Interlude – Halfseekers (Pt. 4)

Hey Seborn.

“I’m not in the mood for this. Get lost.”

Oh, okay. Have a nice day.

The dirt street of the port town was muddy from the sea breeze blowing in. And it always blew in until only the tiled walkways and the wharf had any steady traction. [Sailors] swaying on land walked past [Traders] waiting for their ships to come in, and locals eyed the sails on the horizons like a [Farmer] watched clouds. But with wariness, for these clouds brought both gold and ill sorts.

A glowing Gnoll girl, semi-transparent, vanished as a Drowned Man stalked down the street. Half his face was a crab’s, a yellow eye glinting under the hood he’d pulled down over his head, and his jacket hid most of his features. But his huge, clawed hand he couldn’t fit in his pocket marked him as one of the seafolk. A regular sight in ports like these.

The girl—not so much. She vanished. Heads turned. A [Storm Sailor] about to spit in the gutters swallowed and glanced around.

The [Rogue] walked on, heedless of the eyes that followed him, the voices which rose, then fell to wariness as they noted the danger he carried. A Drowned Man, alone? Did he have a crew? Was he a scout of some kind? A straggler who’d been ousted from his crew, marooned?

“Hoi, sailor!”

At last, someone called to him, and he stopped. His head turned, and his blank face nearly made the regular [Deckhand] flinch. But the friendly young woman waved again and looked to her crew.

“Was that our imaginations or was there a little Gnoll girl with fur white as toilet paper following you?”

“Toilet paper ‘fore it’s used. Like so!”

Someone added with a laugh. The Drowned Man saw the crew hoisting more bales onto their ship from a waiting cart. It was indeed…toilet paper. A luxury at sea, and probably bound for somewhere that had no trees aplenty. Chandrar or even Rhir. No Drowned City could or would accept a landfolk’s ship like the two-masted trade ship.

It was wide-bellied, fat. The crew probably would say it was a good ship, but they were suckers for any seaworthy lady who’d let them aboard. They’d praise her until the moment she sank, and this one would sink the moment it breathed combat. No way to maneuver her, no oars nor tricks—just plain wood without any marks of a [Shipbuilder]’s seal.

It could crew maybe a hundred and some? It looked to hold half that—a fat little ship sailing the trade routes and never deviating, doing her runs from port to port. Not even old, but sagging already.

He said nothing as he gazed at the ship. The crew shifted, wondering if he’d heard. Seborn stared at the ship he’d never have gotten on for gold. Still…a ship.

“Sailor? Dija hear the quest?”

The [Deckhand] called again. Seborn turned his gaze to her, and his one eye was yellow, without pupil or iris, just a glow in the crab portion of his face. The other was dark blue. Unsmiling, he looked like the two daggers on his waist. Short of temper, if not height, and deadly. His tanned skin visible along the carapace on his face finally moved with his lips.

“White Gnoll? Around four feet tall? Wearing a kilt?”

“Yes, sailor, that one!”

The Drowned Man glanced over his shoulder.

He was a Drowned [Pirate] of the Undersea Crews, son of Therrium Sailwinds, and owed a ship.

He was a [Depth Rogue], Level 38, a Gold-rank adventurer of Izril who had journeyed on land for near a decade.

He was a Level 8 [Faith Seeker], a guest of that strange inn.

…No.

He had been these things. Once, the Drowned Man had been Seborn of the Halfseekers of Izril. The grumpy [Rogue] on a long adventure with his friends. Until it had been just a shy half-Giant, their bold and brash Selphid captain, and a rookie [Mage] from Wistram.

No longer. As he had always done, the Drowned Man had left.

He had left two graves behind in the Floodplains of Izril. He carried all that he could carry and his name with him. Now he stood in a city on Izril’s shores. And his eyes found that ship again.

Seborn turned back to the crew and [Deckhand]. He nodded over his shoulder at the place the little Gnoll girl had been following him.

“Didn’t see her. Must have been your imagination.”

He kept walking as the [Deckhand] wavered and opened her mouth, confused.

 

——

 

Ship #13 — The Half Mast

 

It was an ill-luck number, so it was just as well it was an ill-luck ship. Two months after the Winter Solstice had passed, spring was underway, and with it, the port town was bustling.

The Half Mast was a pun. A single-sail rigger with a [Captain] who probably hadn’t passed Level 20. Everyone had to start somewhere, but this fellow didn’t know the rules.

Seborn tried anyways. Hitchhiking rides and walking all the way to this city on Izril’s western coast wasn’t easy. This was the sixth port he’d visited. Not the biggest by far, but he knew he couldn’t be picky. And the [Captain] did hear him out rather than turn him away with laughter or a curse.

The introduction helped.

“Gold-rank adventurer? And you want to buy my ship? He’s a bit of a funny fellow, but I’d hear out a decent price.”

“She.”

The [Captain] laughed jovially; he was a Human who ran seafood deliveries mostly up and down the coastline, even sailing it up the rivers.

“No, he! I’ve heard the old tradition that all ships are female. Well I thought, why not make my fellow a ‘him’? Like the name and figurehead?”

The Half Mast had a rather crude figurehead that was just a scarecrow, mildewed, with a piece of wood sticking out prominently between his legs. Seborn got the joke. He didn’t laugh.

“How’s the condition of the ship?”

The [Captain] hesitated. He didn’t quite take to Seborn, but he was willing to bring the Drowned Man up the deck. He had a bright red coat, and he was in his thirties and had a swagger, like how he thought a real [Captain] acted. Seborn, in his dark, worn attire with his patched leather armor, appeared quite poor. He’d had to get a certificate from the Adventurer’s Guild to prove he was Gold-rank.

One of them would be shot first if they ever came to a sea battle. The [Captain] slapped the central mast of the rigger.

“This one’s not half-anything! How’s he look? Er—watch your feet there. He sags a bit.”

Seborn was springing up and down on a part of the deck that creaked alarmingly. The [Captain] was trying to talk up his ship, but the Drowned Man had already spotted a piece of the deck bowing inwards. One look belowdecks confirmed the same.

“The caulking isn’t up to code. One big storm and your ship will spring leaks.”

“Code? What code?”

The [Captain] began to get offended as some of the [Sailors], all probably local, glanced up. A few of them seemed like seasoned hands, probably paid to keep this ship running. One of them held up the last two fingers of their hands, pinkie and ring finger. Seborn nodded to them as he passed.

“You should get it redone. Sails look fine. Ditch the name and figurehead. I can’t imagine any [Storm Sailors] hire onto this ship, ever. Even if it’s a rigger, it deserves better than this.”

“A what? He’s a Joust-class ship, not a—are you interested or not?”

“What do you think? Oh, and you’ve got rats.”

The Drowned Man glanced over his shoulder and jerked a thumb at a bundle of ropes. The incredulous [Captain] opened his mouth, and Seborn took two steps towards the railing and leapt it.

He landed on the docks below lightly and strode off. The [Captain] rushed to the railing.

“Some adventurer! Who the hell are you? I invite you into my ship and that’s what I get? Bastard didn’t even share a drink!”

He turned to the crew, furious. Most avoided his gaze. An unlucky [Sailor] caught his eye, and the [Captain] edged over.

“Jord, you’ve sailed the open seas. What the hell was he on about?”

The [Sailor] was no veteran, but he was an expert compared to the local ones. He whispered back.

“He’s a proper seadog, that one, Captain. Did he tell you his name?”

“No, only that he was a Gold-ranker. I think his name was on the paper. Didn’t catch it. S…Sea something? What was he doing? He’s right about the damn caulking; it leaked like hell last storm. But he was off the moment he heard about the Half Mast being a ‘he’. And a code?”

Jord had to explain.

“Real sailors like him are superstitious as they get, Captain. I told you, no one likes anyone breaking the rules, even if the Half Mast was built locally. It’s bad luck. A figurehead should be important. As for the name—”

He eyed the mast. It was bad luck to have a name like that, even if they had never lost their ship’s mast. The [Captain] gritted his teeth; he’d heard the same before.

“And the code?”

Another [Sailor] piped in here.

“Probably [Shipbuilders]’ codes? Drowned Folk have ‘em. Really fancy ships are all built to some standards or other. I met a fellow who could read every ship coming in and tell you what kind of wood it was made of and how it was constructed. That’s why he called the Half Mast a ‘rigger’. It’s short for ‘jury-rigged’, Captain. Not made to any standard. Drowned Folk hate ‘em. Because they have to sink their ships in the ocean, see?”

“Bah. If he’s so smart, why’s he buying ships from me?”

That was a really good question. The [Captain] went over to kick the bundle of ropes Seborn had pointed in. Three rats leapt out, and he swore.

“They don’t got those on Drowned Ships neither. Tight crews. Think he was a [Pirate]?”

Jord commented to his buddies. One of them muttered back.

“Which of them isn’t? Scary fellow. I’d not serve with him if he bought the ship and was looking for a crew. Piracy’s a fun dream, but I saw a fellow with no arms or legs in Masevon. Former [Pirate]. Poor bastard.”

Someone spat onto the decks then swabbed a mop over it.

“True that. After the Bloodtear Pirates? Wellfar’s been sailing a storm up and down the coast. Even saw the Pride herself. Who’d risk it now?”

Everyone nodded sagely as Jord rolled his eyes. None of the others had gone more than ten miles off the coast. Nor would he in this ship. That Drowned Man had known his work to abandon the Half Mast after one look; it’d never survive a true ocean’s journey. He turned.

“Hey, Captain, what was that fellow’s name? Sea-something?”

“I don’t remember! Something…Sailwinds, that’s right! Common enough name.”

Everyone agreed except for one man. Jord had frozen up with his hands on a bundle of ropes he was tying to a post on the ship. He croaked as he looked back across the harbor, searching for the Drowned Man.

“Sailwinds? A Drowned Man with the last name of Sailwinds, Captain?”

“What about it? That’s the name you give to any bastard born on the sea, isn’t it? Even I know that.”

The [Captain] grumbled. But Jord was trying to remember…he craned his neck, searching for the man.

“True enough. But there’s only one Gold-rank Adventurer with the name on Izril’s shores. If that was him—then we all dodged an enchanted arrow. That might’ve been Therrium Sailwinds’ son. Therrium Sailwinds of The Passing Shadow. One’ve the deadliest [Depth Captains] living.”

Everyone went silent. A shiver ran through the crew, and the [Captain] halted, mouth open. Even he’d heard of the Drowned Man who’d been on the television and the reputation of the Underseas Crews.

One of the sailors muttered into his fist, then made a tossing gesture over the side of the ship for luck. Several more copied him. Jord tore his eyes from the harbor.

“Famous, is he?”

“Not the most. But it’s a story. His brothers are bastards who’ve shed more blood than piss over their lives. His father’s sunk more than a hundred ships.”

“So what’s someone like that doing trying to buy a ship and working as a Gold-ranker?”

Jord was trying to remember.

“Let’s see if anyone knows at the tavern tonight. I think it was something about a blood debt or something? And he joined some kind of team. Think I’ve heard of it too. The…the…”

He snapped his fingers, but the name eluded him. Only later did someone remember it.

Seborn of the Halfseekers. A name long forgotten by the seafolk save for that last name.

Seborn, Therrium’s second son.

 

——

 

He was owed a ship. That was the root of it. He was owed a ship, and it wasn’t being given to him, not one he wanted.

Half-rate cruisers. Aging warships long past their primes. Even noble’s pleasure ships—nothing like what he was owed. What he deserved.

The deal had been simple. He risked his neck, he got his ship. A proper ship and command. Only, Therrium hadn’t ever seemed to have the right ship he could afford to give to his second-eldest son. There was always some other [Captain] or his brothers to appease, nevermind that the [Depth Captain] had an entire damn fleet at his disposal.

The breaking point had been his elder brother getting the ship he wanted. So, Seborn had walked off. With all the treasure from the latest raid. 

That was…rash. He’d been in three knife-fights already and had to move inland to avoid his father’s wrath. He could have the damn treasure back when Seborn got his ship. Only the Drowned Man knew where it was buried.

He just wanted a damn ship. He’d served his time working his way up from a [Deckhand], just like his two brothers. But being the second-son wasn’t easy. 

You’d think the eldest son would get all the pressure, but instead, the first ship and chance went to him. Drelef Sailwinds had a crew and a reputation.

And the third son, the runt, Buenec, should have been the weakest one, the junior. Seborn used to mentor his younger brother while Drelef harassed the boy—until Buenec became a prodigy. The Gold-belled [Captain] of his own ship, because who wouldn’t give one to the best [Swordmaster] in Therrium’s fleet?

So. Seborn. He’d known he wasn’t thought of as a leader like Drelef, for all his brother’s temper, but he had been respected as a [Rogue] who’d brought more than his fair share of the treasure. If he had a chance…he just wanted a proper ship to start with. Not a clunker.

Instead, here he was, working as a Silver-rank adventurer on Izril’s shores. The Drowned Man was drinking in the bar, trying to ignore his healing bruises. Throwing down with a team of [Warriors] hadn’t gone well for him. They’d taken both credit and the loot—five Nelrusk tusks. A fortune for the petty bastards.

He was so angry he was hoping someone would make a comment about him. When someone did speak, Seborn’s hand already held a dagger under the table as he took hold of his cup to throw it.

“Parent’s tits, a Drowned Man this far inland? Mind if we sit and buy you a drink, friend?”

“Yes. Get lost.”

When Seborn turned his head, though, it wasn’t who he expected. A Selphid was standing there, a dead man smiling down at him, and a tall half-Elf was waving at a [Barmaid]. A Drake woman with ash instead of scales folded her arms, wary. But what drew the eye was the half-Giant who stooped to come in. He seemed as though a passing sneeze could chase him away for all he was so tall that Seborn half-started from his chair.

“Don’t be like that, friend. We came all this way to say hello—Jelaqua Ivirith, Captain of the Halfseekers. I heard you got into a scrap with the Fist of Midlin. Mind talking to us about it? These are my teammates.”

The Selphid hooked a chair over to the table. Seborn saw some of the other clients staring at the odd batch. The half-Elf was the most normal one amongst them. A Drake in the north? 

What was wrong with her scales? The Drake grunted as she stood warily, arms folded.

“He’s got a dagger under the table, Jelaqua.”

“Yeah, I know. C’mon, adventurer. A drink? Salt’s honor, I just want to talk to a fellow traveller far from home.”

The Selphid annoyed Seborn with his direct stare and easy smile. Seborn growled.

“Piss off. I’m not here to reminisce and cry about being alone. I don’t need company either. Let alone from the Half Freaks.”

The half-Elf and Drake stiffened at this. Jelaqua’s eyes glinted. It might have been a fight, next, as he traced a finger on the table, searching for the right words. Seborn was ready—until a gentle hand fell on Jelaqua’s shoulder and pulled the Selphid back with ease, despite that.

“Jelaqua, come away. If he doesn’t wish to talk, we should respect that. Excuse us for interrupting your drinks, sir.”

The half-Giant said that. He bowed his head towards Seborn, awkward, and the Selphid hesitated.

“Hey, Moore—we came all this way just to—argh, fine. Don’t yank my arm out of its socket! The body’s fragile as it is.”

He rose, sighing, and Seborn saw the half-Giant glance at him curiously. The Drowned Man blinked as the adventurers turned to go. Just like that?

He kept waiting for this to be some artifice, a feint. But the half-Giant appeared genuinely disappointed and trooped to the door, and Seborn thought—

I doubt he can lie.

So he growled as Moore pushed the door open.

“If you’ve got a proposal and you’re buying, sit down. What the hell is a half-Giant doing on Izril’s shores?”

He’d never seen one in his life. There was a tale, at least. Moore perked up slightly, and Jelaqua turned. The Selphid grinned, and Seborn scowled harder as the Halfseekers came back to his table. He made room for Moore as the half-Giant searched for a seat that could fit him.

“I can sit on the floor. I know there’s little my size.”

He joked with the nervous [Barmaid], and Seborn kicked over a second chair to him.

“Just use two.”

That grateful look from the half-Giant as he sat was joined by the Selphid’s wide smile. Pleased and proud for a simple courtesy. Seborn scowled harder at them.

Determinedly, he took a long drink from his mug, ready to send these people on their way with politeness, at least. He didn’t know when he began swapping tales of Baleros with the Selphid, or talking of the places he’d visited to people who knew more than these local idiots who’d never ventured thirty miles past their city. Or why he agreed to more than a few missions with them. 

