3
I slept in some dark hole in the Broken Oath’s innards on a swaying hammock that smelled of sailor’s farts and seawater. I woke to the dawn.
WHEN WILL THIS END?
YEARS OF PAIN d100
29
NO FURTHER MISERY TODAY.
Everyone aboard the Broken Oath was on deck to watch as the whale went into the rocks. The white foam turned red and pink amongst the sharp, black stones. Bets were made about how it would perish. Those who lost such bets handed money to the winner, who looked at the silver with guilt in their eyes at having bet on such a tragic outcome. When the beast hit the sharp shallows it seemed to recoil as if regret had struck its heart as cutting as the black stone.
“What manner of whale? What breed?” I asked Belum.
“I don’t know. I am from inland blood,” Belum said.
“Same,” I said, having assumed that Belum was a sailor because when I first saw the squire they were rowing a boat, coming from a ship. I had assumed wrong.
The stones were sharp and cruel, as if they were waiting to thwart some manner of seaworthy siege. Dead whales and shipwrecked vessels of all kinds were decaying against the stones. Sailors were pointing out ships of rare types to one another.
“Is that a Shadow Galleon?”
“Nah, only 3 of them were ever built. What’re the odds that one would be here? But is that a Kergüsite ice-breaker?”
“Might could be,” an old salt agreed, hauling ropes at the captain’s command.
All petty mutinies the sailors had made a show of before were set aside out of fear of wrecking. The captain was barking desperate and furious orders to pull into deep and quiet waters where the ship would not be pulled into the waiting rocks by some tricksy tide. The anchor was laid carefully and watches set up dutifully.
“Do you want your donkey to go with ye?” a sailor asked.
I hadn’t considered it and wanted to consult with Belum but the squire was arguing with the captain about how many sailors could be spared. Belum wanted half a dozen to help with the boat and defend the island’s exploration.
Ignoring the squire and the captain, the sailor had more questions, “What about the monkeys? Bringing them?”
“They go where they wilt,” I said, liking the sound of that. I wanted to extend that to Not Bad also but the poor creature was stuck in the hold and had caught some kind of fungal infection along his neck due to the dampness of the Broken Oath’s hold. It smelled like the devil’s own cheese and I wasn’t sure how much the creature would be willing to carry at this point but leaving the donkey here was leaving it to die.
I missed the beach where folk could go where they wished to go and no ropes or pulleys were necessary.
“The donkey goes with us,” I said, “Let me see to him before we get him on that damned boat. I looked over his hooves and neck, where the wet of the hold had done their worst to the poor creature. I took a dab of my medicine and did what I could.
MEDICINE BOX 1 of 4 USED
I was trying to find a way to fashion the rope into some kind of bridle when that Old Salt of a sailor covered in faded tattoos celebrating crossings and ports, lovers and hates long forgotten, did some kind of naval magic with knots so that I could guide Not Bad gently but firmly by the nose.. At the other end of the rope he did something special and showed it to me.
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“This is the Devil’s Grip. If you put this around something and yank, you’ll have to cut the rope to pieces to get it off. Could be of use if you have to trap something or yank something or climb or whatever,” the old sailor said.
“Thank you, Old Salt,” I said.
He giggled at the name and offered some kind of salute from a navy he had outlived by a long ways. Old Salt gathered comrades to begin putting Not Bad into the sling that would lower the beast into the rope.
REACTION 2d6
5
UNFRIENDLY
Despite the medicine doing its work to mend the donkey’s ills Not Bad was furious with the whole situation. Ears back, the still fungus-infected donkey tried to circle and kick the sailors who were getting the sling under the irate donkey’s belly.
INITIATIVE d6
3
ENEMIES GO FIRST
GET DONKEY IN SLING WITH HELP, DR 10
14
The sailors managed to get the donkey in the sling quickly and efficiently.
KICK SAILORS WHILE BEING PULLED INTO THE AIR, DR 18
10
Not Bad kicked but had no leverage while in the air. Sailors joked about changing the creature’s name to Very Bad. The sailors sang a sea shanty about hauling dead naval officers off a pirate ship. It was catchy. Not Bad was in no position to appreciate it, not that donkeys are often huge appreciators of music.
The water was pink, black and grey with whale guts. The smell was unholy.
Belum was set to row when Strong and Tough climbed into the boat with such nonchalance that if they could speak it would’ve been something like, “Oh, are you on this boat too? Funny, that.” Smelling the infection on Not Bad, they sat at the lowest point in the boat and sniffed the rotten water.
None of us noticed the Bilge Child holding on to the boat, covered in decomposing whale. At that point, we had no idea the child had spent a lifetime hiding in filth and thus was nearly invisible to us.
The rowing in towards the island was more difficult than Belum had anticipated. I watched him sweat and grunt and pull and push but never ask me to help.
“There’s a gutted ship that way,” I said pointing. “We could take refuge there, see if the tides will help us reach shore after you rest a bit.”
Belum nodded, rowing us through a hole in a merchant ship shaped like some kind of fat baby with a hole in its belly, ribs showing.
Somehow, the smell was even worse in the ship’s guts and I saw why, a floating dead sailor, half dissolved, clinging to a book wrapped in a sealskin pouch. I picked it up brushed off the corpse’s effluvia. When I took off the pouch, Strong and Tough took to it and started a tug of war, growling and hissing at one another.
It was a manifesto of sorts, about how finding the island was going to change the captain’s life and fortune. The hopes all pinned on this fell place was an awful thing to behold.
PRESENCE DR12 OR LOSE 1 PRESENCE
11
PRESENCE -1
I looked at Belum who was taking a swig of rum, looking exhausted. “Why did you bring me to Hellfort?” I asked.
“I needed your truth,” Belum said.
“Horse-shit. Why?”
Belum sagged on his bench, looking even more miserable than usual.
“They Valley Knights swore their oaths to the King of Wästland. They were charged with making sure whatever evil had crept into the soil of the Valley did not infect the rest of the kingdom. King Fathmu IX ordered the knights to ignore the suicide cults but those who sought Verhu the Basilisk were to be watched.
“When your people were attacked by undead who had clawed their way up from the black soil from the Land of the Dead itself, the knight who was training me suited up and bade me to follow. I couldn’t do it. The gloom, the taste of death in the air was just too much for me.
“My knight went to save your people, searchers looking for Verhu in hopes of convincing the Basilisk of a better fate for the world than the road we’re on. The King wanted to speak with them. I couldn’t do it.
“I’m s-”
I shushed his apology.
“Save your apologies for a world where they mean something. Row to the island. Enough talk this morning and if you ever apologize to me again I’ll say a truth that will end your damned life,” I said, not having a real answer yet for why I was here but realizing I was not ready for that full answer just yet.
When I was done talking, Tough and Strong were sitting on either side of me, ignoring me still but close enough that I could feel their bodies’ warmth against the chill ocean air.
Squire Belum rowed us out of the ship’s innards and I dropped the drowned one’s manifesto into the ocean.