I found three other survivors from the cutter. None of them knew anything useful, none of them were willing to join my crew.

Their XP wasn’t welcome.

Phillip found the body of the wind mage with his legs squished into a boneless mass. At a guess, he’d had a mast fall on him and drowned. While I pitied the survivors I’d killed, I didn’t pity the wind mage at all. He’d gotten exactly what he’d deserved.

Four of my crew had died, all of them due to the lightning spells. Each of them had been a slave laborer prior to finding themselves with me and becoming sailors. I felt a bit guilty that I hadn’t known them well enough to be sorrowful at their passing. All of their fellows were hurt by the loss.

Several others had been hurt by the fight, but were tended to by Myota. My own injury was the most severe. If the mage had cut my bicep just a bit more I would have been crippled until we found stronger healing than Myota and I could manage. If he’d taken my arm off we would have needed a high leveled professional healer to restore it, and those weren’t people you found helping normal sailors, much less wanted men.

At least luck wasn’t my very lowest stat. Small mercies.

Myota was slowly stitching me together on the quarterdeck. He’d given me his signature potion to deaden the pain while he did it, so I didn’t feel like yelling and swearing the whole time. I augmented his needlework with my cleansing waters spell. It would take me several days, but I expected to have full functionality again.

I spoke with several members of my crew at the same time. Burdette, Phillip, Zander and Sadeo. Arnnaith was there too as my shadow.

“I think that went as well as we could expect,” I said. “Though we took more damage than I’d like to next time. Sadeo? What are your thoughts?”

He shrugged. “We should have means of addressing different types of targets. If you wanted us to take out that mage faster, we should have had multishot bolts to overwhelm his shields instantly, or armor piercing ones for the same reason. Hitting highly mobile people is a different game from shooting ships. My teams weren’t up for it.”

“We should have unleashed everything we had at the mage the moment he entered the water.” Burdette said. “You can’t leave opponents like that on the battlefield. They’re too powerful and unpredictable.”

“Hadn’t we done that?” I asked.

“You told the kitsune to target the mage,” Burdette said. “He started taking shots himself, but he had the rest of his teams waiting on standby!”

“They weren’t ready,” Sadeo repeated. “They weren’t accurate enough. When I was told in no uncertain terms,” the kitsune glared at Burdette. “That I was to have all teams fire we did nothing more than fill the water around the man with missed bolts.”

“That’s what drove him away,” Burdette said. “That overwhelming fire. It has to be done like that.”

I glanced at my shadow. “Arnnaith doesn’t agree.”

Everybody looked surprised at my suggestion, including Arnnaith, who thought that he could make faces at Burdette without being noticed.

“Well, lad? Enlighten us on your insight.” I was partly calling the boy out on being rude enough that getting caught would disrupt my little counsel, but what I really wanted was to know was if the lad’s tactician skill had helped him understand the fight better than I did. I’d already learned in Tulisang that young boys could be smarter strategists than me.

“Well Captain,” Arnnaith said, slowly trying to reacquire the braggadocio he normally had. “Sadeo keeping the mancer off balance was all well and good, but the rest should have sunk the cutter immediately.”

“Why?” I demanded before anyone else could scoff, though I noticed that the half-elf boy deliberately called the enemies ‘mancers’ instead of ‘mages’ after the elvish fashion. Not a big deal, but it would be better to use the same terminology.

“Because it was the hydromancer’s support. If we’d taken it out earlier the aeromancer wouldn’t have been able to share as much as he did back to the mainland.”

“We couldn’t know he was doing that.”

Arnnaith shrugged, getting into his rhythm again. “Better reasons to attack the cutter would be to make the hydromancer defend it, giving Sadeo and his teams better shots. It also would have prevented the aeromancer from joining the fight.”

“An air mage was cut off above the waves, ineffective in underwater combat.” Burdette said irritably. “It’s better to target the dangerous mage and then turn on the one that can’t do anything.”

“And if the aeromancer had a sonic attack?” Arnnaith challenged. “The water environment would make that more dangerous, not less!”

I held up my hand to forestall bickering. “Sadeo, as the professional in your field I’ll leave it up to your discretion in battle how best to attack enemies – whether that means focused fire or attacking multiple directions. Could you handle directing multiple targets, or will you need to train up your apprentices first?”

“I can handle it,” Sadeo said. “But of course I’ll be training my ‘prentices up! No sense for the whole fight to get buried if a wild round catches me.”

Every now and then people would drop strange turns of phrases that exposed their origins. I imagined ‘getting buried’ meant something different to the kitsune than to us.

