NOVEL WEB Chapter 4: Well at least I don’t need to sleep
Sarenith 4, Toilday night, Day 1
The dark room was silent after Plugg and his minions dragged Jakes off to an uncertain fate. The rest of the crew retired by some unspoken agreement. The vibe was dead, and everyone had work tomorrow.
Gym rat stayed up the longest, laying out a spiral pattern of small objects and meditating over them. (Knowledge (Religion) 19+2=21 Success! He is performing a ritual to curry favor from the neutral aligned goddess of death, Pharasma.) Kinda creepy, but if he’s just praying I can’t even blame him. Maybe I should ask about that, actually? If the gods actually do shit here, I might start praying too. I left him to it. He wasn’t the most friendly sort, so interrupting him while he was talking to his goth girlfriend in the sky seemed like a bad idea. On top of that, I didn’t really want anyone to see me wander off in the middle of the night.
I killed time deciphering my character sheet, finding a treasure trove of secondary magical abilities. My toolbox expanded to include a curse that I could use twice a day to moderately inconvenience someone for about half a minute, a once per day ability to make someone my best friend for an hour, and the power to make the area around me darker. Once per day, naturally. Doesn’t look like stamina is my strong suit. That said, if something does turn into a fight I’m pretty sure darkness would favor me nine times out of ten. Much better than the other two. When the hell am I going to need floating balls of light or to make someone glow in the dark? On a relatively mundane note, my autopilot was apparently built to be some kind of con artist or sneak thief, based on the skills that had high numbers. Did… did I possess some guy? Or body swap or something? Is there a drow living my life, rolling dice to apply for internships? Or is he still here, just waiting for me to hand him control?
When Gym Rat finally went to bed, I slipped out on bare feet. (Secret roll. Stealth 3+7 = 10) I was on autopilot, but my HUD didn’t clue me in on how I was doing. Eh. Nobody got up to call me on it. I’m probably fine. I didn’t have any particular plan for the night; more than anything I just wanted to see what I could get away with. I didn’t rush, just wandering up and down stairs, trying not to open any doors or annoy anyone.
The main deck was lovely without the sun attempting to tear my eyes out; I’d never seen so many stars in the night sky. Damn. I guess I should have gone wilderness camping after all. I parked myself on the edge of the ship to take in the sights and sounds, but only got to enjoy the air for half an hour or so. After that, a gruff man barked at me from the darkness to get back below deck unless I was volunteering for another shift. Seeing as I had absolutely no desire to join the night crew, I did as commanded.
Continuing my exploration of the ship, I found a man chained to the wall on the middle deck, not far from the galley. At first I thought I’d found Jakes, but even in grayscale I could tell this was a different man. He was huge, with pecs the size of my head and bulging biceps that made my religious colleague look shrimpy. He had so much muscle definition that I suspected he was either dehydrated or on steroids. I didn’t know why he was chained up and I didn’t want my head crushed like a grape by a grumpy ogre, so I padded away silently.
Not sure where else to explore, I wandered back to the kitchen, blocking an opportunistic goat as I entered. The nail continued to burn with heatless fire, giving the room a relaxing atmosphere despite the mess. I lounged in Kroop’s chair, I enjoyed the dim warmth of the stove and the rocking of the ship. Messy, but comfortable. I wonder if the new missions dropped?
(Day 2 exclusive) Save the life of Jakes Magpie: 1 exp, Spellguard Bracers
Steal a magic item without being caught or punished for 24 hours afterwards: 1 exp, Mystery Talent
Mystery talent: a bonus feat to be revealed upon acquisition.
Well it’s a step down from committing murder, but apparently Jakes might die because he stole something. I dismissed the theft mission, dropping it back into the random pool. I didn’t have enough friends, money, information, or magical power to feel comfortable taking on risky missions. I’m not really planning on sticking my neck out for Jakes, either, but I should at least figure out the danger before writing him off. If you’re walking the plank, you’re on your own.
I passed the rest of the night in the cozy galley. I cleaned another square foot or two of the cluttered floor, but only for as long as I found it interesting. A popup warned me that going into autopilot would end my Keep Watch spell. Imagine having to do chores manually. Or sleep. I am beyond such petty mortal concerns. Instead of continuing to clean, I checked Kroop’s cookbook. It was surprisingly tidy; I hadn’t read cursive in a while, but Kroop’s handwriting was perfectly legible. The difficulty was that he used many terms that didn’t mean anything to me. I don’t actually know what poaching an egg means, for example, and my autopilot brain wasn’t volunteering any explanations. You have my permission to laugh at me for my ignorance if you’d like, but I missed the internet.
••••••••••
Sareneth 5, Wealday Morning, Day 2
Kroop woke me up from an unnecessary but refreshing doze as he staggered into the galley, slamming the door behind him. We stared at each other for several seconds before he nodded. “Right. New mate. Good you’re here. We gotta pass out biscuits.” Shit, is he already drunk? As if to answer, he took a long pull on the bottle in his hand, finishing it off before using the table to steady himself. I rushed over to support him, (+1 influence) My attempt accomplished little given our relative sizes, but he seemed appreciative. His destination was a sack full of tan disks the size of my spread hand, which I assumed were the notorious ship’s biscuits. (Int 1, critical failure! These are ceramic plates.) You know what, I don’t believe you.