Seborn kept meaning to get back to the sea, to keep putting pressure on his father. But it was always ‘after this mission’, or he was too far inland and it could wait.

The truth was, he stopped remembering after a while. The call of his ship and his promise grew less and less, and then he was just adventuring with a Gold-rank team who’d finally gotten their due credit, and they had a surly Hobgoblin who beat even him for being rude and problematic. 

And they might hit Named-rank as a team soon…in truth, the Drowned Man had stopped remembering his ship at all, even when he saw the sea. Because he was dreaming.

A long, strange dream of ten years. Filled with triumph and betrayal. Then vengeance, loss, and relief. Of an inn, at the end, and the glory he knew they deserved. A bit of the gold he thought they were owed. 

A new teammate, perhaps, a new start. A dead [Innkeeper]. A village…

Up, down, and back again. An adventurer’s life. But such a fine dream.

And then…

 

——

 

He woke up.

The Drowned Man rolled out of his cheap inn’s bed, and his mouth was dry as it always was. He stumbled over to the washbasin and bucket of water he’d filled that night and scooped up a ladle of water. Washed his face. Then drank. He was always too dry on land.

When he lowered the ladle, he stared into the cracked mirror in the bathroom. The stinking bucket he emptied out the window instead of a bathroom buzzed with a few flies. Seborn gazed at his reflection in the mirror.

He felt like the King of Destruction. Napping for twenty years and awakening to reality. His team was gone. Disbanded forever. Jelaqua Ivirith was married and retired, and he was gone. There was no reforging the Halfseekers. No more adventurers. They had fought their last at the gates of Liscor. Paid the dues against the tab none of them had racked up, and it was done. He was done with the land.

His ship awaited.

The Drowned Man gazed at his reflection for a while. He wasn’t grey—yet—but it wouldn’t be that much longer now. Silently, he found a toothbrush and brushed at his teeth. Then glanced at his crab-side of his body. There was a growth of shell he didn’t like, so he found a file and removed it, scattering pieces of hard shell into the basin. Took a few more gulps of water.

Dressed himself. New mail armor made by Maughin under Wyvern leather coat. His enchanted daggers of frost and flame…belt of a [Rogue]’s tricks. No healing potions. Gold enough—not worth stealing. Most of it was at the Merchant’s Guild. A small fortune earned from adventuring. Enough, perhaps, to buy a ship and find his father to collect on his debts.

That done, the [Rogue] took the key from the lock where it was turned and walked downstairs. He placed the key on the counter; he’d already paid for his rooms. It was too early; the [Innkeeper] was abed, and a single candle and the smells of cooking told him the [Cook] was making breakfast.

A weary [Barmaid] nodded to Seborn as she hauled down buckets of water to wash out the privy and for cleaning. Warily, but no one had objected to his presence in the inn or charged him more than anyone else, for all he was a lone Drowned Man.

There was a time when he might have slept with an ear to the door for trouble, or walked out of any inn where a glower or spit was his first greeting. Instead, folk walked more warily around him.

They remembered what happened if his kind died. Other cities inland might not, but the coastal settlements remembered that lesson.

Better to be feared and hated than merely hated.

It didn’t change his isolation, but there wasn’t a brick heaved at his head to go with it.

The [Rogue] debated waiting for a meal, but he wasn’t hungry. The Drowned Man pulled a hood over his head; the sea’s spray was washing over the foggy harbortown. He opened the door, inhaled the sea breeze, familiar, unfamiliar, and left.

A waking man wishing to go back to sleep.

 

——

 

Ship #14 — The Prideful Swell

 

Staying in the harbortown of Litgren’s Bay wasn’t a bad move. Ships came in all the time, and Seborn had decided to linger in each harbor he came to at least a day or two.

The problem was…buying a ship was inherently hard. Few [Captains] wanted to just part with any ship for however much gold. And finding a good crew would be difficult.

Any crew could be bought for gold, but Seborn didn’t want to trust that sort of sailor. Yet he needed one if he wanted to actually leave Izril as anything but a passenger, and he’d have this problem at any major port.

It was actually easier, here, to buy a smaller ship than a bustling port like First Landing or Zeres. Once he had a ship, Seborn could get out to the open ocean. Finally earn his [Captain] class, maybe dig up his treasure, even do some business. Whether that was raiding other ships or more honest trade, he didn’t know. But at some point, he’d find his father and demand his due.

Nombernaught was where he’d heard Therrium was most often. It wouldn’t be hard to get down there. It had already occurred to Seborn he might make the journey, but by land would be treacherous and deadly alone.

And by sea? Non-Drowned Folk were wary of a Drowned City. More importantly, if he turned up without allies or crew to demand his due, his father might well just throw him into the sea. He needed his class first.

In truth, the Drowned Man felt like he was wasting his time. Months had passed since the Winter Solstice, and this was the fourteenth ship he’d tried to buy—fourteen out of many more where the [Captains] had waved him off without even hearing him out.

“She’s a good schooner. Not likely to carry more than a dozen, but her topsail is good. She’ll run faster’n most vessels—see the hand-stitching on the sail there? Bit of magic woven into it. Catches the wind well.”

The schooner, Prideful Swell, was smaller than the Half Mast by a good bit; it was a small ship that had a short foremast and narrow frame. It’d catch the wind well; a classic ship to run blockades and carry packages. Not a warship by any means, but the nimbleness was decent. Seborn could imagine he’d be able to run it well with smuggling work, or even stealing from other ships and making a getaway.

The moment I start stealing, my Gold-rank will be in jeopardy. What do I care? I won’t be back on land. I’ll have a bounty again, if it’s not still active…

What am I stealing? Gold from a [Captain]’s quarters? Trade goods from a [Merchant]? What if it’s just a cargo of toilet paper? What in the hells do I do with that?

Well, he knew what you did with that—you found a buyer and sold it off. Everything could be sold. But the idea of robbing a [Captain] for their hundreds of gold at most wasn’t appealing to Seborn as a Gold-rank adventurer. It made fiscal sense as a [Captain] of a [Pirate] ship, of course.

You were always paying the bills if you had a crew. They were one payday away from mutiny at best, so robbing a ship would keep you solvent while you earned more gold. And you’d put the gold towards investments. Repairs on your ship, enchantments, upgrades…

Dead gods, it sounded like a lot of work. Adventurers had the same, but a [Captain]’s job accounted for far more than a single team. A ship was a huge property. It was like being an [Innkeeper], actually. And who’d want that job?

Seborn tried to feel excited about it as he paced up and down the schooner, testing it for bad floorboards or other signs of rot or pests. Ten years ago, he’d be all over the opportunity. Ten years ago, he’d been twenty-seven and chafing at the bit.

He eventually had to stop pacing and turn to the seller of the ship.

“Is there a reason you’re willing to part with her?”

The [Merchant] gave Seborn an odd look.

“Gold? I just had her deck resurfaced, and I’ve put in less gold than I’ve got out of her, but I’ll be the first to admit, Adventurer Sailwinds, owning a ship isn’t simple. Every [Merchant] talks about ‘investing’ in things. Another caravan, a shop, a ship—it turns out ships have costs. Crew, hiring a good [Captain] and replacing them, managing trade routes—I’m not fed up with it, but if you want to buy…”

He was a paunchy man with a colorful vest and didn’t move with the deck—a landman, it was clear. Seborn folded his arms.

“I’ll…have to think on it.”

This was one of the best ships he’d seen, and he could afford to buy it outright. The [Merchant] nodded.

“She’ll be here until I find a [Captain] and cargo. Fair warning: I won’t be able to sell it unless you want to buy out cargo and contract. I’d give you a day or two at best before I have everything in order.”

“I’ll get word to you before then. Thank you.”

“Not at all. And I am, ah, sorry about your team.”

“…Thanks.”

They shook hands. Seborn turned away, feeling the eyes on his back. He disliked this part of the ship-buying process the most. Few people saw anything in him other than a Drowned Man, who was common enough in harbors even if he was a minority in a Human city like this.

But when he told them his name…more than not knew who he was. Either his father’s son or a Halfseeker. That was part of the reason he wanted to get out to sea. There, he’d just be Seborn Sailwinds. Son of the famous Captain Therrium, not the last member of the Halfseekers. Was that better?

No. Sort of.

 

——

 

He felt like he was chasing his shadow. Seborn knew he was pursuing a younger man’s dreams, which weren’t thought out. He could hear voices.

“Right, Seborn. So you’ve got yourself a ship. Presumably after your dad gives it to you, and he’s definitely going to give it up without a fight from everything you say about him. What then?”

Jelaqua Ivirith. Seborn growled at her as he prowled past [Fishmongers], [Sailors] stumbling out of bars drunk and wondering why the sun was out, [Fishers] already bringing in their first hauls.

“Then I have a ship. That’s freedom. I can go anywhere, do anything.”

“Don’t you have to watch your crew and pay them? That seems pretty hard. Not that I’m an expert!”

Ulinde. He remembered not to scowl because it’d make her too upset, then remembered she was dead. The Drowned Man muttered.

“It’s been my dream since I was a boy.”

“Is it still your dream? You don’t look happy, Seborn.”

“Shut up, Moore. You’re dead. Should I be smiling?”

I thought it was a nice ship. Do you want to talk today, Seborn?

For a moment, he thought it was another voice in his head, but the golden words…he turned his head.

“Are you going to do this every day? I told you—I don’t want to see you.”

The girl backed up a few steps. She looked…guilty, but she held up a card.

I’m checking in on everyone. I can do it less. Once a week?

He almost snapped at her, then turned.

“Fine. I’ll buy it if I can find a good crew. Anything else?”

No. It’s calm at the inn right now. The rains have begun so everyone’s indoors. Jelaqua…I think she’s good. I haven’t seen her.

“Did I ask about Jelaqua?”

No, I’m sorry. I’ll go now. Good luck on your ship!

Vanished again. Seborn turned his head. He was plagued by ghosts. Living and the dead. He had come all this way to escape the inn. Just as he had…a certain girl had kept showing up. Checking on him.

Something about the Silver Swords being in trouble. Seborn knew the Horns of Hammerad were in Chandrar. He hadn’t seen Ksmvr on that broadcast where they’d fought Roshal. He’d left before they’d been found. Was he not with them?

It was a mistake to leave the Antinium alone; you never let your team get split up. They probably knew that.

He and the inn were done. If he came back, it’d be in twenty years to pay his respects. Erin Solstice had fought in the Floodplains, then gone to sea and done the dumbest thing imaginable: fight the entire Bloodtear Pirates’ armada. Two damn armadas and change. She’d gone down on her ship while the Halfseekers’ bodies were still unburied.

Roshal kidnapped her. She did it for Rabbiteater. That old woman had come for her, and Halrac had stood in her way. So, Seborn supposed that Griffon Hunt was also quits with her.

She owed them. But he wasn’t going to collect from a child, so he just…walked the harbortown. Not really thinking about the ship. He’d probably buy it. He had old friends at sea; he could scrape together a crew and find trustworthy people. Though getting to a Drowned City with a ship that couldn’t dive would be a trick…once you had a ship, you could get a second one more easily. Steal it, kill the crew, or just find one abandoned or hit by monsters or ill luck.

Provisions. Seborn snapped his fingers. He’d better check about those. Starving at sea was a bad way to go.

 

——

 

…Fish. Salted but slimy and packed into barrels mostly. Combine that with some hardtack bread that wouldn’t spoil and you’d be able to survive a while. When Seborn asked about the other vital component—fruits—the [Fishmonger] frowned.

“I reckon the best you’ll get is some forestfruit given we’re along the Vale Forest.”

“What the hell is a ‘forestfruit’? Never had one.”

“Oh, that’s whatever they can forage. Getting a bushel of that is all sorts of stuff. Berries, some bigger fruits—you’d be able to get it dried, and it’ll keep a while.”

“Noted, thanks. Got anything dried?”

Seborn bought a bit of fish on a stick he ate for breakfast as thanks for the information. He chewed it down, gulping more water from his flask. It wasn’t a fun meal, but it’d keep him going. Fruits would keep him and his crew from scurvy.

Buy the ship. Stock it up. Get a crew…right, he should ask about the drinking pubs. Look for recommendations, though no [Captain] would want to part with their good people. Seborn leaned against a wall as he stared blankly across the harbor.

He didn’t exactly see more Drowned Folk around. They kept to their own crews. You’d find the odd one who’d become a Drowned Person by chance in some sailing crews, but they weren’t always trusted. Often, a Drowned Person had odd qualities, and they were just a reminder of the oddities that lurked in the deep.

Humans and more Humans. It beat Centaurs. Or Selphids. Seborn remembered a Selphid crewmate who’d stunk to Rhir’s hells and begun to develop maggots on one voyage. Maybe [Storm Sailors]? But they’d have a real problem with [Pirates].

Wailant and he had gotten along, hadn’t they?

“You idiot. That’s because we were the only two of us on land. At sea, he and his mates would brawl with any Drowned Folk in a moment.”

He had to shake these landfolk instincts. Seborn shook his head, and then he saw someone new striding into the port. Someone just as out-of-place as he was, but far more obvious about it.

A half-Elf.

Seborn took note of her because she was truly a kid. She looked young, probably fourteen or fifteen? By the rules of half-Elves, that meant she was probably around…twenty-some years old. They were close enough to Humans until they reached adulthood, whereupon they slowed. Ceria looked to be in her early twenties, and she was sixty plus years old.

Seborn knew this because he’d had a teammate in the Halfseekers, Thornst. An [Archer] who’d died when Garen Redfang had turned on his team. Or they’d pushed him to it.

A dead half-Elf’s hand reaching across the ground for his bow, dried blood spilled across the floor. His guts hanging from his belly where one long slash had ended his life. 

Seborn blinked the image of Thornst away, and the rage. It had kept him going for years, kept him from sleeping or quitting. Drop it. Garen was dead. And…they’d gone for him first, or backed him into a wall. Three-on-one. Who had drawn their blades first? He would never know that. They were dead.

Drop it.

The point was, he knew more about half-Elves than most; other species just saw them as the long-lived magical beings most common to Terandria.

He watched the newcomer out of the corner of his eyes. Definitely new to a port. She cast around, staring, until a crew of [Loaders] cursed at her for being in the way. Then she leapt aside and hurried to the nearest ship to talk to the [Captain].

It was the [Captain] of the Half Mast. He turned, blinking at her, and heard her out for half a second before shaking his head. He pointed her to the other ships coming from the actual open sea, and off the girl went.

She had brown hair and a travelling tunic and britches. Not rich at all; half-Elves always got the mystique of being both magical and rich when in practice they were generally like everyone else. Everyone was more ordinary than you thought they were, even if they appeared strange. Seborn kept his eyes more on the crews of the ships than the girl, but her approaching each one in turn meant he saw her more than once.

He was earmarking a few likely candidates to poach when uproarious laughter came from one of the [Captains] the girl was approaching. The woman was patting the half-Elf on the head gently.

“You’d best turn around and go back home, lass! For that amount of coin, I’d think about taking you to the next port over at best! To charter a ship? Just hire a tugboat to get you there!”

She turned away dismissively, and the half-Elf sagged. Seborn’s eye caught her hand, and the [Rogue]’s Skill activated instantly.

[Estimate Wealth]. It looked like she had about sixteen silver coins and some coppers. By the weight of her purse, she was unlikely to have more than a few gold pieces—getting a ship to take you anywhere was indeed laughable at that price.

Moreover, it seemed like whatever she wanted wasn’t reasonable. Every [Captain] shook their heads at her.

“A sandbar? We’ll run aground! Look, buy passage south or go overland. Then hire a local craft. A rowboat or fishing ship. And before you ask, no, we’re bound north. Now clear the docks! We have business to be about!”

None of them were exactly friendly to an idiot asking stupid questions. The girl scurried away, and Seborn scratched at his chin.

“Right. I’ll need a rowboat too. Something small I can use if I want to move around unseen at night. One of those and some paint…”

He felt like he was almost ready to march with the [Merchant] over to the guild and start signing over all the gold when he saw someone detach themselves from the bored [Sailors] gossiping and waiting to get back to sea and follow the half-Elf.

Which, of course, Seborn hadn’t been waiting for because he hadn’t been paying attention to the idiot kid. It was just unsurprising, because…he’d had a thought.

