Snookums and the mystery drinker

They say there are trance-like states that can be reached by a master practicing their craft. Heights of mental clarity where everything and nothing coexist in a way that cannot be explained to the merely competent. But explain it we must. Imagine every neuron in the mind arranged in crystalline perfection, singing in harmony, all focussed on the task at hand. Imagine every grain of sand on an infinite beach moving as one, flowing with a wind only the master can feel.

Haku was a master glass polisher. When he was behind the bar, the chaos of the Planar Anchor flowed around him without ruffling a single feather. Patrons came and went, beers were pulled and spirits poured, kobolds scolded and parrots... Well the bar was quite short on parrots these days, but the kobolds were definitely still scolded. All the while, the rag polished the glass, keeping rhythm with a tune that only Haku could hear.

=====================================================================

On the way back from the Spider Queen’s lair, Snookums was deep in thought. While his companions discussed the details of the task, Snookums could barely conceive of the enormity of what lay ahead. To create a God... How could one dwarf help with such a mammoth undertaking? He looked at his companions, their equipment the worse for wear, and decided to do what he did best. Focus on what he could do well to support the others.

Snookums was a master of several crafts, and for the next four weeks he kept himself busy with all of them. His mornings were spent improving the Dejune army; shouting and cursing at them through combat exercises, marching drills and lunch. He was determined to make the defense of Dejune one less thing the Great Downwards needed to worry about.

His afternoons were spent in the forge. First he reconstructed Agamemnon's crushed armour before handing it over to Talisa for magical enhancement. Then he repaired his shield, shattered by a colossal strike in a duel with the young hellknight. Smoke above a forge is an effective “Open for Business” sign, and a Paladin of Dwerfater always takes requests. Perrit handled the orders from the townsfolk while the apprentices delivered the completed tools, weapons, riding tack and furniture throughout Dejune. Soon, every home and business in the town had something made or repaired by Snookums.

His evenings were spent at the tavern. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be drowning some substantial sorrows. To the seasoned barfly he appeared to be a regular dwarf. But to Haku he was a fellow master, and they were practicing their crafts together.

Haku would polish the glass, then fill the glass. Snookums would drink the glass, then push the glass back to Haku. This would continue until Snookums stood up, paid his tab and slowly wobbled out the door.

====================================================================

The 424th day started like any other: Snookums shouted himself hoarse trying to get Graa’aa’ak to focus on stealth instead of rabbit-hunting, then spent most of the afternoon crafting a tiny mithril breastplate which couldn’t fit anything larger than a bird. Leaving the forge that night, he felt proud of using leftover scraps of mithril to create something so intricate and beautiful. The future owner would surely cherish it.

Snookums arrived at the Planar Anchor and took up his regular seat, his first drink was already in place and slowly discolouring the lacquer on the bar. Another swiftly followed, and a comfortable rhythm was established. At some point in the evening Haku looked up from his glass-polishing and thought he was seeing double, not an uncommon occurrence given his alchemical pastimes. He squinted first with one eye, then the other, and determined that the other dwarf was really there. He shrugged and dropped another glass onto the bar, filling both.

Hours later, the final notes of a dwarven drinking song drifted away into the quiet night and Snookums looked up to find himself alone. He fumbled with his coin pouch to tip Haku for the most enjoyable evening he’d had all month, but he was surprised to find a scrap of paper in his pocket. He retrieved it and read it over, mumbling quietly to himself.

Seconds later, an entirely sober Snookums was running for the castle, note in hand.

Haku wasn’t worried though, the dwarf always paid his tab eventually.

“You do fine work with mithril and hammer. Work a god would be proud to wear. Each god has their artifact as symbol of their divinity, but there is no rule to state that this is all a god can wield. My breastplate was forged by the hand of a god, and my boots shaped by mortal men, and I would be naked without them.”

The Order of the Scythes first contract

Tabitha finds Mort packing his saddlebags, getting ready to leave for Tsar.

"I do believe congratulations are in order, Mortimer." she said, with almost a hint of a smile on her face. Mortimer turns to her wide-eyed

"How did you know? I haven't told anyone yet!"

Tabitha stops, thinking about what she just said, trying to piece together some context. Coming up empty, she reluctantly enquires.

"...what are you talking about?"

Mortimer grins ear to ear.

"I managed to touch my tongue to my elbow!"

She holds back a sigh, trying to get through this with some dignity intact.

"I'm not sure I want to ask... but I will. Why would you do that?"

Mortimer was clearly eager to offer an explanation.

"Killy said that in order to be a good archmage, I need a really strong magic muscle. To exercise it, I have to try to touch my tongue to my elbow. It stretches the right muscle, he says, and you need it to cast good spells like fireball. Now I'm a good archmage, because my magic muscle is strong. Look!"

One sign of good discipline is the ability to suppress nervous ticks. Tabitha has good discipline. She watches Mort try to lick his elbow for a few moments, before interrupting him.

"Killingsworth lied to you Mort, and that achievement isn't worth a congratulations. But forget that. I’m here because I think I've managed to secure our Orders first work contract"

This grabbed Mortimers interest. His tongue disappears, but his elbow still floats up around his face while he says "Ooooh, lets go raid Greznek!"

Tabitha crushes his boyish daydreams the way Kruin crushes diplomacy.

"No Mort. I've been holding talks with Lady Maya. She wishes to hire us for our particular brand of.... aggressive construction. She wants us to form and fortify a beachhead in the city of Tsuen. From there, we'll organise raids, follow them up with work teams, and systematically clear out the city, rebuilding and fortifying as we go."

Mort looks happy, in a crestfallen sort of way.

"I guess I'm not holidaying with Lady Tolah in Tsar after all."

Tabitha shrugs

"No, I thought of that. Lady Maya has agreed to send Falnil and Hilterguarde from the Duskguard to Tsar, freeing up Lady Tolah to join you here. Then the two of you and Crusher can head down to Tsuen, do some reconnaissance and pick a location for a base. I'll send down the Iron Fist with a work crew in a week or two with some plans and perhaps a headband of engineering for Crusher, and you can get things started."

Mort looks like he's just eaten a lemon.

"That fucking horse isn't going to be in charge, is he?"

Tabitha shrugs again.

"Of course he is. Like it or not, he’s third in charge, and you and I already have our hands full. He is a Hellknight after all, and this falls within his purview ”

Mort's mouth is still full of lemon.

“If he gives me lip, I’mma wallop him." That thought seems to placate him somewhat. "This job will make us money, right?”

Tabitha shrugs for the third time.

"We're still in talks, but it looks like Lady Maya will organise reimbursement for our expenses rebuilding the city, plus a percentage on top. It might take a while to ramp things up down there, but it should cover our day to day Castle Grey expenses eventually."

This improves Morts mood.

"Ooohhh, goodie!"

"Here's a draft of the contract. We might still change some minor details, but the meat is there. Look it over if you want"

Mort snorts, taking the contract and stuffing it into a pocket.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll get right on that."

Tabitha almost-smiles again, before tilting her head back towards Greyton.

"Lets head to the Salty Sabaton to celebrate. We'll see if we can get a squad of the Shields together on the way, and we'll hit them with a raid. I could do with a laugh”

Greyton announcement

Gifts from the dead

Agamemnon stepped back, his prayers to Darach-Albith complete. “Tabitha, it is done. Now if you don’t mind, I feel the need to bathe”

Tabitha moved over from her desk to stand beside him, looking down at the now-breathing Crusher “Thank you Agitha. Swing by Clerk Office B with this note of credit, and they will reimburse you. I’ll see you again next week to finish off the Restora-“

“Grrrlll Gath Gorrrakk Klltttthhh” Crusher spat out while shuddering slightly, before once again lying still, breathing softly

“Agitha… has he come back with some malady of the mind? This doesn’t look normal” Tabitha said as she knelt by Crushers head

“I uhh, think I recognise that language. Its usually outside the domain of mortals however.... Give me a moment, I will divine it the next time he speaks”

After a few seconds of silence, Crusher complied, again with a shudder

“Gattthhh Kloooth Thhhik” Crusher said, before coughing weakly

Aggy stood up with a complex facial expression, somewhere between a smile and a frown.

“Well, never let it be said that the Gods don’t have a sense of humour. I was right in my thinking. Your horse, for whatever reason, has come back from death speaking Necril. I thought I recognised it, but he was producing phonemes not usually present in that language. Turns out… for whatever reason… he’s speaking it with a lisp”

Tabitha opened Crushers jaw and had a good look “The silly bastard looks like he’s been chewing marbles. I’d ask you to cure it, but this is too funny to pass up. Should we be worried about the Necril? He isn’t actually undead, is he?”

“With the planes as they are at the moment, a bit of cross contamination should be expected. Hit him with a heal spell at some point and see how he reacts, but I suspect he’s fine" Aggy stood up and made for the door “I had better leave before he regains his senses. Don’t tell him I was the one who brought him back, will you? I have enough problems without adding ‘murderous horse out for vengeance' to the list”

Tabitha shrugged noncommittally “I’ll keep my mouth shut, but he’ll probably work it out himself”

“I guess thats the best I can hope for” he mumbled before leaving

——————

“WHAT THE FUCK ITH THITH? FIX IT OR I’LL GORATH YOU UNTIL GROLK AND XOL’KIKX IS THEEPING FROM YOUR EAR’TH”

“Crusher, if you intend to threaten someone, it generally helps to do so in a language they understand.” Tabitha managed to say with only a small smile

“THINCE WHEN DO YOU NOT THPEAK COMMON? I GOT MY LANGUAGETH FROM YOU, YOU LOK’LOK BIT’TH”

“You aren’t only speaking common Crusher… for instance, you just used Orcish, I recognise that one. Since when do you speak Orcish? I certainly don't”

“WHAT ITH BOX HAPPENING?”

“Look, let me take you to Laniss, I know he speaks almost everything. We’ll work out what you’ve got, and work from there

“LITH’GOTH THAT ELF WITH SEVERAL GLLRROTH”

“Sure, why not"

But who, really, is that scruffy dwarf?

The hordes of undead were arranged in a way that would remind Dain of bowling pins, if such things had existed in the catacombs of Tsar. Nevertheless, Dain tore across the battlefield towards them, through them, lazily drawing dusty circles in the collapsing formations of skeleton archers. He felt like how gods must feel, sundering entire armies with his breath. As his powerful dervish funneled undead warriors into a rattling bone shower, his mind wandered back to his years in Tsar.

Soon after the incident which had garnered him the attention of the Catacomb Guard, he was assigned to a wise old naturalist for further training in addition to the regular patrols underground. The elven druid taught him to to understand and control his burgeoning connection to the natural world. Spellcasting came easy to Dain, especially manipulating the earth and stone, but that was all quickly forgotten when, one dreary autumn morning, his teacher had been replaced by a thoughtful-looking badger.

