimsy lock. Looking at the rib beams of the ship and the wall containing the door, he saw that there was a small gap between the two. He glanced at his new staff leaning against the wall and an idea dawned on him. It took him a few minutes of mucking around with the best angle but he eventually managed to bar the door with the magically reinforced rod.
He stepped back smiling. “Someone is going to have to break the whole door down to get in here.”
He returned to his seat on the sea chest and fished out the crystals he had bought. The tacky wax had stuck them together but they came apart easily enough. He dropped the yellow tinted [Stealth] stone back into his belt pouch, then spent the next couple of minutes peeling the wax off the other two skill crystals. The red crystal’s casings came off easily so he added that one first to his growing list of abilities.
You have learned the basic skill: [Steadfast]. This skill increases your surefootedness, assisting you in traversing slick terrains such as mud or ice, as well as resisting knockdown skills such as [Trip] or [Shockwave]. You have no open Strength skill slots remaining.
The [Steadfast] skill was pretty much exactly what he expected it to be. The other crystal’s coating put up a bit more of a fight. When he finally got the sticky layer cleared and absorbed the ability, it turned out to be a complete surprise.
You have learned the uncommon skill: [Stun Block]. This skill increases your resistance against stun or paralysis effects. The [Stun Block] skill affects both the likelihood of being stunned as well as the duration of the disability. Cost: Minor Stamina. You have no open Vigor skill slots remaining.
Joe gaped at the screen in front of him, reading it again and again before dismissing it and hunting for the crystal’s tag on the floor. He picked up the ragged scrap and worked the torn edges together. Sure enough, if held in the direct light coming in through the porthole, a faint letter ‘B’ could just be made out. While Joe could see how [Stun Block] would be a very useful skill, it meant he still was left without a solid offensive option.
Joe’s hand slapped into his forehead and dragged down his face. Grumbling to himself, he paced around the cramped quarters. He had enough money left over, thanks to Kaid, to go grab [Bash] but he knew it was far too risky for him to leave his hideyhole. After a few minutes of grousing and swearing, he accepted he could do nothing but look for an attack skill once he reached Peregrine Harbor.
Feeling a little dejected, Joe strung the hammock and laid a blanket across the webbing. He started to lie down, but even with the small porthole open, the air in the room was unpleasantly hot and stuffy. If he opened the door, it would make the room more comfortable, but he was certain he was better off with it tightly barred. Joe stripped off his clothes before climbing into the hammock in the buff. As he lay down, a glitter caught his eye, reminding him of the tattoo on his arm.
[Mark of Death]: You bear the prophetic mark of Death. You have the potential to alter the world in unexpected ways. New beginnings can originate from the smallest of acts.
Joe had a hard time wrapping his head around that idea. He had no desire to be some ‘Chosen One’. Thankfully, he was almost certain that was not what the symbol meant. The queen Granny Growlbee spoke of became a figure of legend but that was not guaranteed. Gazing at the glittering design, Joe felt that the key word was ‘potential’. Maybe Joe would be able to invoke some change to Illuminaria someday in the future, but then again so could anyone.
He made a mental note to research the Death mark when he reached his destination but, even then, he was not going to let it direct his actions. Joe had had enough of outside forces controlling his life. Cancer had ruled his last life. Grover and his Phealtians had chased him out of Crowfield. He was looking forward to a chance to start again, living life on his own terms.
As he lay on his back, a long yawn broke its way free. Joe was weary through and through. He closed his eyes to try and catch a nap, though he doubted, even as tired as he was, he’d be able to relax enough to sleep hanging in the swaying mesh. He did not have much experience with hammocks but they turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Before he knew it, he had dozed off in just minutes.
He dreamed of Kaid.
For his first few days here, the small gnome had been the bane of his existence and yet in slumber, he found himself missing the caustic little cutthroat. Over and over his mind pictured the small scowling face glaring up at him. Instead of annoyance, Joe felt a hint of sadness and more than a hint of worry.
Kaid had been his safety net. Joe knew he was not equipped to deal with this new world as his ability stood. His build was great for support, but it would not keep him alive alone. Joe dreamed of being chased and knowing he could only slow his pursuers, not escape or vanquish them. So far his character skills had come about due to chance and necessity. If he really wanted to make his way in this world, he would need to start deliberately building skills that would allow him to fight back.
Joe’s dreams eventually found him sitting in the crow's nest, far out on the ocean. He was looking back at the town of Heron’s Reef. In the irrationality of dreams, even though the phantasmal ship was far away from the shore, Joe could see the roads and people of the port town clearly. He watched a band of gold and white guards chase what alternated between the illusionary view of himself or the slight form of the gnome. The pursuit dashed back and forth through the streets. Joe’s heart felt heavy. His dreaming self earnestly hoped the little man was able to escape. In a lucid moment, he realized he would never truly know; not until it was safe enough for him to return to Crowfield one day.
Suddenly a highly synthetic voice spoke beside him.
“He eluded the followers of Phealti,” it said.
Joe looked over and saw a small red-tailed hawk perched on the railing of the crow’s nest. It looked like one of the typical hunters Joe had grown up with, except for its eyes. The raptor possessed large orbs that looked like they were a cross between the Matrix’s green code and a swirling cosmic nebula.
“Hawking?”
“Correct.”
“I didn’t think you could actually talk.”
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“Most of the voices in this world are ultimately my own, why would I not be able to speak?”
“Then what is with all the window screens?”
“They are more efficient. Is this truly the line of questioning you wish to pursue?”
“Good point. I get the feeling you don’t do this face to face often.”
“Correct.”