“Heyo, lass! Aren’t you a fresh little thing? Need a ride on a ship? I reckon I could help with that if you fancied us getting acquainted!”

A [Sailor] with too much interest came over and tried to put an arm around the girl. Seborn watched, ordering another piece of fish from the [Fishmonger], who scowled as he saw the same thing.

“I’m not—”

Their conversation wasn’t quite audible, but Seborn saw her twist away. The [Sailor] kept offering until someone shouted.

“Leave off, Conrey! She’s no more’n a kid!”

He called back as a few jeers rose.

“She’s a half-Elf! Probably older’n me!”

That worked, because the other [Sailors] didn’t know how old she was. But she looked quite young. Seborn asked for a drink of water from the bucket the [Fishmonger] kept. He saw the young woman backing off, denying the advances of the [Sailor].

“You see that, Drowned Man? How old d’you reckon she is actually?”

The [Fishmonger] muttered, and Seborn glanced up.

“Twenty some. Still young. Best not to get involved. That fellow has friends.”

He nodded at the group of [Sailors] cheering their friend on. The [Fishmonger] eyed them and spat on the docks again. Seborn said nothing as the half-Elf, flustered, abandoned the harbor. The [Sailor] followed after. After a moment, the [Fishmonger] turned.

“She looks too young, though. Right?”

He blinked. The Drowned Man had vanished.

 

——

 

The [Sailor], whose name was probably Conrey, was strolling after the girl and still calling after her when he entered the main streets of the harbortown. She kept glancing over her shoulder as he picked up the pace, but you know, he should have been on the lookout.

It was a bad part of the city. Not that there was any definitive statistic on crime in this part of the harbortown of Litgren’s Bay, but, anecdotally, someone grabbing the [Sailor] and running his head into a wall seemed like it confirmed that bias.

He tried to swing a fist and kick at whomever had him, but two more meetings with the wall and his forehead and he was lying on his face. Seborn checked the [Sailor]’s skull wasn’t broken as he glanced around—no one had seen them yet.

He debated taking the man’s purse, and he was a [Rogue]; a common robbery made more sense. Plus…it meant this idiot was poorer. Killing him was out of the question, sadly.

Seborn kicked the fellow in the stomach and saw the body jerk into a ball, then slipped from the alleyway’s mouth into a shadow across the street. He popped out of a shadow of another street corner, pouring the coins into his moneybag. He tossed the empty purse over his shoulder and hit the half-Elf in the face.

She screamed and leapt away. Seborn whirled; she’d been hiding in the mouth of this street behind a bin filled with fishbones from a [Grocer].

“Sorry. I was just—using a Skill.”

She was flailing a wand around, and he ducked in case a spell came out, but the girl realized he wasn’t the [Sailor] following her and stared at him. Seborn glanced at the alley he’d come from. Then at her.

Damn.

He began striding away without a second word as a few more [Sailors] came up the street fast.

“Oi, Conrey! Conrey, where’d you go? Leave off the—where is the bastard?”

Not good. Seborn walked into the crowd and strode off. Time to find that [Merchant]. He was just at the Merchant’s Guild when the law caught up with him.

 

——

 

“Drowned Man! The Watch Captain wants a word!”

The [Merchant] turned from Seborn in faint alarm. The [Rogue] just sighed. He turned around and came face to face with a bored [Guardsman] in an ill-fitting uniform.

Right, the Watch. In the north, there were no Zevaras or Relcs. He eyed the Watch Captain who came sauntering up to him in a gleaming metal breastplate.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. You have a good day, Merchant, sir. I just need to speak with this fellow a second. Y’see, someone got mugged in an alleyway just an hour ago. Nasty business. Poor guy claims he never saw who did it.”

“And you want to talk to me because…?”

Everyone was staring at him. The Watch Captain eyed Seborn up and down. He noticed the blades Seborn was carrying.

“Adventurer, are you?”

“That’s right. Gold-rank.”

The Watch Captain hadn’t actually expected that. He hesitated, and a few of the [Guards] with him stirred. A touch uneasily? The Watch Captain licked his lips, suddenly smiling less wide.

“Right, well…someone said you were at the harbor right before this fellow got hurt. And some half-Elf. We’re looking for her too. You run into a [Sailor] back there? What’s your class?”

Seborn folded his arms.

“I can’t count how many [Sailors] I’ve run into today. I don’t recall any particular one. Why am I under suspicion?”

He hoped they didn’t have truth stones. The Watch Captain eyed Seborn’s face and then his clawed hand.

“In my professional experience, Drowned Man, it’s always good to investigate strangers when there’s trouble. I know everyone in this town, and they’re good folk mostly. So…what’s that class again?”

“[Faith Seeker].”

“What now?”

Seborn just sighed as the Watch Captain gave him a supercilious gaze. Of course. He was an idiot—in a bigger city, this probably wouldn’t have even been a blip on the radar. Muggings and fights were so common. But here? You wouldn’t get that many genuinely overseas ships, so everyone knew everyone, and all the crews were local…

“Look, if you’re going to accuse me of a crime, you’d better have evidence.”

“We’ve got a [Mage] who casts truth spells at the Mage’s Guild. C’mon over. She’ll just ask you if you did anything illegal in the last little bit.”

“You mean if I assaulted that [Sailor]. Because asking if I committed a crime in general isn’t allowed.”

The Watch Captain’s eyes narrowed as the [Merchant] glanced from Seborn to him.

“What’re you, some kind of law expert? If you didn’t do anything wrong, it doesn’t matter, right? I’m starting to think you did do something wrong. Right, lads?”

He cast around. The [Guards] nodded, but they were still eying Seborn, hands on their swords. Gold-rank scared them. Seborn really wished at this point he wasn’t guilty, because he’d probably enjoy getting marched over to the [Mage] just to see this idiot’s face.

Since he was actually guilty, he just gave up. Exaggeratedly slowly, Seborn raised his hands.

“I’m a Gold-rank adventurer, not some [Mugger]. Ask your stupid questions. [Merchant] Blemith, we’ll have to do this later. Apologies. Though if you wanted to ask that half-Elf questions, be my guest.”

He pointed, and the Watch Captain and everyone else spun. They saw an old woman walking by with a dog’s leash in hand.

“Halt! We have a question for—wait, she’s too old. It’s a young half-Elf, right?”

The Watch Captain turned to one of his men. The [Guard] squinted.

“That’s what they said. She’s ancient!”

The old woman stared at them. Then someone else pointed.

“Wait, she’s got no pointed ears. That’s old Rilenma!”

The Watch Captain rolled his eyes.

“You idiot. Come on with—”

He turned and growled at Seborn, or the place where Seborn had been. The Watch stared at the empty spot where the [Rogue] had been standing.

 

——

 

Seborn Sailwinds sighed as he jogged out of the town’s gates at speed.

Well, there went that ship.

 

——

 

Ship #15 — The Furious Rose

 

Five days later, Seborn was debating whether he could live with a pink hull. Red heartwood and pink cedar.

Pink.

This was a pleasure ship, a little sailing ship for some rich lady who’d passed on and had been, like Magnolia Reinhart, obsessed with the color.

It could work. He could tear out the cabin’s pink walls and carpet—a sure sign this wasn’t meant to be a seaworthy vessel since carpets got moldy fast—and the hull was a hull. Paintable.

The fact the ship was actually seaworthy showed that it had been loved and just not used that much. The [Clerk] letting him tour it kept glancing at the position of the sun in the sky.

“We have a few more bidders on this vessel, sir…?”

“Give me five more minutes. Why is your town in charge of this boat and not her heirs?”

“She was a widow, sir. No heirs. Passed on very suddenly after prolonged sickness. Yellow Rivers. Poor woman. She got cured, but she’d had it months.”

Seborn grunted.

And disinfect everything. He sighed.

“It’s not worth two thousand gold. But I can get you a direct payment from the Merchant’s Guild if you haggle on the price.”

“This is an enchanted ship, sir! It’s worth far more than that.”

Seborn half-smiled. He was just about to start haggling when he saw the Watch coming up the gangplank.

No. I’m way too far away for this. The [Clerk] turned.

“Officers? Everything well?”

The Watch Captain in this town was a piece of work. Instead of answering, he spun and flipped open a journal. A glowing quill began taking down his words; some kind of Skill.

“Watch Captain’s Log. Entry #4424. I approached the ship where this Drowned Man was sighted. A fellow matching the description sent via [Message] spell from Litgren’s Bay. He looked like a rough customer, half crab and all scowl. As I strode up the gangplank, I had a feeling we had our man.”

The rest of the [Guards] behind the Watch Captain were clearing their throats, peering at the ground, and doing everything but meeting Seborn’s eyes. The Drowned Man just looked at the [Clerk]. The nervous pencilpusher leaned over.

“That’s, uh, Watch Captain Remdish. He’s a bit of a character. I’m sure this isn’t more than a misunderstanding, Watch Captain?”

The Watch Captain stowed his journal with a flourish then came up the gangplank, as if nothing had happened. He had a truth stone hanging from a pendant.

“Not at all! Hello, Mister…?”

“Adventurer.”

“Adventurer…?”

Damn it. Seborn kept his face straight.

“Seborn Sailwinds.”

Now they had his name. The Watch Captain glanced as the truth stone shone white.

“Excellent. Could we ask you just a few questions?”

“Off the ship, sir? I do have another buyer—”

The [Clerk] protested, and the Watch Captain nodded. He walked Seborn down, very friendly.

“If you’d care to confirm you weren’t at Litgren’s Bay, we can let you go, sir.”

“I was at Litgren’s Bay, sadly.”

The rest of the [Guards] slightly tensed—then groaned as Captain Remdish whipped his journal out.

“He was from Litgren’s Bay! I pursued my line of questioning with all care and tact. My officers and I were surrounding the fellow in a classic diamond formation. This next moment might mean action and death—or nothing at all.”

They were standing in the street. Seborn looked right and left and saw the [Guards] around him giving him the side-eye. He raised a finger.

“Er, there’s a wagon coming our way.”

Remdish laughed and glanced at Seborn.

“He was trying to pull the oldest trick in the book on me! I was far too canny to fall for that. So I—hubwagh!”

The wagon hit him, and he went half under it. It was too tall to really squash him but the sound his intestines made as they were compressed by the impact didn’t sound great. The horrified wagon-owner stared down at the Watch Captain, who’d been the only person who didn’t step out of the way.

Seborn just backed away as everyone ran to the Watch Captain. Amazingly…he was still monologuing.

 

——

 

Ship #16 — The Windcleaver

 

It had black mold. All over the interior hull and beams.

Seborn was in his rooms in the inn, staring at a wall, when there was a flash of light. A pair of girls popped into existence.

“Hello, Seborn!”

Nanette Weishart and Mrsha du Marquin were dressed up and holding flowers. Seborn glanced at them.

“What?”

The two girls faltered, but put on their cutest smiles. Nanette waved her flowers.

“We’re doing a happy-day delivery! Bringing you cuteness and good cheer! How are you doing today?”

“I’m trying to buy a ship.”

Nanette posed with a cute smile. Seborn kept staring at the wall. After a moment, she glanced at Mrsha.

“You tell him. I don’t want to—okay, fine! Mister Seborn? What if we helped with the ship? The Wandering Inn has come into some money lately, and we owe you—”

Owe him. Seborn twitched slightly. He saw Moore’s empty eyes staring up at the skies. What remained of Ulinde’s body as Jelaqua knelt there.

“I don’t need gold. I have enough. Go away.”

The two girls eyed each other. Mrsha was writing and pulling at Nanette’s sleeve. The witch peered at Seborn.

“We have…lots of gold though, Seborn. If we could help or—”

He stopped listening. He just stared at the ceiling until she and Mrsha vanished.

Gold. As if he needed it.

As if he needed it. Then why was he going to sea…?

All the gold in the world wouldn’t do anything for him. Why did they even think there was a debt to be paid like that? He rolled over.

Couldn’t sleep.

Not for ages.

 

——

 

Ship #19 — Omens of You’re Under Arrest!

 

He never saw it coming. One second he was approaching the ship, the next, something hit him. Seborn dodged, reflexively, but the flash of magic still caught him, and the next thing he knew, someone was shouting.

“We’ve got another one! There, he’s running! How is he still…?”

Move. All his reflexes and levels meant that Seborn was already leaping into the furthest shadow he could find. Reposition—he used [Shadowstep] to burst out of a [Sailor]’s back and roll to the ground. His body was tingling, and his entire left side wasn’t working.

He still staggered up, cursing. Seborn began to run and saw a [Guard] pointing at him. But he seemed surprised by Seborn’s movements. What the hell—?

Something flew at him. Seborn thought it was the eyes of some gigantic beast until the red glow pulsed.

[Blur Leap]—he got out of range of the first pulse, but the second orb flew after him, and they were orbs, not eyes. He saw a burning red sphere halt in the air, pulse again, and the wave of magic hit him. Then a voice emanated from the brass orb that hung there, perfectly still.

“{[PARALYSIS SHOCKWAVE] SUCCESSFUL. LAWBREAKER ORB HAS APPREHENDED (87) CRIMINALS. ANOTHER STUNNING CREATION OF WISTRAM ACADEMY!}”

Seborn tried to raise his head as the [Guardsman] sauntered over. His entire body was tingling like it was asleep, and he could barely move, although that alone alarmed the [Guard]. Seborn wheezed as he tried to roll over and reach for a stamina potion.

“Oh, come on.”

 

——

 

It turned out that Archmage Eldavin was sending magic to whomever had the money for it. The port city of Treant’s Farewell was one of the major ones on the western coast, and they had money enough. And the fact that [Message] spells were now dirt cheap meant that all the cities were communicating criminals—the Lawbreaker Orbs apparently cast some kind of identification spell, then hit you if you matched their files. Even if you had anti-[Appraisal] rings, it’d suss out your name at the very least, disguises or not!

Seborn wasn’t told this himself, of course. He was sitting in the jail cell, fumbling with his manacles, and glaring daggers through the cell bars. The Watch Captain was, in fact, talking to a little Gnoll girl about all this.

“We’re ordering two more. They’re not good against seasoned criminals, but petty theft? Even a Gold-rank adventurer gets caught! Now, it appears this man is suspected of mugging some poor [Sailor] up north. Terrible for a Gold-ranker.”

He tsked, looking at Seborn with a huge frown, then brightened up.

“But it proves the orbs work! To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure about ‘em, but Wistram’s been pushing them hard, so Lady Reinwa Veltras thought it was worth trying. All this network-stuff with the criminals is their doing. Smart stuff, though I miss the old days…”

He seemed ready to wax nostalgic, and his audience was very attentive to his wisdom, insight, and positive qualities she clearly admired in him. The girl wrote energetically on a placard.

I would love to hear about your methods, Watch Captain Joffrey, and I deeply appreciate your forbearance! However, Adventurer Seborn is a very good friend of my inn, and we are very effulgent at the moment! Could we perhaps pay his fine?

She was smiling hugely at Seborn. He just waved her off, but she was determined. Joffrey hesitated.

“What a smart little child you are! Er, what does eff-ul-gent mean? It slips my mind at the moment.”

She provided an explanation, and he frowned.

“A fine is one thing, but the crime is still quite bad for a Gold-rank adventurer.”

Mrsha nodded rapidly.

Very true, Watch Captain! You are a man of probity—that means integrity—that means decency—that means you’re a good guy—but I did a bit of research when your [Guardswoman] told me of the incident! It would appear that Seborn might have beaten up a [Sailor]—who was trying to date someone very young. Less than twice my age. I’m eight.

The Watch Captain’s brows shot together as he did a bit of math, then shuddered.

“That wasn’t in his record! Are you sure?”

I interviewed the guy himself, which was gross, and some eyewitnesses on his crew. They don’t have [Message] spells, but I can swear to it!

Joffrey pulled at his lip.

“Well…that changes things. Let me just confirm this with the man himself, but I can drop those charges if that’s so. Thank you, Miss Mrsha, isn’t it? Also, is it true your inn sells ice cream covered with flies?”

Yep. Want some? I could maybe arrange some regular ice cream delivered specially to the brave officers of this city! Why don’t we just sort this little matter out first?

They were all smiles as they turned to Seborn’s cell. Mrsha was beaming at being able to help the Drowned Man…right up until she saw a pair of handcuffs hanging from the open door of the cell. The Watch Captain’s jaw dropped open in horror as Mrsha sagged.

Aw, come on.

