Interlude – Halfseekers (Pt. 5)

They never saw him coming. Those who sailed the sea or dwelled within sight of waves thought they knew the signs.

Red dawn. Birds fleeing the storm. Fish throwing themselves onto land. A fell breeze—superstitions and rituals to avert disaster. Many a brave man and woman boasted that they’d sailed through magical storms. He heard them laughing and gossiping about it.

“There we were, lashed to the railings, and the magical hurricane was blowing so hard the [Captain] feared the ship’d turn. Me? I’m drinking while the wind spits in my face.”

Brave [Storm Sailors] drinking deep and scarfing down cheap food in pubs. Young men boasting of the battles they had yet to win. Children and the desperate dreaming of freedom on the sea.

They told such outrageous tales.

‘I’ve braved a storm raging across the sea.’

‘I’ve looked a Kraken in the eyes and never flinched.’

‘I’ve sailed against enemy crew, blood in the water, salt in my eyes.’

Fine boasts. Worthy tales to tell, Irurx was sure. But he had never met anyone who boasted of him. Not that they could cross blades with him and live, nor that they had survived a meeting at sea.

He knew how many had lived, and the dead outnumbered them thousands to one.

The port city of Treant’s Farewell was busier than First Landing at the moment, with so many ships bound for the New Lands. His table was bumped into constantly by men and women unsteadily making their way to the privies.

The [Innkeeper] even apologized for it. The man who sat there, sipping from his cup and eating sparingly might be no nobleman, but he was the finest patron the inn had, and he’d paid and tipped well.

The half-Elf smiled briefly, but it never touched his eyes.

“I could take no offense from mere jostling, my dear [Innkeeper]. A haven in this port is welcome. Especially given the…news.”

The laughter died down around him a moment. Perhaps it was his voice. He dragged the eye to him, dressed in an old-fashioned doublet with a ruff around the collar like some gentleman from centuries past.

The way he sat, ate using the cheap wooden fork like it was a delicate instrument, could engender anger in people who thought he was looking down on them. His diction, posture, all spoke to something that you couldn’t imitate. Something learned, like aristocracy, but even older.

A half-Elf. A true half-Elf, who wore time like a mantle hung gently around his shoulders. The [Innkeeper] swallowed, then gestured out the window.

“So long as The Pride sails these waters, there’s naught to fear. Even without it, Treant’s Farewell can weather any amount of [Pirates], milord.”

He said that as reassurance. The half-Elf leaned forwards.

“Even that madman? Alchemist Irurx?”

Again, voices died down, and people shifted in their chairs. It was a welcome thing, actually. He had not been so famous for a while. Decades had passed where his name was nothing more than a tall tale or one of many [Pirates].

“Why, he’s just one man, milord. But let’s not spoil the drinks with such talk.”

The [Innkeeper] was choosing his words carefully. He was a superstitious man and a cautious one, which Irurx respected. The other drinkers—less so. One of the [Storm Sailors] was drunk on good coin; a Drowned Man had paid him well for a funny morning, and he was drinking before he shoved off to his next port.

“Hah! Shifthold herself could sail on the city and she’d sink before she got close to the docks! She’s one ship.”

Irurx turned in his seat, and his features brightened. He smiled, closed-mouthed, at the [Storm Sailor].

“Indeed, sir? Have you ever seen her at sea?”

The [Storm Sailor] scoffed loudly.

“What? No one sees that damn ship or talks of it. We’d turn and catch the wind if we spied so much as whiff of that infested hulk. But it’s still one ship.”

“Hush your mouth. A village is damned not thirty miles from here and you’re inviting ill luck.”

One of the other [Storm Sailors] punched her friend’s arm, but he was insistent.

“If the Pride caught her, she’d be sunk in five minutes. A [Pirate]’s still a [Pirate]. He might have sailed with the Bloodtear Pirates, that [Alchemist], but I heard a story before the Winter Solstice—the Siren of Storms ran the Madman straight out of her port. Didn’t you hear that one, fellow? You look like a fellow seadog.”

He invited the half-Elf, and Irurx swivelled in his seat.

“I do captain my own ship. But I confess, I know very few tales of Irurx. What do they say of him? Runsblud in Savere, yes?”

The [Storm Sailors] nodded, and though this was a risky topic, they were in a good mood from this morning. So they launched into the tale, talking over each other, adding embellishments, but the patrons listened attentively. Only a story and a bracing drink could chase the darkness on the sea’s edge from their minds on a night like this.

“Oh, that’s part of the Horns of Hammerad’s story? You know them?”

“Who does not these days?”

“Hah! True…they’re the only team on Izril’s shores that even seafolk hear of in ports these days. Back when I was a deckscrub, it was all about Chalence with Orchestra…so anyways, it was after the Horns of Hammerad raided the Village of the Dead. They say they broke a spell in the center of it which hurled them across the world.”

A [Barmaid] tapped the [Sailor] on the back of the head with a tankard.

“Everyone’s heard that, numbnuts. We saw it on scrying orbs. Get to it!”

Yet so few knew the truth. The half-Elf leaned back in his chair. The Village of the Dead was, as yet, unconquered. It had stopped producing undead, but no one had cleared it. Its secrets remained, and a part of him was tempted.

But he knew the risks better than most. So he let it slide.

“Right, so each one landed in a bad spot. The Antinium, Ksmvr, fell into the Kingdom of Golems, Illivere. The Silver Killer ended up in Nerrhavia’s Fallen. The [Necromancer] got caught by Roshal—and he’d have done better to slit his wrists. But the half-Elf, Ceria…uh…”

“Springwalker.”

“Right. She appeared in Savere. And then she met the Siren, and—”

“Wrong.”

The [Storm Sailor] stopped, affronted. Every eye turned back to Irurx. He took a sip from some ale. Contrary to his dignified appearance, he quite liked ale. Wine made one pretentious at times. It was fit for some moments, but disliking ale as common was silly. He lifted his finger.

“First, she landed in a village in Chandrar. They nursed her back to health, and she repaid them. For you see, whether by luck or fate, she had appeared in the path of one of the Horns’ enemies. An Adult Creler and its nest.”

Everyone shivered, for he had invoked another terror on land and sea. Irurx put down his mug.

“She killed it. With the Siren’s help, but it was already a frozen block of ice by the time the Siren finished the job. That was how they met. A lone half-Elf who re-earned her title. Hell’s Warden.”

His tone was so melodic. His eyes a curious reddish-green subtly mixing together. And his hair…

Was grey. Thus, he was truly old, but few understood what that meant in a half-Elf. The [Storm Sailor] grumbled.

“I never heard that. You sound like you know the tale better’n us. Why don’t you tell us about the Alchemist, then?”

“I don’t know what was said about that part. I apologize; please continue.”

They did, describing how Ceria had tricked her way into the Siren’s good graces and survived the dangers of a [Pirate] port, which was being challenged by the Bloodtear Pirates; another fated meeting given how it had all turned out.

“The Writhing Alchemist and the [Pirates] in one place. Before the Winter Solstice, of course. Fitting, ain’t it?”

“Almost as if they had been meeting in private before that ill-fated day.”

Irurx commented. One of the patrons gaped at him, agog by the idea. He leaned over the table, as fascinated as everyone else as he rested his hands together.

“How was he bested? I do know that the famous Ceria Springwalker did meet him, briefly. But no one was privy to that conversation, and to my knowledge, she has not spoken of it.”

The [Storm Sailors] had to get their stories straight. They whispered, then their spokesman grinned at Irurx.

“Well, even the walls in the Siren’s Rest have ears. Stands to reason—the Siren herself was curious. Because, before the Winter Solstice, again, everyone knew of him. One of them old legends on the sea. Only half-Elves live as long as he. But he was ‘just’ feared, not the man with the highest bounty on the seas.”

“Five hundred and sixty thousand, nine hundred and twenty-three gold pieces. Dead. There have been higher.”

Irurx smiled. The [Storm Sailor] eyed him.

“Not that I can remember. It makes Rasea Zecrew’s bounty of eighty thousand look like nothing. You could buy an armada and crew and have change left over for that!”

“A small armada, perhaps. I recall a certain [Captain] was worth more in his time. Captain Ghoulstrad was worth over 1.2 million before he was killed. A bounty set by none other than the Archmage of Death, who found him personally offensive and felt responsible for his reign of terror.”

The patrons in this inn had heard the tale of Ghoulstrad just last night. They eyed each other, then focused on the half-Elf. The [Storm Sailor] mouthed at Irurx.

“You…recall that? How old…?”

Irurx flicked his finger and produced a handkerchief.

“Back to that meeting with Captain Ceria. What did she do or say? How did she escape Shifthold? The Alchemist of Change is famous, I believe, for leaving few victims to ever tell their tales. Those who have gazed into Shifthold’s heart, why, I think less than twenty such individuals have ever managed such a feat and lived. Ever.”

There was a strange atmosphere in the air. The [Innkeeper] was polishing a mug, which he did while he surveyed the room. Last night had seen fights and rowdiness, then a drag-out bar fight that had engulfed the entire wharf. They were no less drunk tonight, especially with the Pride disgorging thousands of its own sailors to fill the city.

But no one was fighting. Everyone sat upright, almost as if they were at attention. They spoke quietly, if at all. Listening. Like an audience.

His eyes flicked to the half-Elf again. A lodestone drawn to a strange planet, who turned his head and smiled at the [Innkeeper]. The man nearly dropped his mug and caught it. He swore as he leaned over, then stopped.

Had he seen something poking out from under the half-Elf’s robes? Like the leg of a very, very large spider? No. It must have been his imagination.

The storytellers were having trouble too. The big man with tattoos of a Kraken on one shoulder had to keep lubricating his throat with drink. It kept getting dry.

“Right, well…everyone knows how it happened. She tricked him. That’s her class. The Ice Squirrel got her name raining down ice on the Bloodtear Pirates. So—she seduces him. That’s what I heard. Got under his guard. He’s obsessed with half-Elves. Hates ‘em. He’ll kill a ship just for one half-Elf. But she did it. That’s why she’s one of the Horns of Hammerad. They’re all mad. They found the Crossroads of Izril first, slew an Adult Creler—they stay at that inn with the crazy [Innkeeper]—hells, we actually know someone who knows her.”

He tried to throw in a boast here, and the half-Elf blinked.

“You don’t say? Who, perchance?”

The [Sailor] licked his chapped lips.

“None other than Seborn Sailwinds. I was on his ship just this morning—his team’s quested with the Horns. So…yeah.”

He couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap into making that more impressive than just knowing someone who had met Ceria. But the half-Elf seemed fascinated by that.

“How interesting. Indeed, Ceria Springwalker is famed these days. But she is still a half-Elf, whom he hunts. So why would Captain Irurx let her live?”

The [Storm Sailor] kept glancing at Irurx. One of the [Barmaids] hesitated as she brought a drink over. She put it down and smiled at him, and he offered her a gold coin. She waved it off—backed up a step.

“Marvin? I’m going home for tonight. I’ve got to check on my daughter.”

She whispered to the [Innkeeper]. He opened his mouth to say this was rush hour. Then closed it.

“Why don’t you do that. Take Shally with you.”

One of the other [Barmaids] turned, confused. Then she felt her coworker put her hand on her shoulder. The [Innkeeper] stayed put. Listening as the [Storm Sailor] rasped.

“Why…? Well—he’s mad. Mad as a loon. They burned him a long, long time ago. He lived in some Terandrian half-Elven village, but he was crazy even back then. He was working with bugs. So all the half-Elves decided he was mad and burned him alive. Only, it didn’t kill him. I don’t get how you mess up a burning.”

He tried to grin, and Irurx brushed a finger across the smooth skin of his face.

He still dreamt of the flames. They’d burned everything. His laboratory, his great works. Everything in the name of purity.

The village was failing. You would have starved or been wiped out decades ago but for me. Too focused on purity of crops to eat anything lesser. We had an eighty-foot Yellat you refused to eat while you starved the young. Who cared if it thought deeper than trees?

I have harmed no one with my experiments. Only used what I had to hand. That which you decry as sacrilege is merely dead flesh. You have set my children to the torch. Which one of us is the real monster?

No Potions of Flame Resistance. They were too clever for that. They set him ablaze and watched him die. Until he was covered by ashes and embers. They’d burnt him until his skin was black and not a single piece of flesh was visible.

No tricks. No feat of alchemy or even spite. The half-Elf sipped at his drink as his lips twitched, as if something was under his smooth, pale skin.

“He was simply too high-level to die to mere flames. So that’s what is said, is it? He was…lonely. And she tricked him. How?”

One of the female [Storm Sailors] took over for her friend. He had gone strangely silent, staring at Irurx’s face. She lowered her voice.

“I hear she lured him into thinking she’d marry him. Or join his crew. Then she tied him up as he was drunk. Or—something like that. Not that she gave him a night to remember. Not that thing.”

She shuddered. Irurx tapped his lips.

“She had a Relic. A terribly dangerous one she wears still. Perhaps he was frightened of that? But why, out of all half-Elves, would she attract his eyes?”

One of the non-[Sailor] patrons felt like this was his moment to add his scintillating wit to the conversation. Which showed he was not reading the room. He leaned over to Irurx, serious.

“She’s hot? The King of Medain married her, y’know. I’d take a night with her.”

Irurx half-twisted in his seat. And he actually laughed with amusement. It was a bit too loud, too boisterous. There were all kinds of laughs, but this one somehow drowned out the other laughs in the room. As if it were the only one that mattered. The only one that could exist.

“Beauty is an aphrodisiac indeed, sir. I had heard the King of Medain ‘married’ her. That is a lie.”

“What? He’s got a statue and everything. And documents. Her and the Silver Killer. You saying you know better?”

The man looked affronted at having his facts questioned given the tall tales of tonight. Irurx pushed his drink back. His eyes glittered.

“I would bet my ship upon it. Though you are correct: I have not been to Medain since the ‘marriage’ was announced. Perhaps I should to confirm the truth.”

“You must have a good ship. Trade currents are all mixed up with the New Lands.”

One of the [Storm Sailors] commented slowly. The big man with the Kraken’s tattoo was just gazing at Irurx, and the woman next to him had put down her drink. The half-Elf sat back.

“I may. So it was love that tamed the madman. I see. How…accurate, really. There is no way for gossip to know the truth of that conversation, and yet it is so accurate—the power of classes? Or just the nature of people?”

Another of the [Storm Sailors] was losing her appetite for this story. She snapped at him.

“Hoi, fellow, you sound like you know the truth. Either spill it or stop bragging!”

Someone kicked her. She began to throw a punch, then caught the silence engulfing table after table at last. And now, the [Innkeeper] was looking to the door.

If you shouted for a [Guardsman], one might come. If you screamed, screamed like a stabbing or shouted murder, that would get them, if not as fast as you needed. A patrol would arrive for that. But it had never occurred to the [Innkeeper] how to rouse more than that. He wondered if a man could scream that loud.

As if thinking of that, the [Barmaids] who’d been hurrying to leave went for the back doors. One gasped—backed up. Marvin spun.

A tall figure engulfed entirely in a hood of grey was standing there, face shrouded by a mask, like the ones that the Players of Celum wore on stage. A smiling man, features exaggerated.

He was broad enough to fill the doorway. He—if it was a he—didn’t move. The figure just stood there, and the front doors had a shadow behind them too. And now…the half-Elf was speaking.

“To my knowledge, the Twisted Alchemist is a picky man. Hate defines him. Love is an idea so old to him it has escaped his book of recipes. If there were any seed from which it could bloom, it would be curiosity. Fascination. That circlet that Ceria Springwalker wears does curious things to her mind. It has an effect which he might have thought meant they’d be—kindred spirits. You see, they come from the same kind of place. True half-Elven villages. It was more than a passing coincidence. The Village of the Spring is older than even the one he hailed from. It has its roots in the Hundred Kingdoms of Terandria, in the founding of Erribathe. It is that old.”