“Wow. Now I feel on the spot.”
“Such was not my intention. I know you have questions. Ask them.”
Joe thought for a second before he spoke again.
“Well, I guess the biggest question I want to ask is also kind of a pointless one. You can’t answer it, really. I want to know if this is all just my brain winding down as I die. Am I getting an alternate reality version of ‘my life flashing before my eyes’?”
“Your assertion is correct. No matter how I answer that query, the validity of my answer cannot be proven. You will have to decide on your own if my following statement is the truth or a delusion. Your body did die. As I am unable to ascertain the existence of souls, I cannot state what became of that theoretical construct. Your consciousness is what was implanted into Illuminaria. Whether you believe this is actually your prior self or a new version based on who you were is largely subjective.
“Does it matter?”
“Well of course …” Joe began before stopping and really pondering that question. His gaze swept out across the moonlit ocean as he rolled the thought around in his head. Did it actually matter? This was his existence. He had no idea how long it would last. That was true in either situation. Then the answer came to him.
“It does matter. If this is my brain spinning down, then nothing I do really makes any difference. On the other hand, if this is an actual world with other real beings then my actions have consequences. What I choose to do and not do, can help or harm others.”
“Does that not lead to the conclusion that it does not matter whether this existence is ‘real’ or not? Rather it is whether or not you consider it to be so that is the actual point of significance?”
Joe rolled that thought around until a goofy thought caused a smile to lift the corners of his mouth.
“I bet you ten to one, this conversation has been echoed through a million pot-smoke filled dorm rooms. I think I am going to stick with the assumption that this is my new reality and not the walk into the white light. I don’t think I could stand myself if I turned into a murderhobo because I took the stance that nothing really mattered.”
Joe looked back at the bird. “So why am I seeing you now? You said you don’t do this often. Why am I so lucky?”
“Your personification of me is proving to allow for a more focused connection than I maintain with those who designate me as The One Above.”
“Nobody else gave you a name?”
“No other Newcomer has done so.”
“Interesting. So I may end up seeing you again?”
“Correct.”
“Great. In the meantime is there something I am supposed to be doing? I feel like I am kind of fumbling my way through this,” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.
“Negative. The primary purpose of your inclusion into Illuminaria is to see what you choose to do. Simply continue to make choices.”
“Not even with this thing,” Joe said holding up the Mark of Death.
“Correct. Many who have borne the Thirteen Mark have not led significant lives. Your receipt of the mark did not relegate you to a specific path you must follow. Your journey is your own to decide.”
Joe scowled. “Not really helpful, Hawking. Did you get that from a fortune cook …” his voice trailed off as he noticed the bird was gone. It did not fly off or fade away. He hadn’t even seen it blink out of existence. Somehow, without him witnessing it, Hawking had just vanished between one second and the next.
Joe woke a moment later grumbling about Hawking’s vanishing act. He had a clear memory of the dream and a sense of amazement as well. He had just talked to the God of this world. Joe rolled the word around in his head and somehow it just didn’t feel right. Joe was not certain what Hawking was but if he had to choose a label, he knew god wouldn’t be it.
He was also certain of one other fact. His bladder was getting ready to burst on him. He could review the conversation with Hawking later, but first, he had to figure out the right way to take a piss on a ship. He pulled on his breeches, boots, and shirt, before unlocking the door. Joe looked out through the steps, and to his surprise, he saw a sailor step up onto the railing and relieve himself, just as he was desperate to do. Feeling a sympathetic cry from his gut for relief, he climbed out of his little cubby and stepped up to the seaman. The man gave him a quick glance, noticing Joe's unsteady gait on the deck.
Your skill [Steadfast] has increased to rank 1.
“Make sure you get a good hold o’ them ropes, boyo. Don’t want ya pitching overboard.”
‘Will do. Thanks.”
“Ya, know which side to wizz off right?” the barefooted mariner asked as he hopped back down to the deck.
“I’m assuming this side.”
“Now yeah. Not always. Watch the flags,” he said pointing at the flapping pennons. “Ya wanna go on the downwind side o’ the ship. That way yer piss don’t come back an’ sprinkle you an’, more important, them around ya.”
“Good to know. Thanks again.”
“Yer a welcome,” the man replied before moving off with the surety of someone whose life was lived aboard a rolling ship’s deck.
Joe felt much better when his business was done. He took an extra moment to enjoy the fresh air. Looking down, he watched the ship cut a hissing track through the waves. The air smelled of the sea, and he listened to the cry of the birds gliding through the sky. Every few seconds, one would dive for a fish churned up by the ship's wake.
He had never spent any time on boats before, except for an occasional ferry ride. Those were novel, but they were more a function of commuting than any sort of an adventure. This was an adventure, through and through. He was leaving behind the few things and people in this world he knew. Given his limited scope of world knowledge, he was literally traveling into the unknown. He was on his own now, for better or worse, and he found he could not stop smiling about it. Being a healer might make going it alone more difficult, but he was looking forward to finding his own way through the world.
Looking back, he could just make out the shore they had left fading away. He realized he must not have napped for long. Suddenly, he recalled that he was a wanted man. He knew the Phealtian warrior was around here somewhere. Also, the blue-haired girl who had paid for the dwarf’s passage on the ship. That meant he should be careful around her as well. It was unlikely he could avoid them for the entirety of the trip, but he figured he was better off not pushing his luck this close to where they had just departed from. He did not want them to be able to commandeer a long boat and row him right back to Heron’s Reef.
Joe took one last look at the sunlight glittering off the rippling water and then slipped back into his cabin and rebarred the door.