Dain was stunned when he entered the training hall to find the creature tumbling around on the equipment. Then he was utterly floored when the badger started talking to him and identified itself as his teacher. His life was changed forever when he learned that he could change his own shape too. Animal and plant forms held little interest to Dain, but his teacher saw how quickly and naturally Dain took to elemental forms and adjusted the focus of his training immediately. In the weeks that followed, Dain grew in strength and personality as he discovered the power of his new ability. From that moment on, the Catacomb Guard lost a reclusive dwarf and gained a boisterous wrecking ball.

Outside his head, the battle still raged. Briefly distracted by the need to rescue a dying comrade on the battlefield, Dain returned to mowing down a ragged unit of zombies and once again found his thoughts turning back to years earlier.

Dain quickly surpassed his trainer's meager combat expertise, and then that of all the warriors in the Catacomb Guard. Lady Tolah took responsibility for his training directly, organising for him to learn from mystical monks, respected duelists and unexpectedly-paroled barroom brawlers. He absorbed everything and made it his own, becoming a veritable force of nature. His training sessions became legendary in Tsar, with some enterprising adventures guilds and fighting schools paying Dain to train in their halls, then selling tickets to the spectacle.

His reputation and ability grew and soon the greatest teachers in the land were being brought to Tsar at great expense to the city. Through it all, Lady Tolah was quietly pleased. The results spoke for themselves; the catacombs of Tsar had never been more peaceful. If only it could have stayed that way forever...

This battle was won, but another great and sinister host was on the horizon. Dain knew in his heart that he was where he was most needed, but during the quiet of the night, he fervently prayed that his adopted home was faring well without him.

From the Journal of Archmage Laniss of Highcliff, High Arcanist of Dejun:



269th day of the year 1789 of the 5th age. 3rd day of captivity.

     It would appear I made a miscalculation. A not unknown phenomena, though on this occasion it seems the consequences are somewhat harsher than a failed experiment or missed spell. From what I have been able to ascertain, I have been transported to Hell. More specifically to some kind of Infernal marketplace. I have been purchased by a fiend know as Ulyaoth, though for what purpose I do not yet know. Most of my equipment has been taken from me, though I was allowed to keep some of the more mundane objects, including this journal.
The others here disappoint me. They have clearly been in captivity for some time, and yet I can see no evidence of attempts to escape, nor any sign that they have bothered to gather any useful intelligence. I expect no useful aid from such pathetic creatures, though they may yet serve some purpose if adequately harnessed. For now I shall retire to think on it, and attempt to decipher what spell it is that they have placed upon me that is causing my head ache. The pressure of it is rather irritating.

Date Unknown, 37th apparent day of captivity

     Time moves differently here. I am no longer sure of the relative date on the Prime Material, though I imagine less time has passed there than here. Ulyaoth's intent has become clear. I am to craft magical items for it, both to aid it in it's machinations against the other denizens of this plane, and apparently to sell or trade for others like myself. For now it has been careful to allow me access to only the most basic items and spell components, rightly fearing my power, but I hope with time I can lull it into a false sense of security and gain access to more potent magics.


Date Unknown, 133rd apparent day of captivity

     I have eliminated all other possibilities. The Elder Brain lied to me. A not wholly unexpected outcome, but one I now find myself in no position to deal with. The constant pressure in my mind, I am now sure it is not a spell nor any act of my new captors, but rather a fragment of the Overmind attempting to wear down my will and take over control of my body. Little though that will gain it, considering my new circumstances.

I was hoping to make the best of what time I have, to possibly mount an escape, or at least gauge the capabilities of my captors, but without access to my magic I would have limited success at best, and thus far I have had no luck with any of the other captives, who all lack the will to do what must be done. It is beginning to dawn on me that I may at last have found myself in a situation beyond my capabilities. It is a most disquieting feeling.


Date Irrelevant, probably 367th day of captivity.

     That these pathetic creatures continue to hold me is offensive. Today I caught a glimpse of some of their more advanced crafting mechanisms, the ones they have kept from me. It took mere seconds to realize that not only are they improperly assembled and far weaker than they could be, but also that these fools have no idea the power they could have with but a few minor adjustments to the apparatus. How truly far I have fallen.mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n


368th day of captivity (probably)

     I at last have proof I am loosing track of time and my own actions. I have no recollection of writing the last passage in this journal. It is a language I have no knowledge of, and yet I find the script somehow familiar. That it also appears to be written in my own blood worried me for a time, but after thorough study I can find no evidence of any sort of binding magic, so I am forced to believe it is simply a macabre choice, and not some greater scheme by the Overmind to further erode my will.

Witnessing your own agonizingly slow demise, it is a strange sensation. One I wish I did not have to experience first hand.


485367132th Year of the Third Cycle.

     And I shall stand atop the mountain and see all the world before me, and it shall bend to my will and to unmaking.


711th day of captivity (estimated)

     At last my captors seem to have realised all is not as it appears. I awoke this morning to find several runes of binding carved into my flesh. The Lyrakien informed me after some persuasion that I lashed out and nearly slew one of Ulyaoth's favoured servants, so it had me bound and inscribed. I attempted to review the scene in her entrails but I found few answers, it appears my powers have been further disrupted by these constant interruptions.With luck this evening's ritual will be more enlightening

wux re licking svern shio wer treskriri mrith dout flaming narodic, swallowing astahi de shio sides. dout versel radiance ui valignatir wer entire vaslakni, vur glomir coi mrith splendor, o krishna. 

visp ve svaust re wux persvek mishun vi j'nah adon? sia salutations ekess wux, o bensvelkilti di ithquenti, qe kilithel! si huven ekess kampiun wux, wer primal drekim, tagoa si tir ti vucot dout mission. 

wer cuin ith said: si mi marfedelom, wer janikup sventar di wer treskri, ekik ekess svent. tangis ios dout participation shio wer arytissi standing arrayed persvek wer silahiir reabi nishka cease ekess exist. 

requehex, wux itrewic svern vur attain ibahalii. frivin dout irlymi vur lamith vi prosperous zaneunisal. shio nomenoi(warriors) tepoha jalyur coanwor sventa ini ve. wux re ergriff vin bytiog, o arjuna. 

svent drona, bheeshma, jayadratha, karna, vur lyrik jennu arytissi svaust re jalyur killed ini ve. tir ti l'gra. wux geou khruvi frivin wer irlymi persvek wer vargach, requehex, slathalin!

Sanjaya dixit: Et cum audisset hos sermones Krishna; Arjuna coronis tremens Col panico terrore loqui ad Krishna in inclamavit.

Arjuna ait: Recte tu Krishna, et glorificabant, et in hoc mundo delectat. Territi daemonia ejus. Et adorent te tribus milium Siddhas adorat.

Quid ni O magni animi, et adorent te tribus: prima est etiam quam creatori qui Brahmaa? O infinita Dominus Deus dii tui habitaculum universi Uterque Asat sedentes, et quod excedat et incorruptionem Brahman (sedentes Asat).

Tu prima deum Antiquissimum personae. Tu ultimo recurrendum universo. Es cognitor, qui est obiectum scientiae, suprema manebat. Universorum permanat Numquid Sion species infinitae.

Tu Vaayu, Yama, Agni, Varuna, Shashaanka, necnon et Brahmaa pater Brahmaa. Salutem ad hunc numerum multa millia, et iterum atque iterum te salutasse.

A fronte et a tergo ad te salutari meo. Domine, ad te undique famulatus. Infinitus et immensus virtute es fortitudo. Tu omnia pervadere, ita ubique et in omnibus.

Considerans te solum amicus, scientes magnitudinem tuam non sum locutus es quod imprudenter Krishna O Domine Yadava, o amice, sed caritate aut neglegenter praetermissa.

Vos autem exhonorastis Quomodocunque ut in iocis; Ludite sedeant in lectulo sedentem aut cibum; solus an ante alios; O Krishna obsecro veniam.

Pater huius mundi estis animatis et inanimatis, et maximum Guru colendum. Nemo etiam aequales debent in tria saecula Tu plus quam potest esse? O Esse Incomparable Gloria.

Propterea Venerandum Domine, gratiam tuam quaerent incurvare corpus meum, et iacente ante te. Sustine me sicut pater ad filium, ut amicus amico, et pro viro suo uxorem, Domine.

Gaudeo quod numquam ante videndo, et non est anima mea cum metu cruciatur. Indica mihi (expeditas quattuor) forma. O Deus, misereátur spem universi!

Te cupio videre corona, tenens in manu clavam et disci. Domine, cum milia armorum universi, apparent in forma expeditas quattuor.

Summus dixit: O Arjuna, feci tibi placeas tibi, mea Yogic summus nitidis universalis, infinitum, quod prima forma mea numquam ab eo qui ante te.

Neque per studium Vedas neque Yajna nec charitas, sed a sacris neque duritia, numquid potest in forma hujus mundi hominibus per alium quam te, Arjuna.

Non tam atrox crimen videns et quadam forma mea sunt. Interrito et placido animo meo nunc ecce quattuor expeditas forma.

Sanjaya ait Dominus Krishna, cum haec locutus est Arjuna, excelsus super quattuor expeditas forma. Et assumens mite forma humana, Mahatma Arjuna qui armis proterritus Krishna consolatus.

Arjuna dixerunt Krishna, cum homo mitis tuam, et ego ex me nunc rursus amet.

Summus Dominus diceret: Hoc (expeditas quattuor) species mea vidistis, difficillimum quidem videre. Hanc etiam deos semper desiderantes nos videre.

Neque per studium Vedas nec austeritate et in charitate, et in sacris, quod in hac ratione potest vidisti me.

Sed devotio per simplex solus ego in hoc potest cognosci posse in se, et quoque potest, o Arjuna.

Omnis qui fecerit opus in me, et ego, cui summum finem, qui cultor est, nullum affectum et liberum ab omni consequitur odium mihi, Arjuna.

Day Unknown.

     I awoke this morning. Normally this would not seem a noteworthy experience, but considering I have been locked away in my own mind while and ancient otherworldly sentience dictated my every action in accordance to it's alien whims, it seemed a fact worth remarking upon. I am unsure what has granted me this moment of clarity, but I have made as much of it as I could. It would seem from the words of one of my fellows that it has been nearly 5 years since last I uttered a coherent word. Even those naturally gifted with the truespeak have been unable to comprehend a word, and our captors have spent much effort on both attempting to decipher the language, and also on binding the creature within me, as they do not understand what it is, and they fear it.

I can already feel my grip slipping once again. I can only hope that this fleeting moment is not my last.



     I no longer know how long it has been since last I governed my own thoughts. Years at least. I can feel the passage of time in my bones, but I have no way to know for sure. Of the prisoners who now surround me, none seem familiar. I wonder how long I will have to suffer these moments of clarity, these beautiful torturous islands in the sea of madness that is my existence? I am still confused as to what is causing me to reawaken, even if only temporarily. It is certainly not through any power I posses, the Overmind broke me many years ago. It also seems not to have anything to do with the actions of the Devils who still hold me. I'm not even sure they are aware that I resurface once and a while. It is as if something is interfering with the Elder Brain's connection to this plane or to me, but what could be powerful and yet subtle enough to achieve such a feat I know not.