My boss unsteadily started counting out biscuits and stacking them on the table. “Two, three, three, four, five.” I figured an extra wouldn’t hurt, but it seemed wisest to have the right number. I let autopilot handle the looming drunk, “Boss, do you want me to count them? Just give me a number and you can focus on other things.” (Diplomacy: 16+4=20, Success! +1 influence. You now have Minor Sway over Ambrose Kroop) His irritated look melted into relief as he processed my offer, handing me the sack in response, “Ten. For the officers. On the table. Caulky’ll get ‘em,” he slurred.
I counted to ten masterfully before Kroop led me to the hold, where the day crew waited for breakfast as they blinked sleep out of their eyes. We set up at a small table in the corner of the communal room, passing out biscuits to each member of the crew in turn. Joining us was Sandara; the pretty redhead stood over a barrel, chanting and holding out a small black handkerchief emblazoned with a skull and crossbones like she was warding off a vampire with a cross. Every few seconds, a localized rain cloud would appear from nowhere and pour water directly into the barrel for a moment. By this method, each person got fresh water and a giant cracker. Yum.
Kroop told me to eat quickly and meet him on deck, so I needed to be efficient. Two biscuits in hand, I approached the one friendly, sober person I knew who had been on the ship long enough to know the answer to my question. “Hey Sandara, can I ask you something?” I asked while she was still next to her barrel.
The busty redhead shrugged as she started breaking up the biscuit with a belt knife. “Sure. Talk is free.” I let my autopilot take the wheel; I didn’t know what exactly to say, and my charisma score was pretty high. (Diplomacy: 18+4=22. Success! +1 influence with Sandara) “So, what happened with Jakes last night? You just seem like someone who knows all about rule breaking.” She flashed me a smile, “I don’t think it was anything too serious. Petty theft isn’t that big a deal, half a dozen lashings at worst normally, but Plugg’s a prickly bastard. He’s probably in the hotbox for a day or two. He should be fine, but it serves him right for trying to steal something from an officer that hard.” My mission log begs to differ. I thanked her and went to find Conchobar. Might as well have breakfast with friends, right?
My new buddy was cozied up next to Rosie and the white eyed girl, doing his best to impress the amazonian halfling with his flute playing skills. Rosie was enjoying the music, but alas, that didn’t extend to any interest in the musician. (Sense motive 15+2=17 soft artistic guys are not her type.) Ouch. Sorry, my guy.
“Hey,” I greeted my fellow abductees, “how are you guys holding up?” Everyone was fine enough, and I was blessed with a formal introduction to Rosie and a name for the white eyed girl: Syl Lonegan. She’s on the list, right? Good.
The crackers were hard and dense enough that most of the crew were breaking them down and mixing them with water in their bowls. I tried it myself after looking around, and the resulting wet cardboard had only one advantage: it didn’t need to stay in my mouth as long as when I broke off a chunk of biscuit and held it in my mouth to soften.
The little pod of fresh recruits fell into a sullen silence, other than Conchobar’s flute. None of us were in the mood for chit chat; we were only sitting together because we had one thing in common. I hoped to keep this clique going, though; everyone here was on my list. I ate quickly, as Kroop had requested, and stood up. On my way out, I brushed off my pants and said my farewells before donning my sunglasses. “Alright, good talk. I’ll see you all later.”
Up on deck, where the glasses were an absolute godsend, Kroop and I handed out biscuits and water to the night crew. Their shift was almost over, and they were ready for bed. I asked Kroop where the hot box was, and his face softened. He was probably trying to whisper his response, but my boss is apparently a loud drunk. “S’up on the poop deck, but we aren’t supposed to feed him. S’part of the punishment.”
I slipped away anyway thanks to autopilot (opposed stealth 18+7=25), and either nobody noticed or nobody cared. The hot box was a long chest bolted to the floor, with a grate for a lid. As promised, the brown haired man was laying in the confined space, his knees bent slightly to accommodate his height. He looked at me with flat dislike, assuming I was just here to gawk. That may be part of it, but I also wanted to figure out what was wrong with him, and maybe establish a bit of rapport.
“Look, I can’t do much, but how about a little water?” I tried to pour a little water into his mouth, but he wasn’t expecting it, so he started spluttering loudly. (Bluff 8+8+5) I proceeded to pour water on his chest as well, making it look like I was trying to just cool him off. “Sorry. Not allowed to feed you, mate.” Once he finished spluttering, he appreciatively patted some of the water onto his forehead and sucked on his soaked shirt. (+1 influence.) He seemed alright to me, so I asked autopilot Emrys if he had an opinion. (Perception 8+3=11. He had a strange rash on his arm where the skin seems to be peeling much worse than the surrounding area.) “Is that new, mate?” He scratched at it and nodded before croaking out, “Yeah. I woke up with it. It itches like hell.” It would be a hell of a coincidence if the mysterious rash wasn’t related. If someone just randomly knifes him to death I’m going to be so pissed.