“So what? She’s no [Lady] like the [Princess] of Erribathe. But she is hot. Seen her statue? Nude. I can respect a [King] who puts that kind of thing up.”

The idiot sitting next to Irurx cast around. He was, perhaps, hoping for a cheer or a few ‘yeahs’ from the lads. He wondered why everyone was so…quiet. The [Storm Sailors] had stopped drinking. Irurx’s head turned. The hand the other diner was drinking with began to shake uncontrollably.

“Royalty. There is no bloodline older than the memory of half-Elves. It matters not at all to most of us. As half-Elves reckon such things, you could say she is royalty of a kind. Trapped in that miserable place so many crave. Passing centuries without change. So few of us have ever lived that damned life. And she left. She left—and those who do leave have always become individuals who mattered. So perhaps that’s why she charmed him. Why she might still be the one person who can behold Shifthold’s truths and not flinch. Only—”

The half-Elf paused, staring at nothing.

“She neither flinched or rejoiced in it. He expected one or the other. That was what was so hurtful. The labor of centuries and it did not even stir her frozen heart. It was simply not to her tastes. Perhaps that was the biggest blow to his ego. It should—does it not matter?”

He looked around. No one answered him. The [Alchemist] shook his head.

“Ah. I see the conversation of equals has ended. Brave sailors, I do appreciate swapping tales this night. I had not heard the one about Irurx. But then—I have not been to port in five months. It has been a long voyage at sea.”

The half-Elf stood from his table. The inn’s guests leaned back as a shadow opened the doors. One of his crew. The [Storm Sailors]’ knuckles were white on their mugs.

“H-how the hell did you get into port? Can’t be. You’re just having a laugh at us. The Pride’s just in the bay.”

One whispered. They stared out the window, and Irurx smiled at the young woman. They were all young to him.

“All the wonderful magical sensing items on the Pride of the Wellfar are indeed complex. And a true expert finds countermeasures for such things. But I’ve found, in my long years, it pays to have the right paperwork. A man may read the ink and see the stamps and never focus on the face. Mostly, though? I think it’s the stories.”

He drew his travelling cloak around him in a swirl of wet fabric. Then he pointed a finger at the [Storm Sailors].

“If you think to see Shifthold at sea and turn tail and run, you make the mistake of all green [Sailors], young man. From Drowned Ships to Bloodtear Pirates—they look so innocent. Until that flag waves high, you’d never know her from any other ship.”

“But her hull’s black, and she buzzes. The crew. The bugs—”

The man sitting in his chair sounded like he was pleading. The [Alchemist] just sighed.

“Have you ever found a nest hidden behind a wall? Insects hide. But then, those are the tricks of the trade. A drink in a pub and a meeting of sea’s children is traditional. We drink, and we boast. You, who survived a magical hurricane, I salute you!”

He swept the mug up and hoisted it into the air. Drank before their horrified eyes. And grinned. Then he wiped his mouth and dug his fingers into the side of his face. Into his flesh—and pulled pieces of it away.

He was burned underneath. Some gagged, and now a moan was rising from the others. But the half-Elf just planted a foot on his chair.

“Here is my boast: I have sailed the waters deep longer than I have stood upon land. A hundred and seventy years following the tides. A little less than half that, now, in a village that never aged. I have dueled Zelkyr’s children as he hid in his cabin. I have seen Dragons fly. I have seen Dragons die. And I am young as legends reckon such things. In my prime.”

He paused.

“I dye my hair.”

Every eye fixed upon his hair, and the half-Elf turned. He nodded at the [Innkeeper] standing against the wall.

“It was a pleasant night, Innkeeper Marvin. I tarried here a moment longer than I needed; your inn is a respite to my bones. I trust you shall level. Thank you for aiding me; I had feared I would have to search for hours.”

Marvin didn’t know what he meant. Then he remembered the half-Elf asking about one of his kin who’d been here. As any worried half-Elf might. And Marvin had assured him that she’d gone…

South.

He turned dead white, and his mouth opened, but no words came out. The Alchemist was walking towards the doors. His two bodyguards followed him, and one of the [Storm Sailors] half-rose.

She had a throwing dagger in hand. He was right there. An entire city was around them and the Pride at the docks. There was never a better moment to rid the world of a monster. If she just—

She froze in place. Irurx had turned back. His eye fixed her, and she sat back slowly. Then the half-Elf smiled.

“Traditions are important, even to terrible men and women. Without them, we are nothing but common murderers and brigands. I would not assail a sailor at port without cause.”

They wanted to believe him. The eight [Storm Sailors] sat there as Irurx strode to the door. He put a hand on the doorframe and glanced back.

“Just to clear the record—tell those you meet that I am still quite, quite enamoured by the Ice Squirrel. She is levelling. And I am now thinking of grander things. I rather fancy that we shall meet again. I am looking forwards to it. But a point of clarity?”

He lifted a finger, and his eyes found the place where he had been sitting. The man now frozen and shaking like the others.

“She is not married. The High King of Medain may think he is above being called to account for his lies. I find that notion amusing. Should he spirit Ceria away with his might and wealth and lock her in a tower—”

He grinned.

“…I have the heart of a [Knight]. At least one. I took umbrage to that comment. Do forgive me.”

Thus saying, he swept a bow to them, theatrically, and then turned. In a moment, he was gone into the rains outside. Even so, it took ten seconds or more before someone moved.

One of the [Storm Sailors] lurched upright; she and her friends began to speak in a rush.

“That was—”

“Was that real?”

“Had to have been him. I’ve never been more scared in—”

“Someone call the Watch.”

“Krakens take the Watch! Get out there and tell anyone on the streets. Wake the Pride! Shifthold is docked! Or near enough—they can catch him!”

“You idiot, if he sees you—”

Voices rose. Someone ran out the back doors—more were just sinking to their knees, hugging each other. Marvin the [Innkeeper] was staring at the golden coins on the table where Irurx had left them. He was afraid to even go near them.

The [Storm Sailors] were making for the doors, beginning to shout.

“Up, up you curs and sea’s teeth! Up; [Pirates] stalk the streets! The Alchemist! Sound the alarm! He’s here! He’s heeeeeere—”

The merriment from outside, like a distant paradise, didn’t turn to alarm right away. Confusion, denial…everything was so slow. One of the women was vaulting a table, cutlass in hand, when she turned her head.

Someone was sitting in his chair, having a panic attack. He was clutching at his chest, twitching—the man who’d been mouthing off to Irurx about Ceria’s attractiveness. He was probably just relieved to be al—

He was frothing at the mouth. The [Storm Sailor] turned in slow motion. She saw the man jerk up, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Wait—”

A pair of mandibles burst out of his chest. Then a row of spines exploded out of his back, blood and flesh hanging from the gleaming chitin. Something inside the man, wearing his skin, chittered. It leapt forwards as the first scream arose. The [Storm Sailor] swung her cutlass, shouting, and the inn erupted into chaos.

“Run!”

Marvin leapt through his own windows without stopping to unlatch the shutters. He was no fit man; he’d never vaulted an obstacle, but he burst through the window and was on the street and running as if he were a [Gymnast], his staff behind him. In the inn, the screaming horror was fighting the [Storm Sailors].

—And on the streets, the merriment had turned to dread. Yells were coming from elsewhere. At first Marvin thought they were cries of alarm. But then he heard more too-high-pitched shrieks. Coming from other restaurants. Places where you…ate. Without a care in the world.

The Pride. He ran towards the harbor and docks before realizing that Shifthold was there too. But when he came to the port…the [Innkeeper] halted.

The ships.

The ships were burning. Trade ships and military ones. The House of Wellfar’s vessels. They were going up in flames, covered with some kind of jelly that burned brighter than belief. Marvin shielded his eyes. And he saw, in the distance, that glorious ship, the Pride of the Wellfar?

It was covered in spider’s webs. Like a spider the size of a hill had climbed all over it.

The [Alchemist] had planted a trap. The Pride was flashing with spells burning through the clinging webs, and the webs weren’t sticking properly to the decks; he must have launched something at it. But every other ship hadn’t had the barrier spells to block the pyrophoric liquid.

They burned, and a single ordinary trading ship was sailing out of the harbor. Job done. Now there was no ship that could follow it. Marvin saw the brown, ordinary wooden planks ripple like a living thing shivering, and then they flipped and became black, shiny, like a bug’s shell. Shifthold shivered, then swam out of the harbor under the moonlight.

That [Alchemist] stood on the decks, humming to himself as he waved at the Pride engulfed in his webs. He’d bought that particular recipe, which could stymie even a legendary ship like that, from a delightful woman.

A Spider. They all knew each other, though he had to admit, he didn’t really care for her. She was too distant and removed. She’d had her fill of vengeances and mortal concerns. He was still entangled.

If there was anything he wanted, Irurx mused…it would be for someone to have shared the triumph of the war at sea with. Someone who could pass the eternities with him. Someone who understood.

His crew said nothing as they stood at their posts. He had never created one with a voice or the mind to speak words he cared to hear, nor longed to.

“I’m changing. Metamorphosis never ends.”

Grand visions. But, Irurx reflected—there was always time for one more half-Elf.

He had all kinds of new ideas for this one.

 

——

 

“Come on, come on. Why are you not bothering me today of all days?”

Morning. Seborn Sailwinds was praying. He knew he might not really be in the spirit of praying since he was more willing a single thing to happen, not casting his hopes to the winds. But he reckoned that it wasn’t that big an ask, was it?

All he needed was for a little Gnoll girl to pop up and his day would be set. After all that she’d been following him around, was it that improbable?

He was having a rough morning anyways. His back hurt. His head hurt from lying on a hard surface, and salt was flecked on his face and armor.

Sleeping in the sea breeze did that. When he sat up in the little fishing boat, he rubbed at his back, swearing. His companion was little better off.

Tissl had tried to lay down on the long lengths of wood that were seats, but the bow in her back as she lay there made Seborn wince. Literally no back support; she’d have the worst spinal pain he could imagine when she woke.

He debated waking her, but figured she’d probably been unable to sleep. Spinal agony or less sleep? Kids were more resilient.

Seborn stretched, then sat on the edge of the boat they’d dragged onto the largest sandbar to sleep. Water was rushing up and would soon be in danger of flooding the boat, but it was fine. They had loaded their cargo on the boat; now all they had to do was row it back to the village.

The fact that they hadn’t and had spent the night in the open was because Seborn would rather have stabbed himself than leave a chest filled with Relic-class treasures in that village. He’d made that clear to Tissl, and she seemed to get the stakes.

“Relic-class gear. She can wear most of it—but she’ll stand out like a sore thumb if she does, and she can’t protect any of it. The chest might guard it, but it’ll kill a lot of idiots and everything around it even if she locks it all up. You can probably just grab the chest too. What a mess.”

He was shaving his Human half with a straight razor as he sat there, using salt water and a bit of shaving cream. It was really good incentive not to cut yourself. Seborn sighed.

“Damn it, Erin. Why me?”

He knew the answer, if it was some kind of divine providence that had brought him here. Or the spirit of the Halfseekers…it had to be him. If this kid had dug up the treasure with that idiot [Fisherman], he’d likely as not have killed her there and then or demanded half of it. Or gotten everyone in the village to jump her.

Tissl was sharp enough as kids went, but still too young. But she’d just dug up a haul of treasure that made the best Gold-ranker gear look like a Bronze-ranker’s soiled loincloth. She was now someone who mattered…until she got killed or her possessions were taken from her.

“Come on, Mrsha. Just one call. If we get an overnight carriage, we could be there in two days.”

Maybe they should have done that, but they’d been tired from digging and checking there wasn’t more treasure and then testing the items. Normally, Seborn wouldn’t touch a Relic he didn’t know unless he had to, but Tissl had sworn it was safe…once she’d claimed them properly. And who could resist? This wasn’t just one item, it was gear from a legend.

He’d gotten over his head, he had to admit. Now Seborn was stressed.

“What’s in two days? Somewhere I’m going or are you slitting my throat in the night like you kept threatening everyone including my Ma would do?”

Tissl was awake. She sat up as Seborn flicked the razor back into its sheath. He glanced at her.

“Pretending to be asleep?”

She rubbed at her back.

“Nah. My back was killing me.”

“Start learning to pretend. Most people fall for it. You can hear a lot that way.”

She flopped against the boat’s edges and dug around in her bag of holding. She had a lot of very dry travel rations—mostly Yellat mash with other bits of dried meat and vegetables or nuts attached. Seborn offered her a honeycake, and she began to gobble it down.

“You giving me advice? I thought you were gonna come with me.”

“I’m no babysitter. I’ll take you to somewhere that can help you. The Wandering Inn. There you’ll have to learn, and learn fast. Tell no one what you have. Not even them; some of that lot have loose lips. If you can survive a year, then you’ll be able to call yourself a Named-rank adventurer. And then you’ll be damned, just like your Mother said.”

Poor kid. Tissl stopped chewing.

“Like Lehra Ruinstrider? You sure you’re not just blowing Dreamleaf up my bum? We don’t know what the gear does…”

“You have an Orichalcum sword. It cut my Wyvern leather gear like it wasn’t there. That alone makes you high Gold-rank.”

“What, so I’m just a Named-rank because I picked up the right Relic? That’s not very fair. Is that all Lehra did?”

Seborn shook his head, slightly amused by her indignation on behalf of Named-rank adventurers.

“No. I said after a year you’re Named-rank. By then, you’ll either have lost it or prove you can keep hold of what you’ve got.”

“Oh. How good are my odds?”

Seborn was staring ahead. He knew other people who’d found a huge haul at sea, like Wil Kallinad, and tried to make a name for themselves. True, [Pirates] were bloody, but…all of them had ended up with throats cut and their treasures taken.

“You’ll be okay if you use your head. We just have to get you to the inn in one piece.”

That was the goal. She cocked her head, frowning.

“That’s not hard, is it? We could hitch a wagon and—”

“No. I’m not even convinced we go back to the village. But they’ll be searching for this boat—I think we do that. But getting the chest to a place where we can get picked up by an overnight carriage is the hard part. I need to trust the driver or we disguise the chest somehow.”

“Aren’t you making Giants out of Goblins?”

“That chest looks valuable. It doesn’t radiate magic, which is one thing, but anyone can tell what you’ve found. And all it takes is one person who thinks you’re worth the effort. Never take chances you don’t have to.”

“So? We just toss it in that bag of holding that was in there and—oh—”

She’d figured out the flaw in her plan. Seborn nodded.

“Rule of adventuring: never put a Bag of Holding inside another Bag of Holding. Same for chests. There’s no way for us to transport it except by hand. That’s probably why the half-Elf left it there. Was it something he was going to pick up or…?”

He was suddenly very curious about Captain Etroc d’Anametis, the famous half-Elf. Tissl shook her head.

“He said it was so he could pass it on since he was retiring when he put it there. Seems like he never found anyone worthy of it.”

“No one ever tugged at his heartstrings enough? No darling grandchildren or relatives? No lover?”

“Uh. He said he died in a brothel, so I think he didn’t really have many of those.”

Seborn grinned. There was a bit of gritty realism along with all the fantastic gear. He kept munching on breakfast.

“You need to show your face in the village. I really don’t want to do it, but we might leave the chest somewhere hidden. Show our faces—then meet up, grab the chest, haul to the meetup point, and go. How good are you at acting?”

“I can probably not say I found a ton of treasure.”

Tissl was shivering, and he knew she’d give it away; she had that awestruck expression he himself was having to keep from his face or movements. But the [Rogue] had to keep her safe.

Keep her safe, you idiot! He felt like the others were all shouting at him, living and the dead. If only he had Jelaqua—

He hadn’t thought of her since he’d left.

Okay, he’d thought of her, but he hadn’t wanted to talk to her or say anything more. What else was there to say? She’d done the right thing, the damned thing.

He hoped she was happy for the rest of her days with that giant hammerer, Maughin.