 

——

 

They stopped trying to arrest him, at any rate. True, they tried the Tracking Orbs on him—twice—but he just blinded them with a cloth bag and a jar of black paint. Once he knew they were a threat, he evaded them then checked how hard they’d be to foil: not very for his level. His Level 30 [Shadowstep] Skill was one of his defining abilities, and they had trouble with that.

Still, the Watch gave up the chase too easily, and Seborn received a notification via [Message] scroll telling him his bounty was now cleared with the Watch in northern Izril.

The culprit wasn’t hard to guess. Seborn just glared at the girl when she found him stalking down the harbor.

“I don’t need your help. Leave me alone.”

She vanished, and Seborn glared at the passersby who stared at him until they looked elsewhere. Here, at least, there were more Drowned Folk. Plenty, in fact; Treant’s Farewell was a major harbor he thought he’d been to in his youth.

Fantastically large. Huge, long docks of wood cut from the Vale Forest that could let hundreds of ships berth here, big and small. This was a good place to check for ships, but it was too busy by half, even for the spring.

There was a snarl in the harbor, and crews were fighting on a pair of ships that had collided; an overworked [Harbormaster] was shouting expletives, and the cause was obvious as Seborn glanced down the heaving docks.

Ships stranded by the changing currents or headed to the New Lands, seeking ports of entry. Not only that; too many crews were also stranded and grumpy without Admiral Seagrass’ fleet. Too much unpredictability, which you would think would impoverish such cities, but not so.

There was opportunity to be had, like a crate of silk bolts that a pair of [Merchants] were haggling over.

“It’s a direct route from the Empire of Sands! There’s a way that runs across Chandrar now—I swear! I have another ship doing the return journey, but this is our first cargo. Think on it, silk you don’t get by way of the south! You could sell it for four times what I’m offering. It’s worth its weight in gold in Chandrar already with all the Stitch-folk…”

A [Cargo Captain] was haggling with the [Merchants], one of whom was wincing at the price. She held up a stern finger.

“Listen, my good man. I didn’t graduate from the Golden Gnoll’s training seminars by being a fool! You’re asking too much even if it is lower-price than the Zeresian route. Sell to me at a quarter off and you’ll make a profit.”

The [Captain] opened his mouth, and she waved a finger in his nose.

“Sell to me and I’ll give you a supply of coffee beans! That’s worth just as much to Chandrar, I’ll be bound. Nor will you be getting any save from Oteslia itself!”

“You’ve got a supply of it? Are you growing it?”

Both men turned to the woman, and the [Merchant] smiled.

“Nevermind my sources. Now, have we a deal? Or shall we talk over a cup of the stuff?”

Opportunity and strange ships not normal to the harbor; past them, a crew of Minotaurs was inspecting the [Shipwrights] bidding on their ship. It wasn’t hard to see why they needed repairs: a mast was cracked and they had huge dents in their ship. It was a miracle they’d made it to land, but their leader wasn’t happy.

“I need a [Shipwright] over Level 30 with accreditation. Anything to patch us until we get to the House of Minos. This isn’t regular battle-damage. We survived a Kraken attack. Small, but I suspect the structure of the ship is badly damaged. I—Maweil’s bones, is that a white Gnoll child? The white Gnoll child?”

Seborn stopped dreaming about buying a ship made by the famous House of Minos and whirled. A little figure hid behind one of the crates of silk, and the trio jumped. He pointed.

“Get lost, Mrsha!”

His shout drew every eye to him. Waylaid passengers, crew, [Captains] and buyers all stared as the girl’s ears drooped. She wrote glittering letters in the air.

Sorry. I was just curious about the harbor.

Then she vanished. Seborn Sailwinds gazed around and realized that any hope of him getting a ship was out for the moment; it was probably five kinds of bad luck to shout at a child Doombearer who vanished into thin air.

Or it just made you look like a bastard; the Minotaurs had all folded their arms, and one snorted at him.

“Shouting at children is poor form, Drowned Man.”

“You haven’t had to deal with her.”

Seborn snapped and whirled on his heel. There were other places he could buy ships. He’d head south and only come back if he couldn’t find one a day’s journey away. After a moment, one of the Minotaurs leaned over.

“Captain. Are disappearing spectral children normal in Izril? I’m astounded.”

The [Captain] whispered back.

“I as well. But it is important not to show we’re unblooded fools.”

He nodded at his crew, and that was probably why most of the seadogs and [Captains] tried to carry on like that was normal. Ghost girls? Seen ‘em all the time. Can’t swing a stick without hitting one. So you want us to take your cargo, where? Say, do I look feverish?

After a while, someone noticed a little white seagull scaring the shit out of all the other seagulls, sitting on the mast of one of the ships. The little girl gazed down at the busy harbor for a while, then waved and vanished.

Such things became stories for sailors at sea. But who was that Drowned Man? A rumor began floating around the harbor. That name…long forgotten on the tides. Returning.

 

——

 

Ship #20 — Grinning Paw

 

At least, that’s what he thought it read. Seborn didn’t know. He didn’t get any closer to the ship’s hull. It wasn’t so much moored at the docks as much as floating there, half-grounded by the waves.

A free ship. A big one too. Trading class. He stood on the hilltop, fiddling with his spyglass, and his skin crawled as he saw the ship…writhing. Seborn swept his spyglass down, across the village, or what remained of it.

“Insects.”

It wasn’t a huge settlement, barely more than a village with a bay. But nothing was alive down there that wasn’t an insect. At least…he thought so.

He’d been here for two hours, watching. The moment he’d felt an uneasy sensation in the back of his mind, he’d listened.

Seborn had no [Dangersense], but the feeling had been uncanny.

[Divine Intuition]. His [Faith Seeker] class at work. He’d have guessed something was wrong anyways the moment he saw the harbor.

Four ships unmoored, one out in the bay and half-sunk? Fishing ships, aside from the big one. All abandoned. The insects were harder to spot, but he could hear them when the wind died down.

Monsters? Or…he couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t getting closer to find out. Fighting swarms was hard work you had to be specialized for. They’d crawl all over you, and you couldn’t swing a sword through them; they’d drown you in bodies, crawl through your open mouth, bite you to pieces—

Seborn had his trustworthy daggers. They’d do spit against a swarm. But he did have other objects. A Potion of Blast would clear them out a tiny bit, but it wasn’t what he needed.

The cloak he wore was warded hard against projectiles and even blades. It had belonged to the late Wall Lord Dragial until his team had killed the Drake. If he pulled it over his body and covered his mouth, only his eyes would be vulnerable. Decent…but he’d need a weapon.

He had weapons besides his daggers. A metal staff that had belonged to the Wall Lord, then to Moore. And two wands.

Ulinde’s wands.

He’d taken them with him. An adventurer left none of their teammates’ gear. [Graverobbers] would just steal them. All three magical artifacts were meant for [Mages], but Seborn knew the staff could conjure a wall spell once a day and spray elements.

Use it to wall them off and blast with fire. Ulinde’s wands can shoot a [Fireball]. Not sure how much magic is left.

If he went in. There was no point. A ship filled with those insects was probably infested if they’d dug into the wood. Even without, it’d be a horror to clean or even use. No, there was no point going into that village.

No one could be alive in there. Unless they’d gotten into a cellar or basement and blockaded themselves in. If they had…he wasn’t sure how long the bugs had been here. How long could they live before they’d need to disperse for food? This was a disaster.

“Can’t be more than a few days. The ships would have been beached by now, even with anchors.”

He sat there. After a moment, his [Message] scroll buzzed. Seborn read it. Wrote.

 

Seborn Sailwinds: There is no estimating their numbers. Cleansing this many will require multiple teams with [Mages]. This is a Gold-rank threat.

Adventurer’s Guild, Invrisil: Confirmed. Are there any survivors?

Seborn Sailwinds: Can’t tell. Observing.

 

He sat there for a long while, writing back and forth. He was no madman. Going in there was suicide, and [Rogue] he might be, but he couldn’t evade the eyes and senses of that many bugs.

Besides, the Adventurer’s Guild had a Gold-rank team en-route already. And another moving to assist. They’d be here by nightfall. Five days…if you survived four days, you’d survive five.

He might have stayed awhile anyways, watching, but for movement down the road. Seborn glanced down from his ledge and leapt downwards, cursing.

“Bandit!”

The cry came from the [Driver] the moment Seborn appeared out of the carriage’s shadow. He flung himself out of the way as the horses began to gallop forwards.

“Halt, you idiots! I’m an adventurer! That settlement has been overrun! You’ll kill yourself if you go any further!”

The [Coachwoman] hesitated. She pulled her horses up and pointed a wand at him. It was an overnight carriage—Seborn held up his hands and the certificate he’d gotten from the Adventurer’s Guild.

“I am Gold-rank adventurer Seborn of the—Halfseekers. That village is destroyed. If you don’t believe me, you can see it from that hill. Insects have swarmed the place.”

The [Driver] was no fool. She wrote a [Message] into an emergency scroll on her belt and gazed around for signs of an ambush…but if he’d wanted to get her, he’d have hit her the moment she slowed. She clambered out as nervous faces poked against the windows. Passengers.

“I have to see it myself. Where’d you say…?”

A short scramble later and she turned dead white as she saw the swarms moving over the village.

“But we’re nowhere near a monster den like that! What is it? Antinium? Some roving nest?”

He shook his head. Most people would think it was Antinium.

“I think…it might be a sea-based attack.”

She gave him a look like he was crazy. He clarified.

“The Alchemist, Irurx. Shifthold. I’ve heard of him wiping out places like this. And he’s still alive to my knowledge. Did this village have any half-Elves in it?”

The [Driver] turned even paler and glanced down at her carriage. She licked her lips.

“I don’t—I don’t know. It’s just one of my routes, but it was mostly Human!”

“All it takes is one. Come on, your carriage isn’t safe. If they can smell or start roaming, they’ll go for us.”

He had concealment Skills like [Reduced Presence] and [Softfoot], but even Seborn felt uneasy. He rode on the side of the wagon, watching the road to the village as the [Driver] turned the horses around and took them—slowly—away, then galloped them until they were miles down the road.

“I’ve told the Adventurer’s Guild. Gold-rank teams are on the way. Keep moving and tell everyone on the road!”

He was relieved to see the [Coachwoman] nodding and that she hadn’t lost her cool. She was still pale, but she tapped the scroll at her belt.

“The Driver’s Guild is already aware and putting the word out. What about you? I can take you with me.”

He shook his head.

“I’m staying until the teams get here. Do you need anything else?”

She was telling him no, and he checked in the carriage. A family on a holiday trip, holding each other, a [Trader] with a briefcase babbling questions, and—he felt his heart lurch—

A young half-Elf with brown hair. She met his gaze, her jade-green eyes wide and scared. A kid.

“If you see another half-Elf at sea, don’t go near him. Go home.”

He looked her in the eyes, not really expecting a response from someone in shock. Seborn was thus surprised when she replied.

“I can’t.”

What did that mean? Seborn hesitated, but the coach was moving, so he leapt off.

It was a long, silent night as he sat there. Midway through, someone appeared, panting, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Seborn, are you okay? I heard—

He gazed at Mrsha.

“Mrsha, go—”

No! I heard you were here!

He spoke very softly.

“Mrsha, go and get me Ishkr. Or if he’s not there…Calescent or someone. I need someone to walk down there and scout the village. I can’t.”

She stood there, confused, until she realized what he meant.

I can do it.

“No. Go get me Ishkr.”

She wavered, then ran off. Seborn Sailwinds waited until a bleary older Gnoll stumbled into frame.

“Seborn. What am I searching for? Survivors?”

He nodded.

“Don’t just check basements. Can you walk through walls…?”

“It’s limited. I’ve seen Erin do it. I’ll try.”

“Try cupboards. Closets. Anything you can seal. If you call out, you might hear something, but don’t get near them and make a sound, especially if they react to you.”

Ishkr nodded. He walked into the village, and Seborn trained his spyglass on the glowing Gnoll until he saw a wave of blackness rise and swirl around him. They separated after a while, and the Gnoll walked out of the cloud. Seborn kept his spyglass on the Gnoll as he moved slowly through the village.

Only when Ishkr reappeared did Seborn go to sleep. Briefly. Then he rose to meet the adventurers.

 

——

 

The first bar in Treant’s Farewell that Seborn came to was filled to the brim. [Sailors] drinking hard and whispering. Fights—but quick scraps.

Everyone had heard the news. There were more ships at the harbor than normal; they’d come ashore rather than sail the night.

Seborn was brushing at the bites slathered with a poultice that one of the Gold-rankers swore worked. It still itched, but it beat nothing.

“Velrusk Claw and a private seat.”

The [Innkeeper] barely blinked at Seborn. He seemed overworked as he jerked his head across the inn.

“You can have the first. For the other, it’s standing if you can’t find a seat. Hey, what’s that on your face? Sickness?”

“Bug bites. I’m an adventurer.”

Seborn thought about saying…then he just paid for his drink, a meal, and sat while he waited for it to be delivered. He didn’t like attention.

Jelaqua had always done it better. She’d make a scene. Confront that bastard in public. Sometimes, it went ill, but usually it didn’t. Her way was better—he was just the backup. Moore…Moore wouldn’t give up. He’d fret all day and make sure things were good. Or get angry, and then, well, that was pretty conclusive too.

Seborn couldn’t do that. He hated being the center of attention. He liked being the one with the drop on people because he was forgotten.

So how the hell are you going to be roaring commands over the deck? 

“There’s all kinds of [Captains].”

He muttered as he cast around for a place to sit. His legs hurt. He would have sat on the floor, but people were seated already. Seborn passed by a group of [Sailors] talking loudly and would have given up and found a corner when someone waved.

“Excuse me! Do you need a seat?”

Someone had gotten up, and before anyone could slide in, the young woman covered it and waved at him. Seborn sighed.

Pointed ears again.

He sat down, glowering at the young woman who flinched a bit, then determinedly smiled at him.

“I reckon I owe you for the warning back there. And maybe other things! Hello!”

“Thanks for the seat.”

The [Barmaid] found him and tossed a plate down—it was slightly undercooked fish with a sprinkling of beans on the side and some bread.

Poor fare given what he’d paid, but the inn was slammed and possibly running out of food. Seborn ate and saw the half-Elf chewing on much the same.

He was so hungry he didn’t say anything—until someone rose from the table opposite his.

“Hey there, I thought I smelled something fishy. Looks like a Drowned Man’s wandered into our drinking spot.”

Seborn sighed. There was a certain cadence to the talker’s voice, and not a friendly one at that. But traditional.

“[Storm Sailors].”

When a Drowned Pirate and a Storm Sailor met, they fought. It was tradition. Also tradition not to go to blood instantly—you gave each other lumps and no more. Seborn counted.

Eight of them, fuck. He doubted they’d be very polite once he took the first of them down. He half-rose and grimaced as he felt more bites under his armor.

“I’m not in the mood for a brawl, and the inn’s stuffed. Care to not follow tradition for once?”

He wasn’t very hopeful. The [Storm Sailor] who’d spotted him had a manticore on one bicep. He laughed as he eyed Seborn up and down.

“Afraid, are you, Drowned Man?”

“Bug-bitten. And I’m a landfolk adventurer. I haven’t crewed a ship in ten years, so I’m not really in the mood to crack heads tonight.”

Seborn snapped back. The [Storm Sailors] frowned at him, wondering if he was lying, but then the annoying girl piped up.

“He is an adventurer! He was on the road to the village that got eaten and stopped our carriage!”

All the voices in the room went silent, and Seborn glowered. He saw the [Innkeeper] glance up from the bar he was manning as his eyes focused on the Drowned Man’s bites. The [Storm Sailors] looked at each other. Instantly, the fight went out of them, and the first one sat. He took a huge drink from the tankard and wiped his mouth, then studied Seborn.

“Clinth? Give it to me straight, Drowned Man or adventurer or whoever th’ hell you are. What was it? Monsters or bugs? We heard a swarm…”

Conscious of every eye on him, Seborn spoke.

“I saw thousands of bugs. Most of them beetles of some kind. Fliers. There wasn’t anyone alive in there. I can’t say for sure what it was, but none of the local Gold-rank teams had heard of something like that. We think there might have been a half-Elf living in the village.”

A dead silence fell over all those from the sea and whispers from those who needed telling. The [Storm Sailors] all made the gesture where they spoke a word into their hands and threw it over their shoulders.