“Good. What else?”

Rhistel brought up streamlining communication, Myota piped in that several crewmen could be trained as medicos, and Phillip thought I shouldn’t have fought the water mage since I was the Captain.

The first two were discussed. The last wasn’t. I had direct orders from Jones to take risks in fights, not to mention I was the only trained spellcaster on board. I’d hoped my willingness to fight with the crew might improve morale, but it seemed like they accepted it easier because not all of them were opposed to the idea of me falling in combat.

I searched the bodies of the mages but found nothing of real interest beyond their necklaces and their adventurer bags. I opened one up to loot it when I was reminded that it wasn’t my bag, and that its contents were barred from me.

“Arnnaith,” I said to my shadow. “Can you pickpocket this? One item at a time?”

He gave me a look. “Not at my level. And you didn’t want me doing any thievery!”

I stewed on it, holding potential treasure or worthless sacks in my right hand – my left being tied to my chest while my healing worked. “Tell you what, work with Rhistel to get each crewman a wooden coin or something. Your objective will be to try and get as many of them without being caught as possible. Think it’ll grind out your pickpocket skill?”

He thought about it and nodded. “Should work. I don’t know if I’ll get it levelled enough to pick these bags anytime soon though, and even then it would take forever to empty them.”

“There might be something useful.” I said. “It all depends on whether they carried everything with them.”

I moved to the quarterdeck and adjusted the depth of the ship to account for changes in the sea floor. I was the only one that could adjust depth, and another one of Arnnaith’s observations had been that we should have attacked from below in the first place, not testing the cutter on the surface. In hindsight, he was absolutely right. It was only habit that had made me approach the ship like that. A stupid mistake that cost the lives of 4 of my crew.

Yeah, I understood now why I hadn’t gotten the tactician skill from orchestrating that battle.

Running deep was now the name of the game. No chance encounters on the surface. There’d be plenty of time for battle once we reached our destination. And any idiot with a map could have traced our encounter from Pristav and seen where we were headed.

Except they knew where to find us in the first place. The fact that I didn’t know the limitations of the tracking magic being used on my unique skills made me uncomfortable. So did not knowing what else was going on in the world. What the administrator had said about navies being manned and nations turning into battlegrounds made me realize how out of the loop I was. I’d always been a bit out of touch as I was never in town for long, but there were important things going on in the world that pertained to me, and I was in the dark until combatants showed up.

One potential way to remedy that was the skill Jones had ordered I get next: Domain. There was no skill description, but Jones order and the very name of the skill promised it would be a powerful ability.

The downside? It cost 150,000 XP. After all the creatures I’d killed in Tulisang (ok, those weren’t that impressive) and the rewards for battles I’d picked since, I had about two-thirds of that. If I was killing monsters, it would take me months more to finish accruing enough.

For better or worse, though, there would be naval combat in the Broken Isles. As my last battle had shown, being the victorious Captain of such conflicts was well rewarded.

So that night I laid in my rack thinking over what I was going to do – how I was going to outmaneuver the confederate navies, how I was going to get XP, how I was going to become hard enough that the orders Jones imprinted on me would be fulfilled.

I want you to attack, raid, and destroy until you’ve gotten over this squeamishness of yours. You understand – you are not to leave the isles until you’re willing to slay whomever it is necessary to slay.

I would have to be able to kill and order killing without hesitation. Without squeamishness. I would have to be hard! Hard …

“Do you regret accepting my offer?” I asked Arnnaith, knowing the kid wasn’t asleep in his corner yet. “Back when the sirens were attacking? Do you wish you’d drowned, or struck off on your own?”

He looked at me with those critical eyes of his. “Not yet.”

I snorted. “You will. If you’re anything like me, you will.”

We entered the realm of the Broken Isles, and the force driving me onward abated. I was free to plot a new course again – so long as it was within my pen.

I’d plotted with Sadeo, Arnnaith, Phillip and Zander on plans of attack. I wanted to find ways to use my traps skill, and though no one else had it we were able to brainstorm a few ideas – one of which was being implemented now. On an island just big enough to deserve the name, my crew was scavenging timber. Non magical traps needed a framework, after all. Traps scaled up to ship-sized needed lots of materials.

“We’ll have to clear the deck if we want to fit any more, sir.” Rhistel said. “I didn’t realize you really wanted all that.”

“No need to clear the deck, Rhistel. We’ll bundle the logs and lash them to the sides – we don’t have to ferry them far.” The air was chill, even though the sun was high and bright. The water was a clear, sparkling blue. “Rhistel, the scavenging can move apace without you for awhile. Why don’t you take a swim about the island, hmm?”