Right now, Seborn wished she were here so they could split up and share this burden. Hells, he’d settle for a Silver-ranker he could trust.

Gothica.

The Drowned Man fixed Tissl with a look that made her fidget.

“You’re scaring me a bit, and I can’t read minds, Seborn. What?”

He took a breath.

“I’m…not good at this. Being supportive, and I’m no Captain. So I’m going to be direct. We’re in more danger than you think. I know you think I’m a Gold-ranker and I can help, but that chest is going to have every [Thief] worth their salt in miles coming after us. It’ll have our [Driver] shooting us in our sleep if he knows what it is. This is the kind of gold that drives honest men crazy.”

Tissl’s ears drooped. The girl was still a village kid from Izril. She put a hand on her belt knife.

“I know that, and I can cast a spell—I won’t let anyone take it.”

“You won’t slow them down. I won’t slow them down. I’m a [Rogue]. The minute a Level 30 [Warrior] grabs me, I’m in trouble. A group could end us both. The village could kill us. A hundred civilians can kill a Gold-ranker if they’re mad enough. We have to be careful. The person I’m most worried about in that village isn’t even the people. It’s that [Lord].”

She squinted at him.

“What, the one who was insulting everyone? Him?”

“He’s as good with a sword as a Gold-ranker. Don’t laugh. I don’t joke about stuff like this. And I trust him as far as I can throw his ship.”

Now she was getting it. Tissl bit her lip.

“So…we just pretend it’s normal, grab the chest, and get to the road? And if the carriage takes us to Invrisil where the magic door is…”

“No stops, no breaks except to use the bathroom. No inns, and we take turns sleeping. The [Driver] won’t ask too many questions; he’s used to this. The most he might think is we’re some kind of couple and I’m coercing or abducting you.”

She began to grin, but his face was serious.

“It happens. A good man would call the Watch. Whereupon a lot of honest men find the chest…”

“And we get our throats slit. Great! How d’we fix that?”

Seborn was thinking.

“Well…we just have to lie.”

 

——

 

(Hello and welcome to the new [Prince]-class Messaging Service courtesy of the Terras Faction of Wistram Academy! Your full list of benefits can be found here, and terms and conditions apply to any messages sent here. We look forwards to bringing more magic into your life!)

 

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — I need an overnight carriage sent to me immediately. Why is my [Message] scroll acting up?

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Hello, Adventurer Seborn! This is an automatic upgrade applied to all [Messages] going through us.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — I hate this. That’s not important. Get me an overnight carriage now. I have an emergency passenger I need to move to Invrisil.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Of course, Adventurer Seborn. I’ll contact the Driver’s Guild and get you an expert. May I confirm your location is Moodfut along the western coast? We have some glitches that occasionally misassign your location.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Yes. I need a Level 30+ [Driver]. This is urgent. The Mad Alchemist who wiped out that village has been spotted, and my companion is a half-Elf kid.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — I understand completely. We are notifying the Driver’s Guild and forwarding this to the Guildmaster.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Do they have Termin the Omni-something or Chaoisa Who Hates Men?

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — We’re checking…no, both are unavailable. The Guildmaster is now aware of your request, Adventurer Seborn, and has approved everything.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Good. We’ll be on the road just outside the village.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Your [Driver] is going to be Driver Ridmec, and he should arrive in 2 hours. Is this enough time? Is the [Alchemist] at Moodfut? We can have the village evacuated. This is the Guildmaster.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — He’s only been sighted. I’ll update if I see him.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Acknowledged. Good work, Halfseeker. That was the Guildmaster. Can we assist you in any other way, Adventurer Seborn?

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — No. Thanks.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Wait. Can you notify The Wandering Inn I’m inbound and need a room?

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Absolutely, Adventurer. We will have a City Runner deliver it directly.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Thanks.

 

(We hope you’ve found Wistram’s new Messaging Service has catered to your highest expectations! Do you have a moment to fill out a short survey about your experience? You may be entered in a sweepstakes to win a Tier 4 scroll! Please write how many stars out of five you think our service rates!)

 

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — 0 stars. Go eat a Creler. Stop spying on me.

 

——

 

Seborn finished writing in the scroll, then swatted at Tissl, who kept giggling as she read over his shoulder.

He felt slightly bad about that. It was for a good cause, but calling in an actual alarm about Irurx was no light matter. He might endanger someone else who actually saw the bastard. But it’d stop the [Driver] from asking questions, and they’d have the carriage in a mere two hours.

“Okay, let’s start the next part of the plan. Remember, if it goes bad, don’t lead them to the chest and get help before coming back. If we have the chest, gear up and run. The chest is the least valuable thing.”

“D’you always have plans?”

“Always, and backups. It makes me feel better when they go bad.”

This was a simple operation, anyways. Seborn just hated how…easy it had been. True, nothing in Tissl’s journey had been that hard. Her getting this far on her own had been relatively hard for her, but for him, he’d just done some rowing and pulled up a fortune.

He didn’t like that. Adventurers were as superstitious as seafolk, and Seborn was doubly so, and he was someone who prayed. Everything in him was waiting for the catch.

However, the journey back to Moodfut went just fine. They docked after stowing the chest, and the only comment the [Fisher] had was to ask what had taken them all day.

“The kid wanted to keep checking places. We spent all night digging.”

Seborn wore a grumpy expression as Tissl slouched her shoulders and moped up the village. She was overdoing it a bit, but the [Fisher] just grunted.

“You had it longer than I thought. Missed the entire night’s fishing and the morning’s catch.”

They haggled over the price, and Seborn let him have too much gold from the amount they’d agreed he’d get back—it was fine. It was all damn fine. He saw the [Lord]’s ship was still docked and the [Sailors] were wandering around.

“That lot cause trouble?”

The [Fisher] grunted as he pocketed his coins.

“No more’n any others. Rough crew, but the [Lord] just drank himself onto the floor. Kept hinting, like, we wouldn’t want to see him angry and that he had all these friends. Heard it before. He’ll probably sail into a rock and get marooned when he finally wakes up.”

Good enough for Seborn. He was glancing around for Tissl—she’d already jogged out of the village. The [Fisher] pointed to a distant figure.

“Yon half-Elf’s split. There’s gratitude for you. Why’d you help someone for all that and not a spit of reward?”

“She’s a kid. It’s my job to care about people like her.”

The [Fisher] tilted his head with a real frown this time.

“Aren’t you an adventurer? Don’t see many of them doing charity work save for the Silver Swords.”

“Halfseeker.”

“I reckon I’ve heard that name before…who’s your Captain?”

“Jelaqua Ivirith, but the team’s disbanded. Thanks. I’ve got to go too.”

Seborn walked off. He felt the [Fisher]’s eyes on his back, then the man muttered.

“Well, if it’s disbanded, what’re you doing going around calling yourself one?”

Which was a great question. Seborn kicked his way across the beach. This entire journey had been a waste of time. All he’d done was spend gold and find out he really wasn’t actually that motivated to go back to sea. At least, not as the Seborn who had left.

What do I do, go back to the inn? I can’t settle down. Neither can I stay there. What would I even do, drink and wait for the next moment when it’s my turn to die?

…I could do that.

But Moore wouldn’t have been happy. Moore had deserved something more. They should have made him quit years ago, the soft blubbing ball of gentleness. But he would have been lonely, and that’s why they continued. Then he’d found Ulinde, and that had been something—but Erin’s death had broken him a bit.

Seborn had hoped he’d rally, return to being the old Moore. If they’d just disbanded, let Jelaqua settle down and Moore could have opened a bookstore or something, and Ulinde might have quit—

He was the only one who would have left, probably. Then maybe come back. Now?

Now…

“On land, I’m Seborn the Halfseeker. At sea, I’m Seborn, my father’s son. I’ve always wanted to outrun the latter and be my own man. But Seborn the Halfseeker lost his team. So what is he now?”

Just some idiot escorting a kid to her future. Seborn hated escort requests. But he supposed it was something.

Once a Halfseeker…he was walking up from the beach and the shallow pier where smaller boats could dock—nothing like the [Lord]’s ship, let alone anything larger—when Seborn caught sight of that stranger again.

The one who was hunched over and wearing a cloak that quite obviously hid their features. They were trudging back from out of the water. Had they been swimming?

Most [Fishers] around here either used lines or nets—but this figure had a huge wicker basket with water sluicing out of it. And from the smell and the way it moved, it actually had live fish inside. Quite a lot too.

Seborn glanced down at the figure’s feet. Curious gait for the land. And the footwraps were oddly flat…

Flipper feet. But it’s even. Not a Drowned Man. Hunched. He might be five foot seven if he stands straight. Odd, odd…

He didn’t miss the way the other villagers eyed him either. Seborn began to walk up the village. He had to leave and join up with Tissl; the chest was stashed just around the bend of the harbor in some trees. But he kept turning his head.

One of the [Fishers] spat at the figure’s feet, and they deftly moved right. Some of the [Sailors] were pointing too. The [Fishmonger] from yesterday scowled as he brought the basket over.

“Put it—”

They went around back. Then came to the counter. She slapped coins down.

“How many eels can ya get? There’s a [Merchant] coming in later. Get me a basketful and I’ll make it worth your while. Understand?”

The figure nodded, and Seborn eyed the coins. From the few silver and mostly copper, he doubted the [Fishmonger] would make anything worth the while. He walked past the figure and caught the odor of fish and something…else.

Something Seborn recalled from his days at sea. He glanced at the stout little figure and grunted as he saw a protrusion along its backside, hidden by cloth.

Tail. Not a long one. Could be a Scorchling Drake with a water-based element. Could be…I’ll eat Jelaqua’s boots if it is. Not local to the village either. 

None of his business. Tissl was waiting. Seborn strode off and glanced over his shoulder four times.

He got the distinct impression the small figure wading back into the water was eying him.

Dangerous. Don’t.

That low murmur had sounded male. Had he known that Tissl had a magical spell that powerful? Perhaps. But then Seborn wondered. Had he been talking to someone else under his breath?

 

——

 

“Goblin with flippers? No, that’s stupid. They saw his face. Recognized him. What species…a fully taken Drowned Person? But they’d sign to me.”

Tissl heard Seborn before he found her. She was sitting on the place where they’d buried the chest, dagger out, trembling with nerves.

“There you are! I nearly peed myself! What took you?”

“It’s been five minutes. Calm down. At least you’re taking it seriously, though any idiot would know you’re hiding something. C’mon, let’s dig it up.”

Seborn got his shovel out, and they dug up the chest again. It was lightweight though too cumbersome to carry by oneself. Tissl had to open it and investigate it to make sure all the gear was in there.

“Phew. Okay, to the road!”

“Yep. Nice and slow. Remember, we’ve got most of two hours to kill. Get closer, bury chest, hang out. Breathe.”

She nodded, and they hiked through the forest, carrying the chest, alert for sounds, though the worst thing they saw was a Waisrabbit; Seborn saw her jump, dagger raised.

“If you’re this freaked out, then fighting might not be for you. Everyone gets terrified their first time. You could rent the gear out, though I don’t know how Selys—a friend—does it. Or just donate or sell it. That’d be easiest for you.”

She glanced at him as they buried the chest and went to the road. Tissl was breathing hard, and her cheeks were flushed.

“I…I don’t know what I want to do. I feel like I want to be an adventurer. To see what it’s like. I can always quit, right?”

“If it doesn’t kill you, sure.”

Seborn kept peering over his shoulders at the village of Moodfut. He should have paid more attention to the road in case someone was coming, but he was distracted. Tissl went on, feeling her way forwards.

“I’d love to go home and show Mom.”

“You’ll put her in danger. Everyone there too, if they know what you have. Did you tell them you had the location of a ghost’s treasure?”

She shut her lips, and he nodded.

“See? It’s hard. It’s damn hard. Let’s just get to the inn. Then you can see what real adventuring is like. Visit Liscor’s dungeon. Or a safer one. Fight a Shield Spider. See if you can gut one and then…”

He kept up a light banter, telling her about the trade of adventuring. Two hours passed by fast enough; Tissl remarked as he was checking the time.

“You smile when you talk about adventuring with your team. How’d…you said they were gone. How’d they die?”

He froze up.

“We were being heroes. Only idiots like the Silver Swords do that. Good adventurers run if they think there’s a chance of dying.”

“Sounds like they ain’t good, just good-at-their-jobs.”

“Those are the ones who make it. Don’t follow us as examples. I was prepared the entire time you were asking for my help for a trap. You could have been luring me into a beating. The only people you trust are your teammates, and only if they’ve already saved your life.”

“Sounds awfully depressing.”

“Have I talked you out of it? Here’s the carriage. Remember, let me do the talking.”

He saw a cloud of dust on the roads. Tissl turned and smiled at Seborn.

“Well, you might have. But then I remembered you lie a lot. And you appear happier when you talk about your team. I reckon they were the best.”

“Yes. They were.”

They stood. Seborn strode over as the [Driver] slowed.

“Seborn Sailwinds? Straight to Invrisil?”

“That’s right. We’re not in danger. I have one passenger here and some cargo. We’ll grab it.”

Tissl was already running into the forest. Seborn was glad he had done this through the guild; the [Driver] had good instincts and didn’t like someone running off. Brigands loved to mug overnight carriages given the vehicles had magic in them and, often, important passengers. Seborn wasn’t relieved though in theory the hardest part was over.

Damn it. He stared at the sky as Tissl brought the chest over. They’d done their best to make it less impressive. Seborn had coated it with some paint he carried to disguise objects or leave signs; the black didn’t really look convincing on the clearly elegant chest, but the [Driver] seemed honest.

“What’s that? Treasure?”

“That’s right. Family heirlooms this kid dug up. Mostly just gold and old gems inside. Few interesting pearls.”

Here was the lie Seborn had come up with—you always lied with the truth. The [Driver] whistled, and Tissl reached for her pocket.

“You could have one, Adventurer Seborn.”

“No thanks.”

Seborn watched Driver Ridmec’s face. Here was the important part…the [Driver] glanced at the box a few times, but he didn’t show any suspicious gestures. Seborn nodded to himself.

The trick was that most overnight carriages had [Drivers] used to transporting [Merchants] or nobles. A chest of gold and gems was certainly eyecatching, but they’d have had worse temptations before. Relics, now, that’d have them thinking, but Tissl and Seborn’s act had fooled the man.

“Alright, up you go. It’s going inside in case of [Thieves].”

“No worries, sir. I have [Enigmatic Compartments], so no one’s going to know what’s inside.”

Seborn loaded the chest into the coach with Tissl and stood back. Then he took a breath.

“Okay, Tissl. Change of plans.”

Her expression of relief turned to worry. She stared at him as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“I have something to take care of in Moodfut.”

“What? No! You can’t leave! I need your help!”

The [Driver] glanced at Seborn.

“I heard this was because of a [Pirate], Adventurer. Do I take her…?”

“Straight to Invrisil, and if you want to send a City Runner to The Wandering Inn when you get there, they’ll tip you well. Tell them I sent her. You’re an honest man, right?”

“Too honest to let a kid down.”

They clasped hands, and Seborn looked at Tissl.

“There’s someone I need to…check on.”

He couldn’t just drive off. Even with all the cause in the world—the damn ghosts were nattering at him. Seborn scowled at Tissl.

“You’ll be fine. I have to do this. I’m a Halfseeker, and there’s someone who needs my help back there more than you. If he’s who I think he is, they’re halfway to running him out of the village or gutting him. Who knows? I might be right behind you. But you go.”

He slapped the carriage’s side. Tissl looked from him to the driver. Then she began to wrestle the chest out.

“No! I’ll stay! Can we pick him up, too?”

Seborn groaned as the [Driver] began to rub at the back of his neck. They both felt this simple errand getting hard.

“You and he have different destinations. He’s from the seas, I’m almost positive—he’d be in more danger in Invrisil with adventurers than you. You’re safe.”

“Swear to it, Miss!”