Irurx. The Mad Alchemist.

“Krakens take him. The entire Bloodtear Armada died at sea and the world’s cleaner for it, but they couldn’t take that thing with them?”

A female [Storm Sailor] groused. Seborn just stabbed at his fish, breaking up the bones. He saw the half-Elf glancing at him—then someone took his plate.

“Hey!”

“Here. Try this’n.”

The [Barmaid] was back, and she presented him with a lot more fish and a lot less bone. Seborn blinked at the fatter fillet and far more generous bread slathered with honey. It looked like the meal the [Innkeeper] might save for himself.

“I didn’t pay for this.”

“It’s on the house.”

“Hey, where’s ours?”

The [Storm Sailors] protested, staring at Seborn’s plate and their own empty ones. Seborn saw, out of the corner of his eye, the [Barmaid] gesturing at her face. They glanced at him.

He took a long sip from his mug.

 

——

 

The Drowned Man said nothing as the night wore on, but the drinks kept coming, and in time, the crowd did what they always did after great or terrible moments. They gossiped.

“He’s not the worst bastard on the seas.”

“Oh yeah? Name one worse living! Bloodyhands Rosech went down with his crew. Did you see him tearing [Knights] apart?”

“There’s Maxy—”

“Pah. The worst that happens is she skins you. On Shifthold, you might not die. Who’s worse than that?”

“Fisher Mary?”

Laughter from people sitting around the [Storm Sailors]’ table, but a sudden silence from them. That was the dichotomy tonight. Those that knew the sea and those that didn’t, who’d laugh at what they thought were tall tales.

Of course, the young half-Elf was a novice to anything sea related, but she was drinking with the rest, clearly rattled from her brush with death, however far removed. One of the [Barmaids] paused as she served more drinks, collecting coins from everyone but Seborn.

“Who’s that? She doesn’t sound so bad.”

One of the [Storm Sailors] made the gesture again.

“I’d slit my own throat before being taken alive by her. It’s ill luck to speak of them.”

He punched one of his friends, and she protested.

“At sea! We’re on land, and the worst has happened. The Fisher’s underseas, anyways. She preys on Drowned Folk. She’s one of them. Half…what’s the fish?”

“Angler. But not like Captain Rasea of the Illuminary. She catches you and melts you into her ship. But if she’s living or dead—that’s something he’d know.”

They glanced at Seborn, and the Drowned Man looked up. This felt like home, for all it was ill talk. Legends.

Seborn knew legends. Therrium had been obsessed with them. Sailwinds…Therrium had been a bastard’s son who’d worked his way up from nothing. He wanted to be a [Pirate Lord] of old, and his sons had been raised on such stories. Good and ill. They’d fancied themselves as being worthy of the tales. After nearly forty years of life, Seborn knew better.

“Mary’s alive. But she haunts the waters around Terandria’s coast, not these. She’s got a taste for Terandrian blueblood. You’re not going to beat Irurx with the living for nastiness.”

“Nor for being more dangerous. Was there anyone more deadly than Rosech? Half the crews I talk to say this is the age of [Pirates] now, but we just saw an entire group die hard. So are they back or not? Then again, with Seagrass gone, all the old trade routes are suddenly easy pickings.”

The [Storm Sailors] were speaking his language. Seborn found himself turning in his chair to talk to them as the young woman listened. She piped up.

“Um—! Everyone talks about [Pirate Lords], but [Pirates] don’t have [Lords], do they?”

The [Storm Sailors] laughed at her with the crowd, and she blushed, but one of them sat back expansively, adopting that knowing pose.

“Ah, that’s an old tale, girl. If you heard tell of it, well, there used to be [Pirate Kings] just like Goblin Kings.”

Someone splashed him with their drink.

“Hush your mouth with that talk, idiot! There’s such a thing as respect even for [Pirates]!”

The [Storm Sailor] swung a fist back, cursing.

“I’m just saying—now and then, you get [Pirate Lords], kid. Nasty ones, the likes of Rasea Zecrew or Admiral Rosech, but with the class. If there are enough, they fight it out, and then a [Pirate King] shows up. The last one was…”

He snapped his fingers, and Seborn spoke.

“Pirate King Thiete Stochlegre. Ruler of the 5 Tides. Almost seven, but Zeres got him.”

The [Storm Sailors] nodded, giving him longer looks. The half-Elf blinked.

“How dangerous was he?”

“Enough to sweep entire nations with his armies. Hah! That’s true! If you want to compare the worst ships today, then who else is feared at sea? Remember them [Strategists]? There was the House of Minos, but they don’t count…Zecrew everyone knows. She’s fit with the legends. She ran over the King of Destruction himself!”

Another [Storm Sailor] counted on her fingers.

“Seagrass was there, but now he’s the Empire of Sand’s dog. And he never was legendary, even with his giant Sea Serpents, was he? His crews were sharp, but they didn’t go up against Bloodtear for fun. No…wait, what about the Undersea Crews? There was Captain…Therrium?”

“Hah! That’s just a [Depth Captain]. Not like a real legend of tides.”

That got broad agreement from the seafolk, and Seborn grinned into his mug even as part of him protested. They began debating old stories, and once more, Seborn was sucked into it.

“Admiral Seagrass wasn’t good enough!? Right, then! Who in the last thousand years was worthy of the title? C’mon, you cocky bastard, cough up them names!”

“Shut it, Shanti. Just because you liked him—okay, fine. Uh—uh—”

“How about Captain Ghoulstrad?”

Everyone thought about it, and one of the [Storm Sailors] grinned and slapped poor Shanti on the shoulder.

“There’s a tale! Anyone know it? Captain Ghoulstrad—whatever he was named before, it’s lost to the tides. But there was a [Pirate Captain] deadlier’n most! He sank fifty ships a’fore he decided to make his mark. He tried to board a ship containing none other than the Archmage of Death himself. Archmage Chandler before he was called Az’kerash.”

The Izrilians shuddered, but all the seafolk grinned. They knew this one. The [Storm Sailor] drew a line across his throat.

“They fought an hour-long duel until his crew was dead around him, and the Archmage cut off his head. But—and they don’t say if this was intention or not—he wasn’t lying but a day before his corpse got up and walked away! Then sailed Captain Ghoulstrad himself, terror of the waters! He killed [Pirates] and [Storm Sailors] alike before they burned him and his ship to ash. Twenty-three years of terror alive and thirty more dead!”

“Legends of the tides! Top that!”

One of the [Storm Sailors] had one.

“How about Fingerbeard? [Pirate Lady], oh, four hundred years back? Made herself a beard of exactly what it sounds like.”

He waggled his fingers, and everyone winced. Someone else raised a hand.

“Was it just for her reputation or was she mad as the others?”

“Who can say? I heard it was ‘cause she heard all the famous [Pirates] of her day had ‘beard’ in their name. Goldbeard, Flamebeard, ‘n so on? So she decided to make her own.”

“Couldn’t she have used wool or something?”

Laughter. That was how they talked, though. ‘I heard’ about a woman four centuries dead. If they remembered you at sea, you were never truly that far gone.

“Who else? Who else?”

Seborn thought of recent history, and the name came from his mouth.

“Garlen the Explorer.”

“Ah.”

The [Storm Sailors] sighed like a chorus of children, eyes shining. The landfolk, the fools, were oblivious. They had to know, so Seborn told them.

“Didn’t you hear the Gnolls singing his name? He sailed the entire world on his ship. But so many can claim that. And like those before him, madness claims such [Captains]. Those that think they rule both the sea above and below eventually go to the last place of countless crews. The Last Tide. They sail over the edge of the world into the depths below. But Garlen the Explorer…he came back.”

“No.”

The girl was leaning over the table like everyone else. The [Innkeeper] demanded from his seat.

“What did he find? Did anyone say?”

Seborn waited a beat, then took a drink from his mug.

“He never said all of it. Only Gnolls would know, if he told even them. But his crew said that before he pulled them back up they fell for an hour into the depths, and the seas poured down with them until it was as if they were riding a wave into the darkness. And not once did they see the bottom.”

Everyone fell silent with that awed half-belief, half incredulity. Seborn himself wondered…was that a true story? The boy had believed it all, much like the young half-Elf sitting across from him.

They had to tell more stories after that. Landfolk knew their own legends and put their Named-ranks against the tales of sea, stories growing taller with each passing moment.

Even the young half-Elf tried her hand at it, though she didn’t have the technique down yet. You had to wait for a lull in the voices and have the knowing tone just right or you’d get laughed at. And the boldness—she stuttered, red-face.

“I, um, I have one! There was a half-Elf [Captain] named Inerrook! He once rescued a [Queen] of Desonis on his ship, and he dueled a [Pirate Lord] and won! They say he was never beaten in battle!”

There was laughter, and one of the [Storm Sailors] snorted.

“That’s it? M’girl, you need to give us a better yarn than that! Never beaten—probably because he never ran up against a real bastard! I’ve never been beaten in battle. Mark me down in the history books!”

“But—”

She was laughed down and sat, blushing from eartip to eartip. One of the [Storm Sailors] eyed her dourly.

“Half-Elves. Having the Mad Alchemist on your people’s bad enough, I’ll grant. But I’ve seen more than one of the special grown ships your folk sail. Too rich for anyone else’s blood. You can’t even trade in Gaiil-Drome without being an ‘Elfriend’. Must be nice to have your own city in the New Lands, eh?”

Every eye turned to her, and the half-Elf stiffened, then protested.

“I wouldn’t know. I grew up in a village.”

“Ah, a half-Elven village.”

“No, just a village. We don’t have any special magics or treasure.”

She sounded honestly offended, and the [Storm Sailor] hesitated but was unwilling to back down, so she muttered.

“Well…you have an in with them that do. Phaw, who’s got a better story? C’mon!”

Silence as everyone racked their brains for someone who hadn’t been mentioned. Seborn was fairly drunk, and words were escaping him. But he saw one of the landfolk raise her voice. A wobbling woman in her mid-fifties smiled with sudden insight.

“I’ve one. There’s a [Captain] who, they say, deals with Demons. A real monster of the sea. They say she married a Wall Lord, then divorced him. And that she can breathe blood ‘n fire. She did for an [Admiral] and a [Prince] and killed her way through everything that so much as looked at her. Friends with a Goblin Lord no less.”

Seborn was trying to think of who this was at first. Then it clicked with the ‘[Prince]’, and he put down his tankard. Everyone turned to the [Storm Sailors] and him, and one of the offended seafolk shouted back.

“You can’t claim her! That’s just tall tales—”

“Not the [Admiral] nor the [Prince]. What’s this about a Wall Lord?”

One of the other [Storm Sailors] was looking thoughtful. The others weren’t having it. But the Izrilians were all too ready to claim Dread Pirate Erin Solstice as their legend. Seborn wasn’t sure if he was going to clarify or object to the tales himself when one of the other guests spat.

“Weren’t there more bugs with her? Antinium? I wish the entire lot of them had drowned! Both that [Alchemist] and the damned bugs!”

Murmurs of agreement. The first speaker glared at the woman who’d brought Erin up.

“As for the Goblins, why can’t Wistram blow them to pieces? Just rain down spells on ‘em and rid the world of the rest of the lot!”

Typical sentiments. Seborn was used to hearing the same claptrap about Drowned Folk, but he hadn’t heard much of that since the incident in the Drake ports with the hangings.

Turns out the old man can make a point.

The speakers soured Seborn’s mood, but he was waving for a refill anyways. His hand had slipped and tossed his entire drink all over the poor man.

In the sudden silence, Seborn stood up. He snatched a tankard from the [Barmaid]’s tray as she fled backwards, and he spoke.

“Antinium aren’t the same as bugs. They’ve got more courage in one of their antennae than you loudmouths put together.”

“You’re defending Antinium, Drowned Man? On Izril’s shores?”

There was an ominous rumble in the too-quiet inn. The [Innkeeper] spoke loudly.

“Gold-rank adventurer! And he was at the village and cleared the bugs out—”

No one cared. They were drunk, upset, and Seborn calmly kicked his chair over.

“That’s right. You want to make something of it?”

A dozen men got up, probably friends of the fellow he’d splashed. Seborn just rolled his shoulders.

“I’m Seborn Sailwinds—”

He saw one of the [Storm Sailors] jerk in recognition.

“—a Halfseeker. Gold-rank. If you want to say nonsense to my face, go and try. Hundreds have tried, all at once. C’mon. Say it.”

This happened now and then. He was stumbling, looking at the fifty or so people pushing their chairs back. Or was it…twelve? No fear. Moore wouldn’t throw the first punch, but he’d clear them all out if Seborn started swinging, and Jelaqua was the best fistfighter he knew. He was surprised Garen hadn’t already thrown something at the idiot talking about Goblins.

“Stay there, Ulinde. Just keep behind…”

Seborn searched for the Selphid, but all he saw was some half-Elf staring at him wide-eyed. Then he realized he wasn’t with his team.

For a moment, it seemed as though the drunk confidence of the Drowned Man drained out of him. He lowered his head as the angry patrons stepped towards him. Then raised his head, and his crab eye shone bright.

“Come on, then. Come on until the last one falls—”

He made fists and beckoned. Took a step towards them, breathing like it was his last. Seborn took a step at the first idiot as his fist drew back and he reared back. Drunk. Idiot.

Seborn smirked, tripped over the chair, and hit the floor head-first.

 

——

 

Ship #21 — You Idiots, I Ought to Lash You to the Mainsail Oh Wait He’s Coming Around

 

Seborn’s head was aching, but amazingly, he wasn’t stomped to a pulp. He came around, dead drunk, as someone continued shouting.

They were definitely on a ship. More than that? The swinging lantern showed a bunch of [Storm Sailors] who looked roughed up but were pleased with themselves.

A man with a hat was pointing at the docks, where it looked like a brawl was going on. Sailors vs landfolk. Classic. He swung his head towards Seborn.

“Drowned, no less!”

“We couldn’t just abandon him, Capt’n! ‘Sides, the little lady got caught up in it.”

They pointed, and Seborn saw a familiar half-Elf getting her head bandaged up by one of the other [Storm Sailors]. He realized they’d carried them here.

“Thanks.”

“Classic night on the town, Drowned Man. Shame you didn’t get a few swings in.”

One winked at him. The [Captain] threw up his hands. He turned to Seborn with a growl.

“And who the hell are you? The Gold-rank adventurer who cleared that village? Or the son of a living legend?”

“He’s not that great. Am I on a ship?”

Seborn’s head lulled. The [Captain] paused, then spoke in that slow voice you used with drunk idiots.

“Yes, you’re on a ship.”

“It for sale?”

“…No!”

“Damn.”

Seborn passed out again.

 

——

 

Seborn was in a horrible mood the next day, beat up and bitten as he was—and with a killer hangover and no Hangover Potion in sight.

Even so, he put a good face on it, because he’d found a crew. Namely, the [Storm Sailors] from last night. They’d let him and the half-Elf kid slumber on the deck of their ship, and while she was gone before he woke up, he got to talking with them.

“Us hire on with you?”

It seemed ridiculous to them, and Seborn owned that it sounded like a joke. A Drowned Man [Pirate] hires a bunch of [Storm Sailors] and…

But he meant it.

“I’ve had stranger allies. How about it? I don’t need to go far. Nombernaught’s where I’m bound. I have a date with destiny.”

They gave each other surprised looks, and the female [Storm Sailor] who’d recognized his name leaned over.

“This wouldn’t happen to lead to us meeting Therrium Sailwinds himself? That’s more trouble than you could pay for.”

Seborn gave her a short smile.

“I wouldn’t be so stupid as to buy all that for a crew of eight. If you crewed with me to there, we’d find a second crew for a conversation or part ways. Either way, you’d see Nombernaught, and [Storm Sailors] can find a ship, Drowned Folk city or not.”

They eyed each other and murmured.

“We’ve got a ship already, but the [Captain] won’t pitch that many fits if we shove off, not in a big port. Say we do that—where’s the ship? Old Captain Tomerig won’t part with his ship for love or money.”

Well, that was a problem, but Seborn just glanced around.

“We’re at a harbor. Think you could help me find a ship that could take a crew of around a dozen or less?”

It’d be a small vessel, but if they got a good sailing one and just swung around the coast, they’d make it. The [Storm Sailors] seemed impressed by his daring too.

“You’re either mad to go that near the Hivelands or you actually do know them Antinium. Normally, you stay twenty miles offshore at least! I’ve heard of Wrymvr the Deathless striking ships even further.”