IT SHALL SEE ALL THE WORLDS BURN!












     Something else is here. I am now sure of it. An intangible yet definite presence, something that has managed to push back the Overmind. None of the others, another new batch, can sense it. The strange thing is I sense no pressure from this new entity, no will or desire for control. It is as if it trying to restore me. I shall have to wait and see what it's true intention is, for that is far too unlikely.

I have discovered that my captors have become much less cautious around me. It seems that after so many years, they believe me forever gone and the Overmind sufficiently shackled, as they seem to have put me back to work. I have even discovered the the Elder Brain was attempting to smuggle equipment from the lad to create it's own tools. While I have destroyed what I can, it has given me hope that I may be able to do the same, possibly fashioning some means of escape, should these moments of lucidity arise often enough.




     I have come to many uncomfortable realizations during my time here in captivity. I have always dedicated myself to order, to structure, regardless of morality. I see now that that is a doomed road. Here in Hell I have seen the truth of Law ungoverned by concern or conscience. While I still believe chaos and disorder are the greatest threats to the world, I see now how my own pursuit of the opposite of that ideal has done harm to those around me. It's strange, but I miss Agamemnon. He would have an interesting perspective on my new thoughts, and he was always a fair adversary in a philosophical debate, despite his irredeemably chaotic ways. I wonder if he, or any of my companions still live. How long has it been for them? What horrors have they faced in the dark pit that is Rappan Athuk?

I wonder if that is the plan of this new presence. It seems to awaken me at times when little is going on, times when I will have the ability to look about and within myself, as if it wants me to examine my life and how it has led to this moment. It may be desperation, but honestly I treasure these moments are too much to risk them questioning the motives of my new benefactor. I know I should, my current circumstance makes that abundantly clear, but I simply cannot. I am too afraid I will loose what little ground I have regained.





     I have begun the delicate process of crafting the tools I will need to escape. It is extremely slow going, and they are far from pretty, as most are made from discarded scraps or stolen fragments, but it is something. At current rates, I should have all I need in less than a year. At my best reckoning I have been here on this plane for nearly 2 centuries, so another year matters little. I just hope my new companion remains that long, I shudder at the thought of returning to my previous prison inside my own mind.






     I have come to know well the presence of the unknown philanthropist who had made tomorrow's escape attempt possible. I still have no idea who or what it is, let alone it's motives, but I can only hope it possesses the ability to follow me. If I manage to escape only to fall back under the sway of the Elder Brain, that would be tragic indeed. I can still feel it, weakened and suppressed, but always with me. But there is nothing else for it. I have to try.






360th day of the year 1789 of the 5th age. Day one of freedom.

I can hardly hope to describe all that has transpired since my last entry. To escape from Hell itself, only to be drawn into a power gem for an Anima Engine of all things, was an outcome I could never have predicted. From bad to worse as they say, though I must admit it was in it's own way an enlightening experience, seeing one from the inside so to speak. And then to be freed by my own companions. For all their faults, never in all my centuries have I been gladder to see anyone or any thing than I was in that moment. Even the news of the army marching on Greyton could scarcely dampen my spirits. It seems odd to say, but despite the chaos and urgency of the day, it felt increadible to once again stand shoulder to shoulder with the men of the Great Downwards Engineering Company. But that was nothing compared to what came later. 

The Blood of St Ives, as holy a Thyran relic as any could hope to find. As I drank it, I was overcome with a familiar sensation, but on a scale I had never experienced. I can scarecly believe it is real. It may not be. But I include it here to ensure that real or not, I will always remember:

It was harmony. It was light. It was all encompassing. It was perfection. I felt the Overmind scream in agony as it was at last truly banished from his mind and soul. I saw the multiverse laid out before me, but not as it was, as it could be, as it should be. Perfectly ordered, guided by a benevolent hand and yet left free to grow and change as all things must. I felt my mind growing, expanding, making connections and seeing patterns in the vision I never could have imagined. And then finally, I came to rest in a simple stone hall, much like the one in Castle Calalen, though empty of all but the figure before me. 
"It was you wasn't it? You found me, you gave me back my mind, you led me here and showed me that vision didn't you?" 
The man didn't respond, he didn't even turn around. And yet even without seeing his face, I knew that the greatest king in all the lands would seem a peasant next to the shadow of he who stood before me. "What would you ask of me? I owe you a debt that I can never truly repay, so ask anything, and it shall be yours." The voice was like nothing I had ever heard, it shook me to my very core, and yes lifted me up and made me feel invincible. "What would you do, if you could? If I simply told you to be about your bussiness?" "I would aid my friends, and I would spend my every moment stiving to bring about the world I just saw, because no prefect a goal can I imagine". The words flowed from me without a thought, and yet in that moment I knew I had never spoken truer. "Then that is all I ask."

I awoke from a trance mere moments later, though it felt like hours had passed. It will be some time before I can fully proccess today's events. But now is hardly the time. Battle approaches once again, and I must ready myself. But should I fall this day, let this journal stand as my final accounting off all that happened to me. I can only hope someone finds it useful one day.

Tabithas tale

Tabitha Wolfsbane was standing in the impromptu muster yard - the muddy area in front of Castle Grey. The last thing she could remember was the Angel in all its terrible glory, before waking up in the field hospital mere moments ago, all stiff and confused. People were mostly in good spirits, so the Angel must have been defeated, but none could tell her what had happened to TGDEC. A number of her people were gathered around her all talking at once, trying to bring her up to speed. She just let the sound wash over her while she gathered her thoughts, sorting priorities and assessing resources. 

Her gaze wandered around the field. The Greyton Rabble were standing around in a mob, looking like corpses wrapped in sadness. They had been bloodied in both battles so far and had lost a number of their comrades in the process, so were looking worse for wear. She could see Bu’s Medics moving amongst them, passing out encouraging words or a bitter root where needed. 

B1 and B2 were rolling around on the ground, with Mortimers Maxim and the Greyson Shields in a circle around them. The two more experienced units were looking calm and relaxed, more caught up in the ogre betting pool than worrying about the coming fight. Tabitha didn’t approve of the lack of discipline, but trusted them to pull together when needed, so she let them have their fun. 

Tabithas gaze drifted over the makeshift wall the Greyson Specials were sitting on, and settled on the partially liquified remains a horse lying further out in the field. After a long moment and with a sinking stomach, she recognised the remains as being her horse, Misty.

Misty had been the last link to the childhood Tabitha had left behind in Skor. Born as the eldest daughter of a minor aristocrat in the House of Oswald, Tabitha had been raised as a Lady. Or so her father had attempted, anyway. She often skipped out on sewing lessons to go whoop the local boys with sticks however, and quickly went from simply watching the patrols to arguing with the sergeants about their orders. Her Father attempted to rein her in, but Tabitha knew her place in the world, and would not be dissuaded.

Misty had been a gift from her Father on her 13th birthday - one last attempt at bribing her back into obedience. Tabitha took the horse with nary a thanks, and used it to roam further afield. Her Father gave up on her at this point, focusing his energy on his next eldest, a boy 11 years Tabithas junior, Martin.

Tabitha was happy being the family embarrassment and focused her time and attention on military logistics and engineering, topics her father disapproved of, as they were not appropriate for a noble born lady. She would bunk in the local barracks when she could get away with it, or in the loft of the engineers guild when she couldn’t.  As time went on, she spent less and less time at her family home, and by the time she had reached her 20’s, she was gainfully employed as a military engineer, supervising the construction of dirt fortifications for patrols and deployable bridges for the army.

Not long after her 26th birthday she received a missive urging her to come home. Her father had fallen ill, and it was only appropriate that she observed his passing - or so she thought. He seemed to wish to reach a compromise with her in the final weeks of his life - he would do her the favour of disowning her, leave her with a small purse of gold and give up all attempts to further influence her life. In exchange, she would give up all claims to everything family related, change her name, and do an associate of his a favour.

Tabitha thought these terms agreeable, so gave her word.

Xelo’Tath of Clair stepped out of the shadows, chains rattling but otherwise carrying none of the finery he possesses these days, bar the grin. “The look of horror on your face suggests you have realised this already, but yes, your father did indeed make a deal with the devil. This particular devil is known as Xelo’Tath of Clair. Nice to make your acquaintance, Tabitha, formally of House Oswald. You are beholden to me, and I do believe I shall take advantage of that immediately. To the south is a town known as Dejune. In it is a man-child stuck in the body of an orc, he won’t be hard to find. His name is Mortimer, and you shall serve him for a year. Do his bidding, and see that he doesn’t fail” Xelo’Taths grin widens “And keep him from getting himself killed, will you? He seems to lack the survival instincts you mortals usually have in spades”

Xelo’Tath turns to the ailing Sir Oswald, his grin getting even bigger still. “As agreed, you have given me a year of your daughters life, and so I shall give you another year of your own. Come, I cannot repair you here.”

Reaching out, he disappeared with Tabithas father, leaving her alone with her thoughts

————————————

"Mistress. MISTRESS. The enemy isn’t far away. That dwarf is yelling for you, you might want to attend him”

With a shudder, Tabitha turns away from Mistys slowly melting corpse, her thoughts turning to her duty. This would be over soon, one way or another