Ridmec tipped his cap, and Tissl’s head swung between the two. She pleaded with Seborn.

“What if I wait for you and—”

He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Listen to me, this is not a good idea. I know I’m making this harder, but this is only easy until it’s very, very hard. Just get in the carriage and go. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

The Drowned Man awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. Her face screwed up, and she glanced at Ridmec. Seborn’s head was already turning towards the village. He had a sudden, ominous feeling as he stepped back from the overnight carriage.

As if he were making a mistake. Or perhaps…he glanced over his shoulder.

“Good luck, kid.”

“Thank you!”

She waved as the carriage began to speed up. Seborn waved once, then began to run into the village. He heard shouts from there, and he cursed. From one problem to the next. When he saw the two [Sailors] swinging at the figure covered in robes, he drew his daggers.

They were just children.

Why didn’t anyone see that? Just the skin. Then one of them tore the hood back, and Seborn sighed.

Green skin. Not a Goblin, except by the sea’s standards, where Goblins were actually a group you could trade with and you walked wise of. Instead, they had other sub-people. Drowned Folk knew these ones well. He’d killed them, parlayed with them, before he’d been a man with a conscience.

“Dorhmin.”

 

——

 

He had huge, green eyes. That was one of the things that made Dorhmin so uncanny. They had no pupils, rather like an Antinium. Their eyes were jade green and protruded from their heads, which were almost featureless compared to other species. It was vaguely fish-like; blubbery lips and two nostrils were the only features aside from their sharp teeth. All their actual interesting anatomy was on their back, which had fins running down to their tails, or their clawed hands and flippers on their legs.

Webbed fins under their armpits, the ability to move in the water as gracefully as could be—and they breathed water and air with ease. The one thing they lacked were levels. They could speak, even if Seborn had never heard one saying anything like a complete sentence, and use weapons. Even crew ships.

He knew them as a menace who’d climb a ship while almost everyone was asleep and begin slitting throats. But that had been as Seborn the [Depth Pirate]. As Seborn the Halfseeker…

I’ve heard of them appearing in coastal settlements before. Normally, they’re run off or killed. This one’s just a kid. They get way bigger. That [Fishmonger] might let him stick around as long as he can bring in fish, and he can probably beat any Level 20 [Fisher].

But [Sailors]? Ah, there was the problem. [Sailors] knew Dorhmin, even this gutterbait lot. And they had picked a fight already.

“I knew it. I fucking knew it. It’s a damn Dorhmin!”

They were swinging on the kid while he ducked and shielded his head. He was waddling around in all the clothes he could to hide his features, and some of the other [Sailors] were egging their friends on.

“Watch out, he’s got teeth!”

Some of the villagers were shouting as well.

“Here, he’s working for Miss Uew! Don’t…ah, hells.”

No one wanted to step in and incur the wrath of the [Sailors]. As Seborn sprinted down the village way, he saw the boy wasn’t actually getting beaten down yet. He was moving back, raising his arms and blocking punches, shielding his vulnerable eyes.

Of course, that just made the [Sailors] madder. One kicked him in the stomach, and he skidded, but didn’t grab his stomach.

“Don’t. Bad.”

Seborn shoved aside a trio of [Sailors] who recoiled from him and shouted.

“Gold-rank adventurer, idiots, move aside! Leave him alone!”

The two fighting [Sailors] recoiled. They saw Seborn’s daggers were drawn and hesitated.

“What, you want to gut this monster, adventurer? Go ahead!”

They drew back, and the Dorhmin boy—and he was definitely a boy—backed up. He had something on his back, Seborn realized. A long object wrapped up. A weapon?

“I am Seborn of the Halfseekers. Leave the Dorhmin alone. He’s not a threat.”

He addressed the crew instead, and one scoffed at him.

“Trust a Drowned Man to side with a sea creature. You mad? I’ve seen them disembowel a man with their claws!”

“So have I. They’re not all monsters. Like Goblins—”

Too late, he realized his instincts were rusty from all his time at the inn. He lost the villagers as the [Sailors] hesitated. They began to whisper.

“I told you we should have run him out! What if he brings his tribe down on us?”

“It can speak—”

“So can Children! Ever seen one of those things? They’ll eat you alive. Why’s he protecting it?”

Seborn held up a hand as he edged closer. The boy was moving back towards the water. Sensible; he’d be able to swim like a fish to safety. But the [Sailors] were glaring now.

“We’re not some landfolk sods you can order around, Drowned Man. We’re a crew from Treant’s Farewell. [Storm Sailors] don’t give way to Drowned Folk ever.”

If you’re Storm Sailors, I’m a [Pirate Lord]. Seborn gritted his teeth.

“I’m a Halfseeker of Izril. And that kid is under my protection. If you want to dance with blades, try me.”

He lowered his stance, and they hesitated, uncertainty in their eyes. Gold-rank was a reputation unto itself. Seborn thought he had them backing up as they glanced at their friends. Too much work for this. One muttered sullenly.

“You should be on our side! What the hell does being a Half—whatever mean, anyways?”

“It means…”

The kid was hesitating, now. He’d heard Seborn and was moving up slowly. He had a basket of overturned eels. How the heck he’d caught them so fast was beyond Seborn, but he was gathering them up, unafraid of the [Sailors]. Once they had a moment, Seborn would tell him to get out of Moodfut. Maybe they’d have to get a boat to drop the kid with his people. What a headache. Could Mrsha find a Dorhmin?

Then the basket the boy was loading up exploded into a ball of fire. Seborn hit the ground hard, the Dorhmin kid in his arms.

He got an elbow to the stomach, an uppercut to the face as he landed, skin burnt.

“Not me, it wasn’t—”

The boy twisted in his arms, and his mouth opened wide. Wide—he could have bit Seborn’s head off, and he was all teeth.

Seborn dodged the bite just in time. He rolled away.

“It wasn’t me!”

The kid was fast. He was on his feet and tense—until he turned and realized Seborn couldn’t have fired the [Fireball]. Indeed, the strident voice sounded above the screams of the villagers.

“What is that monster?”

Lord Gilam Quellae was bloodshot, clothes askew, and clearly still hungover despite the empty vial in his hand. But his aim was disturbingly good with the wand he was holding.

“Drop it!”

Seborn shouted. He drew a throwing dagger and saw the [Lord]’s eyes widen. He took cover against the railing of his ship and pointed his wand without showing more than a corner of his face.

He’s got combat experience.

“What the hell are you doing, Drowned Man?”

“He’s protecting a Dorhmin, milord! Scum of the sea!”

Seborn was drawing breath to make the same argument to the [Lord] as he had to the [Sailors]. Lord Gilam just glanced down at Seborn, then at the Dorhmin boy, and his face became one of disgust and contempt.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill it.”

The Gold-rank adventurer hesitated; he saw the crew of around twenty on the beach glance at each other, count their numbers, and look at him. He shoved the boy towards the water.

“I’m warning you—”

They charged him, and he hesitated a second too long before stowing his enchanted daggers. He snapped a punch across one’s face, took another down by kicking them in the legs and stomped their head into the sand.

The [Lord] was watching with unabashed delight as Seborn took down three, four, six of the crew before they were past him. Eight broke away, trying to down him; he vanished as they charged, reappeared behind their backs, and throat-punched the first to turn around. Then one threw sand in his eyes.

“[Dirty Sand]!”

Cursing, Seborn did an [Evasive Leap]. He ran into another Skill that hit him in the head with an elbow, and he was trying to see. The water—

He dove into it with a dozen [Sailors] after him and the Dorhmin boy. Both were trying to swim for it. Just outswim these Human idiots who couldn’t catch them if they got to the open water.

They tangled with the [Sailors] amidst the surf where the sand met water, and Seborn felt hands locking onto him. Then he was breathing water and cursing. This would be such a stupid way to die.

Moore would be proud.

 

——

 

Tissl felt something was wrong the moment she saw Seborn running into the village. She wanted to wait for him, to see what he’d sensed, but the [Driver] was insistent.

“We’ve got to get you to safety, Miss!”

He had the carriage rocketing up the road in a second. The horses were laboring, panting and wide-eyed, but he lashed them until they were galloping.

For a [Driver], he didn’t treat them right. Tissl didn’t say anything; Seborn had told her to be quiet until they got to Invrisil. She played with the painted struts of the chest.

They were heading north. The crossroads that split headed east and north from Moodfut; the [Driver] raced past another wagon that rolled out of the way. It had fancy heraldry on it, and a man stuck his head out the window.

“You bastard, I’ll have you whipped for that!”

“Wasn’t that a nobleman’s carriage, mister?”

Tissl stared over her shoulder. The little slat in the driver’s seat was open so Ridmec could speak to her. He twisted his head slightly.

“We’re an overnight carriage, Miss. We have right of way in emergencies. We’ll be at our destination in no time.”

She frowned. Then she checked the map she’d brought that had led her here. It had all the local roads, and she traced a route.

“So we’re heading north?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Ridmec kept glancing at her, sidelong, without looking at the road. Tissl hesitated. Then she casually adjusted her seat so she could stare at him and feel the big chest against her feet.

“I think we could go east first. North only takes us up the road.”

“Oh, this is a faster route, Miss. Don’t you worry, I know all the backroads and tricks.”

He chuckled. The half-Elven girl nodded. Then she glanced over her shoulder.

“D’you think you could take me back, even so? That adventurer was my friend. I don’t feel right without him being here.”

“I’m afraid he’s entrusted me with your safety, Miss.”

“Right, but I’m asking. I insist.”

Ridmec didn’t slow. He actually lashed the horses again, and one screamed. But he just kept…staring at her. She edged the other way, across the seat, and his head turned further. Now he was looking back nearly entirely the wrong way. Like an owl…she stared at his bulging tendons and his calm smile.

“We’re almost there, Miss Tissl. It won’t even be fifteen minutes at the rate we’re going. Don’t worry.”

“That fast? All the way to Invrisil?”

Now, the girl was pressed up against the back of the carriage. And Ridmec was smiling wider and wider. Something was writhing against his cheek, as if it was under his skin. He opened his mouth, and a black feeler poked out of it and pulled at his cheek. Something spoke from within his skin.

“The Alchemist wants to see you first, Tissl. Don’t scream. No one can hear you. Don’t scream.”

 

——

 

Then it was blood in the water. Sand in his eyes. All his Skills, all his levels and experience—it all meant nothing in a brawl in the water.

They were thrashing around, a dozen men versus two. In the surf—Seborn was punching, but he was slower in the water, out of practice. He had to get a grip on his opponents. Drown them—of course, they were trying to do the same to him. One had an arm around his neck, and he couldn’t break the Skill-enhanced hold—

Then the waves hit them. They were fighting on the beach, in the shallows where sand met water. The waves were hard and regular; everyone went tumbling head-over-heels, and you had no idea which way was up.

Sand billowed as Seborn swam upwards, or so he thought, and hit the ground with his head. He cursed in the water.

“Kid!”

Thrashing shapes. Someone kicked at him. He used [Shadowstep] again—grabbed one of the figures, and this time, he drew a dagger. Unenchanted, but he stabbed it into the man’s arms and legs until he let go with a shriek.

No body shots—they’d die bad and slow from that. And if he killed one of them, the [Lord] and the [Sailors] would make this go to the death. But he had to get them off—

Wave.

It swept everyone but Seborn, who had been braced for it. Then he finally saw the Dorhmin boy fighting in the water. He had three of the [Sailors] on him, and he was thrashing around himself, clawing at them, biting—even with their Skills, he was keeping them away, but another wave kicked him off his feet.

He’s never had to fight in the shallows before. Not like this. Seborn grabbed a fist as a [Sailor] came at him. They wrestled, exchanging slow-motion punches until he felt the wave coming. It lifted him, and he let it propel him into a headbutt into the other man’s face.

It left his head ringing, but Seborn was more in control now. He made his way forwards, cursing and wishing he had another [Shadowstep].

Blades drawn—one [Sailor] saw him and reached for his weapons, but Seborn lunged. He put the dagger against the chest, point-first, and pushed.

Get lost. The figure retreated; the others didn’t. They were grabbing the boy, trying to tear an arm off—Seborn grabbed one, and the boy broke clear of the other.

Neither Seborn nor the Dorhmin boy choked their opponent; they were in the water. They did what seafolk did and pulled them down.

Wrestling in the sand. Fighting until the Humans realized that their opponents had no need to breathe. They did—and they began to panic. Seborn let his opponent go after putting three holes in their left leg; they’d not come for him without healing. Then he looked around. Rose towards the surface—

 

——

 

—Breached the water and sound resumed. More than the rushing vastness of the ocean. Voices screaming.

“I’m bleeding, help us get the—”

“He bit me! I’m bleeding!”

[Sailors] were staggering onto the beach. Some merely had inhaled water or taken blows; a few were badly cut up. One was a mess of blood, and Seborn saw huge bite marks on his back. The boy again.

Seborn cast around, and he was there. Panting. There was blood coming from one nostril, red as anyone else’s, and he had several cuts, but he was alive.

“C’mon. They’ve lost the fight.”

“No. Swim.”

The boy argued back, eying the [Sailors]. Seborn shook his head.

“That [Lord]’s watching us, and the only thing keeping him from [Fireballing] you is his crew. He’ll take the ship out of harbor after you. We settle this on land.”

He was hoping he could. The boy hesitated, then to Seborn’s surprise, just nodded once. No fear in his eyes.

“Storm at our backs. No regrets, aye.”

That sounded so familiar. Where had he heard…? Seborn swam forward until he was sloshing onto the sands. Then he shouted.

“I am a Gold-rank adventurer, and if you codbait want to make it a killing matter, you’ll all be fishfood before I take a scratch! Adventurer’s Guild law—this lad is under my authority, no one else’s!”

They stared at him, then turned as the real opponent strode over the sand. Gilam Quellae was clapping, but he eyed Seborn and the Dorhmin with equal distaste.

“I am a [Lord], and you are protecting a monster, Drowned Man. I do like seeing a brawl, but as a noble of Izril, I insist you let me deal with this.”

“Adventurer’s Guild Code 55. It’s my decision what to do with monsters. No one overrides that. Do I have to lodge a complaint with the Adventurer’s Guild as a Gold-ranker, or to House Quellae?”

Gilam glowered at Seborn. He eyed the Dorhmin from head to toe, then shook his head.

“This continent is full of you bleeding hearts. From sea to shore, cowards and sympathizers, all of you! Dead gods—get yourselves up, you useless rabble! We’re leaving.”

“But lord, they—”

The [Lord] walked past one of the [Sailors] who’d started the fight. He kicked the man in the face so fast that Seborn barely saw it. The man went down, and Gilam shouted.

“Up! Get a move on!”

His crew hesitated, then stared at Seborn. They glared death at the boy, but then they began to pick themselves up, calling for bandages, drinks—Seborn just exhaled. He turned to the boy and saw the Dorhmin eying Gilam as the [Lord] sauntered back to his ship.

“Dangerous.”

“Yeah. C’mon, let’s get out of here before he finds a book.”

There was no Adventurer’s Code 55, or if there was, Seborn was pretty sure it didn’t let him outrank nobles. It was just as well that Gilam was an idiot. Then again…Seborn wasn’t convinced that young man could read.

 

——

 

It was never that easy, of course. The villagers had to have their way afterwards. Their headman pointed a trembling finger at the Dorhmin.

“We want him out of our village! He’s brought enough trouble down on us!”

“He’s done nothing but fish for you for a pittance. But I’ll take him all the same. Clear off and leave us alone.”

They dispersed, muttering. Seborn sat down on the ground, panting. That scrap had been tiring for all it was short. After a moment, the boy sat down too.

“Thanks.”

Now that Seborn was closer, the fishy smell was definitely stronger, and he eyed the young Dorhmin with a reserve of his own.

“Don’t mention it. You need to leave. I’ll help you either get to another settlement with a boat or see if they’ll sell me one of theirs. But you know you have to leave. That [Lord] might be worse than most, but they won’t trust you here.”