Seborn grinned.

“I think I’d be able to talk my way out if I had a chance.”

Now he was cooking with fire magicore. The Drowned Man had a ship within the hour.

 

Ship #22 — Shallowskipper

 

Nothing fancy, nothing crazy—just a sailing ship with good lines from an old [Fisherman] who sighed as Seborn paid for it. Maybe he was still drunk, but Seborn paid eight hundred and fifty gold pieces for it after barely a once-over with his new crew.

Gold-rank money. That alone convinced them to shift to his ship, and he watched them pull up the anchor and adjust the sails with the ease of professionals.

“You sure you want to sail out now, Captain? What about paperwork with the Merchant’s Guild and Captain’s Guild?”

Seborn snorted.

“Captain’s Guild? The Merchant’s Guild doesn’t need paperwork if I pay in gold, anyways. I’ll just take her out of the bay, see how she handles and how we work. If I like it, I’ll load up some goods, and we’ll be on our trip. Fruits. Got to have them.”

The [Storm Sailors] hesitated, but they had that to-the-winds caution of their kind, and they were also still probably drunk. So they were cheering as he led the ship out the bay.

Of course, the [Harbormaster] started shouting at him the moment he did that.

“Who the hell are you? You’re not Fisher Drilten!”

“He’s retired! I bought his ship!”

“You did? I don’t see your paperwork on my desk! Get back to harbor; we have ships coming in!”

“We’ll be out of your way in seconds!”

Landfolk. The [Harbormaster] was worried, rightly, about collisions, but Seborn could sail a ship with his eyes closed. He was taking them well away from the other ships, avoiding the ground—it’d be a foolish thing to run aground. He was grinning and waving at the [Harbormaster] when one of the [Storm Sailors] gulped.

“Uh, new Captain? You might want to haul to. Rhir’s hells. Is that what I think it is?”

He pointed, and Seborn glanced ahead. A ship coming into port was getting nearer, but…he squinted.

It was pretty big despite only being a blip on the horizon. And it was getting larger…fast. He swore under his breath as the other [Storm Sailors] stopped working and turned.

“Dead gods. That’s the Pride herself! Speak of legends!”

The Pride of the Wellfar was coming into harbor. And she was massive, one of the largest ships still sailing on the ocean today. Seborn relaxed.

“You idiots, for a second you had me thinking it was you-know-what. She’s probably here to investigate the village.”

It stood to reason. The [Storm Sailors] nodded soberly, but then stood to attention as they did before Treants or ships they loved. Even Seborn nodded at the ship; as a [Pirate], it scared him if it was against him, but they would keep this area safe from Irurx and his lot.

The Pride came towards the port so fast it made his ship look like it was standing still. He swore as he saw it turning.

“It’s too big to even fit in the docks! They’ll have to anchor up the harbor. Jelaqua’s mother’s tits, what a sight.”

Tens of thousands of tons of gleaming wood and attack-spells drawn into the frame of the ancient vessel like art. Hull-mounted magical artillery from eras of legends and, he’d heard, even interior gardens and wonders of the opulence and wealth of House Wellfar. This ship, along with their other naval craft, made one of the Five Families the force of the north.

In fact, he rather fancied he knew the current [Captain], if only by proxy. Wasn’t Gresaria Wellfar’s son, Etril Wellfar, the one who sailed it despite his youth? And she had come to The Wandering Inn and known Maviola El…

By proxy of their connection to Erin. Strange how he could do that to even famous people like the King of Destruction. Seborn had the craziest urge to wave at the ship and shout to see if Etril Wellfar recognized him. That’d be the way to impress his superstitious crew…but he didn’t want to look like an idiot.

So he sailed on as the Pride turned…and came right up alongside them. Too close, actually; their swell made Seborn swear and rock the smaller ship.

“Idiots can’t see us!”

He commented to one of the [Storm Sailors] whose name he hadn’t gotten yet. But the woman didn’t smile back.

“Er, Captain Sailwinds, she’s too close. And it seems like she’s cutting us off, not—”

Seborn saw the nose of the Pride turn and do just that and felt the first moment of trepidation. Then he saw a glowing beam of light shoot from one of the colored panels on the ship and focus on the hull of his sailing ship.

Attack spell. A very polite voice rang from above in the sudden, terrifying silence.

“House of Wellfar! We claim sovereignty over this area in joint protection with House Veltras! Shallowskipper, haul to! Captain and crew, please prepare for boarding!”

Everyone was frozen. Seborn raised his hands slowly, then lowered them; what could he do? There were over a hundred [Sailors] on the railings just eying him, and most had crossbows or wands.

Let alone the spells. The gleaming ship halted as a pair of anchors shot down and lashed themselves to his ship’s railing. A [Lightbridge] spell followed, and Seborn shouted up at the herald on the decks.

“What is this, some kind of cargo inspection? We’ve got none!”

Or were they that peeved he’d come out of the harbors when they were coming in? Then he heard the herald shout back.

“Merely a formality, Captain! Lord Etril Wellfar would like to see your paperwork for ownership of this vessel and your registration in the Captain’s Guild!”

Seborn was drunker than he thought. Because he knew better, but he still said it.

“My what?”

All the [Storm Sailors] turned to him, and in the sudden, long silence that ensued, Seborn remembered.

Right. He might be a veteran seadog of the Undersea Crews, but he’d never, actually, de-facto, been a [Captain] of his own and had to navigate landfolk ports. Therrium’s crews weren’t welcome there, so they’d send landing crafts at best.

Registration…his head began to pound before he saw the [Captain] come striding down the [Lightbridge], flanked by [Storm Sailors].

That was when he began to have a bad day again.

 

——

 

Lord Etril Wellfar was apologetic, and he did know Seborn Sailwinds. That was the one consolation, but it didn’t stop the [Rogue] from glaring so hard he might have left singe marks on Etril’s face.

“If it’s a vessel that sails in our waters, you must be a registered [Captain], Adventurer Seborn. There are no exceptions.”

“Not even for a sailing vessel that holds less than ten crew?”

Seborn was enraged as they came into port. Etril sighed.

“It’s not what House Wellfar normally cares about, but this is a new age, Seborn. If I may call you that. I know you’re friends with the inn that my mother liked—I’ve always meant to go.”

“The door’s open. Just go to Invrisil.”

Seborn refused to use it as leverage, and worse, he felt like it wouldn’t have changed things. Etril gave him a short smile.

“No time. We insist on this because former Bloodtear Pirates, Lord Seagrass’ ships, and a lot of colony-ships bound for the New Lands keep passing by our shores. The smallest vessels we search—and sink if we must. We’ve captured over five hundred of the Bloodtear Pirates already.”

“Really?”

For a second, Seborn was surprised. Etril shrugged.

“Every navy is patrolling the waters. We’ve put most of the ones we capture to the sword if they show any fight—the rest are conscripted.”

“Conscripted. Not murdered on sight?”

“It’s not the Wellfar way. In Chandrar, they’re [Slaves]. I hear Terandria’s executing every [Pirate] they find. Baleros does much the same. Conscription on our ships under blood oath until they serve their sentences. It’s one for life…but I feel like some might pay it off.”

He grimaced and shrugged. Seborn was surprised anyone would show mercy to the Bloodtear Pirates and said so. Etril just stared past him.

“It’s hard for any ship to want to turn down crew over Level 30, let alone Level 40. Or maybe it’s what they stole. I was surprised when my family voted that way. Some of the [Pirates] are touched by luck. Though whether they’re happier…you won’t find them on my ship. The Pride is too important for non-Wellfar to crew. In Chandrar, the stories are even more outlandish. Enchanted chains fell off some, and the [Pirates] just vanished.”

That sounded like more than magic to Seborn. Etril shivered, but the Drowned Man had more experience with this kind of thing. He clasped his hands together. Thought a prayer.

“So about my ship…”

Etril gave him an apologetic smile.

“You’ll have to register with the Captain’s Guild and secure papers before I can let you out of port. Your Gold-rank status might alleviate your ties with the Undersea Crews. But it could, ah, take some time to process.”

“This is ridiculous!”

Seborn snapped. He got to his feet to argue, and the [Lord] of House Wellfar stood. He was barefoot, tanned, and had an earring in one ear. He also had a short spear on his back. His mother’s son.

“I’d love to argue, Adventurer Seborn, but I can’t. We’re hunting Shifthold, and unless you had any insights to add from clearing the village, which I do respect, we must see if we can catch her. He’s hit more than one coastal village. That madman is the last great threat from the battle at sea aside from Maxy and some of the other [Pirate Captains]. I intend to end his legend for good.”

His eyes glinted, and Seborn Sailwinds stood there. Helpless to argue with that. And he was reminded of something he had known. He was not the main character of this story. Not among Therrium’s sons. Not as an adventurer.

Nor now.

 

——

 

The Drowned Man got his money back for the ship, at least. The old [Fisher] had had a change of heart when he’d seen Seborn sailing off with his vessel and had only been too glad to trade him.

The [Storm Sailors]…no. They’d have to rehire with their ships, and even if they got their old posts, it wasn’t a guarantee. Seborn let them have the gold he’d paid them, anyways.

“If you get your papers in order, say the word and we’ll be ready for that adventure, Captain! We, uh, wrote our names down and the ships we frequent for you.”

“Thank you.”

He managed that at least. But a black mood had overtaken the [Rogue]. He just sat on the docks and remembered something.

“There are those that the hand of fate catches. And there are those who have to jump and grab it. And there are those it lands on.”

For one moment, just for one moment, he’d felt like it had been lining up for him. Just like he’d seen it do for Erin, who was chosen, or Ryoka or the Horns…but it had ended like he should have known it would.

Fate did not choose him. Not Seborn, who had had to fight for everything. Who’d found his team and lost it. Lost it…when other teams had gone into worse moments and come out with nary a scratch.

Destiny did not love him. It shat on his dreams, and perhaps he deserved it for thinking it would change.

The Drowned Man got up and went to the Captain’s Guild. The [Receptionist] took down his details after charging a five-gold fee and then got to his affiliations. When she looked up the fact that he was Therrium Sailwinds’ son, she covered a laugh and pushed the coins back over the desk towards him.

He rented a room in an apartment and drank water, trying to get his hangover to vanish. Seborn sat down in his bed and realized he’d have to get to a harbor where Wellfar law didn’t apply. But Drake law had to be just as bad.

So I have to get a ship and buy it somewhere that’s not a big city. Once I do, any ship of the local law will think of mine like a true [Pirate]’s. I’m one regardless. I just thought I could change.

He lay down in his bed and curled up. After a moment, Seborn put his hands together.

The Free Antinium had taught him prayer. They said they believed in an idea: Heaven. And their prayers were in hope of it. In need of it—they believed in what might not be real. The impossible. But because it was what defined them, the hope and certainty and desire, their faith had worked miracles.

He…did not pray to their Heaven. Though he believed it could be real. A shining thing they deserved. Seborn prayed to something else.

If there was justice for those who did not belong, the lonely, those who needed help and had no one to turn to…he prayed to the feeling in his chest that he had felt when his team had ever mattered. That mattered more than the rush of glory or the thrill of gold.

Righteousness, perhaps, but not so petty a word. There was no dead god who could answer his prayers.

Not on the silly statue that Erin had commissioned. Not the woman of death, because she had nothing but the end. Nor the bearded man because there was no leader for the half-people. Nor even the God of the Lost; they wanted to be found. There was a people for them.

Nor dance or magic. The only one that might fit was the Goddess of Last Stands, but Seborn’s prayers did not belong to her either.

Because she was the Goddess of Last Stands. And the Halfseekers had never…dreamed of stopping.

Seborn’s faith was not a thing of great levels. It had only ever provided a few miracles, but it had led him where he was needed. To Nokha when Mrsha was in danger. Perhaps to the Village of the Dead where they were needed.

It had not saved his team. His prayer was to no one and nothing.

Certainly not the force that gave everyone levels and classes. Because even that did not give the lost children what they deserved. It just counted their suffering and rewarded that.

The Drowned Man closed his eyes. His lips moved. Then stopped. He turned his head.

“Bah.”

He went to sleep.

 

——

 

Six days later, Seborn Sailwinds was walking down the road towards a southern hamlet where he’d heard ships bigger than fishing vessels docked.

He was angry still. No one wanted to pick up a Drowned Man hitchhiker. He should have rented a horse, but hadn’t wanted to bother with the fuss. And he was sick to death of talking to people.

No [Captains] wanted to take him to Nombernaught. If any were headed to the New Lands, they were only bound for the northernmost tips where they’d let passengers off. Or Drake lands, even—he hadn’t accepted. He didn’t want to appear in Nombernaught like a pauper hitching a ride.

He didn’t want to go to that city and confront his father.

He didn’t know what he wanted.

He was just…unhappy.

As if his team had died or something. As if he had watched them die as a hundred thousand Draugr poured over the Floodplains and they had done the only thing they could do, would ever do, and the world had rewarded them with death when they deserved—those two deserved—to live.

A couple. A half-Giant re-learning to smile and a young Selphid who’d grown up on stories of them. Why not those two? Jelaqua was married. Why not the last half-Giant of Izril with a heart too big for his profession? Why a washed-up Drowned Man and not…

A dream. The [Sailors] in the inn had talked of legends, and Seborn had seen a hundred thousand Draugr conjured by a dead goddess and fought the Hag Queens in the snow as Drakes and Humans battled side-by-side.

A tale wilder than they would have believed. It felt like a dream. The Drowned Man shaded his eyes as he stared upwards at the blue sky.

Wondering if he’d wake up in the snow, covered with roses of his teammate’s blood.

The Drowned Man walking his lonely road passed by a white-furred girl who sat in the shade of some trees. He walked past her, but when she didn’t rise or follow him, he came back.

“I’m fine.”

Good.

Mrsha du Marquin didn’t raise her head. She appeared…small. She was sitting cross-legged, staring at her paws. As if the weight of the world were upon her shoulders. He scowled at her.

“Are you done?”

Yes, thank you. Sorry, I’m distracted.

She roused herself, looking around blankly. She followed him absently—fell off the dais. He almost laughed at that, but Mrsha just sat there, rubbing her nose. As if she were pondering something great and terrible.

“See you next week. Just so you know, you couldn’t buy me a ship anyways. I can’t get the paperwork, and I won’t. It’s impossible for someone like me.”

He snapped after the silence grew too long. The girl peered up at him. She said nothing. Just…gazed at him. For some reason, it bothered the [Rogue], so he turned his head.

“So thanks—for nothing.”

She nodded, and he felt more angry. He stomped along, and the girl halted. Then she wrote in the air.

I’m sorry, Seborn. I’ll do the right thing, I promise.

When he turned to ask what that meant—she was gone. The Drowned Man stood in the middle of the road, gazing at the place where she had been. Then he swore and stomped on.

 

——

 

The village was called Moodfut. Presumably ‘Mudfoot’ had been intended, but the apocryphal legend was that the founder had been so drunk he’d gotten it backwards.

Moodfut fit. Seborn was in a pet. He sat in the only pub they had in the entire damn mudhole. He’d been told that ships would come here to restock on the plentiful catches of the [Fishers], and it was bigger than most fishing villages, but he was just…annoyed.

Everyone was avoiding him. A Drowned Man with that kind of scowl didn’t exactly attract goodwill. Seborn was checking a map he carried around, glaring.

If he could get a fishing ship or something, it’d be probably two weeks of hard sailing—around the High Passes especially—to get to Nombernaught. Assuming his craft would even survive the places where Izril’s shores receded and the High Passes rose. It was not a riskless voyage.

And that was assuming he got a craft at all. Gold would buy a lot, but it was a suspicious thing to want to buy a ship like that. Plus, he’d heard that people were talking about some new damn coins—just his luck!

Worse…this area was remote, so there were no overnight carriages who stopped here unless he paid for one via a [Message] scroll. So if he found no ships here—Seborn’s fingers traced a route. It’d be two damn days to Riverfarm if they didn’t stop, and he knew they would unless he paid for a premium service.

All to go back to a stupid inn. Then at least he could go to Zeres.

“A damn circle of pointlessness.”

The Drowned Man threw down his map with disgust.

 

——

 

He wasn’t the only person in a bad mood in this village. Moodfut had a lot of [Fishers], and one of the [Fishmongers] who sold the stuff began screaming at someone with a huge basket.