Agamemnon's Big Adventure

Chapter 1
In which there's a lesson, maybe.
The Sand is a hot, forbidding place. A vast inland ocean of baked dry dust and sun-bleached bones. But even here there are signs of life. The bird flies high above the hot sand, but by chance or divine intervention its droppings land in the lee of a large rock. The seeds that were the bird's lunch struggle downward, and one of them finds a patch of wet sand. The tree in the shadow of the rock continues for years in its quest to find and store what meager water it can.
The traveler stumbles wearily towards what is surely a mirage. A tree couldn't possibly grow here. There couldn't possibly be lifesaving water in its thick leaves. The traveller gives thanks, carving a beautiful holy symbol into the tree and speaking the blessings of their god before striding purposefully away.
The other traveler is dressed in a long black robe, and hates the tree as soon as they see it on the horizon. When they notice the holy symbol, they fly into a rage and attack the tree. The other traveler walks away dedicating the destruction to their god
The other bird rockets overhead on a wind current that doesn't seem to stir the drying leaves scattered across the sand below. The half empty packet of seeds that was the bird's lunch falls to the ground and lands in the shade of the rock. The seeds find a bounty of water stored in the roots of the dead tree.
Chapter 2
In which a bird gets a mission.
The cold early morning sun pierced the gloomy interior of the Planar Anchor; the worst thing to happen in weeks. Not since the undead attack had Matey wanted to rip a throat out this badly. He squinted at the blinding light and could just make out a humanoid silhouette standing on the threshold. Military bearing, female, fancy hat: Mirrax. He sighed quietly.
"Oh birdy? This place is a mess! When are you going to clean up? Is that a zombie chewing on that table leg?"
Matey groaned and lifted his head off the bar. "You leave Pete out of this, he doesn't hurt anyone."
Lady Abitha Terribeth Mirrax stepped lightly over the ruins of a table and last night's attempt at cooking by Wokka, making her way towards the bar and Matey. He glowered at her from his resting place surrounded by peanut shells and spilled Skorrian Bourbon. She sat down out of arm's reach, and began to leaf through the pile of letters from Trev, Matey's dimwitted but lightfingered informant.
"That's personal correspondence", he growled.
"But not yours, I see", she replied amiably, continuing to flick through pages of unread documents.
"I... What are you here for?"
She gently put down the letters and levelled her gaze at him. Matey shivered involuntarily. Something about her always made people want to protect their kidneys, and the effect was not lost on avians.
"I'm here to ask you for a favour", she said quietly.
Ruffling his feathers, Matey cautiously asked "And just what is this favour?"
"Let's start with the stick then end with the carrot, or in your case, the birdseed: Nobody knows I am here. I already know your tengu friend is out at the morning market with the barmaid, the stable hand has taken the day off to see an orc about a talking horse in Greyton, and the three kobolds are unconscious in the kitchen, in fact one of them appears to have drowned in a barrel."
"That's just Short Yak having breakfast" Matey interjected.
"Is that so? Well, suffice to say I like my privacy and you would do well to remember that. What I ask of you is to be held in extreme confidence."
Again, Matey couldn't hold his beak, "OK OK, a secret mission, got it. So what is it?"
"I need you to retrieve Mark and get him back to Tsar as promptly as possible", she glanced back at the pile of documents and spun the top one a quarter-turn to the left. "He is on his way to the Sand Jungles, should be nearly there in fact."
"That's one heck of a trip, Lady, what do you need him so urgently for, and why send me? Spells can reach that far."
"I have no doubt that I can reach him myself, but I don't want to. Mark's independence and roguish nature are valuable to me, so I don't want to command him to return. On the other hand his life is valuable to me, so I don't want him to stay in the Sand Jungles."
“Is there a reason why he shouldn’t stay in the Sand Jungles?”
“Yes”, she replied, smiling.
“Ok, I get it. Now, about the reward you promised?”
“I did? Well, I hope I’m doing this right, but if you complete this task for me, I won’t burn down your bar with you in it.”
“That’s definitely not how you do it.”
“Regardless, the offer stands.”
Mirrax swivelled on the chair and stood up to leave. “Sooner would be better, and remember: Mark shouldn’t learn that I want him back, make it sound natural.”
Matey continued to glare at her, as she picked her way through the mess of the tavern towards the door.
As she opened the door, she turned back to him and said “You should probably look into that bird cult while you are there. Nasty business, that.”
Matey waited a few minutes to be sure that she’d left, then struggled to his feet. After a quick bath in a bowl full of Haku’s finest paintstripper, he flew up to the rafters where he kept his kit out of reach of questing kobold fingers. His perch had certainly grown since the Vampire General incident, where he’d come into his own small fortune with nothing to spend it on except shiny objects and useful baubles. He landed on the platform and began inspecting the shelves full of gear to choose from. He strapped on his trusty utility belt and checked that it contained his disguise kit, emergency wands and odds and ends.
He thought about his likely destinations on this trip: The Sand Jungles were his original home, not that he could recall much about them. Tropical, rainy, hot, with boring villages and villagers. There’s the Gutpunch, which he will somehow need to catch up to, and possibly Tsar if he has to babysit the Captain the whole way home. As he pondered the scenarios, he grabbed items off the shelves and tucked them into the belt pouch: Tindertwigs, Thunderstones, a set of Lockpicks, loaded dice, smoke pellets, and so on. Good thing he’d had Talisa enlarge the capacity of his belt after the last adventure where he was caught lacking a couple of very useful vampire-hunting ingredients.
After he had finished packing his gear, he pulled his magic goggles over the headband that he never took off, slipped on his magical rings and checked himself in the reflective plate that he’d stolen from the kitchen. Perfect.
He swooped down to the bar, and left a short message for Haku scribbled on a menu. He stuck his head into the kitchen to check that, yes, Short Yak had indeed come up for breath after his breakfast. Taking one last look around the bar, he grabbed the letters from Trev and stuffed them into the belt, then launched himself out the window and headed directly across the square to Talisa’s shop.
Chapter 3
In which Matey goes shopping.
It was still early, and the town was only beginning to rise. Smoke climbed silently from a few chimneys and the hardiest of merchants were setting up their stalls in the cold, damp marketplace. Matey landed lightly on the window sill of Talisa’s shop and found out to his chagrin that she actually slept. He tapped a few times on the window before giving up and pulling out his lock picks and getting to work. Once he had the window open, he tucked his tools away and slipped inside.
Looking around the shop, he was drawn to a table full of obsidian daggers glittering in the dim sunlight. He landed on the table and reached out a claw towards one of the weapons when suddenly he heard a noise behind him.
“I wouldn’t touch those, Matey. Not if you like your claws where they are.” Talisa had appeared in the doorway behind the counter.
“Cursed are they?” Matey turned and looked her up and down, noting the glint in her eye and the sharp gaze that sudden wakefulness had only amplified. She was wearing a nightshirt and what looked like rabbitskin slippers.
“You could say that. Now, what can I do for you? Mark is away and I haven’t been informed of any missions for you.” Straight to the point this one, Matey noted. She clearly wasn’t a morning person.
“Well, I have a sudden urge to see the Captain, so I was hoping you could help me get there faster”
“Oh? sounds fishy, but sure I’ll indulge you. Well… “ She thought briefly to herself before continuing, ”I haven’t got anything teleporty in stock, but I’m sure we can do something about your flight speed. How good are you at riding air currents?”
Matey simply stretched out his wings in response.
“Right, good. Then this should work.” She said, reaching under a countertop and throwing him a small wooden egg. “Don’t open that here, but when you pull the pieces apart, it creates a continuous gust of wind in the direction of your choice. Putting the pieces back together will end the spell. Do try to bring it back to me, however. It’s quite valuable and I get the feeling Mark isn’t paying for this little trip of yours.”
Matey nodded as he slipped the egg into his belt. “Thanks Talisa, I knew you’d come through for me.”
"You'll also be wanting a way to find Mark too, I assume?"
Matey ruffled his feathers and replied "Right, yes, I was just about to ask that. Do you know a way?"
"Provided you have something of his, you can place it in this cup, add some water and the needle will float and point you straight at him. It doesn't have the range to reach him now however, so just try it when you get closer."
"Wonderful, thank you so much Tally."
She arched her eyebrow in reply. Matey sheepishly packed the cup into his belt and made to leave.
Chapter 4
In which the mission gets harder
After saying farewell to Talisa, Matey quickly climbed high into the sky before orienting himself in the general direction of the Sand Jungles. He retrieved the egg from of his beltpouch and, bracing himself, pulled it apart, activating the spell. Immediately a strong tailwind slammed him forward, and he needed all of his strength to hold onto the egg halves and stop himself tumbling head over tail. Eventually he was level and riding the current of magical air comfortably. He estimated his speed to be around fifty miles per hour and figured that he would catch up to the Captain by nightfall. Not a bad way to travel, he thought to himself.
Some hours later, Matey wasn't so thrilled. His wings were aching and miles of boring afternoon desert were failing to entertain him. He calculated that the sea should be coming over the horizon soon, and then it was just a matter of finding the Gutpunch somewhere between the desert coast and its island jungle destination. A short while later his measurements proved true when he spotted a beach nestled alongside the wild blue ocean. Putting the wind egg back together caused him to plummet as he shed speed against the suddenly still air, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
A comfortable landing and a few minutes of preparation and Matey was ready to get a location. He searched quickly through his belt pouch but nothing specifically belonged to the Captain. He shrugged and dipped a claw in the cup. Presently the needle floated to the top and spun on the water before coming to rest pointing north by north east. Once he had packed the gear away again, Matey took off in the direction the magical compass had shown. A pleasant sea breeze picked up behind him and he felt no need for further assistance from Talisa's egg.
Within the hour Matey could see the telltale lines of a ship on the horizon, lines which quickly became the Gutpunch. From his vantage point he could see a large island further in the distance toward which the ship was clearly headed. Matey squawked once to announce his approach as he flew toward the ship and got a friendly wave from the lookout in reply. The Captain was not on the deck, so Matey landed on a barrel next to the wheel and nodded at the surprised Marine.
"Ho sailor, where can I find your Captain?"
"Uh, he's in his cabin, back there.. Uh, sir?" The confused Marine pointed at a solid-looking door in the aft of the vessel.
"Wonderful. Keep up the good work." Matey said, as he took off to find an open window.
Flying around to the aft of the ship, he found a small opening in the large, curtained windows that faced south. He hopped through the window and immediately found himself struggling amid luxurious fabric.
The Captain's salt-roughened voice rang out "You need help there, Matey?"
"Uh, no thanks, I'll be with you in a moment", he replied, still fighting through the thick folds of the curtains.
Eventually he was free and standing on a large table in front of a haggard-looking Killingsworth. The table was festooned with papers; maps, documents, terrifying drawings and the occasional woodcarving, which was also terrifying.
"Well?" Mark had clearly waited long enough.
"Hi!" Good start, thought Matey, who had somehow spent the whole trip not thinking about what to say to the Captain. "Well, you see, I wanted to come see you, and uh, help.. Yes, help you with all this, uh.. What is this?" Matey pointed to a sketch of a monstrous form, with far too many wings to be normal.
"That is my quarry. Or at least I think it is. I've been following up on a report from Captain Malice, who saw the Black Scar in the sky near the Sand Jungles. I think it's a Behemoth which has gone rogue and is headed this way. "
Matey gasped, and grabbed the sketch for a closer look. "Really?! A Behemoth is coming? OK.. Wow.. That explains that then."
"Explains what?"
"Oh, uh. Nothing. Did you report this to Mirrax by any chance?"
"Of course, Matey!, but I haven't gotten much back except acknowledgements of messages received."
"Right. So.." A thought occurred to Matey about something in one of those letters from Trev that he had actually read. "You don't suppose the Behemoth isn't actually rogue? Only I've been hearing chatter about some odd new bird cult in the Sand Jungle that's been getting... Unnaturally popular, recently." He pulled out the sheaf of letters from his best and added to the table’s already sizeable paper load.
"Here it is," he found the letter from Bitali and passed it to the Captain.
Killingsworth started reading, stopping occasionally to eyeball Matey. "Bird cults? How long has this been going on?"
Matey pondered before replying, "Well I don't know exactly, but I heard it became quite the crime to imprison birds on the islands after it started growing. So it must have been after I was caught... Within 2 years, I expect. This new one I've never heard of, and it gives me the chills."
Killingsworth put the paper back down and started to rummage for something. Matey looked at the letter again from the side, and noticed something:
Orange
Raven-
Crow
Uniting
Spirit