“I know.”

So he was capable of more than monosyllabic statements. The boy nodded to Seborn.

“Irrel.”

“What?”

“Name.”

“Right. Seborn Sailwinds.”

They nodded at each other, and once more, Seborn had to re-appraise the kid. He drew a water bottle, washed out his mouth of the salt water he’d been breathing, and spat. He handed it to the boy, and Irrel did the same.

“Not many Dorhmin could take on a dozen [Sailors] and come out of it without more’n scratches. How’d you learn to speak?”

“Taught.”

“Were you separated from your group?”

“No. Not Dorhmin.”

“Huh? Not…well, are you lost?”

“No.”

“Well, I need to take you somewhere else.”

“No.”

The Drowned Man was getting a bit annoyed when Irrel stopped drinking water and turned his head slightly. His eyes had no pupils to focus, but he conveyed looking directly at Seborn.

“Don’t need help. Will go. Thank you.”

He stood, checking a ragged purse and adjusting his sodden clothing. Then he went over to where his basket had burned to ash. He picked at a few scraps of fabric; Seborn followed.

“What are you going to do?”

Irrel pointed.

“Swim.”

“To another settlement?”

“Maybe.”

“That’ll just repeat the problem.”

“Probably.”

“You’ll be dead when some drunk or idiot decides to take you out. Your people are monsters from here to Drath, you know that.”

This seemed to irk the boy at last, because he gazed up from the basket and spoke.

“Yes. I know that. My choice. Not yours.”

The Drowned Man stopped. He’d been so fixated on the problem that he’d forgotten one of the first lessons of the Halfseekers. He was talking at Irrel, not to him. He halted.

“I’m…look, I’m trying to help you. I’m sorry if I’m coming across as giving orders, I’m just trying to help.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“If I could bring you to a Dorhmin group, you’d be safer. If it’s a matter of distance, or finding them, I can help. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer with nothing better to do.”

“No.”

Irrel pulled a wet cap off his head and squeezed the water out of it. Then he peered up at Seborn and once again elaborated.

“Not my people. Not my home. Home is gone. I am alone.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Then Seborn realized this wasn’t just a simple problem, it was the problem the Halfseekers had heard so many times. He saw Irrel pull the cap over his head and thought that the cap was too well-made, too well-fitting to be just scavenged clothing. And his shirt under all those rags appeared tailored for his arms. Irrel turned to Seborn.

“Don’t be. Sad. We deserved it. No surrender. No mercy. No regrets to be had. Waters gone red, skies gone black.”

Seborn felt like someone was squeezing his chest suddenly. He stood there, mouth open, as the boy recited those famous lines. Irrel cast his eyes to the blue skies. A storm was coming in from the north.

“Fearless all; we’ve ever been damned.”

He looked at the Drowned Man, and now the daggers were back in Seborn’s hands.

“Bloodtear Pirates.”

The boy nodded, his gaze fixed on Seborn, water running from his clothing as he stood in the middle of nowhere, the group who had damned more nobles and [Knights] than any war in modern history.

“Yes.”

 

——

 

He should have…not killed Irrel. He hadn’t, but the right move was…

Not to. But dead gods, he was Bloodtear. Murdering bastards of the sea who deserved death.

Yet he was a boy.

It was obvious now. The way he fought, his fearlessness, and the reason he was here.

Bloodtear. And not just any of them. Irrel snacked on some eels roasted by Gilam’s fireball, which were actually very tasty.

“Rosech’s son. Me.”

“You.”

Seborn remembered it, now. A single Dorhmin boy, ignored through the entire fight as that [Admiral] had cut his way through everything on the decks. Ignored…until the ending when the enraged [Prince of Men] had tried to kill Erin.

A spear through his neck. Irrel sat so calmly, watching Seborn. The Drowned Man sat down too.

I should…arrest him. Haul him off to someone. Who? Etril? The Wellfars kill Dorhmin as pests. They might conscript him—doubt it.

Who else? Zevara? What’s she going to do, lock him up? 

He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen either. Maybe sixteen if he was small, but he was just a kid. What had…

“Admiral Rosech was your father?”

“Yep. Found me. Dead.”

“I know.”

Irrel had no tears to shed. Dorhmin…Seborn wasn’t sure if they could even cry. Irrel tossed the scraps of eel into the water and spoke matter-of-factly.

“Did it for me. Bad. Didn’t want.”

“Did what?”

“Everything.”

The Drowned Man’s head rose. Irrel sat there, and the wind was blowing the scents of rain over them. Suddenly, Seborn’s lips were dry. He licked them.

“What…the war at sea?”

“Yes. Steal luck. Steal fate. For me. Everyone wants. I didn’t. Maxy wants. I didn’t. Rosech wanted. I didn’t. For me, he says. For me.”

The boy was talking now, his voice a low bass that seemed without inflection, but he was gazing around, turning left and right. Surveying Moodfut, the empty seas. He gestured around at it, at Seborn. His lips moved in a smile, but there was no mirth in it.

“Dorhmin die. Rosech wanted more. Future…always the future. I wanted father.”

He paused.

“A living father.”

Seborn Sailwinds said nothing. He was afraid that if he did, he’d say something insensitive or—wrong. Because the Bloodtear Pirates were bastards and monsters who’d killed and stolen from innocent people without remorse or quarter, for all they’d been nobles.

Yet the boy made him feel bad. He hadn’t chosen that war. He cleared his throat.

“Didn’t you—meet other Bloodtear Pirates afterwards? Or did the entire crew die?”

“Some lived. Ran away. Don’t want that.”

“So you’re just fishing for a living in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yep.”

“And what comes next?”

“You tell me.”

Oh, that was it. Seborn sat there and articulated it just because he felt sort of stupid.

“You’re lost. There is no place to go for you, nothing to do.”

Irrel smiled with a surprising gentleness for a [Pirate]’s son.

“Said well. Thank you. For not killing me. Deserve it.”

“No one deserves to be murdered at your age.”

A shrug.

“Seen some. What now?”

He was waiting for Seborn to attack or make some other move, and the Drowned Man cursed.

“Dead Erins damn it. I’m not dealing with this.”

He stood up, and the boy blinked.

“Leaving?”

“No, I’m taking you to a place where I don’t have to make these decisions. Now I have to call for another damn coach…I wonder if I can just get Tissl’s. Come on. I’m taking you to an inn. If they don’t kill you and me for bringing you—it’ll be better than here.”

And they might actually kill him for this. Irrel, Rosech’s son.

You fool. His crew are the reason so many people died. His father killed Seve-Alrelious. Erin might kill him herself.

Seborn could just hear Lyonette screaming at him. But he gazed at the boy, and a half-Giant took possession of his hand. He patted Irrel on the cap for a moment. The boy went still; Seborn had the impression he’d almost attacked out of reflex.

I need to get Jelaqua on my side before we get to the inn. Slip through the door and talk to her, then…even if they turned him away, it was a start. Maybe a Dorhmin could live in Liscor? It was still raining. Plenty of fish. Hexel was building a permanent lake, right?

“Come on. We’d better get out of here before that crew or [Lord] comes to fight.”

Though they were sailing out of the harbor. Seborn didn’t trust Gilam not to take potshots with that wand. He was walking up through the village when he realized Irrel wasn’t following.

“What is it? I can swear on a truth spell that I’m not tricking you.”

Irrel studied Seborn’s face, then shook his body left and right. Without much neck muscle, it was his version of a shake of the head. It was oddly endearing.

“I believe you. Won’t go. Putting you in danger. Thanks. No thanks.”

Seborn sighed. Another idiot kid. He squatted down.

“Listen. It’s not because I’m trying to be a [Hero] about it. I’m a Halfseeker. This is what my team and I did. If I didn’t do something, they’d haunt me until I died—and afterwards, since apparently we all turn into damn ghosts or something. Now, we can argue about this here or argue when we’re dry, in a coach, and eating something.”

The Dorhmin boy thought about this. He twisted right and left, as if debating swimming into the harbor. Then he stood.

“Okay. Coach?”

“Yep. We’ll get one—”

“Dodge.”

Irrel kicked Seborn in the chest and rolled away. Seborn backflipped, about to shout, then saw the vehicle skidding towards him. A single horse, eyes wide and bloodshot, foaming at the mouth, was stumbling onto the sand—

The overnight carriage. The door was hanging ajar, and there was blood—Seborn whirled.

“Tissl!”

The doors burst open, and the girl leapt out. She hit the sands and ran towards him. Her face was white and covered with blood?

Purple blood?

“Seborn! Seborn—”

He grabbed her.

“What happened?”

His eyes were faster than her mouth. He followed her pointing finger and jerked. There, splayed in the seat, was a dead…monster.

It was a monster. It had half-crawled out of Driver Ridmec’s body like some horrific centipede. Seborn had seen horrors in his time, from Crelers to Facestealer, but this was enough to turn his stomach. The man’s face was still twisted in a smile as it hung from the insect’s body. But the insect was dead.

It had been chopped into three parts—the culprit was the Orichalcum sword still embedded in the wood paneling. Seborn looked at Tissl.

“You did that? What—”

“He’s coming! He said he’s coming!”

The half-Elf was shaking. She was shellshocked. Seborn heard a voice.

“Bad. Very bad.”

Irrel was staring at the bug-insect with familiarity. He touched the bundle on his back, then turned to Seborn.

“I know him. Run. Run fast.”

The Gold-rank adventurer reached for the horse, but the animal had collapsed, and it looked run to death. So he gazed around.

No stables he could see. He slung something from his back.

The [Message] scroll.

 

——

 

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — This is a priority emergency. Driver Ridmec is dead. He was infested by some kind of insect monster. I need another [Driver] now.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Adventurer Seborn, please clarify. How was Driver Ridmec slain again?

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Something was living inside him. I think it was Alchemist Irurx’s creation. It tried to kill the half-Elf girl. I need another [Driver] now.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — Hello?

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — We need—

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Seborn, Guildmaster Tealve. We’ll get you that [Driver]. Can you drive the carriage?

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — One horse is out, the other’s gone.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Damn. Get us precise coordinates where you are. The stupid scroll spell still lists you in Moodfut. We’ll get you to Invrisil. Don’t you worry; the Pride of Wellfar has freed itself from the webs. You’ll get a [Hero]’s welcome at the Guild, Seborn. You called it well in advance. We’re evacuating Moodfut.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — What?

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — The Alchemist is sailing down from Treant’s Farewell, just like you thought. Tell me you’re at least a hundred miles inland by now. How far did you get? Just run on foot; he won’t be able to catch you if you have a head start.

Seborn Sailwinds, Gold-rank Adventurer (Moodfut) — We never got out of Moodfut.

Adventurer’s Guild (Invrisil) — Seborn, he’s right on top of you.

 

(We hope you’ve found Wistram’s new Messaging Service has catered to your highest expectations! Do you have a moment to fill out a short survey about your experience? You may be entered in a sweepstakes to win a Tier 4 scroll! Please write how many stars out of five you think our service rates!)

 

——

 

Lord Gilam’s ship came back into the harbor of Moodfut in front of the storm. He threw himself off the ship without waiting for a gangplank; there would not be one.

The [Sailors] were leaping into the water, screaming like children. Sloshing to the shore as the people grabbed things from their houses.

A storm was breaking upon them.

It buzzed. It chittered. And it swept ahead of the ship like a reaching hand. Insects beyond counting. That ship they came from sailed through the waters, groaning and writhing as it moved.

Shifthold. It was not the largest ship Seborn had ever seen, and it resembled more of a cargo ship than a warship or even nimble passenger ship. But it had armor like the Iron Vanguard’s famous plated ships, and it rode low in the water. As if all of its sins weighed it down.

He was standing in the village, shouting orders. Not running…because he was a Halfseeker. He kept yelling at Tissl to run. But she was standing still, petrified with fear. And Irrel? He was just watching.

“Abandon everything and run, you idiots! Get every horse and go—!”

The one horse that they had, and a few from the stables, were pulling children loaded into wagons. Adults were running—the smart ones. The idiots were still grabbing coins and valuables.

A coach drove into the village, and a huge man with a bullwhip leapt out of one of House Reinhart’s carriages.

“I am Lord Gorthes Reinhart! What the hell is going on here? I was catching up to that bastard who tried to run me off the road when that young woman stabbed him and turned the coach around! It saved me the effort of lashing him—what is that sound? What is that storm?”

Seborn spun. The man was staring at the distant ship with a landlubber’s obliviousness.

“That’s Shifthold. A [Pirate] is coming to kill everyone here. I need you to get everyone in the carriage. Tissl first!”

He shoved her forwards, and the [Lord] stared at the half-Elf. His furious mustache worked along with his jaw.

“That’s Shifthold? The [Alchemist] that kills his own kind?”

“Yes. How many can your carriage hold?”

Lord Gorthes blinked at Tissl. Then he snapped his fingers.

“Right. No problem.”

He stepped into the carriage and snapped.

“Step on it, [Driver]!”

His carriage began to turn. Seborn cursed.

“Stop! Stop, you coward—”

“Lord Gorthes, wait! I’m [Lord] Gilam Quellae—”

The young man sprinted after the carriage. The door opened as it took off, horses racing, and Lord Gorthes stared at the young man.

“Lord Pellmia’s son you say?”

“Yes!”

Gilam burst into a relieved smile. Gorthes’ boot kicked him into the air. The [Lord] pulled the door shut.

“Excellent! Silver lining and all that! Good day to you!”

He raced ahead of the other wagons, and Seborn swore a blue streak after him. Gilam picked himself up.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you and wear your skin, you—”

Seborn turned. The buzzing was growing louder. Now, he saw the ship coming into the bay. He gazed at Tissl. She was still holding the chest. Irrel glanced at it too; they might have been the only two with a calm head here.

Well, calm for a given value of ‘we are dead’. Seborn did a few calculations.

We’ll never stealth or outrun that ship. But maybe…

“Cellars. Everyone get into a cellar! A closet, even! Close up everything—airholes, gaps, everything! Don’t make a sound!”

He began shouting, and the villagers not running turned to him. Most kept running; it was instinct. But the [Sailors] regarded the moving storm and began sprinting for the houses. Seborn whirled.

“Tissl, drop the box. We have to find you a hiding place.”

The half-Elf was Irurx’s target. She had to be; there was no other reason for him to come here. How had he known…? No time. Now that Seborn realized she was Irurx’s target, he grabbed her arm.

To his astonishment, Lord Gilam grabbed her other arm.

“Yes, this way! Help me, you lot! I’ve paid your wages—this way!”

Seborn was shocked by the young man’s sudden bravery. But Gilam was ushering Tissl…straight towards the beach. He was trying to drag her to—

“Let go of her, you idiot!”

“Idiot? That’s the half-Elf the [Alchemist] wants! He’ll slaughter us all unless we give her to him!”

Gilam shouted back at Seborn. The Drowned Man drew his dagger.

“Let her go.”

Gilam drew his sword, one-handed. Seborn felt his skin crawling. He was aware the young man was dangerous. He tensed as Gilam’s eyes narrowed. Then there was a ringing of steel.

The [Sailors] had turned and drew blades. And—Seborn heard a voice.

“He’s right. Send her off, Drowned Man. Don’t be a fool!”

The [Fisher], Enlock, and the villagers. They were gazing at Tissl with madness in their eyes. She was shaking.

“Seborn?”

The Drowned Man gazed into her eyes and smiled. He couldn’t do it like Moore. But the lie came so swift and easy.

“Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer.”

He stood in the standoff, and Irrel spoke, his flat voice barely audible over the storm as it broke over the village.

“He’s here.”

 

——

 

The Writhing Alchemist stood on the decks of his ship and laughed. He saw a tableau on the beach, and he held up his hand, pulling the insects back. This was a familiar sight, even if he had never seen it in this exact configuration.

A Drowned Man shielding a half-Elf from the mob. He’d seen that before—but what was that next to him?

