"Heave lads!" Shouted Captain Bry, and Jon pulled on the rough rope, hauling it back, feeling it tear at his still soft palms, "Bind the cord and knot the lass; keep a tight hand on it, less the leeches get a taste of ya."
Jon was sailing. Working aboard the ship as Fuss stood at the prowl, letting the wind catch his mane like he was already king of the world, staring out at the wildlife, at bears and jumping fish, bucks with huge antlers, massive birds that dove into the river for a drink or a meal, barking every time something new appeared.
They passed nestled fishing villages and towns, forts and small keeps dotted the landscape, and other boats passed them going each direction, and every moment was a new experience, a new wonder.
Jon moved his hands quickly, tying the rope into a tension knot as he'd been taught, pulling the rigging tight with all his strength before finishing.
"Stand down." The Captain finally called, "With a breeze like this we're not long for land, lads." Which brought a cheerful shout from Jon and the crew as they broke away from the rigging and went about other duties. Jon reached for a mop and started to clean the deck.
"I'm really starting to like ye, lad." Gimp led with as he walked over to where Jon stood mopping, "And it ain't just cause I'm no longer the ugliest bastard aboard this here boat."
Jon laughed, pushing his long, white hair out of his eyes as Gimp cackled.
"Or because you have about as much luck in dice as I do with women."
Wasn't the Dawnlight's crew the best? And Gimp was the best of the best, literally showing Jon the ropes, and wasn't this the life? "You're not so bad yourself, Gimp. Thanks for showing me all those knots, it got me a Skill."
"Easiest Skill to get and it still took you three days? - I guess you're bout as stupid as you are ugly."
Jon just nodded. Eli had told him only Skills under the purview of Prince could be learned faster, and the opposite was also true. Which apparently meant that tying knots wasn't princely. Neither was cleaning, rigging, dicing, fishing, or wrestling - but it didn't matter because those things were still fun.
Jon put down his mop as he eye'd the big wheel that steered the ship, "So you think I can take the helm?"
"Ha, ha." Gimp almost croaked, "Careful saying that too loud, Ugly. I'd sooner slap a man then ask to steer his ship, if ya kin? You as landed as a tree if ya don't know that."
Jon looked at the wheel with disappointment, and Gimp lowered his voice to a whisper and took a step closer, "Now there's a place here for ya, Ugly. If you're looking to escape the fetters of that tosh." Gimp jerked his head toward Eli, "The Captain won't do any bad business, but he'd not break bread with a man who'd keep another against his will; so if you say the word and it's three square meals on Dawnlight, and a copper a day as well."
It took Jon a moment to realize what Gimp was offering. Not just a job, but to escape, if he was being forced to work for Eli? Like a slave? "It ain't like that, Gimp." Jon said, trying to match the easy-speak of the crew, "Eli is the last man to take another's will, he's good people. The best people."
And realizing that slavery existed here? Jon suddenly understood why Eli had made such a drastic change to his appearance. Why he was so concerned about how Jon looked...
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Gimp looked surprised, perhaps even disbelieving.
"He gave up his old life to save us, Me and Fuss. He can be an ass but it's only because he cares, he's kind. Loyal and brilliant, hard working and -" Jon saw Gimp's gaze, made his voice deepen, "a real bro, ya savvy?"
"Eh, not how I reckoned this talk was going...so we'll just leave it here before I start feeling the need to piss on the opposite side of the ship you two are on." A rough shove and a friendly wink allowed Jon to blush. Still, he shook his head as Gimp walked away whistling, was it so obvious to everyone but Eli?
"Ruff!" Fuss said, jumping in. And because Soul Bond had gone up to 3%, Jon was able to get more meaning from the barks and the mental messages that came with them, but that didn't mean they always made sense.
"I'm not sniffing his ass, Fuss, that's just a dog thing. And we're both dudes, anyway, Fuss." Jon laughed as he tried to think of a way to explain to Fuss what was going on - realizing that Fuss was reading his mind, too.
"There doesn't have to be a point when it comes to friends. It just is, and that's good enough."
Jon said it as he looked over to where Eli was working on the deck, almost non-stop since the Captain had brought him tools. The entire side rail at first had taken on an intricate web of charcoal lines like a tribal tattoo. Now Elijah was painstakingly carving them out with a small knife as he monitored a pot of burning pine pitch he was going to use to fill then back in.
The pot was burbling, held over an open lantern that worked as a burner, safely heating the thick, stinky goo.
"Almost done?" Jon asked walking over, crinkling his nose as the smell of hot pitch got stronger.
"Hardly, Jon." Elijah murmured as he sprinkled the rest of the copper filings into the Pitch Pot and stirred it. Then he passed the empty bowl to Jon, "I need you to grind some more coins, Jon. These tools are barely sufficient, and as you may have noticed, this boat isn't exactly still. It's like writing a haiku from horseback."
"It looks really cool, Eli. Is this what your Class does?"
"No, Jon. This is part of what you need to understand to be successful in the Real(m). A Class is an advantage, it allows you to learn relevant Skills faster and rewards you with Abilities, but you can do anything without a Class that you -"
*Clang Clang Clang*
"Starboard, three scooters!" A voice shouted from above, "Take cover, they're firing!"
Jon was swinging his head to see, as twangs filled the air like a severed guitar, then sharp thunks started to sprinkle onto the deck, a crew-mate screamed as Jon dove on top of Fuss, turning his body into a shield against the arrows that were sprouting on deck.
"You picked the wrong damn ship!" Captain Bry's fierce voice called with a crossbow pulled quickly from somewhere, sending a bolt back.
"Don't risk it, Jon." Eli hissed, seeing Jon poking his head up, looking at the three small, sail-less boats made from rough wood and reeds, each holding four men firing bows and headed right for the Dawnlight, loosing arrow after arrow, "They're just bandits, Bry has this or he wouldn't be a Captain for long."
As Jon looked through the rails, he thought Eli was right - one of the attackers was already down, the crossbow bolt struck through his eye and he was knocked back against another's chest. The other three on that rough raft had bleak expressions as the rest of Dawnlight's crew armed themselves with crossbows and started to return fire.
But Drips, a crew-member, was already being dragged below, a trail of blood leaking from his thigh.
And the Dawnlight crew was Jon's friends. He saw Gimp cranking back a crossbow, then exposing himself to take a shot. The other men doing the same, faces that weren't fearless, or even confident. Just men defending themselves, their jobs, with their lives on the line.
"Protect Fuss!" Jon shouted, and without a weapon he grabbed what was available. The pine pitch pot and the lantern from Eli's work.
"I need that!" Eli shouted, but it was too late. Jon was running, shouting, "Make a hole!" before he flung the lantern first, it soared high, and before it splashed into the water to a loud hiss, he'd tossed the pot as well which also missed, hitting the water with a belch of steam, only to sink.
Then Jon got shot, the arrow punching into his chest, cutting past his ribs and into his right lung. He heard nothing but his own scream of pain before the lights went out, his last thought belonging to Fuss.