Orcus! So that's what Mirrax had noticed, thought Matey. "Um, Captain, I think we have a problem. Looks like the new bird cult is a front for an Orcusite cult."
Killingsworth looked at the letter again, "Hmm, they never were that inventive, were they? Looks like we might be sailing into choppy waters, Matey "
Chapter 5
In which a party gets started.
Matey and Killingsworth were still in cabin as the day cooled into evening. A crewman had just brought them supper when the call came from the lookout above.
"Land ho! And torches!"
Presently there came a knock on the cabin and a marine stepped in to address the Captain.
"Sir, the lookout has spotted several small vessels between us and our destination."
"Thank you Lieutenant Johnson, I'll be right out, " he said, turning and grabbing his hat and weapon belt. "Matey, care to join me on deck?"
"Sounds like that trouble we were expecting is already here" Matey replied as he hopped off the table and made himself comfortable on the Captain's shoulder. When he had first met Mark, such a perch was unthinkably awkward. But after many nights of helping Haku cheat him at cards, he felt right at home.
The sailors and marines turned to salute as the Captain stepped out and made his way to the prow. First Mate Dirty Lizzy was waiting there and handed him a spyglass.
"You can just make out the canoes and rafts from the torchlight. It looks like the local tribe is trying to blockade our landing." She looked oddly at Matey while reporting to Killingsworth. "You're new," she said, looking at his belt and goggles. "I assume you are Matey?"
Matey nodded, sliding his magical goggles down over his eyes and peering at the distant blockade. "Cap, it looks like they are entirely mundane, but there's something odd about that cove behind them."
"I guess we should try the diplomatic approach first, this isn't the Great Downwards, after all." Killingsworth signaled to a marine, who brought over a cone-shaped object that Matey recognized as a volume enhancer. "Hello, this is Captain Mark Killingsworth of the Gutpunch, sailing for the Mirrax Marines. You will stand down and move aside immediately, or else."
Matey looked at the Captain, momentarily blinding himself with the goggles. "That's what you call diplomacy?"
In answer to both Killingsworth's demand and Matey's question, a spear flew out of the darkness and thudded into the deck nearby.
"Right then, so much for diplomacy," said Mark with a sudden grin on his face. "Light 'em up, Lieutenant! Drive them off!"
The marine turned smartly on his heels and started barking orders. The ship turned slightly to port as two men wrangled one of the starboard ballistae into position. The Lieutenant opened a suspiciously waterproof crate nearby and gingerly lifted a long, thin package from its padded interior. He placed it onto the racked ballista and stepped back while the sailors took aim.
The Mark IV Partystarter bolt had been recently developed by a Mirrax weapons designer after seeing one of Killingsworth's more exuberant party tricks at the last solstice fair. It was cynically called a "waterborne crowd suppression tool" but like all military terminology it could do a lot more damage than the name indicated.
"Fire!" Shouted the Lieutenant, causing Killingsworth to suppress a chuckle.
The bolt lanced out parallel to the water, quickly losing height until it plowed into the waves right before the cluster of boats. At first nothing happened, but then the sea started to bubble and suddenly flames erupted from the surface, spreading rapidly. The boat belonging to the errant spearthrower was the closest to the flames and, as the wall of fire approached, the tribesman shouted a warning and launched himself into the water, swimming furiously towards the other canoes.
Matey watched as the flames roared across the water, engulfing the canoe and racing towards the retreating back of the swimmer. Soon enough they caught up to him and a gurgling scream rang out. The flames stopped expanding just before the line of canoes and settled in to placidly burn away the remaining propellant floating on the surface.
"Sorry sir, looks like we overshot by a few yards" called the Lieutenant.
"Not to fear, Lieutenant. Perhaps this will encourage the rest to move out of our way faster." Killingsworth looked unconcerned.
"Enemies retreating!" Shouted the lookout from atop the main mast. The canoes had turned and abandoned the charred remains of the spearthrower and his boat, rowing back to shore.
"There, nothing to worry about lads. Full speed ahead, if you please. Go around the flames, mind you!" Killingsworth turned and started towards his cabin.
"Belay that, something's coming out of the cove! Something big!"
Matey could hear the note of fear in the lookout's voice. He looked again with his magical goggles and noticed a blurry black patch moving towards the flames. He struggled to remember what Talisa had said black stood for in the magical spectrum.
“A big ship approaching fast, dead ahead!” came the shout from the crow’s nest.
Suddenly the flames parted and a tremendous inky shadow appeared out of the smoke. As the fire illuminated the sides of the massive ship, Matey could see they were made entirely of iron. How could such a vessel stay afloat, he wondered.
“‘Black Dog’ Marley”, Killingsworth scowled as he spat out the name, “I thought he was dead.”
“You recognise the ship?” said Matey.
“Aye, and a cursed ship it is”, replied Killingsworth. "Prepare for boarders!" He shouted to the crew, adjusting his weapon belt and drawing his exotic sword.
First Mate Lizzy's only preparation was to draw the twin short swords she always had at her sides. With that done, she opined quietly "It's a calm night, Captain, surely we can outrun them?"
"That bastard's ship no more needs the winds than we do. It runs on blood and hate, and believe me, there is no lost love between us."
On that dire note, Matey flew up to the closest mast above the suddenly bustling deck and watched the crew prepare. Weapon stores were opened and every sailor issued with a sword and a hatchet, to cut boarding ropes. The marines had finished securing the useless ballistae and were checking their equipment. Lieutenant Johnson grimly readied his Dragon Pistol and cutlass.
From his vantage point, Matey could just make out the deck of the enemy ship, swarming with shadows of inhuman movements. He gasped and then shouted to warn the others. "Captain, the enemy crew is undead! Looks like skeletons and ghouls!"
"Thanks for the heads up, Matey. Looks like Marley has changed his tactics since I last buried him!" Killingsworth turned to address the nervous crew.
"Alright lads, looks like we've got some undead to take care of. You lot, swap those swords for clubs. Bennie, Geoff, fetch the holy water from the galley. The rest of you, aim for the neck, just like we practiced."
Another burst of activity took place below Matey while he pulled a bottle of holy water out of his belt pouch and took another glance at the approaching monster of a ship. He still couldn't remember what black meant in his goggles and it was bothering him. The color seemed to be centered around the back half of the ship, obscuring his sight such that he had to take the goggles off to get a good view of the enemy captain.
Standing more than 7ft tall, the hulking mass of muscle and bad life choices known as 'Black Dog' Marley was dressed in a torn and filthy black tunic which might have once been a robe. He carried two heavy axes and wore no adornments beyond a large golden necklace. His face was twisted into a death rictus, terrifying Mate like never before. His skin was grey and hung loosely from his face and legs. Where it was pulled taut across the massive arms it appeared almost translucent. Matey could see the monster of a man shouting at the undead soldiers on the deck, all preparing for boarding.
The ironclad was nearly on top of the Gutpunch by the time the first grappling hook landed on the deck and caught on a crate. One of the sailors was quick to sever the rope but several more landed in the next wave and pulled the two ships closer together. Johnson opened fire with his Dragon Pistol, bathing the ropes with flames which quickly burned them away.
The helmsman shouted and spun the wheel hard away from the ironclad, causing several grappling hooks and overeager ghouls to fall short and splash into the dark water that opened up between the ships. The sailors and marines all kept their footing during the hasty maneuver, ready for the next wave which was sure to come. Every man and woman on board the ship knew that standing firm was the safest plan, letting the undead come on board and cutting them down where they landed. Even so, the anticipation was building and with it, a taste of dread in their mouths.
The ironclad had soon come about and pulled up level with the Gutpunch, looking to close the gap between them again. More grappling hooks sailed across the dark gulf, embedding into the wood of the deck and railing. Sailors scrambled to cut the ropes as they pulled taut. Matey could see something on the other deck, and squawked a warning as he saw Marley drop both of his axes and heft a great iron anchor laden with chain. He swung it once to gauge the weight and on the second swing Matey could see the muscles bulging under his black tunic as he let the anchor fly.
The marines had time to duck for cover before the anchor crashed into the deck, but one of the sailors was not fast enough, getting both of his legs crushed by the impact and dragged partway across the deck before the anchor caught on the main mast.
The chain was still being hauled in by the ironclad’s captain when the ghouls began climbing across it to be the first to reach the Gutpunch’s deck. One-by-one they reached the deck and were cut down by the relaxed strokes of Killingsworth’s sword, Lizzy and the marines hurried to throw the bodies overboard, but the gap was being quickly closed by the brute strength of the Black Dog himself.
As soon as the ironclad had been pulled close enough, skeletons started to swarm over the side and drop down onto the deck, where the crew waited with clubs and swords at the ready. Matey watched the ensuing melee with a sharp eye, shouting the occasional warning to a sailor that was about to be ambushed by a new arrival. His other eye stayed unwaveringly on Marley, who was presently tying the anchor chain around his own ship’s mast.
Undead and sailors swirled across the deck in mortal combat. The Marines held the stairs to the quarterdeck, keeping the helmsman free from harm while he tried to keep the ship from being damaged. The wizards normally powering the ship's magic circles had joined the fight with relish, blasting ghouls and skeletons to ash. Matey could see the enemy captain retrieving his axes and preparing to board so he shouted a warning to Killingsworth, who peeled off from the melee and prepared to face his foe.
Chapter 6
In which Mark and Matey meet their match.
The heavy thud reverberated through the wooden structure of the ship as ‘Black Dog’ Marley landed on the deck and straightened up to his impressive height. He turned towards Killingsworth, ignoring the melee around him. “We meet again, Dyingsworth!” His voice rasped like claws on a gravestone.
“You never were one for witty remarks, Marley” replied Killingsworth while casting a haste spell on himself, Lizzy and some nearby crew.
Marley started advancing across the deck, swatting away sailors and undead alike to clear his path. "Always with the magic, Killingswimp. About time you faced someone in a fair fight!" To emphasize "fair", he nudged the golden necklace with one of his axes.
Matey shrugged down his goggles again to take a look at what was going on, and saw that, while Killingsworth was a glowing swirl of colours, Marley had brought that sinister black sphere of energy across with him. Still unsure what the color signified, he nevertheless shouted down to Killingsworth: "Look out Captain, there's some kind of magical aura around him!"
The Captain of the Gutpunch nodded grimly and Matey could see caution tempering his stance. Killingsworth held out his hand towards the oncoming titan and muttered a spell. Triple beams of fire flashed from the open palm in the direction of Marley but failed to land, all three rays vanishing before they could hit him.
"Your spells won't work on me, Killingswhelp! See, Orcus prepares those he chooses for the glory they deserve." Marley was close to him now, nearly at striking range with those twin axes.
"The only thing you deserve is another watery grave, Marley!" He raised his sword and lunged at the orcusite. Matey could see something go wrong midswing, as the Captain stumbled into the black aura, nearly dropping his sword. He winced, grabbing his head with his free hand and retreating to the side.
Marley turned again to face him and swung his axes in blurringly fast arcs towards Killingsworth's chest. One glanced off the duller-than-usual mithril breastplate but the other sliced into his hip and drew blood. Killingsworth gritted his teeth and steadied himself, returning to a clean fencing stance.
"An Antimagic Field, Marley? That's the best your god can do? Let me tell you about my god, he who favors the lucky with luck and the skillful with skill."
In one smooth motion, Killingsworth drew and threw a dagger from his belt while crouching low and launching himself under the arc of the incoming axes. The dagger glinted in the firelight, his unmeasured throw carrying a prayer to Rhombodazzle for a little luck in exchange for the chaos such luck could bring.
Matey watched the hilt of the dagger sprout from Marley's left eye socket just as Killingsworth's sword sliced open the monster’s right leg, revealing rotten flesh and a putrid, yellowing bone. He launched himself from his vantage point, looking to capitalize on the sudden change in pace, and dived towards the foul monster below. First Mate Lizzy had the same idea, ducking around Marley into his newly-blinded side and preparing to strike.
Marley, who had scarcely noticed the attacks, quickly swung his axes around, bringing one up pointing at Lizzy and turning the other flat to swat Matey out of the sky. "My eyes see more than you think, mortals! You cannot hide from me while you live!"
Only the sudden change in balance from entering the antimagic field saved Matey from being collected by the heavy swing of the flat axehead. The loss of momentum, however, made him miss his target and fly past Marley's head.
Matey recovered before he hit the deck and climbed back into the air above the melee, while Lizzy kept her distance and Killingsworth turned and grinned.
"It's going to take more than that to best us, Marley. Have you noticed your crew are having difficulty standing? Feeling any pain in your feet, perhaps?"
Marley stopped to look around at the melee, noticing his crew for the first time. They did indeed look like they were having problems, hopping as if standing on hot coals and being cut down with ease by even the most junior of the crew. "What have you done? Killingswuss? Some kind of magic trick?"
"Oh nothing so fancy. Just, the water we swab the deck with is a little...holy." He emphasized the last word, gesturing at the crewmen behind him that had just emerged from below deck.
On his signal, Bennie and Geoff started smashing the barrels they had fetched from the galley. Water gushed out and flooded the decks, flowing down to the melee. The impact was immediate: ghouls shrieked horribly and skeletons collapsed and shattered on contact. Marley himself suffered the worst of it, but stood his ground implacably as the water parted around him. The sizzle of burning, decomposing flesh filled the air and Matey couldn't help the queer growl of his stomach reminding him of the time since he last ate.
"You think that's enough to defeat me? You're so wrong!" Screamed Marley.
Matey saw a marine step up behind the monster and aim a dragon pistol at his back. He curved around and dropped into another dive, timing his holy water drop to the marine's attack. Killingsworth's eyes flicked up to watch and he too readied for another strike.
Unexpectedly, Marley spun on the spot, grinding his own boiling feet into the deck, and threw his left axe at the Marine. It flew true and lodged itself in his stomach. Marley displayed speed that belied his size and took a giant step forward, pulling the axe back out of the stricken marine before he even had a chance to fall. The other axe swung back up towards Matey, who was forced to abandon his dive again.
Lieutenant Johnson was on the other side of the boat fending off a particularly vicious ghoul when he saw his man go down. Dispatching his foe with renewed fervor, he shouted a command to his remaining squad and they started to clear a small area for him to get to work. He loosened some ropes and set to with a spanner, removing one of the bolts from the ballista mount and swivelling it to face the masts. The marines pushed forward and one of them made a grab for the waterproof storage crate, snatching one of the long, thin packages and tossing it to Johnson, who racked it and shouted for help aiming the huge siege weapon.
Killingsworth was still dancing away from Marley’s twin axes, wracking his brain for a spell that might penetrate an antimagic field when a shout came from the other side of the ship and he dropped instinctively. Before he had even realised what was happening, he was laying on the deck watching as a familiar-looking bolt sprung from the mighty ballista, lodged itself into the chest of Black Dog Marley and propelled him over the side of the ship, over the deck of the ironclad and into the darkness beyond. Just before Killingsworth expected to hear a distant splash, there was a tremendous flash as the entire payload of the Mark IV Partystarter Bolt detonated at once. The fireball bathed the decks of the intertwined ships in a fierce orange light before the shockwave threw the undead and crew to their knees.
The Captain and his crew were the first to recover. Taking advantage of the suddenly lethargy that had stricken the undead with the death of their leader, they cleared off the deck and secured the ship. Once the wizards had severed the anchor chain of the ironclad, it drifted off into the darkness away from the land, a silent shadow on the now-still seas.
To Be Continued...