“A Dorhmin?”

The half-Elf blinked. He hadn’t seen one of those in a settlement he’d attacked before. It reminded him of Rosech’s son. But he was a busy man; his sabotage at Treant’s Farewell wouldn’t last forever.

He had a plan and a timeframe, so he called from his ship as they all went still. The [Alchemist] drank a potion, and his voice boomed over the bay.

“I am Irurx the Alchemist. You know what I’ve come for. Turn her over.”

He saw the Drowned Man slashing at the [Lord] and shouting, keeping the mob back. Irurx laughed softly.

Everyone was talking about the Players of Celum, as if that was real drama. He plucked a flying insect buzzing past him and popped it into his mouth, chewing it as it writhed. Another thing he had in common with Ceria Springwalker, really.

“Once they turn the half-Elf over, kill every one of them except the Drowned Man and Dorhmin.”

His crew didn’t react, but he knew they had heard his orders. The Mad Alchemist might be a [Pirate], a kin-killer, and a twister of flesh and dignity, but as he’d told the [Storm Sailors]…he had standards.

He watched the Drowned Man backing up, daggers slashing. After a moment, Alchemist Irurx found a pair of spectacles. Then a handy book on adventurers he’d taken from the Adventurer’s Guild in Treant’s Farewell.

“That is Seborn Sailwinds. Halfseekers…he would know Ceria.”

He turned to one of the hooded crew who was making strange sucking sounds through their black cloth.

“Get me a bottle of wine. Something Drowned Folk could appreciate. We don’t have time for more than a toast, but I’ll just give him the bottle.”

 

——

 

“Back, back!”

Seborn was slashing with his daggers as he shoved Tissl down the beach. They were trying to get at her, shouting at him to let go. But they didn’t want to get near his blade. The other thing keeping them back was Irrel.

The boy had grabbed a fishing spear, and he was stabbing it at anyone getting close. Even now—there was a flash, and Irrel’s spear blurred.

He deflected Lord Gilam’s sword, and the [Lord] staggered.

“How the hell—?”

Seborn wanted to know that too. The kid was a [Swordsman], and a good one. But Irrel just kept muttering.

“Bad. Bad.”

“I know! Just—”

“Seborn, he’s right there. He’s staring at us.”

The Drowned Man twisted. He could see the Alchemist standing on the deck of his ship. Irurx waved, then pointed. Seborn twisted. He ducked the crossbow bolt that fired through the spot where his head had been.

They had to—there was nowhere to run. There was only one place where he could avoid the crowds. And that was—Seborn twisted. Then he grabbed Tissl.

“Irrel, run!”

The [Rogue] vanished as he [Shadowleapt]—then hit the wooden deck of Lord Gilam’s ship. He’d used the shadows up there to escape the mob.

“My ship! He’s up there—get a ladder, idiots!”

They had no way up for a second. Seborn was panting as he reached for the door of the cabin. It was enchanted, wasn’t it? They might—

“Seborn Sailwinds. My kin, if you please.”

The [Alchemist]. He was seated on the railings of Shifthold, and Seborn saw his ship below the man. It was…bulging at the sides. Little orifices opened in the sides, tiny holes disgorging insects. It was a living monster.

A Named-rank monstrosity. A ship with a mouth that swam, not sailed through the waters. And on deck—the crew.

Hooded figures with too many limbs. A spindly pair of legs belonging to an insect. A hornet’s stingers sticking out of one’s chest. But most were humanoid—and armed.

They had siege weapons on Shifthold. Strange magical lobbers filled with glowing vials. And worse—hooked harpoons loaded and ready to fire.

All he had to do was speak and this ship would be damned, however much money Gilam had paid for it. Tissl whispered.

“It’s you. The Alchemist.”

“Oh, you know me? I’m flattered, my dear. Come on now. You’ve been quite brave. Adventurer Sailwinds, I have a bottle to offer you for your bravery and our mutual association.”

The half-Elf clicked his fingers, and a bottle appeared on a little platter that one of his monstrosities held out for him. He proffered it to Seborn across the gap between their ships. The Drowned Man didn’t know what to do.

This is it. He was all instinct.

“Try to take her and die.”

He couldn’t leap the gap between their ships. They’d be dead in a heartbeat, and maybe…maybe that was better than whatever Irurx had planned for Tissl. A terrible thought, but Seborn had no more left. Irurx raised his brows. His face was all burn scars, but he still seemed terribly dignified.

“You are a Gold-rank adventurer indeed. I salute you, Seborn. But here, I insist. Give her to me. The only way you survive this is to let her go. Refuse and you both die. Upon my craft, I swear I will respect either choice.”

His eyes were ravening madness. He seemed so interested, like a man of science waiting to see the outcome of an experiment. Seborn turned to Tissl. The chest…?

She’d left it on the beach. He glanced at it, then spoke.

“Get inside the cabin. Don’t let him take you alive.”

“Don’t. He wants me. He’ll kill us both.”

She whispered back, then tried to walk forwards. He grabbed her. Irurx was grinning.

“Listen to her, adventurer. I applaud you as well, Sister. What is your name? Tissl, I believe?”

The girl faced him directly, and he was many, many times her age. But they were both half-Elves, and though she was shaking like a leaf, she managed to retort back.

“I’m Tissl Venleather.”

The most curious thing happened, then. Irurx’s avaricious face changed, and his eyes widened in genuine surprise.

“Venleather? Wait, I know that name…you wouldn’t happen to be the daughter of Disabella, would you?”

“Y-you know my mother?”

Seborn saw Tissl jerk, and Irurx snapped his fingers.

“Yes. What a coincidence! Ceria met your mother. It truly is a small world. A half-Elf who survives being entangled as she did—it came up over dinner. So I know you, Tissl. Come along. I will treat you kindly, I promise. I am Irurx, then, the outcast of Terandria. Kinslayer.”

The depths of his eyes seemed to grow deeper. Tissl retorted as she leaned on the railing.

“I know you! You’re the half-Elf who doesn’t love himself. The one who blames his people for everything. Their mistakes and his. And he can’t stop blaming them or admit he was also wrong. The one who sails in a circle, chasing his own tail.”

Seborn turned to stare at her. Her cheeks were flushed as she shouted that over the water. The effect on Irurx was even more pronounced. A faint flush danced over his face, and he hesitated before snapping back.

“I take it that was your mother’s opinion?”

“And mine! I don’t even know you! You’re just a monster. Leave Seborn alone and this village. You can have that one, though.”

She pointed at Gilam, who flinched and tried to hide behind the crowd. Alchemist Irurx nodded slowly, eyes on her.

“Oh, yes. You have my word. We shall have to have a longer conversation than most, my dear. It is a custom. As for that fellow—why not? I could take the village that was all too willing to give you up too.”

A moan arose from below, and Tissl snapped.

“Leave them alone!”

Irurx gestured, and a magical bridge of purple light formed between their ships. It reached the railing where Tissl stood as his crew began to climb the railings.

Seborn’s dagger cracked the magical spell, and the bridge fell to pieces. One of Irurx’s crew had to hang onto the railings.

“I said you’re dead if you try to take her, [Alchemist]. Fight me.”

Irurx eyed Seborn and shook his head.

“You’re making a mistake, Drowned Man. Crew? Aim.”

The [Rogue] was poised to leap. Tissl grabbed Seborn’s arm.

“Seborn!”

He glanced down at her and smiled as he gestured to Irurx.

“You don’t ever give in to their demands, Tissl. That’s another rule of good adventurers.”

“Please…just tell Mom I found it. That she was right. You don’t have a chance.”

She jerked her head at the chest, and she was crying. He reached down and touched her hand as she clutched at his arm.

“I know, Tissl. But I have faith.”

He put his hands together. Clasped them as the [Alchemist]’s eyes narrowed. Irurx spoke slowly as Seborn uttered a prayer for dead men, for impossible odds. For what should be instead of what was.

“I have heard that word recently in new context. Strange. Let us see. Avoid the girl.”

He lifted his hands, and the Drowned Man drew his other dagger to throw. The sky was black. He thought he saw light in the distance, past the whirling insects, like the dawn, but it was too far away.

The world was collapsing.

The [Palace of Fates] was open.

It was today.

In another place, another dimension, a [Prophet] was praying for no one’s salvation, only their end. Hundreds of beings called forth from the infinite realities, whose territory bordered on the divine, flew to exact wrath and retribution.

Like it often happened, one of them, just one—

Got lost.

 

——

 

It had a thousand eyes, each one swivelling in a different direction. The form was the same, but the nature was something else.

The Antinium Worker appeared in a blaze of light like the sky, through the storm. When it stepped onto the deck, even the Drowned Man seemed stunned.

The Alchemist of Shifthold was shaking. He gazed down at his hands with a kind of clinical interest—then at the being who had appeared in the flash of light. Irurx licked his lips and whispered.

“What…what is that?”

Seborn Sailwinds didn’t know. He had no idea where this being had come from or for what purpose. He had seen Pawn’s summoned beings, but this was not a Worker from Heaven or even an Aberration.

It turned and gazed at him. Seborn backed up a step, and Tissl went with him. They couldn’t help it. It was radiant with colors that Seborn had no names for. Made up of shifting particles, motes of light that only existed in the dreams of Antinium. And it was made up of a soul of a true believer, called from Heaven’s gates.

From another world.

From another time. It surveyed the ship, then Irurx. The [Alchemist] and his crew, who quailed in the face of something they didn’t understand. An insect beyond even his means. Then—the angelic Worker spoke.

“bE VeRY aFrAId.”

It drew a weapon. A mace, and the [Alchemist] croaked.

“Wait. You are the glorious species. The finest children of Rhir. I am Irurx! I have corresponded, attempted to correspond with your Grand Queen. With Xrn of the Centenium! We are allies! I admire your people! Let us parlay!”

He gestured, and the purple [Light Bridge] formed. The Antinium angel halted, many eyes focused on Irurx. Then it turned to Seborn. The Drowned Man shook his head.

“Help us, please.”

From the waters he had dove into, Irrel was watching the Antinium, and the boy was afraid of it. He feared few things, but he thought his father would have swallowed and then grinned that mad, fearless smile if he saw it upon his decks.

It was something Irrel didn’t understand. The boy thought the Antinium peered at him as it took a step onto the [Light Bridge]. Irurx smiled and made an entreaty, remembering he had the wine bottle in hand. He proffered it to the Antinium.

“Then you understand; we are allies!”

The Anginium blinked its eyes all at once. Then its mandibles rose in a smile.

“nO.”

It leapt over the light bridge in a thirty-foot dive onto Irurx’s ship, and then it screamed. Irrel dove under the water, but he still heard it. A scream that went through his soul—it seemed to never end as Irrel reached for the thing he had been unwrapping. But he hesitated.

Was now the moment? When he poked his head out of the water he flinched; something was falling. Seborn and Tissl had leapt from the deck of Gilam’s ship. And then he saw another body falling.

One of Irurx’s crew, clawing at flames that burned without ceasing. The [Alchemist] was shouting something. Then—

The Worker from Heaven exploded. The blast made all three dive into the water; when they surfaced, everything had gone silent. Insects were raining into the water around them, stunned by the shockwave.

“He killed it.”

Tissl’s moment of hope was consumed by horror as she stared above. Seborn whispered.

“Maybe it took him with it. Or did enough damage to his crew…”

It was the first foolish thing the Drowned Man had said. Irrel told him so.

“No. Got another?”

“No. I don’t think I even deserved one.”

Shifthold was groaning. Its decks were…rippling. Like an insect that had experienced something unpleasant, resetting itself, checking for damage. And the [Alchemist]?

He walked to the railings of the ship and stared down into the waters at them. Then glanced over his shoulder.

“Now you and the girl are my guests, Seborn Sailwinds. I have so many q—”

The lightning bolt exploded overhead, but the shockwave blew more insects into the water. Irurx slammed against the railing, then sighed.

“Always the interruptions. What now?”

He turned around, and the Pride of the Wellfar bathed him in a furious orange glow. The second attack spell burned across the waters, a cone of orange light that set everything it touched on fire. Shifthold’s hull burned as chitinous growths rose to block the deadly light.

The [Alchemist] held very still as the greatest ship of the Wellfar advanced. Lord Etril Wellfar was at the wheel, eyes locked on the half-Elf. Irurx exhaled.

“Unexpectedly early. To arms.”

Shifthold turned, and the insects swept towards the Pride as it opened up with attack spells from each side. The crew began pouring onto the decks as the two ships circled. The air was screaming and buzzing. But the [Alchemist] was watching the trio stumbling onto the beach out of the corner of his eyes.

The half-Elf wasn’t getting away.

 

——

 

The Pride of the Wellfar was fighting Shifthold! Miracle after miracle. Seborn stumbled onto the shore, knees weak. He saw the two ships fighting in the storm of insects. They were continuing to boil out of Shifthold’s hull. Each second, the Pride blasted more away, but it seemed like Irurx had an infinite supply—and the two ships were nearing enough to board.

It was ridiculous, the tiny Shifthold versus the giant warship, but Irurx’s decks were ablaze with his own siege weapons. Alchemical weapons were bursting over the Pride’s magical shields, and boarders from both parties were passing through the barriers. He saw an insect that was all long limbs leap onto the deck of the Pride and begin attacking everything in sight.

“I thought the great wars of the sea were over. Damn—this is insanity. Come on, Tissl. Where’s your chest? We have to go!”

The moment that Irurx re-focused on them, they were dead. He just needed a few hundred insects to chew them to pieces. Seborn was hauling the half-Elf up the beach. Irrel followed. He had that long object in hand and something in his other.

A piece of cloth. Just a cloak or cape, faded into filthy grey. He was working on it with one hand. Seborn didn’t pay attention to it as Tissl finally turned.

“Wh-what was that thing you summoned?”

“Antinium from Heaven. Not my faith. I think they just sent one to help out. I owe Pawn big for that.”

“Got any more?”

That wasn’t Tissl or Irrel’s voice, but Seborn was so shaken he shook his head.

“No.”

“Ah, excellent.”

Lord Gilam put his sword at Seborn’s throat. The Drowned Man froze as a ring of steel descended around him. He gazed up.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Now? The Pride is buying us an escape! We should run!”

The [Lord] of House Quellae glanced over Seborn’s shoulder. His crew were trembling so bad they could barely keep the blades straight, but his was level.

“There is no way to outrun a flying opponent on foot or even horseback. I’m well aware, and you should be too. This is our only safeguard if the [Alchemist] comes towards us or manages to repulse the Pride. Tie her up! Him too!”

He shouted at the villagers of Moodfut. They approached, heeding Lord Gilam without thought until Seborn snapped back.

“She’s a child! Are you all that heartless? Isn’t there a drop of courage in your bones?”

He gazed at the [Sailor] nearest him. The man wouldn’t meet his eyes. Tissl just peered at Gilam, who snorted.

“Courage is for moments when there’s an actual chance.”

Thereby demonstrating he had no notion of what the word meant, he motioned, and a [Sailor] approached Tissl with a bundle of ropes. The [Rogue] was trembling, but he knew if he moved, Gilam would cut his throat. The [Lord] was daring him to try with his eyes. So, Irrel spoke.

“Dangerous. Don’t.”

The same quiet words halted the [Sailor], and his eyes swung towards the Dorhmin. He snarled.

“Can we gut this thing too, milord? For all we know, it led the Alchemist here!”

“Be my guest. But hurry up. The Drowned Man looks ready to commit suicide. You all saw it; he came at me.”

The [Lord] never took his eyes off Seborn. The two were staring each other down. They heard Irrel’s quiet voice.

“Two warnings. Don’t touch her.”

“Look, the fish-freak’s got something. Is that a flag? What’s he got there—watch it, might be a blade.”

Seborn’s eyes shifted sideways. He knew that refrain. Two warnings…

“Three warnings. Blood in the water, blood in the skies. No mercy. No regrets, aye.”