“No, no! Not here! Put it around back and you’ll be paid—later! Shoo!”

She waved a fist and actually threw a fish’s head at a hunched figure covered in a cloak, who scurried around the back of her hut. Seborn eyed the figure. A few passersby seemed confused, but those in the know grimaced.

“Keep that out of sight. Milord’s likely to throw a fit if he sees it.”

Someone advised the [Fishmonger], and she shot back sourly.

“As soon as my husband’s leg is healed up, I intend to!”

What [Lord]? Seborn stopped following the cloaked figure who retreated towards the beach when he saw the ship.

“Huh. That’s no pleasure ship. That’s beautiful.”

A ship had come into harbor, properly made to boot. Sleek lines of a sailing ship told him this was closer to a passenger-ship than anything else, but the vessel seemed prepared for a fight as well as a speedy trip.

He was admiring the dark wood on the sides, trying to guess what it was.

“Balerosian hardwood maybe…?”

“Chandrarian, actually. Made in Medain. It seems someone in this little hamlet understands what they’re staring at.”

And who should stride up than a [Lord] in the flesh. He appeared very pleased with his ship, and he stood…with more wherewithal than Seborn expected. The Drowned Man had expected a spoiled brat with more money than sense, and he was certainly 90% right—but the [Lord] seemed more capable than Seborn expected.

With a sword, at least. He cast a dismissive glance over Seborn before fixing on his daggers.

“Sailor?”

“Adventurer. That’s your ship?”

“Lord. I am [Lord] Gilam Quellae.”

The young man informed Seborn, and the Halfseeker sighed. It was going to be one of those conversations.

“You must have a rich father.”

He stated it as a matter of fact, and Gilam’s eyes flashed. He put his hand on his sword’s hilt, and Seborn felt a brief warning.

But why? He chose his words more carefully as Gilam retorted.

“My father is indeed Lord Pellmia Quellae, the famous [Lord of Love and Wine].”

He grimaced as if his lips had soured on the class alone, then hurried on.

“But this ship is mine. I bought it all with my own gold. Not a scrap of it is my father’s money nor my family’s. In fact, they don’t even know I have it.”

His smug smile said he was telling the truth about it. Gilam pointed towards the ship—it wouldn’t hold more than a crew of thirty, and some fed-up looking [Sailors] were loading it full of provisions.

“She’s on her maiden voyage, though I intend to put her through her paces! Like most who enter my bed.”

Aaaaand Seborn was done with the conversation. However, Gilam seemed to think he wanted to know more after that.

“The wood comes from Medain, which got cuttings from the Claiven Earth. Chimicen Hardwood—and it was made by a [Shipbuilder] trained in the Pheislant docks. See the lines?”

“They’re good.”

Seborn hated saying that, but he bet the ship could take a ballista shot and at least remain intact. Lord Gilam scoffed.

“Beyond good. I have half a mind to visit the New Lands with some of my peers. With the right Jar of Wind spells…well, this is just the beginning. Now, is there anywhere to drink in this pisspot of a village?”

“Right there.”

Seborn jerked a thumb over his shoulder, and Gilam nodded.

“A shame I don’t practice my swordplay or I’d be interested in seeing how good you are, Drowned Man. Take care if you know any Undersea Crews—they’d best steer clear of my ship, especially with my friends on it!”

He laughed as he walked away, and Seborn grunted. Any Undersea Crew would be hanging his guts out in ten seconds.

He really wanted to steal that ship. He bet he could too, though sailing a ship that big alone wouldn’t be feasible. But that intuition Skill was warning him…

Seborn strode off. Mrsha hadn’t checked on him, and it had been two days. Of course, she only came by once a week, but every now and then, he saw her just appear and vanish when he glared at her.

He might as well just head out; it wasn’t like he’d ever have a chance to buy a fishing ship with that [Lord] around. If he didn’t scare off honest people, he might decide to take Wellfar law into his own hands.

At least Lord Gilam’s crew hated him. Seborn saw them coming up towards the pub as well, grousing.

It was two dozen [Sailors]. Not [Storm Sailors]; Seborn would have bet his friends and their like wouldn’t want to crew some [Lord]’s thrill-seeking vessel for all the gold. They looked like harbor trash, actually. Rough and ready and usually drunk.

“Bastard. If I have to bow and scrape just because he’s the son of House Quellae—”

“Shut up, he’s in the pub. If he hears you, he’ll backhand you too. You saw what he did to Moust when he went for his blade. Just shut it, and we’ll get a keg for his precious ship…then fill it with spit and rotgut tonight. Oi, watch it piss stains! Landfolk.”

They were taking their bad mood out on the villagers, so it was like a cascade of ill feeling. One kicked at the cloaked figure then recoiled.

“Eugh. What the hell is that—?”

Seborn was making tracks out of the village. He’d head up the road and see if he could hitchhike to a town. However, a commotion from the beach made him turn.

An angry [Fisher] was pursuing someone and having a rampaging argument as they came through the village. He was shouting.

“I’m not rowing you for three hours, three hours straight only to be asked to do another three for barely any coins! You already owe me the day’s profits—I’ll have the rest or I’ll have you run out of town as a [Thief]!”

“I don’t have any more—I paid you what you asked for! Leave me alone!”

A [Fisher] past his prime was chasing after a young woman. A familiar young woman. Seborn sighed. When he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, she still had pointed ears.

The half-Elf with brown hair stopped running in the village as more people appeared, ready to block a [Thief] from getting away. Villages like these always had solidarity with their own. She whirled.

“I paid you a fair price!”

“You didn’t tell me you’d have me row across the shallows! Not upwind until my hands blistered! Then you tell me it’s the wrong one?”

“I only knew it vaguely! I’ve given you all the coin I have! Don’t try to make this more’n you think it is—you made a mistake, and so did I. We’re quits!”

She had an Izrilian accent, not like Ceria’s at all. The [Fisher] pointed a finger at her.

“Three more silver on what you paid me.”

“No! I’ve got none to give, and if you’re the sort who changes his prices after a deal, you’re the [Cheat]!”

She had a good point. Some of the villagers hesitated.

“Leave off Enlock. Just let the child go.”

“She’s a half-Elf, not some child! Look at her ears! She’s all tricks—for all I know, she was laughing at me the entire time!”

He pointed at her, and she reddened and almost covered her ears. But then she raised a finger.

“I’m warning ye. Don’t come near or I’ll—I’ll fight back!”

She waved a finger around vaguely. But she had no wand and only a belt dagger, and fool the man might be in many ways, yet he knew enough about magic not to be scared.

“Hah! I’ll have my coins—just what I’m owed—fairly as the Five Families are my witness. Hand them over!”

He advanced, and Seborn glanced around. What could he throw? Fishheads there…he wandered over to a basket and saw the hunched figure standing with the crowd. He made Seborn hesitate as he approached. A hooded head swung over, and a voice muttered so faintly only Seborn heard it.

“Dangerous. Don’t.”

Was that to Seborn or…? The Drowned Man saw the [Fisher] reach the half-Elf. She panicked like the amateur she was. Then she put her fingers together, aimed all of them at him, and shouted—

“[Stars of Menethyll]!”

Seborn’s head turned, and he saw a glittering diamond of light that shone like the celestial bodies above had come down to materialize before him. One shimmered into focus, shot forwards, and dissipated before it had gone even an inch.

The dust was fading into sparkling particles. Said particles hit [Fisher] Enlock in the chest. Said [Fisher] hit one of the [Fishmonger]’s stands. Then crashed down onto the ground.

Then there was silence. The panting girl was pouring with sweat as the villagers recoiled. Someone whispered.

“Dead gods. Half-Elven magic?”

Seborn knew it wasn’t that. The girl shook with overloaded mana circuits as the [Fisher] stirred. He wheezed.

“She spelled me. She—help!”

The girl turned to run, then puked all over herself. She fell to her hands and knees. Definitely mana-overloaded. An unnerved man raised a broom he was holding, and a Drowned Man caught the handle before it could hit her.

“Enough.”

The last Halfseeker of Izril said calmly.

 

——

 

It was never so easy to stop a forming lynch mob as at the start. Seborn was in luck; the [Fisher] hadn’t exactly made himself look good, and the girl seemed young. But he still had to pay for it.

He tossed down silver coins on the broken stall, then three down in front of the man.

“That should cover the injuries. He’s bruised, but nothing looks broken. Let’s get you to the beach so you can wash that off.”

He nodded at her soiled front. Some of the people protested.

“But she hit Enlock—”

“It’s a Tier 3 spell, and she barely cast it. I’m sure you’ve punched him harder. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer; it looks flashy, but it’s no [Valmira’s Comet].”

Lean on his rank. That always impressed them. Seborn flashed his daggers, unsheathed, in an unthreatening way and let Maughin’s mail armor shine under his Wyvern leather coat. He also thought to turn Dragial’s cloak inside out so they could see the finery.

Speak fast but deliberately, pay enough but not so much they thought there was gold to be had and get out of there. He was an old hand at this. So, Seborn hustled the girl down to the beach, and she was splashing seawater on her clothes before anyone could raise a larger fuss.

Ironically, the [Lord] helped by demanding service from the owner of the pub who’d gone outside. Which focused the ire of the village on him…and left Seborn time to talk to her.

He did not. He stood there, glaring at the sea, which remained so tantalizing close and so far. The half-Elf girl kept glancing at him.

“Ah owe you an apology. And thank you, sir. More than once, I think.”

Definitely an Izrilian accent. Seborn grunted.

“It’s fine. Just don’t cast flashy magic in public. He probably wouldn’t have hit you. Better to get them on your side than not.”

He kept staring. After a moment, the young woman cleared her throat.

“I suppose, after you and me meeting like this, it’s funny to see me again. Seems you and I are going the same way.”

“There’s only two ways up the coast. You see a lot of the same faces.”

This time, her eyes narrowed slightly, and her ears drooped. She wasn’t getting anything from him.

“I’m from Rhogit, all the way inland. Just south of Invrisil. You’re a Gold-rank adventurer…Seborn?”

“That might be my name. Well, see you.”

He turned on his heel. She called after his back.

“You helped me with that [Sailor] up north. Don’t ya want to know about the magic? That’s no Tier 3 spell. ‘Least, not one you’d know. If you help me, I’ll give you a bit of the treasure I’m searching for. I think you’re the most honest sort I’ve met, and I’m out of coin. But almost there!”

He would have been able to walk off just fine but for the ‘treasure’ comment. Seborn turned and strode over and poked her in the chest.

“Never say treasure in front of anyone unless you can keep it. Least of all seafolk. What’s to stop me from mugging you once you find it?”

She gave him a grin, revealing she had a missing tooth.

“Well, because I think you’re an honest man concerned with my wellbeing. My mom always said Gold-rankers were either gold-hungry bastards, killers-for-hire, or saints. One outta three is pretty good given what you’ve done already.”

He tried not to smile at that.

“You should have taken your mother’s advice. What about Named-rankers?”

“Eh, she says they’re either good crazy or sad crazy. ‘Sides, she isn’t that smart. She’s been divorced twice. My name’s Tissl Venleather.”

Not exactly a half-Elven name either. Seborn squinted at her.

“You’re too young to be on your own, even if you’re twenty.”

“Twenty-one, and I’ve got to be out here. I couldn’t stay.”

“It sounds to me as if your mother would be searching for you. Why isn’t she helping you with this important event?”

Too late, he wondered if she was dead. But Tissl just stuck out her chin. Her voice quavered dangerously.

“Because she didn’t want me to go. But I did that to her house and ran off.”

She nodded back where she’d cast the spell. Then she gave Seborn a pleading expression.

“Can you at least help me get to where I’m searching? It’s supposed to be just a mile offshore at most, and I know I’ve adjusted the maps right. Then at least I’ll know if I’m crazy.”

Seborn sighed. Dead gods damn it. The inn would have to wait. He’d known from the start when he saw her running up the village…once a Halfseeker, always a Halfseeker. The Drowned Man pointed grumpily.

“Let me rent a boat.”

 

——

 

Renting a boat was easy. Gold did wonders, especially if you paid probably more than the boat was worth. Seborn would get half of it back if he brought the boat back…after two hours of rowing, he was tempted to burn it when they were done.

“I’m starting to think the [Fisher] had a point.”

“I helped rowing! Want me to take over?”

“No. I’m Gold-rank. You’re a child.”

“I’m twenty-one! And that’s proper years lived. I’ve never seen a half-Elven village my entire life. I lived in Rhogit all my life—until recently. Plus, being Gold-ranked doesn’t mean you’re invincible. I bet your arms are hurting.”

They were, but Seborn was too stubborn to stop rowing. The problem was they were moving across a sandbar along the coast where the winds and tide meant that a sail wouldn’t really do the work. Tissl was using a map to figure out where they were—it was clear she didn’t have an exact idea, but she swore she’d ‘know it when she saw it’.

This was the stupidity that his team would have loved. For that, and that alone, Seborn did it. And because his arms hurt, he made conversation for once.

“You don’t know adventurers. Name another Gold-ranker you’ve ever talked to besides me.”

“The Horns of Hammerad. They quested in our village, you know, before they got famous.”

Seborn’s oars missed the water, and he slammed backwards.

“What? You didn’t meet them.”

They were the easiest team to lie about given their fame. Tissl looked indignant, as if this was an old argument.

“I did! They came to our village and smashed a bunch of Golems in our mines!”

“What kind of Golems? Earth?”

“Uh…no. More like cheap limestone. They were so crumbly half the lads thought they could take them on, but there were near thirty, so Ma told them not to. She paid the Horns and everything.”

That sounded like something Seborn had heard Pisces complaining about one time, but he wasn’t convinced.

“Anyone could claim that.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I know Captain Ceria has a magic scrying mirror. Hand-sized, made like a seashell. It flips open, and it’s got my mother’s name in it. She paid Captain Ceria with it.”

Seborn had seen that mirror. That convinced him; he lowered the oars for a second, panting.

“Your mother’s a half-Elf in some random village south of Invrisil?”

“Yep. She runs it. Her name’s Disabella. Well, it is right now. She said she changed it twice. Did Captain Ceria…mention her?”

“No, never.”

“Oh.”

Tissl looked disappointed, as if she’d hoped some random half-Elf Ceria had once met had become a defining part of Ceria’s life. After a moment, Seborn let her take the oars.

“So why did you run away from home?”

“I had to! She…didn’t want to let me go. Said I’d get killed or become famous. But I had to because I was chosen! Not really, but I was there, and someone has to fight. That’s what he said.”

“Who said?”

“The half-Elf who sent me here.”

“What’s his name?”

“Captain Etroc d’Anametis of The Bow of History.”

Seborn grunted.

“Pretentious name. Why’s he not here, then, and sending a child on this mission?”

“He’s dead.”

“When did he die after giving you your quest? Five seconds later?”

She shook her head.

“No, he said he died ‘round eight hundred years back. He was already dead when he met me.”

Silence. Seborn rubbed at his forehead.

“Dead gods damn it, Erin.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“I didn’t say that. Explain.”

 

——

 

Seborn knew this story. He’d heard it told, but he hadn’t…believed it. Funny, him not believing a tale like this when he believed in her despite it all. But he hadn’t seen it. Heard a few odd tales, but most people, including him, had put it from their minds.

Ghosts walking amongst the living. Delivering tales of a terrible war and leaving their legacy to whomever could find it.

In between trading off on the oars and consulting her maps, Tissl explained.

“He said he’d searched all over for a half-Elf who could inherit his will. He went to Ma, but she told him to stuff it. She’s tough. Then he went to my older brother, but he was married and had kids, so Captain Etroc said I’d have to do.”

“Flattering.”

“I know! He was really upset I wasn’t from a half-Elven settlement and it was just Mom and her kids. She’s the only half-Elf, aside from us. He said that if I failed, I should tell Gaiil-Drome. I asked him why he couldn’t just find some Gold-rank adventurer. And d’you know what he said? ‘My treasure should only be passed on to the worthy.’”

“So, his kind.”

“Yep! I called him racist. And he said—”

Her face fell.

“He said he was going to fight and die, now, and that whatever I did, he hoped it’d stop the wave coming to drown the continents. Then he vanished.”

Seborn shivered and said not a word. The war of the deadlands. Tissl went on after a moment.

“It took me ages to find this place on a map. I thought his descriptions made sense, but I looked and I looked, and there’s only a few places where the river runs to the sea and the cliffs border them like this.”