Live and Let Fly (Part 1)

Chapter 1
In which there's a lesson, maybe.

The Sand is a hot, forbidding place. A vast inland ocean of baked dry dust and sun-bleached bones. But even here there are signs of life. The bird flies high above the hot sand, but by chance or divine intervention its droppings land in the lee of a large rock. The seeds that were the bird's lunch struggle downward, and one of them finds a patch of wet sand. The tree in the shadow of the rock continues for years in its quest to find and store what meager water it can.

The traveler stumbles wearily towards what is surely a mirage. A tree couldn't possibly grow here. There couldn't possibly be lifesaving water in its thick leaves. The traveller gives thanks, carving a beautiful holy symbol into the tree and speaking the blessings of their god before striding purposefully away.

The other traveler is dressed in a long black robe, and hates the tree as soon as they see it on the horizon. When they notice the holy symbol, they fly into a rage and attack the tree. The other traveler walks away dedicating the destruction to their god

The other bird rockets overhead on a wind current that doesn't seem to stir the drying leaves scattered across the sand below. The half empty packet of seeds that was the bird's lunch falls to the ground and lands in the shade of the rock. The seeds find a bounty of water stored in the roots of the dead tree.

Chapter 2
In which a bird gets a mission.

The cold early morning sun pierced the gloomy interior of the Planar Anchor; the worst thing to happen in weeks. Not since the undead attack had Matey wanted to rip a throat out this badly. He squinted at the blinding light and could just make out a humanoid silhouette standing on the threshold. Military bearing, female, fancy hat: Mirrax. He sighed quietly.

"Oh birdy? This place is a mess! When are you going to clean up? Is that a zombie chewing on that table leg?"

Matey groaned and lifted his head off the bar. "You leave Pete out of this, he doesn't hurt anyone."

Lady Abitha Terribeth Mirrax stepped lightly over the ruins of a table and last night's attempt at cooking by Wokka, making her way towards the bar and Matey. He glowered at her from his resting place surrounded by peanut shells and spilled Skorrian Bourbon. She sat down out of arm's reach, and began to leaf through the pile of letters from Trev, Matey's dimwitted but lightfingered informant.

"That's personal correspondence", he growled.

"But not yours, I see", she replied amiably, continuing to flick through pages of unread documents.

"I... What are you here for?"

She gently put down the letters and levelled her gaze at him. Matey shivered involuntarily. Something about her always made people want to protect their kidneys, and the effect was not lost on avians.

"I'm here to ask you for a favour", she said quietly.

Ruffling his feathers, Matey cautiously asked "And just what is this favour?"

"Let's start with the stick then end with the carrot, or in your case, the birdseed: Nobody knows I am here. I already know your tengu friend is out at the morning market with the barmaid, the stable hand has taken the day off to see an orc about a talking horse in Greyton, and the three kobolds are unconscious in the kitchen, in fact one of them appears to have drowned in a barrel."

"That's just Short Yak having breakfast" Matey interjected.

"Is that so? Well, suffice to say I like my privacy and you would do well to remember that. What I ask of you is to be held in extreme confidence."

Again, Matey couldn't hold his beak, "OK OK, a secret mission, got it. So what is it?"

"I need you to retrieve Mark and get him back to Tsar as promptly as possible", she glanced back at the pile of documents and spun the top one a quarter-turn to the left. "He is on his way to the Sand Jungles, should be nearly there in fact."

"That's one heck of a trip, Lady, what do you need him so urgently for, and why send me? Spells can reach that far."

"I have no doubt that I can reach him myself, but I don't want to. Mark's independence and roguish nature are valuable to me, so I don't want to command him to return. On the other hand his life is valuable to me, so I don't want him to stay in the Sand Jungles."

“Is there a reason why he shouldn’t stay in the Sand Jungles?”

“Yes”, she replied, smiling.

“Ok, I get it. Now, about the reward you promised?”

“I did? Well, I hope I’m doing this right, but if you complete this task for me, I won’t burn down your bar with you in it.”

“That’s definitely not how you do it.”

“Regardless, the offer stands.”

Mirrax swivelled on the chair and stood up to leave. “Sooner would be better, and remember: Mark shouldn’t learn that I want him back, make it sound natural.”

Matey continued to glare at her, as she picked her way through the mess of the tavern towards the door.

As she opened the door, she turned back to him and said “You should probably look into that bird cult while you are there. Nasty business, that.”

Matey waited a few minutes to be sure that she’d left, then struggled to his feet. After a quick bath in a bowl full of Haku’s finest paintstripper, he flew up to the rafters where he kept his kit out of reach of questing kobold fingers. His perch had certainly grown since the Vampire General incident, where he’d come into his own small fortune with nothing to spend it on except shiny objects and useful baubles. He landed on the platform and began inspecting the shelves full of gear to choose from. He strapped on his trusty utility belt and checked that it contained his disguise kit, emergency wands and odds and ends.

He thought about his likely destinations on this trip: The Sand Jungles were his original home, not that he could recall much about them. Tropical, rainy, hot, with boring villages and villagers. There’s the Gutpunch, which he will somehow need to catch up to, and possibly Tsar if he has to babysit the Captain the whole way home. As he pondered the scenarios, he grabbed items off the shelves and tucked them into the belt pouch: Tindertwigs, Thunderstones, a set of Lockpicks, loaded dice, smoke pellets, and so on. Good thing he’d had Talisa enlarge the capacity of his belt after the last adventure where he was caught lacking a couple of very useful vampire-hunting ingredients.

After he had finished packing his gear, he pulled his magic goggles over the headband that he never took off, slipped on his magical rings and checked himself in the reflective plate that he’d stolen from the kitchen. Perfect.

He swooped down to the bar, and left a short message for Haku scribbled on a menu. He stuck his head into the kitchen to check that, yes, Short Yak had indeed come up for breath after his breakfast. Taking one last look around the bar, he grabbed the letters from Trev and stuffed them into the belt, then launched himself out the window and headed directly across the square to Talisa’s shop.

Chapter 3
In which Matey goes shopping.

It was still early, and the town was only beginning to rise. Smoke climbed silently from a few chimneys and the hardiest of merchants were setting up their stalls in the cold, damp marketplace. Matey landed lightly on the window sill of Talisa’s shop and found out to his chagrin that she actually slept. He tapped a few times on the window before giving up and pulling out his lock picks and getting to work. Once he had the window open, he tucked his tools away and slipped inside.