“H-hey. I know that rhyme. What’s he holding? What’s he—”

Then there was a gasp. And a faint sound, perhaps of a blade dropping from fingers that had suddenly gone numb. A [Sailor] backed up past Seborn, and Gilam’s eyes shifted left.

“You damn idiots. What’s…”

Then he stared too. Seborn dared to move his head slightly. He felt the blade cutting his skin along his throat, but he saw what had the [Sailors] petrified. They were backing away from something Irrel was holding.

Blood was running down one of his wrists. He’d cut his own flesh with his sharp teeth. It was a simple thing he’d drawn on the grey canvas.

Like an [Innkeeper] had once made a flag out of a pillowcase…the material didn’t matter. What he held, the symbol, mattered. This was no white flag.

It was a skull, the oldest sign on the seas. That alone would make a [Sailor]’s heart jump in their chests. But this one…this one was weeping a bloody tear down one eye socket.

The flag of the Bloodtear Pirates blew in Irrel’s hand as he held it. He looked nothing like the legends who had sailed against Terandria’s blue-blooded children, but as the harbor glowed with magic and monsters and illuminated his back, there was something of them in him.

Admiral Rosech’s son. The Bloodtear Pirate held a symbol that they knew, the people of Moodfut, that every people who lived next to salt and sea knew.

“That’s a lie. That’s just a—they’re dead. Get back.”

The [Sailors] around Irrel had drawn back. They eyed each other, counting their numbers. There were nearly thirty of them. One Dorhmin boy. Tissl was looking at Irrel and at the chest lying forgotten and to the side. He glanced at her.

“Stay back. Everything in front of me dies.”

“Get back!”

The [Sailor] nearest him slashed with a Skill. His blade swung towards Irrel’s throat in a deadly curve, and there was a ching. One piece of the sword spun through the air and hit another [Sailor] in the leg.

She cried out. Everyone, Seborn, Gilam, the villagers, gazed at the broken sword in astonishment. Then at the bundle of cloth that Irrel had used to block the blade.

The cut had revealed something. Now, the Dorhmin boy drew the sword from its cloth sheath. It was a longsword, and in his hands, it brought light to the darkness. Seborn had never seen such a beautiful blade.

The weapon that had belonged to the [Prince of Men], the Blade of Humanity, left no trail in the air. Nor did it shine with a thousand colors; even the writing on it didn’t glow. It just waited, a sword made to take lives without end.

“Come die.”

Irrel stepped forwards, and the [Sailor] nearest to him backed away, dropping his sword. Another raised a weapon. A crossbow. They fired.

The bolt struck the guard of the sword as Irrel shielded his face. He swung the sword out of guard-position. Reset his stance.

An arm fell to the ground. The [Sailor] clutched at her arm. She staggered—he swept the blade through her head at nose-height. Advanced.

Stumbling—they backed away from him. Another [Sailor] dropped his sword. He turned to run.

“W-what the hell is that?”

Lord Gilam Quellae saw his crew backing away. Then running. The villagers were doing the same. The boy they’d mocked was walking forward, and anyone who hesitated or raised a weapon died. He ran through a [Fisherwoman] with a hunting spear raised, his swordwork…

The Bloodtear Pirates had taught Rosech’s son well. There was no hesitation in his eyes. He had given them three chances. That was all you got.

He was coming at Gilam, sword pointed forwards in a bladesman’s stance. The [Lord] was frozen, his blade at Seborn’s throat.

“Stay back! You’re just a monster! You don’t deserve that sword!”

He shouted at Irrel, and the boy replied.

“Take it from me.”

Two warriors of the sword locked gazes. The [Lord] was shivering. His arm tensed. He gazed into the face that had watched his family and friends dying for a father’s silly dream.

The last one the [Prince of Men] had ever seen.

Gilam turned and ran.

Seborn nailed him in the shoulder with two daggers, but the [Lord] just sprinted up the village, deflecting the third and fourth. Seborn turned—and Irrel halted.

“Knew he’d run.”

That was his only comment to Seborn. The Drowned Man was speechless. He had known who Irrel was, but when he held the Relic-class blade, the heirloom of Erribathe, in his hands, he seemed to be someone else entirely.

Weighed down by a terrible burden. Instead of chasing the villagers and [Sailors], Irrel knelt. He planted the sword deep in the ground and then sat, cross-legged.

“Sorry.”

To Seborn? No…he was staring at the [Fisherwoman] he’d cut down. Blood was coating his arm. He looked up at Seborn, and then the Drowned Man saw the Dorhmin boy cry. Water gathered around the edges of his eyes and ran down his face.

“It always ends like this. Deserve this. We all do.”

He rose, and turned his body. The Mad Alchemist and the Pride of the Wellfar fighting behind him. As if it were mere background noise. He shook himself. Picked up the sword.

“Not done.”

“No. We have to get out of here. I…that bastard’s right. We’ll never run far enough inland on foot. If the [Alchemist] throws a wave of insects at us, we’re dead. Unless the Pride can send him packing fast enough.”

Seborn was feeling at his throat to make sure he wasn’t bleeding too hard. He and Irrel were watching the battle, but they were interrupted by a quiet voice.

“Seborn? Irrel? Can I ask you a question?”

Tissl. Irrel turned, and his mouth opened slightly. She was wearing the magical armor from the chest. The Orichalcum sword—sabre—was in her hand, and in her other hand was a strange crossbow that had no place to put a bolt. But it was glowing with magic condensing in the firing groove.

Seborn blinked at her.

“What?”

“What…what level was Alchemist Irurx? Everyone knows him. He’s centuries old. What level was he before the war at sea?”

Seborn answered automatically.

“Named-ranks are Level 40 or higher. But some hit Level 50. For a bastard like that? He was probably above Level 50. I think I once heard Saliss complaining that he helped bring Erin back to life. That he was doing alchemy even Saliss couldn’t. And Saliss is over Level 50, I’m almost sure. So…at least Level 50.”

“Oh. Okay. So that’s why. Ma always said past Level 50 was the land of myths. He must’ve hit Level 60 then.”

Tissl was staring past Seborn. His head slowly turned back to the battle. And then he saw it.

The Pride of the Wellfar was losing.

 

——

 

They kept coming. Wave after wave from his decks. They were already littering the Pride’s deck, but they were getting worse. The [Alchemist] had kept his worst creations for last—and the ones who emerged now?

Bathed by magical flames. A pillar of mana burning a hole into Shifthold from above. The spell that had destroyed the Assassin’s Guild burned through dozens of figures, and one of them lurched through the blaze and came out—unharmed.

It screamed with five voices as it raced up the bridge of twisted light towards the ship where Wellfar’s [Sailors] bathed it with more magic. But the magic just glanced off its chitin. And the blades—

The blades were chipping on its shell. The Twisted Alchemist was laughing.

“I have set my sights on grander experiments! Lord Etril Wellfar, thank you for delivering my new ship, alone!”

He bowed over his deck as a cyclone burst from one of the launchers and pierced the Pride’s shields. Flame became crystal, which fell to the decks and began writhing towards the nearest [Sailors] as liquid.

Hunter-killer solutions. Now, the [Lord] standing at the wheel, firing spells from his wand, saw the trap.

It had never been about the half-Elf girl. The attack on Treant’s Farewell had been authentic and a ruse. Irurx had sabotaged every other ship who could sail with the Pride—but known they’d break free of the webbing and think they’d corner him.

He just—wouldn’t—die. They’d put a hole in his head three times. And his alchemy—

Level 60. A single man had become a force like this great ship he had been entrusted with. Irurx turned and fed a passing insect from a vial.

It grew. And grew as he threw it skywards. When it fell, it was forty feet tall and still growing.

A titan crashed to deck. Etril turned to his kinfolk and crew.

“Kill it. Every master of blades, come with me. We join my mother tonight.”

He pulled his spear from his back and began to walk down his deck towards the [Alchemist]. The half-Elf ignored the challenge and produced another vial. He flicked it contemptuously.

“I have mastered cold that not even Ceria can dream of yet.”

His insects froze. The magic shields rebuilding on the Pride froze. The crew of Wellfar—Lord Etril burst from the frozen shell around him a moment later, coughing. Trying to breathe.

“Above. Take cover—”

 

——

 

The two ships were nearing, now. Circling closer and tearing each other to ribbons. Shifthold was screaming, but Irurx was prepared to sacrifice his ship—he had a new one in mind. The Pride was winning the naval battle, but his crew were winning the boarding action.

Into this duel, there was only one tiny little vessel. A pleasure ship, albeit made well. It had nearly run aground, and now it drifted in the harbor, rocked by the waves. Insects buffeted the sails along with rain and water.

But it sailed. Not easily; a Drowned Man hung from the rigging, adjusting the mainsail alone. He was the only one who knew how and could be spared. So he howled down at the helm where a half-Elf was holding the wheel.

“Turn! Turn to port—left!”

Tissl threw the wheel left, and the ship moved—slowly, reacting to her motions with a delay. She was learning it as each second threatened to see them list or even capsize. But the wandering trajectory of the ship brought them ever-closer to their destination.

Perhaps the embattled crews of both ships ignored the little vessel because they couldn’t believe any ship would approach them. Or, more realistically, it didn’t matter. It only attracted the half-Elf’s attention when Irurx turned his head and saw the prow of the ship approaching Shifthold’s railings.

“…That’s the second unexpected thing today.”

He stopped laughing, truly confused by this turn of events. Had that [Lord] grown a spine and thought to offer him his prize to make him flee? Well and so—Irurx would help him grow another.

But no, the Human wasn’t in sight. There wasn’t a Human on the ship. There was only that Drowned Man clinging to the rigging. The half-Elven girl at the wheel…

And a Dorhmin, foot resting on the railing. Peering at him. He had a sword on one shoulder. A sword so beautiful and so deadly that Irurx remembered it, though he had only seen it once as a boy.

He halted, and Irrel spoke through the storm.

“Irurx. It’s me. Irrel.”

“Irrel?”

The Writhing Alchemist turned from his battle; Lord Etril and his forces had retreated across the decks, out of the hail of his deadly concoctions. Now, he peered at Irrel. His eyes widened in shock, then he smiled!

“It is you! What are you doing, child? I nearly killed you along with the village! Where is your crew?”

“Dead. Fled. I ran away.”

“Well then, come aboard, and I will sail you to any port you wish! How did you convince the half-Elf to surrender? Or is the Drowned Man here until the end?”

He was in a good mood. Irrel ignored the question. He was gazing at Irurx’s face.

“Alchemist. Before the battle, my father told me. If he died, if we lost, find you. You are a half-Elf of honor. Sometimes.”

Irurx resented the ‘sometimes’, but he dipped his head.

“Rosech and I respected each other despite our many differences. He succeeded in his quest. For that, he is a legend of the seas.”

“Yes. He did.”

Not a muscle on Irrel’s face moved besides his lips. He did not smile. Irurx…couldn’t read him. He had seldom spoken to Dorhmin save as experiments. The half-Elf saw the boy glance at the ship. Then at the village.

“Blood on the decks, by sky or by tide. Three chances given, everything we see dies. No mercy…regrets? Aye.”

He bowed his head, and the half-Elf glanced at the Pride.

“Wonderful additions to the Bloodtear Pirate’s poetry, Irrel. Could this wait? I have a ship to take.”

The boy lifted the sword from his shoulders. He pointed it one-handed at Irurx, and the [Alchemist] felt an unfamiliar thrill of terror run through him as the Sword of Humanity faced its foe: everyone and everything. The Dorhmin spoke in a voice that rang over the fighting and the crash of waves.

“Alchemist Irurx, I challenge you to a duel. Fight my crew or flee.”

The [Alchemist]’s eyes bulged as he looked from the half-Elf to Seborn and Irrel. He turned.

“Me, duel you? Boy, I am Shifthold. My crew could wipe you out in the blink of an eye. Why would I lower myself to dueling any man or woman?”

Irrel met his eyes as Irurx tried to sneer. And the [Alchemist] felt his heart sink, because the Dorhmin had already trapped him with simple logic.

“Because you’re a man of honor. Because I am Rosech’s son. Because I’m a pirate. Yield or die, Alchemist.”

The ship was close enough now to kiss Shifthold. The other ship tried to take a bite out of the wooden hull; Tissl swung the wheel away.

“Seborn!”

The Drowned Man was swearing. The boy had leapt from the prow of his ship onto Shifthold’s deck! Irurx stared as Irrel came at him, longsword raised. He exhaled once. Then he reached for his side and drew a shortsword.

“You are your father’s son. But you’re not him.”

He leapt through the swarm of bugs blowing across Irrel so fast the Dorhmin boy barely blocked it. Irurx’s swing tossed Irrel across the deck—he hit a line of insect-monstrosities coming up from one of the decks and stumbled upright.

“Shit.”

The [Alchemist] was on him like a flash. And he wasn’t even using potions—

Irurx slashed across Irrel’s chest, then backstepped, twisted around, deflecting two cuts, and riposted. His blade should have run Irrel through, but the Sword of Humanity flashed, and a shield of magic caught the blade’s edge. Irurx tsked, then side-stepped as Seborn leapt out of his shadow, daggers stabbing. He caught the Drowned Man with a slash across the chest; Seborn rolled as his Wyvern leather armor parted.

Maughin’s mail was torn, but it had saved him. Irurx shifted as Irrel and Seborn tried to spread out.

“You did say ‘crew’. Fortune loves you, Seborn Sailwinds.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

They charged him, Irrel’s sword raised, Seborn slashing low. The [Alchemist] parried both in a blur, and then slashed across Irrel’s chest. He flicked the blood into the boy’s eyes and ducked the arrow made out of a shooting star. He locked eyes with Tissl, then shouted.

“Do you think Level 60 means nothing? You haven’t a hope, boy! Lower your blade before I kill you!”

He had been staying out of range of the Blade of Humanity, for all his bluster. Even now, he watched it as Irrel wiped blood out of his eyes. The Dorhmin boy snapped a bug out of the air, chewed, and spat it onto the ground.

“Never.”

But his glance at Seborn told the Drowned Man he didn’t have any better ideas. The Drowned Man was panting as he knelt on the decks. That damn half-Elf was a swordsman too! Seborn hated ancient [Captains].

However, without his insects—the Drowned Man threw a dagger. Irurx cut it in half. He raised his brows at Seborn.

Really?

Seborn turned his shoulder. Tissl was swinging the ship around. He gazed at Irrel.

“Promise me you won’t die. Halfseekers don’t die.”

“I’ll try.”

The boy whispered. So—Seborn sighed.

“Charge.”

They came over the decks as the [Alchemist] stepped towards them, blade blurring. He cut, slashing, tearing a cut through Seborn’s cheek that would have taken his head off if he hadn’t turned it with his blade.

He was too fast. They didn’t have a chance. He was toying with them—the [Alchemist] was taking on both of Seborn’s daggers and Irrel’s longsword with his shortsword at the same time, his blade a whirl. His other hand flicked something at the Dorhmin boy.

“Watch—”

The stream of insects covered Irrel, and he cried out, vanishing into a swarm of flesh-eating locusts. Seborn leapt and was kicked backward, shouting with horror and loss as Irurx sighed—

The glowing blade nearly touched him this time. The Mad Alchemist leapt back, whirling, as a pale light burst from the storm of insects covering Irrel. He emerged, swinging, and he wasn’t dying. He wasn’t even bit.

“That blade—”

Insects were vaporizing around Irrel as the sword emitted streamers of purifying light. The Alchemist reacted at once, slashing across Irrel’s chest, no more mercy in his eyes.

A clash of sparks? Armor? For a second, the boy was covered in—Irurx’s sword hummed as it vibrated, and then he hissed; Seborn had thrown a dagger into one arm. He swirled, now off-guard. That sword—

The Blade of Humanity rang once, like a bell, as Irurx tried to parry it. Irrel was coming in fast and low, swinging quicker, and when Irurx’s sword met the other blade, the sound and shockwave it emitted visibly twisted the sword in his hands. He grimaced; Seborn felt nothing as he lunged in again.