Seborn cast around.

“I don’t see any cliffs.”

She sighed loudly.

“That’s ‘cause I was using maps from now, not eight hundred years ago. These ones fell into the sea when the Nagas invaded during some Nagatine Empire. He gave me lots of other signs, and I had to ask everyone about what used to be here and then account for the land falling into the sea or getting built up. But I’m sure it’s here!”

She stabbed a finger as they moved in the shelter of a sandbar along the coast. Seborn craned his head around. The bay was running green and blue towards the fishing village, where it became a bit marshy, and he had to admit that was beautiful. In the distance, the Vale Forest began, trees that were taller than almost all he’d seen on land. Around them, ‘waves’ of sand poked out of the water, signs of curious tidal action. Pools of water contained creatures who survived until a tidal phase brought the oceans over them.

Nothing, in short, that made this place any more special than the rest. Maybe there were signs of collapsed cliffs to the north where he could see rocks overgrown with moss, but nothing…

Then Seborn Sailwinds cocked his head and gazed down into the water. Always a landman’s mistake to ignore. He glanced down, then up.

“Ah. Volcanic glass.”

“Obsidian.”

She smiled happily. The half-Elf girl closed her eyes.

“Where the Vale Forest meets the sea and fragments of molten stone glint as black as night’s shard by the ocean green.”

“He told it to you in a poem?”

“Yup. Sucks to memorize, so I wrote it down. He said that’s where he buried it. Should be close!”

The shards of obsidian were all over the sand, washed up over hundreds of years but still gleaming—signs of volcanic activity, though the actual volcano must have gone dormant long ago. Seborn stared about.

“What’s the sign of the actual treasure?”

“Well…he said that he buried it so deep even if the ground shook and stuff it wouldn’t matter, and no one would just wash it up by chance. Then he stabilized it with some fancy Chest of Holding—but to find the buggering thing, all you gotta do is find a bunch of clay!”

“Clay.”

She nodded energetically.

“Doesn’t show up on beaches much. He transmuted a huge amount of it, and so even if centuries pass, um…”

“It’d be there. Unless it was dug up by someone who was, I dunno, a potter.”

Tissl stared down at her hands, which did have blisters.

“He said there was a lot of it. Sometimes, I think I imagined him, but the spell he taught me still works. He said it was a legacy of Drakes. He said he was a hero.”

Seborn had a lot of opinions about heroes and people who thought of themselves as such, but he held his tongue. This girl had come far to fulfill a ghost’s promise. If it saved her more run-ins with people who’d do her ill…Moore would be wading around here all day.

“Alright, if we’re close, let’s hop out and look. You said you messed up earlier?”

“Yep. I confused starboard and port so we didn’t find the obsidian. Then he put up such a fuss…let’s check!”

They jumped onto the sandbars and searched. Seborn wandered about, hopping from shadow to shadow to avoid having to leap from sandbar to sandbar—Tissl just splashed about with all the energy of youth.

“I’m mostly Human on the inside. I dunno a thing about my culture or species…Mom told me I’d probably be welcomed if I went to Terandria, but I never wanted that! I didn’t even want to be an adventurer—well, until I met Captain Ceria. But she wasn’t that cool. All she and her team did was cough up dust and argue. They were fun, but not like later.”

She smiled at the memory. Seborn kicked around the ground, moving sand with his feet.

“Yep. Sounds like them. Adventuring isn’t glamorous. What will you do when you get the treasure?”

“Dunno. Sell it? Use it? I don’t know…give it to Gaiil-Drome? First I gotta know it’s real. Ma says my life might never be the same if I do this. I might die, or worse—”

“Become famous. She’s right, you know. It’s not pleasant.”

If she found one artifact above the grade of regular ones, she’d be set for life if she sold it. A dead [Captain]’s treasure? Seborn thought about the story she’d tried to tell.

If he had been that good…a half-Elven [Pirate] from back in the day, with real [Archmages] around, would have had treasure far beyond what you’d expect from even the likes of Therrium—and he had the best artifacts money could buy.

If I were an unscrupulous sort…damn. He was too old for this. Seborn sat down abruptly in the sand and bowed his head.

“I can’t go back to sea. I’m not cut out for a [Pirate]’s life. I’ve lost my edge. If I can’t mug you, I’m not going to hold an entire ship at knifepoint.”

Tissl peered at him.

“…Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.”

“It is if that’s the only thing you’ve got left as a dream.”

“Seems like a bad dream to me.”

“Yes. It is. Shut up. Did you even bring a shovel in all your packing?”

Tissl glared at him.

“Yes I did, Mister Adventurer So-and-so! I’ve a shovel and provisions—it’s only money I never had since I ran off!”

Seborn grunted.

“Good. Well…you might want to bring it over. I have one too, but I think we might be doing this a while.”

She blinked, then came over. He pointed and just over the sandbar, for about three hundred feet, was a swathe of bright yellow clay that almost camouflaged itself against the regular sand. Water lapped around it, and Seborn couldn’t guess how deep the deposit ran. Deep, if eight hundred years hadn’t seemed to leave a mark.

Tissl took one look at the clay and sighed.

“Tree rot or whatever the heck they say.”

 

——

 

No clue how deep, and no clue where to dig. Neither one was exactly happy as Seborn tested the clay with his shovel, which was enchanted.

“Good news. The clay’s hard as shit.”

Tissl eyed him balefully.

“We could get help or, I dunno, magic? Do you know any good [Geomancers]?”

“I knew a [Green Mage]. A teammate.”

“Oh, could you ask for h—”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know him. It’s fine. How were you supposed to know?”

Seborn was embarrassed as he muttered a faint prayer, then began to dig, stepping on the shovel, levering the clay out, stepping on the shovel…Tissl gazed at him.

“You’re a Halfseeker, right? Someone was saying your team used to be famous.”

“We were.”

“And you had a Goblin in your team. The first…ever.”

“Not the first. Just the first in a long, long time. Look how it turned out.”

The statement bothered Seborn so much he had to stop and add after a moment.

“—It wasn’t all his fault.”

Why had they tried to take it from him without asking him, Jelaqua, and Moore?

Because they knew we might take his side, that’s why.

They were supposed to be a team. Garen had always been defensive, always lived as a hunted Goblin. What did they think would happen? If he had walked in and seen them over Garen’s corpse and they’d told him the Goblin had gone mad over the key, would he have believed it?

Damn it, Garen.

Here he was digging up treasure like some [Pirate], buried by an ancient ghost like all the stories. And all Seborn could think of was whether he should be on the road to the inn.

“After this, you should visit…The Wandering Inn. Maybe. It might kill you. Or they could hire you as a [Barmaid]. You’ll probably hit Level 30 in a year.”

Tissl was digging too, next to him.

“Really? No joking? I heard about that inn. I’m barely Level 11 as-is.”

“What class?”

“Eh…[Hedge Mage]. I can de-bug a field if you want. Or make your torch not go out for two days.”

“Useful on a ship, I suppose. There’s always vermin. And fuel is expensive. Not that you should be a [Pirate].”

“What? The ghost made it sound fun.”

Seborn snorted.

“All [Pirates] say it’s fun. It’s just work of a different kind. You think you can just roam around looking for adventure? Only Rasea Zecrew can do that, and only because her ship is the fastest in the world. Everyone else is picking up work between raiding ships. You do a bit of fishing here, you disassemble monster parts and sell them in this quadrant, and when you get your loot, you do a trading run to see where prices are best—assuming you know the markets.”

And you stayed in your area or risked confrontations with other ships, which could be too costly. Pick the wrong fight and you were losing coin, not gaining it.

Tissl sighed.

“You know how when you get older, all the things you thought were fun that adults did are actually boring and hard?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t think it’s true. Ma likes her life. I think you’re just a downer.”

He scowled at her. Seborn shoved the shovel deeper as they stood nearly shoulder-deep in the hole. Tissl was impressed but wary.

“You dig real fast with that shovel! And the bag of holding. Neat trick pouring all the clay out in one go.”

“My bag of holding is going to be filthy.”

“I appreciate it! But we’re this deep and the clay’s so wide…shouldn’t we try another spot? Then again, I dunno how we’ll find anything.”

She seemed so daunted by the scope of this last hurdle despite it all being like predicted. Seborn Sailwinds just grunted. He thrust the shovel down again, and the tink made Tissl glance up.

“Funny thing about being a dour adventurer. Sometimes you surprise people.”

Her eyes went round. Seborn hauled up another piece of dirt, and then he saw it. The treasure chest was…green.

Green like a plant still blooming, and the filigree was pale white-pink and shaped like a flower. It was big, too, larger than his torso. He levered it up with Tissl’s shaking hands, and she stared up at him.

“But how’d you know? Was it a Skill or…?”

“I prayed on it.”

He didn’t elaborate. Tissl was running her hands over the chest.

“He said that all you had to do was twist one of the pieces here and it’d open.”

“No locks? What was he, an idiot? It’s a neat trick, but I’d have it open in a second.”

“Well, he also said it’d explode in thorns and kill anyone in ten feet if you open it wrong.”

Seborn suddenly had a burning desire to stand away from the girl as she felt at the box. But he just tensed. Ten feet [Shadowleap] with someone else was hard, but…

Click. Seborn grabbed Tissl, teleported into the shadow of the boat—she flailed, then started laughing.

“It’s open, we’re not dead! Wait—”

She sat up.

“It’s open.”

Both she and Seborn peeked over the edge of the fishing boat. They exchanged a look, and then she ran over to the hole in the ground. Seborn walked over slower.

The hand of fate has never picked me. Sometimes, you have to reach up and grab it. But be careful because you can pull down everything with it.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed when he saw Tissl holding up a bundle of seaweed. Seborn squatted down and eyed the sticks and a clam’s shell piled up with the detritus in the chest. He tried to be gentle.

“Look, [Treasure Seeker]’s a class. Don’t take it too hard—something like this might have attracted anyone with the class for a thousand miles. And if he had enemies…one of his foes must have dug it back up and loaded it with this. What, did he die before he dug up his great fortune?”

She gazed up at him wordlessly and then lifted the seaweed in her arms. Tissl hesitated, then threw it around her shoulders. And the…cloak of seaweed swept around her arms and her tunic and shimmered. Seborn’s eyes widened as the ordinary seaweed flashed—

A doublet as green as leaves of Oteslia’s tree covered Tissl’s shoulders. The jacket was flowing with blooming plants, which glowed with magic, and she gasped as the coat fluttered in the sea breeze. Then she reached down.

The stick was a sword. It was always a sword—the sheathed longsword rose, and the dancing golden bell sang in the open air as the hilt, patterned in a floral basket hilt as well, caught the sun.

The Orichalcum blade sang in the air as she unsheathed it. It had that prismatic glow of magic, but the purple metal shone underneath the glow of its enchantments. Seborn sat down with a sigh.

He watched as another of fate’s children lifted the rest of the half-Elven [Captain]’s gear with trembling hands. She gaped up at him, and he spoke to her, not unkindly.

“Congratulations. Your life will never be the same.”

 

——

 

A fortune beyond a man’s dreams lay in a small fishing ship with only a half-Elven girl and a tired Drowned Man to protect them. Weapons to make a hero or villain out of whomever had the daring and ruthlessness to steal them.

Gilam Quellae, son of Pellmia Quellae and secret member of the Bloodfeast Raiders, that deadly group that could match any foe and who had provided him with the funds and training to achieve his ambitions, sat in the pub up the village.

He burped and thumped his chest a few times. Then belched.

“Damn, this is pigswill. Get me another tankard!”

He turned to wave for more service. His back was itching. He glanced at his chair, hoping it wasn’t giving him a rash or something.

The [Lord] continued drinking, oblivious.

 

——

 

“The Half Mast is a terrible name for a ship. Ill-fated. Sailors are a superstitious lot, it’s true, but even as a man of reason, I tend to believe in the same. If not for reasons of luck, then because such names almost make one want to do…this.”

The hefty, wooden mast of the rigger collapsed with a thunderous cracking of wood. The mainsail fell, dragging lines of rope and more of the sails down with it, but the crew never said a word as they watched their ship breaking.

Nor did the [Captain]. He stood like a man at attention, breathing in and out in shallow bursts. Not deep—if he did, the needle-claws might pierce through his stomach, and the cloaked figure who held him might then get…hungry.

He could see something moving beneath the hood. Layers of…mouth-pieces were all he could describe it as. A segmented mouth peeling back. The claws? Shaped like no beast on land or sea he had ever seen.

The speaker appeared more normal. Which made him all the more terrifying. The air was buzzing around the half-Elf as he nodded in satisfaction at the ship.

“There. Let that be a lesson to you, [Captain]. Now, to business.”

Captain Irurx of Shifthold smiled as his ship groaned around him. The decks scuttled. Insects were all over the crew. Running over them as they trembled. Feeling at their shut mouths, inspecting their ears…the taller figures were worse. They all had cloaks on.

Irurx was the only person aboard his ship. At least, the only…person…among his crew who still had levels. Or perhaps some of his crew still remembered being something, someone else.

Jord hoped not. The [Sailor] stood with the others, wondering if he had the courage or speed to go for his dagger. For himself. And if he failed, would he attract the half-Elf’s attention?

But he waited like they all did. Hoping…and the Mad Alchemist savored it. He tapped the [Captain]’s chest.

“Now, I am a reasonable half-Elf. I shall make you a deal, [Captain]. Misfortune has found your ill-named ship. We will not deny this. Will we?”

“No, sir.”

The [Captain]’s eyes flinched away as a centipede crawled down his chest. Irurx nodded.

“Some of your crew are, sadly, casualties of your encounter with a [Pirate]. But you and the others may go free, unharmed, if physically. If you can give me what I’m searching for. The way it works is simple. You drink this, and then you answer me.”

He produced a vial from his sleeves.

“A proper truth tonic. I don’t trust the spells. If you give me one, one of you goes free. If you can manage more, up to half your crew goes free. Very generous. The Bloodtear Pirates I sailed with left no survivors save for children and the pregnant.”

He turned, and the [Captain] was not looking at his crew. They were standing there as Irurx drew back, and now the whites of his eyes were showing.

“But that does depend on your memory. It has to be within my reach, Captain. I know you know what I’m seeking. Now tell me—how many half-Elves can you name? No one in a city counts. Something smaller. Where they’re going. If they’re only a few miles inland. I’m in a hurry. Drink up, [Captain].”

The [Alchemist] waited. He listened to the babbling, checked a watch he’d fashioned for himself. Nodded at his favorite crewmate, who extended what looked to a fool like claws. Just a bit. Then things grew clear. He nodded to himself.

“One will do. Set sail. Toss the good [Captain] onto his ship.”

The screaming began as the [Alchemist] set sail towards where a girl had been asking about. A very likely destination, wasn’t it?

Not far at all.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

It’s our guy, Seborn! And me, tired.

You may notice these daily chapters are getting, uh, longer. I’m writing them in one stream, but the length?

Well, I took a look at some of the best writing in this vein, which would be the Interlude series in Volume 7, coincidentally in the latest audiobook! Okay, I listened to it, which helps me not focus on my own writing.

They were not short. True, not all got to this length, but this was actually around standard for some of those chapters. If I push hard, I can write a chapter like this, but I have to have all the pieces.

Happily? I think I’m in good form because this one and the next I feel are good. I’ll be editing up the even-longer Seborn chapter for, uh…Tuesday. All this hard work and I don’t feel like I’m building any buffer given how fast it’s coming out.

But I hope it’s very enjoyable on your end! If I need a longer break because of how hard I’m writing, I can always take it. And go back to Iceland and get sick…maybe I’ll stay home this time. I do want to get on a sailing ship sometime, though. And dig up treasure from dead ghosts. That too.

 

 

Drowned Girl by Cortz!

 

Seborn Sailwinds by Michael Cannon!

 

Drowned Squid by Wing!

Cara Art: https://cara.app/wingedhatchling/all

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/dreamloafstudio/shop

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/wingedhatchling

 

Goldbody, Zevara, and Amazing Digital Inn characters by Kazah!

 

Tolve-Abuse by Mio!

 

Langil the Drowned Knight by Carbon!

 

Alchemy by LeChatDemon!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

 

Irurx and Bad Alchemy by Gridcube!

 

Mob Boss Erin (and Enforcer Yvlon), and Smokebreath Zevara commissioned by Taco, all by Chalyon!

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/chalyon

 

 

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