He gave me a look. “You’re not very subtle, Captain. If you need to do something without my presence, you can always order me below.”

“I don’t need you gone for anything Rhistel,” I said quietly. “There’s a magical beauty to the life in the sea, sometimes. I want you to go find it.”

His earlier flat look was more suspicious now. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“Couple reasons: I want other people to be able to appreciate it. I know your old profession was built around a love of the forest. I think there’s a world under the waves that will mean something to you.” I took a deep breath. “The mercenary reason is I want you to unlock a profession that was once offered to me. It would give us more fighting power.”

I wasn’t looking at him while I said it, so I couldn’t see his facial expression – if any. He simply said “I see” and left. A splash a minute later marked his entry into the water.

Did being hard mean I shouldn’t appreciate beauty? That I should oppress my crew? I didn’t think so. I hoped not. If it did, we’d be stuck in the Broken Isles for longer than I intended.

The crew status of Melancholy was still chipping away at morale at 5% a day. It made the crew feel like the ship – and me, and each other – were unwelcoming and oppressive already. I didn’t need to add to that. I had plans to get rid of it.

“Captain!” Hrothgar said from the deck, hoisting something for me to see. “The lads found a bottle!”

In his hands there was indeed a dark colored bottle with a cork, barnacles growing over it. “Well, open it up and pour yourself a round, if you trust what’s in it!”

“But … what if there’s a message inside?”

“Then you better throw it back, because anyone sending it wouldn’t want it in our hands.”

The dwarf held the discovery in his hands, obviously wanting to cherish a mystery and taking me at my word.

“Or, open it up and satisfy your curiosity.”

Hardly had the words left my mouth than the dwarf had broken the top of the bottle off. Either he was sure there was a message inside, or had no intention of sampling the contents fouled by seawater.

“Paper!” he yelled. “A message!” He dug it out carefully with his finger, a growing crowd beginning to surround him. He held the scrap aloft for everyone to see, with cries of “read it!” beginning to erupt. With a showman’s flair, he unrolled it and read aloud the message for all to hear:

“Bet you wish this had grog in it, huh?”

There was a stunned moment, before I burst out laughing. A few of the crew chuckled, most just shook their heads and went back to what they were doing, grumbling.

Ah, right. An example of low morale.

The work crew on the beach gathered a handful of logs, tied them together and floated them out to the ship. I lowered the deck of the ship to a convenient height and they lashed a bundle to either side, keeping the weight evenly distributed. The ship wasn’t listing, and I didn’t intend to make it do so.

I let the crew have a break, encouraging them to swim about and explore. Enough of them did – and enjoyed it – that the overall morale got a small bump upwards. When Rhistel returned, I had the crew recalled and after a quick roll call we set sail again.

I didn’t ask Rhistel how his exploration had been, but judging by the happy look on his face, my devious kindhearted plan was working.

We had an ambush location scouted out by the next day. I helped my crew arrange the traps myself, giving each my 30% boost to setting them. Then we waited at the bottom while the last improvised weapon was added to the front of the ship.

We were sitting in the channel between two islands. The northern island was large and well populated. The southern was even larger but much less hospitable, home to only a few rugged fishermen. The channel between them was a favorite for shipping traffic – I knew because I’d used it. The space between the islands was deceptively wide – but only a narrow portion of it was deep enough for the larger vessels. The rest was too shallow or the home of dangerous rocks. Popular as it was, no one had an accurate sea chart of the dangers besides the one safe route. That was good enough for most Captains.

The nature of the channel made it a decent spot for ambush from normal pirates in the area. A daring Captain would learn a route through the dangerous waters, ambush its prey, and then retreat where no one would follow. Of course, that made it a place of routine patrol for pirate hunters and naval ships, so it wasn’t that good.

Other ambushers didn’t have my unique advantage, though.

“Ship on the surface, Captain!”

“Is it another trireme?” I asked.

“Stand by,” was the response, as the lookout tried to identify it by the hull and any oars in the water. Triremes and biremes were a favorite type of ship in the islands, where the distances were manageable with a hold full of rowers and the winds were a difficult thing to predict without high skill levels. I expected them to be a hard nut to crack with little reward, as there would be a lot of people on board compared to the cargo.

I didn’t want to deal with a lot of people yet. I was trying to make myself hard, but … it wasn’t easy.

“Looks like a bireme, Captain!”

“We’ll wait for better pickings.” I said.