Irurx wavered, that dreadful blade in his eyes. He backed up, keeping Seborn away with a spray from a vial.

—Stabbed through Irrel’s arm and tried to pin him to the deck—the boy swung his blade across Irurx’s waist, and the half-Elf had to leap over the slash. It almost touched him. He landed, panting.

“Faster, boy? You can’t—”

Irrel was charging towards him like a [Lancer]. The half-Elf smashed him to the side with brute strength, and Seborn kicked him in the face. He received a punch that flattened him, but Irurx pivoted away. He stared at Irrel.

“That’s Galas. Dorhmin don’t have that. Do they?”

“Trained hard.”

The half-Elf glanced to his left and side-stepped behind a mast. It sprayed Irrel with blood as he slashed half through it, and Irurx kicked him in the stomach. Then Irurx wavered and saw the mast of his ship falling.

That blade had cut it in a single blow—Irurx spun, caught Seborn and stabbed him through the shoulder, running him into the railing.

Tissl rammed Shifthold with the ship, and Irurx stumbled on the rainswept-decks. Seborn tried to grab one arm—he was hurled to the ground. Irrel locked blades with the [Alchemist], straining—the half-Elf regained his footing and began to push.

The strength of a madman in his eyes. He was laughing again. The [Rogue] put his strength behind his daggers, but with his and Irrel’s strength, the half-Elf was still pushing them back. So, the [Rogue] whispered.

“[The Half-Giant’s Push].”

He saw Irurx’s eyes widen—then the [Rogue] heaved, and Irurx’s feet left the deck. He twisted—hit the side of the Pride, and fell into the waters. Irrel dove in after him, sword in his hands. Seborn was already falling.

They found the [Alchemist] in the waters, and he was no longer laughing. He slashed at them, reaching for his vials, but the boy swam around him, stabbing from every angle. And the Drowned Man was reaching for Irurx, heedless of the blade drawing his blood. 

The Twisting Alchemist had seen their eyes before. He breathed deadly water into his lungs and saw the half-Elf diving after them. He remembered the Naga’s servant falling into the deeps, a laughing Named-rank adventurer holding him.

He saw that terrible sword he had not felt the kiss of yet. Remembered the words of the glowing Antinium. Saw the diving Drowned Man and remembered the name of an inn.

So he mouthed at the Dorhmin boy.

“I yield.”

 

——

 

The insects were lying on the water in such profusion it seemed like you could walk over them. The harbor was torn to pieces, and alchemical liquids floated over the water. The bodies of Irurx’s creations were washing up on the beach.

He was right there. Lord Etril Wellfar had eighty spells capable of making the shot. He triggered none of them. A duel of honor had concluded, and besides—

He didn’t know who would be standing if he unleashed all the Pride had left. So he just watched for signs of treachery, but there were none he could see.

Alchemist Irurx clapped Irrel on the shoulder. He looked as upset as anyone had ever seen him—his eyes were glittering like needles rammed into his brain. But he still smiled and swept the boy a bow.

“Your father would be proud to see it.”

“I’d rather he saw it. Stupid. I regret it all.”

The half-Elf’s grip tightened on Irrel’s shoulder, and the Drowned Man standing next to him stirred, but Irurx just shot Seborn a warning glance. He lowered his voice.

“It is the privilege of children to speak that way about their parents. Someday, you will understand what Rosech won for you, Irrel.”

“I know what he won. I wish he had chosen himself.”

Irurx’s tight features relaxed slightly, and he gave the Dorhmin a second look. Then he nodded slowly.

“I see. Then I merely salute you. And you, Seborn Sailwinds, and Tissl Venleather. Few have ever bested Shifthold. We shall meet again.”

Then he stepped back across his broken decks bleeding some kind of black ichor, and Shifthold began to move. It sailed out of the harbor, past the Pride. After a moment, Seborn took the wheel of his ship. He locked eyes with Etril Wellfar—then spun the wheel in the opposite direction of Shifthold.

“Lord Etril. Should we not give chase to Shifthold?”

One of the [Ladies] of Wellfar demanded. Lord Etril turned his head.

“And risk him taking the ship? Don’t be an idiot.”

“But he’s—”

“The Reinhart’s Citadel-class ship, Velistrane, is sailing south at all speed. Wistram is trying to track him, and Pheislant is sending its armada. Repair the ship. We give chase the moment Velistrane is in range.”

The half-Elf was moving fast. Could he slip away…? Etril watched the deck scramble into action. He himself stood there. Watching the Drowned Man sail away.

“That is a Bloodtear Pirate. By rights, we should hang him. Anyone on either [Admirals]’ ships is condemned to death, Lord Etril. No conscription nor mercy for those two crews.”

His first-mate spoke after a moment. Etril nodded.

“We’re too busy giving chase to Shifthold.”

“And our rudder’s broken.”

“Well, go fix it.”

Silence. The young [Lord] stood there, arms folded, visibly upset for many reasons, but his eyes lingered on that departing ship with the three people on it.

Etril kept watching the Gold-rank adventurer he hadn’t had a chance to talk to properly. Seborn Sailwinds had to know that boy had a death sentence in every port in the world. That he was taking him to sea made sense…but why had the girl gone with them?

He imagined his mother smacking the back of his head and rubbed it and laughed.

“A crew sticks together. Ah, storm’s blessings upon us all. We are the might of Wellfar on the seas! It is our duty to be shepherd and protector and to pass what law there is amidst the waves. [Ship’s Mage], prepare a Ship’s Log to go to every port that hears Wellfar’s words!”

He shouted at one of the [Mages], who could indeed prepare a written summary of any notable event at sea. Such things were, if not standard, vital sources of news.

“Aye, Captain?”

The man didn’t exactly leap to attention as he turned from picking pieces of insect shell from his bare feet. Lord Etril was aware of the crew’s eyes upon him and the murmur that swept the decks, but he wasn’t done.

“Be quick about it, man! Shifthold first, as it pertains to the Pride. Then the other ship, Seborn Sailwinds, and the other two—find their names, and don’t spare the details.”

“As the [Lord] of the ship orders, so will it be done.”

A crossed-arm salute and a longer stare. Etril turned his head.

“I’ll want a copy of it myself, magus. I expect it to be a work fit for my late mother, or I’ll have you cleaning the insect bile from the decks. No details omitted, no part left unsaid. There was something about a carriage and a driver infested? Find the poor man’s details and get a dictionary. Too many such stories use the same word over and over to describe such matters in my experience. The ‘clash of swords’ or the ‘whirl of blades’ I want to see not once in it!”

A look of brief confusion flitted over the [Ship Mage]’s face, but some of the crew started. One called out, a young [Lady] of Wellfar who’d seen her first action.

“A proper Ship’s Tale, Lord Etril? Doesn’t the Guild o’ Captains restrict them to a page’s length?”

“So they do, so they do. Well, if we go over, send it not to them. Send it to…[Harbormasters]. The largest pub or tavern in a city. But [Ship’s Mage], it had better be worth the coin of sending!”

Now, the man had a glint in his eyes.

“Aye, Captain. I reckon I could do that, if you’ll let the crew and I recall the events properly and investigate the matter.”

“We’re casting off against Shifthold, so it’ll wait. I hope to add the Alchemist’s death to that report either way, but you’ve your orders.”

And that, Lord Etril decided, was the only coin he could pay the Drowned Man in. They were all bound by their duties to crew and law, and the boy was Bloodtear. But a reputation…he’d sing the truest songs about what he’d seen.

Calmer now, more at peace, the [Lord] stood at his railings and then let himself feel the shakes, how close he’d been to death, and the grief for his crew. His people worked around him, but no more called his name.

Then he stood in blessed silence, trying to remember everything. The grief, the sense of inferiority, the knowledge he was unworthy of his ship, the gratitude, the hatred—as his mother had taught him.

Until, of course, someone just had to interrupt. And who should it be other than—

“Lord Gilam Quellae! Lord Etril, Lord Etril Wellfar, that is my ship that bastard has sailed off with! As a peer of Izril, I insist you help me reclaim it and put the crew to the sword!”

The [Lord] was striding up the deck.

He was incandescent with rage. Etril turned.

“Lord Gilam? I’m afraid we hunt Shifthold. If you’d care to join our pursuit…”

Gilam blanched and shook his head.

“But my ship!”

“I could sink it if you like.”

“No, but—that bastard! He was plotting this all along! I’ll have his guts ripped out and display his arm on my mantle! I have to—I’ll hire [Bounty Hunters]! No, wait, my father—”

Etril watched Gilam agonizing and then come to a swift realization.

“Aha! He has to put in at a port! Lord Etril, please alert every harbor! The moment my ship docks, have him arrested and hung!”

That was the cheapest and most expedient of solutions. And Lord Etril, of course, agreed. He rested a hand on Gilam’s shoulder.

“Lord Gilam, I have nothing but respect for House Quellae and your father! I will, naturally, issue the highest-priority message to every harbor in the world, large and small!”

“Er, thank you. Though if we could be circumspect about this?”

Gilam tried to brush the hand off, but Etril grabbed his shoulder and walked him down the decks. He pointed at the distant ship.

“We cannot let such filth roam our seas. Which we definitely own. In fact, after our hunt for Shifthold ends, I will personally crush this [Rogue] and deliver his head to you on a platter!”

“Ah, I can see you understand!”

Gilam began to smile. Etril was already smiling. He nodded, then paused.

“One question, Lord Gilam? A pure formality.”

He turned as one of his people came forwards. Gilam saw Lord Etril glance down and then give him a huge, knowing smile.

“Sir, did you register your ship with the Captain’s Guild?”

 

——

 

Seborn Sailwinds inhaled the sea air and decided he liked the smell of cooking more. He steered his ship left, right, and then wondered how fast it could turn. It caught the wind well, but how was its draft…?

He hadn’t done any inspections of the small things. Then again, he’d gotten it for nothing. The Drowned Man sighed.

Well, he was a [Pirate] now. He glanced at Irrel, who was snacking on some roasted eel, and his only other member of crew, Tissl. She had finished swabbing dead insects off the deck. Both children regarded him, and he wondered if they’d even make it to the next port.

No crew, no provisions, and at least one angry [Lord] who will probably put a bounty on us. Then again, we survived Shifthold.

He couldn’t believe it. The [Rogue] kept glancing at his hands. Then at the two members of his crew.

Irrel bore the Sword of Humanity. A Dorhmin boy, a Bloodtear Pirate who had sailed with death since he could walk. On his other side, still getting her sealegs, was Tissl, a half-Elven girl who had inherited a ghost’s will.

“Tissl. Are you just supposed to sail around getting ready for a war of Seamwalkers? Or did that damn half-Elven [Captain] have any other wishes?”

Tissl was swishing her sword around as she fumbled with her magical gear. She turned to him sheepishly.

“I reckon he thought me getting his stuff was all I could do. But if I did make it to sea, he said I should turn right back around and go to Izril.”

“Sensible man.”

“Eh, well, he said that if I made it to southern Izril and the Drakes weren’t at war, I should hire some Gnolls to raid one of their Walled Cities.”

“…Not a sensible man. Which one does he have a grudge against that bad?”

Tissl checked something on the crossbow she had at her side.

“Uh…Mershi? See, it says so right here. I don’t know the name. Rings a bell, but it ain’t any city that’s been around for ages. Or in his time. He said this was a ‘key’, but I dunno what that means. Looks very pretty and fires ‘Starbolts’. You ever heard of the name, Seborn?”

Irrel’s head rose as she tried to show Seborn the crossbow. The [Rogue] didn’t even turn his head.

“Dead Erins damn it.”

Irrel seemed confused.

“That a landfolk saying?”

“Nope. I made it up.”

They were sailing into the wide sea beyond, and Seborn stared up at the sky.

“If you’re my crew, then you’d better know I run a tight ship. I don’t have much experience being a [Captain], but I am a Gold-rank adventurer. And there are folks on this sea who hate me almost as much as Irrel. Also, we need a name for this ship.”

“The Sword of Gilam ain’t doing it for you, Captain?”

Irrel shuddered as Seborn spat over the railing.

“No. First things first. Name, then we need to see if this idiot has nets so we can get some food. Or Irrel has to swim…and then we find a crew before a storm capsizes us.”

He grinned. Despite it all, he was on an adventure. He only wished he had another crew with him. A half-Giant probably getting seasick, two Selphids who’d be talking about Irurx’s body, a Drake huffing about her people’s property, a half-Elf and Goblin arguing about swords…

Seborn closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw children. Heads craned back, staring upwards. Eyes wide and not jaded or broken down. No scars…well, not that many.

I did it, Moore. Just a bit.

The Drowned Man stared ahead as Tissl pointed.

“Captain…”

“What, Tissl?”

“The moon’s cracked. L-look. The green moon’s cracked.”

Seborn glanced up and saw it. Irrel stood on the decks, gazing up, mouth open in wonder and horror.

“Bad? Good?”

The [Rogue] gazed upwards, then shrugged. And he knew it somehow belonged to the inn.

“It’s a new age.”

He swung the ship around and pointed it straight towards the moon, as if they could sail into the sky itself. The [Rogue] sighed.

“Halfseekers, forwards.”

 

 

[Class Change: Portside Innkeeper → Witness Innkeeper!]

[Witness Innkeeper Level 31!]

[Skill – Sense: Those of Stories Obtained]

[Skill – Staff: We Escaped the Dread, We Fled That Day Obtained]

[Skill – Recipe: Parasytebane Brew Learned!]

[Skill – Inn: Bug Free Obtained!]

 

[Class Change: Ghosttouched Runaway → Brave Helmswoman!]

[Brave Helmswoman class Obtained!]

[Brave Helmswoman Level 11!]

[Skill – Basic Proficiency: Seafaring Obtained!]

[Skill – Steady Feet Obtained!]

[Skill – Ship: Turn Faster Obtained!]

[Skill – Ship: Ramming Hull Obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Proficiency: Swords Obtained!]

[Skill – Swashbuckling Combat Obtained!]

[Skill – Elven Mana Well Obtained!]

[Skill – Spell Efficiency: Stellar Magic Obtained!]

 

[Title – The Girl Who Escaped Shifthold Obtained!]

[Title Skill – Bugward Granted!]

 

[Class Change: Depth Rogue → Depth Captain of Misfits Obtained!]

[Depth Captain of Misfits Level 38!]

[Skill – Depth Dive Obtained!]

[Skill – Crew: Dodge Deathblow (Weekly) Obtained!]

[Reputation – Ship: Friend of the Liminal Folk Obtained!]

 

[Faith Seeker Level 12!]

[Skill – Prayer: Courage Beyond Measure Obtained!]

[Skill – Prayer: Dreadful Omen Obtained!]

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Hey…I did it. I wrote this chapter in one go, after the last one and I have written more since, almost all in a single day.

The effort of writing and editing these chapters is catching up to me. I’m editing this one on the day of release and while I have more time than I would in the old days, I’m rapidly approaching a point where I may take time off to get ahead on the editing front.

Because my backlog? Uh…nonexistant. The speed of writing and posting has meant I’m behind on edits for everything, so I will communicate if I’m ready to post or I need time off on…Thursday.

Either way, I’m still proud of each chapter. I think they have action, conciseness, and characters being their best. I hope you enjoyed this story of Seborn, too. He hasn’t been the protagonist before in any real sense; he’s never had a chapter devoted to him and the Halfseekers…

The Halfseekers have had hard luck. But when a character has their chapter, I hope you see why they’re captivating, even if it’s not someone you expect. And we’re not done. Oh, no…there are 4 more chapters to go. I’m proud of them but whew, it’s tiring.

 

 

The City of Reim by Enuryn the [Naturalist]!

Portfolio: https://enuryndraws.art/

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/enuryn

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Enuryn_Nat

 

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