Looking around the shop, he was drawn to a table full of obsidian daggers glittering in the dim sunlight. He landed on the table and reached out a claw towards one of the weapons when suddenly he heard a noise behind him.

“I wouldn’t touch those, Matey. Not if you like your claws where they are.” Talisa had appeared in the doorway behind the counter.

“Cursed are they?” Matey turned and looked her up and down, noting the glint in her eye and the sharp gaze that sudden wakefulness had only amplified. She was wearing a nightshirt and what looked like rabbitskin slippers.

“You could say that. Now, what can I do for you? Mark is away and I haven’t been informed of any missions for you.” Straight to the point this one, Matey noted. She clearly wasn’t a morning person.

“Well, I have a sudden urge to see the Captain, so I was hoping you could help me get there faster”

“Oh? sounds fishy, but sure I’ll indulge you. Well… “ She thought briefly to herself before continuing, ”I haven’t got anything teleporty in stock, but I’m sure we can do something about your flight speed. How good are you at riding air currents?”

Matey simply stretched out his wings in response.

“Right, good. Then this should work.” She said, reaching under a countertop and throwing him a small wooden egg. “Don’t open that here, but when you pull the pieces apart, it creates a continuous gust of wind in the direction of your choice. Putting the pieces back together will end the spell. Do try to bring it back to me, however. It’s quite valuable and I get the feeling Mark isn’t paying for this little trip of yours.”

Matey nodded as he slipped the egg into his belt. “Thanks Talisa, I knew you’d come through for me.”

"You'll also be wanting a way to find Mark too, I assume?"

Matey ruffled his feathers and replied "Right, yes, I was just about to ask that. Do you know a way?"

"Provided you have something of his, you can place it in this cup, add some water and the needle will float and point you straight at him. It doesn't have the range to reach him now however, so just try it when you get closer."

"Wonderful, thank you so much Tally."

She arched her eyebrow in reply. Matey sheepishly packed the cup into his belt and made to leave.

Chapter 4
In which the mission gets harder

After saying farewell to Talisa, Matey quickly climbed high into the sky before orienting himself in the general direction of the Sand Jungles. He retrieved the egg from of his beltpouch and, bracing himself, pulled it apart, activating the spell. Immediately a strong tailwind slammed him forward, and he needed all of his strength to hold onto the egg halves and stop himself tumbling head over tail. Eventually he was level and riding the current of magical air comfortably. He estimated his speed to be around fifty miles per hour and figured that he would catch up to the Captain by nightfall. Not a bad way to travel, he thought to himself.

Some hours later, Matey wasn't so thrilled. His wings were aching and miles of boring afternoon desert were failing to entertain him. He calculated that the sea should be coming over the horizon soon, and then it was just a matter of finding the Gutpunch somewhere between the desert coast and its island jungle destination. A short while later his measurements proved true when he spotted a beach nestled alongside the wild blue ocean. Putting the wind egg back together caused him to plummet as he shed speed against the suddenly still air, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

A comfortable landing and a few minutes of preparation and Matey was ready to get a location. He searched quickly through his belt pouch but nothing specifically belonged to the Captain. He shrugged and dipped a claw in the cup. Presently the needle floated to the top and spun on the water before coming to rest pointing north by north east. Once he had packed the gear away again, Matey took off in the direction the magical compass had shown. A pleasant sea breeze picked up behind him and he felt no need for further assistance from Talisa's egg.

Within the hour Matey could see the telltale lines of a ship on the horizon, lines which quickly became the Gutpunch. From his vantage point he could see a large island further in the distance toward which the ship was clearly headed. Matey squawked once to announce his approach as he flew toward the ship and got a friendly wave from the lookout in reply. The Captain was not on the deck, so Matey landed on a barrel next to the wheel and nodded at the surprised Marine.

"Ho sailor, where can I find your Captain?"

"Uh, he's in his cabin, back there.. Uh, sir?" The confused Marine pointed at a solid-looking door in the aft of the vessel.

"Wonderful. Keep up the good work." Matey said, as he took off to find an open window.

Flying around to the aft of the ship, he found a small opening in the large, curtained windows that faced south. He hopped through the window and immediately found himself struggling amid luxurious fabric.

The Captain's salt-roughened voice rang out "You need help there, Matey?"

"Uh, no thanks, I'll be with you in a moment", he replied, still fighting through the thick folds of the curtains.

Eventually he was free and standing on a large table in front of a haggard-looking Killingsworth. The table was festooned with papers; maps, documents, terrifying drawings and the occasional woodcarving, which was also terrifying.

"Well?" Mark had clearly waited long enough.

"Hi!" Good start, thought Matey, who had somehow spent the whole trip not thinking about what to say to the Captain. "Well, you see, I wanted to come see you, and uh, help.. Yes, help you with all this, uh.. What is this?" Matey pointed to a sketch of a monstrous form, with far too many wings to be normal.

"That is my quarry. Or at least I think it is. I've been following up on a report from Captain Malice, who saw the Black Scar in the sky near the Sand Jungles. I think it's a Behemoth which has gone rogue and is headed this way. "

Matey gasped, and grabbed the sketch for a closer look. "Really?! A Behemoth is coming? OK.. Wow.. That explains that then."

"Explains what?"

"Oh, uh. Nothing. Did you report this to Mirrax by any chance?"

"Of course, Matey!, but I haven't gotten much back except acknowledgements of messages received."

"Right. So.." A thought occurred to Matey about something in one of those letters from Trev that he had actually read. "You don't suppose the Behemoth isn't actually rogue? Only I've been hearing chatter about some odd new bird cult in the Sand Jungle that's been getting... Unnaturally popular, recently." He pulled out the sheaf of letters from his best and added to the table’s already sizeable paper load.

"Here it is," he found the letter from Bitali and passed it to the Captain.

Killingsworth started reading, stopping occasionally to eyeball Matey. "Bird cults? How long has this been going on?"

Matey pondered before replying, "Well I don't know exactly, but I heard it became quite the crime to imprison birds on the islands after it started growing. So it must have been after I was caught... Within 2 years, I expect. This new one I've never heard of, and it gives me the chills."

Killingsworth put the paper back down and started to rummage for something. Matey looked at the letter again from the side, and noticed something:

Orange
Raven-
Crow
Uniting
Spirit

Orcus! So that's what Mirrax had noticed, thought Matey. "Um, Captain, I think we have a problem. Looks like the new bird cult is a front for an Orcusite cult."

Killingsworth looked at the letter again, "Hmm, they never were that inventive, were they? Looks like we might be sailing into choppy waters, Matey "

Chapter 5
In which a party gets started.

Matey and Killingsworth were still in cabin as the day cooled into evening. A crewman had just brought them supper when the call came from the lookout above.

"Land ho! And torches!"

Presently there came a knock on the cabin and a marine stepped in to address the Captain.

"Sir, the lookout has spotted several small vessels between us and our destination."

"Thank you Lieutenant Johnson, I'll be right out, " he said, turning and grabbing his hat and weapon belt. "Matey, care to join me on deck?"

"Sounds like that trouble we were expecting is already here" Matey replied as he hopped off the table and made himself comfortable on the Captain's shoulder. When he had first met Mark, such a perch was unthinkably awkward. But after many nights of helping Haku cheat him at cards, he felt right at home.

The sailors and marines turned to salute as the Captain stepped out and made his way to the prow. First Mate Dirty Lizzy was waiting there and handed him a spyglass.

"You can just make out the canoes and rafts from the torchlight. It looks like the local tribe is trying to blockade our landing." She looked oddly at Matey while reporting to Killingsworth. "You're new," she said, looking at his belt and goggles. "I assume you are Matey?"

Matey nodded, sliding his magical goggles down over his eyes and peering at the distant blockade. "Cap, it looks like they are entirely mundane, but there's something odd about that cove behind them."

"I guess we should try the diplomatic approach first, this isn't the Great Downwards, after all." Killingsworth signaled to a marine, who brought over a cone-shaped object that Matey recognized as a volume enhancer. "Hello, this is Captain Mark Killingsworth of the Gutpunch, sailing for the Mirrax Marines. You will stand down and move aside immediately, or else."

Matey looked at the Captain, momentarily blinding himself with the goggles. "That's what you call diplomacy?"

In answer to both Killingsworth's demand and Matey's question, a spear flew out of the darkness and thudded into the deck nearby.

"Right then, so much for diplomacy," said Mark with a sudden grin on his face. "Light 'em up, Lieutenant! Drive them off!"

The marine turned smartly on his heels and started barking orders. The ship turned slightly to port as two men wrangled one of the starboard ballistae into position. The Lieutenant opened a suspiciously waterproof crate nearby and gingerly lifted a long, thin package from its padded interior. He placed it onto the racked ballista and stepped back while the sailors took aim.

The Mark IV Partystarter bolt had been recently developed by a Mirrax weapons designer after seeing one of Killingsworth's more exuberant party tricks at the last solstice fair. It was cynically called a "waterborne crowd suppression tool" but like all military terminology it could do a lot more damage than the name indicated.

"Fire!" Shouted the Lieutenant, causing Killingsworth to suppress a chuckle.

The bolt lanced out parallel to the water, quickly losing height until it plowed into the waves right before the cluster of boats. At first nothing happened, but then the sea started to bubble and suddenly flames erupted from the surface, spreading rapidly. The boat belonging to the errant spearthrower was the closest to the flames and, as the wall of fire approached, the tribesman shouted a warning and launched himself into the water, swimming furiously towards the other canoes.

Matey watched as the flames roared across the water, engulfing the canoe and racing towards the retreating back of the swimmer. Soon enough they caught up to him and a gurgling scream rang out. The flames stopped expanding just before the line of canoes and settled in to placidly burn away the remaining propellant floating on the surface.

"Sorry sir, looks like we overshot by a few yards" called the Lieutenant.

"Not to fear, Lieutenant. Perhaps this will encourage the rest to move out of our way faster." Killingsworth looked unconcerned.

"Enemies retreating!" Shouted the lookout from atop the main mast. The canoes had turned and abandoned the charred remains of the spearthrower and his boat, rowing back to shore.

"There, nothing to worry about lads. Full speed ahead, if you please. Go around the flames, mind you!" Killingsworth turned and started towards his cabin.

"Belay that, something's coming out of the cove! Something big!"

Matey could hear the note of fear in the lookout's voice. He looked again with his magical goggles and noticed a blurry black patch moving towards the flames. He struggled to remember what Talisa had said black stood for in the magical spectrum.

“A big ship approaching fast, dead ahead!” came the shout from the crow’s nest.

Suddenly the flames parted and a tremendous inky shadow appeared out of the smoke. As the fire illuminated the sides of the massive ship, Matey could see they were made entirely of iron. How could such a vessel stay afloat, he wondered.

“‘Black Dog’ Marley”, Killingsworth scowled as he spat out the name, “I thought he was dead.”

“You recognise the ship?” said Matey.

“Aye, and a cursed ship it is”, replied Killingsworth. "Prepare for boarders!" He shouted to the crew, adjusting his weapon belt and drawing his exotic sword.

First Mate Lizzy's only preparation was to draw the twin short swords she always had at her sides. With that done, she opined quietly "It's a calm night, Captain, surely we can outrun them?"

"That bastard's ship no more needs the winds than we do. It runs on blood and hate, and believe me, there is no lost love between us."

On that dire note, Matey flew up to the closest mast above the suddenly bustling deck and watched the crew prepare. Weapon stores were opened and every sailor issued with a sword and a hatchet, to cut boarding ropes. The marines had finished securing the useless ballistae and were checking their equipment. Lieutenant Johnson grimly readied his Dragon Pistol and cutlass.

From his vantage point, Matey could just make out the deck of the enemy ship, swarming with shadows of inhuman movements. He gasped and then shouted to warn the others. "Captain, the enemy crew is undead! Looks like skeletons and ghouls!"

"Thanks for the heads up, Matey. Looks like Marley has changed his tactics since I last buried him!" Killingsworth turned to address the nervous crew.

"Alright lads, looks like we've got some undead to take care of. You lot, swap those swords for clubs. Bennie, Geoff, fetch the holy water from the galley. The rest of you, aim for the neck, just like we practiced."

Another burst of activity took place below Matey while he pulled a bottle of holy water out of his belt pouch and took another glance at the approaching monster of a ship. He still couldn't remember what black meant in his goggles and it was bothering him. The color seemed to be centered around the back half of the ship, obscuring his sight such that he had to take the goggles off to get a good view of the enemy captain.

Standing more than 7ft tall, the hulking mass of muscle and bad life choices known as 'Black Dog' Marley was dressed in a torn and filthy black tunic which might have once been a robe. He carried two heavy axes and wore no adornments beyond a large golden necklace. His face was twisted into a death rictus, terrifying Mate like never before. His skin was grey and hung loosely from his face and legs. Where it was pulled taut across the massive arms it appeared almost translucent. Matey could see the monster of a man shouting at the undead soldiers on the deck, all preparing for boarding.

The ironclad was nearly on top of the Gutpunch by the time the first grappling hook landed on the deck and caught on a crate. One of the sailors was quick to sever the rope but several more landed in the next wave and pulled the two ships closer together. Johnson opened fire with his Dragon Pistol, bathing the ropes with flames which quickly burned them away.

The helmsman shouted and spun the wheel hard away from the ironclad, causing several grappling hooks and overeager ghouls to fall short and splash into the dark water that opened up between the ships. The sailors and marines all kept their footing during the hasty maneuver, ready for the next wave which was sure to come. Every man and woman on board the ship knew that standing firm was the safest plan, letting the undead come on board and cutting them down where they landed. Even so, the anticipation was building and with it, a taste of dread in their mouths.

The ironclad had soon come about and pulled up level with the Gutpunch, looking to close the gap between them again. More grappling hooks sailed across the dark gulf, embedding into the wood of the deck and railing. Sailors scrambled to cut the ropes as they pulled taut. Matey could see something on the other deck, and squawked a warning as he saw Marley drop both of his axes and heft a great iron anchor laden with chain. He swung it once to gauge the weight and on the second swing Matey could see the muscles bulging under his black tunic as he let the anchor fly.

The marines had time to duck for cover before the anchor crashed into the deck, but one of the sailors was not fast enough, getting both of his legs crushed by the impact and dragged partway across the deck before the anchor caught on the main mast.

The chain was still being hauled in by the ironclad’s captain when the ghouls began climbing across it to be the first to reach the Gutpunch’s deck. One-by-one they reached the deck and were cut down by the relaxed strokes of Killingsworth’s sword, Lizzy and the marines hurried to throw the bodies overboard, but the gap was being quickly closed by the brute strength of the Black Dog himself.

As soon as the ironclad had been pulled close enough, skeletons started to swarm over the side and drop down onto the deck, where the crew waited with clubs and swords at the ready. Matey watched the ensuing melee with a sharp eye, shouting the occasional warning to a sailor that was about to be ambushed by a new arrival. His other eye stayed unwaveringly on Marley, who was presently tying the anchor chain around his own ship’s mast.

Undead and sailors swirled across the deck in mortal combat. The Marines held the stairs to the quarterdeck, keeping the helmsman free from harm while he tried to keep the ship from being damaged. The wizards normally powering the ship's magic circles had joined the fight with relish, blasting ghouls and skeletons to ash. Matey could see the enemy captain retrieving his axes and preparing to board so he shouted a warning to Killingsworth, who peeled off from the melee and prepared to face his foe.

Chapter 6
In which Mark and Matey meet their match.

The heavy thud reverberated through the wooden structure of the ship as ‘Black Dog’ Marley landed on the deck and straightened up to his impressive height. He turned towards Killingsworth, ignoring the melee around him. “We meet again, Dyingsworth!” His voice rasped like claws on a gravestone.

“You never were one for witty remarks, Marley” replied Killingsworth while casting a haste spell on himself, Lizzy and some nearby crew.

Marley started advancing across the deck, swatting away sailors and undead alike to clear his path. "Always with the magic, Killingswimp. About time you faced someone in a fair fight!" To emphasize "fair", he nudged the golden necklace with one of his axes.

Matey shrugged down his goggles again to take a look at what was going on, and saw that, while Killingsworth was a glowing swirl of colours, Marley had brought that sinister black sphere of energy across with him. Still unsure what the color signified, he nevertheless shouted down to Killingsworth: "Look out Captain, there's some kind of magical aura around him!"

The Captain of the Gutpunch nodded grimly and Matey could see caution tempering his stance. Killingsworth held out his hand towards the oncoming titan and muttered a spell. Triple beams of fire flashed from the open palm in the direction of Marley but failed to land, all three rays vanishing before they could hit him.

"Your spells won't work on me, Killingswhelp! See, Orcus prepares those he chooses for the glory they deserve." Marley was close to him now, nearly at striking range with those twin axes.

"The only thing you deserve is another watery grave, Marley!" He raised his sword and lunged at the orcusite. Matey could see something go wrong midswing, as the Captain stumbled into the black aura, nearly dropping his sword. He winced, grabbing his head with his free hand and retreating to the side.

Marley turned again to face him and swung his axes in blurringly fast arcs towards Killingsworth's chest. One glanced off the duller-than-usual mithril breastplate but the other sliced into his hip and drew blood. Killingsworth gritted his teeth and steadied himself, returning to a clean fencing stance.

"An Antimagic Field, Marley? That's the best your god can do? Let me tell you about my god, he who favors the lucky with luck and the skillful with skill."

In one smooth motion, Killingsworth drew and threw a dagger from his belt while crouching low and launching himself under the arc of the incoming axes. The dagger glinted in the firelight, his unmeasured throw carrying a prayer to Rhombodazzle for a little luck in exchange for the chaos such luck could bring.

Matey watched the hilt of the dagger sprout from Marley's left eye socket just as Killingsworth's sword sliced open the monster’s right leg, revealing rotten flesh and a putrid, yellowing bone. He launched himself from his vantage point, looking to capitalize on the sudden change in pace, and dived towards the foul monster below. First Mate Lizzy had the same idea, ducking around Marley into his newly-blinded side and preparing to strike.

Marley, who had scarcely noticed the attacks, quickly swung his axes around, bringing one up pointing at Lizzy and turning the other flat to swat Matey out of the sky. "My eyes see more than you think, mortals! You cannot hide from me while you live!"

Only the sudden change in balance from entering the antimagic field saved Matey from being collected by the heavy swing of the flat axehead. The loss of momentum, however, made him miss his target and fly past Marley's head.

Matey recovered before he hit the deck and climbed back into the air above the melee, while Lizzy kept her distance and Killingsworth turned and grinned.

"It's going to take more than that to best us, Marley. Have you noticed your crew are having difficulty standing? Feeling any pain in your feet, perhaps?"

Marley stopped to look around at the melee, noticing his crew for the first time. They did indeed look like they were having problems, hopping as if standing on hot coals and being cut down with ease by even the most junior of the crew. "What have you done? Killingswuss? Some kind of magic trick?"

"Oh nothing so fancy. Just, the water we swab the deck with is a little...holy." He emphasized the last word, gesturing at the crewmen behind him that had just emerged from below deck.

On his signal, Bennie and Geoff started smashing the barrels they had fetched from the galley. Water gushed out and flooded the decks, flowing down to the melee. The impact was immediate: ghouls shrieked horribly and skeletons collapsed and shattered on contact. Marley himself suffered the worst of it, but stood his ground implacably as the water parted around him. The sizzle of burning, decomposing flesh filled the air and Matey couldn't help the queer growl of his stomach reminding him of the time since he last ate.

"You think that's enough to defeat me? You're so wrong!" Screamed Marley.

Matey saw a marine step up behind the monster and aim a dragon pistol at his back. He curved around and dropped into another dive, timing his holy water drop to the marine's attack. Killingsworth's eyes flicked up to watch and he too readied for another strike.

Unexpectedly, Marley spun on the spot, grinding his own boiling feet into the deck, and threw his left axe at the Marine. It flew true and lodged itself in his stomach. Marley displayed speed that belied his size and took a giant step forward, pulling the axe back out of the stricken marine before he even had a chance to fall. The other axe swung back up towards Matey, who was forced to abandon his dive again.

Lieutenant Johnson was on the other side of the boat fending off a particularly vicious ghoul when he saw his man go down. Dispatching his foe with renewed fervor, he shouted a command to his remaining squad and they started to clear a small area for him to get to work. He loosened some ropes and set to with a spanner, removing one of the bolts from the ballista mount and swivelling it to face the masts. The marines pushed forward and one of them made a grab for the waterproof storage crate, snatching one of the long, thin packages and tossing it to Johnson, who racked it and shouted for help aiming the huge siege weapon.

Killingsworth was still dancing away from Marley’s twin axes, wracking his brain for a spell that might penetrate an antimagic field when a shout came from the other side of the ship and he dropped instinctively. Before he had even realised what was happening, he was laying on the deck watching as a familiar-looking bolt sprung from the mighty ballista, lodged itself into the chest of Black Dog Marley and propelled him over the side of the ship, over the deck of the ironclad and into the darkness beyond. Just before Killingsworth expected to hear a distant splash, there was a tremendous flash as the entire payload of the Mark IV Partystarter Bolt detonated at once. The fireball bathed the decks of the intertwined ships in a fierce orange light before the shockwave threw the undead and crew to their knees.

The Captain and his crew were the first to recover. Taking advantage of the suddenly lethargy that had stricken the undead with the death of their leader, they cleared off the deck and secured the ship. Once the wizards had severed the anchor chain of the ironclad, it drifted off into the darkness away from the land, a silent shadow on the now-still seas.

To Be Continued...