“Understood,” came the response, though it was unhappy. My crew wasn’t looking forward to fighting whatever ship I picked, but the waiting was making them all nervous and antsy.

The bireme came and went. Nearly an hour later came another report, “Ship on the surface, Captain! Deep draft!”

I pulled out my own spyglass awkwardly with my good hand and looked for it. It was indeed a larger ship: a schooner. Judging by the size of the keel, it had three masts. Judging ships from below was odd, and we wouldn’t be sure of our prey until we were close enough to identify it.

“Ready on the decks!” I shouted.

The decks went into an initial flurry as everyone got back in their places, then the waiting began anew as the schooner seemed to move into the trap zone at a snails’ pace.

Finally, it was in the right place, and the trap crew released.

It wasn’t a trap in the proper sense of the word. The schooner didn’t trigger it, my waiting men did. It was one of many clusters of logs tied together in a star pattern, with their points sharpened. I’d read about strings of such things being tied together to block ship passage (to limited success) and thought I’d adapt them. We’d anchored each cluster to the bottom, but when released the buoyant logs floated upwards. The idea was they’d hit the hull and damage the ship. Since we couldn’t predict exactly where the ship would pass above, we’d made a lot of them and spaced them out over the most likely area. The trio I’d left in charge of cutting the traps free triggered two that they’d thought would be likely. Their job done, they’d meet up with us again after the ambush.

I’d had high hopes, but wasn’t sure how this would perform, or that it would advance my traps skill. As long as the things did some damage, that would be okay.

They floated up – not exactly shooting towards the surface, but they were fast. One missed by about ten feet. The other hit the hull of the schooner.

And slid right off, popping to the surface on its starboard side. Well, fishguts. So much for that idea.

I gave the order, and the Death’s Consort began surfacing, hopefully for the last time. We didn’t surface straight up, but at an angle to intercept the schooner. We wanted power and momentum behind our initial attack. We intended to ram them.

Another thing about the galley ships in the area: they tended to ram their opponents – either to sink them or board them – and had thus evolved a number of different methods for warfare on that scale. Larger sailing ships fought differently … most of the time. We’d borrowed the mast from as sunken wreck and fastened it to the bow of the Death’s Consort.

“Brace for impact!” Burdette yelled from the helm. A moment later our improvised ram speared through the hull of the ship on the port side of the keel, our momentum driving it up through their lower deck as well before it erupted from their starboard side just below the waterline. Our crew was thrown about from the sudden stop, but got to their feet. I immediately noticed how both our ships were now moving through the water, the schooner dragging us along on its original course as we pulled it to port like the largest anchor in history.

Arnnaith had pointed out the problem with us using a ram like this: we’d be stuck. Sure, we could work ourselves out, but it would take time that we shouldn’t give the enemy in a surprise attack. We’d installed our ram with this in mind, and a team jumped up to sever the rope and improvised structures that were binding it in place with their axes. Rather than an hour or more, we were free in a minute. It still felt like a long time.

The schooner now looked like it had been spitted for a fire. We’d dragged their speed down to nothing, so when we rose to the surface it was directly alongside them, not in a chase.

Judging by the screams, shouts and curses I heard when we broke through the surface, the Death’s Consort surfacing was a terrifying sight.

Burdette maneuvered us close enough for a gangplank, but my boarding team knew to take every chance they could to get on the enemy ships’ deck and establish a foothold. They did. The crew of the schooner had scarcely gotten over seeing our black flag rise alongside them than cursed crewmen flooded their main deck.

There was hardly any resistance. I’d instructed the men to only fight armed, aggressive resistors. All others were to be corralled or bound – the Death’s Consort had no shortage of manacles for this. If someone tried to fight without a weapon, gang up and pacify them. If someone had a weapon but wasn’t trying to fight, let them surrender. If an armed fighter ran below to hole up and fend them off, let them do so and move on. We’d deal with them later once everything else was sorted.

There was a good deal of shouting as the crew that expected to be slaughtered was instead ordered “Move over there! Yes, there! Now! I said move, why aren’t you moving?” Some armed men hesitated long enough to be confused by the lack of slaughtering. Some of these surrendered. Others went down fighting. I saw one trying to surrender be cut down by Zander, the spearman apparently deciding that he wasn’t going to be denied blood. I couldn’t reprimand him, because I needed to be harder.

This was not a military ship. There was no hold full of fighters putting on armor. There were sailors and some hired guards for protection from average pirates – which we weren’t.

I didn’t participate in the fighting directly. That was something Arnnaith had convinced of me. There was a high chance the fighting would be so intense and chaotic that my relatively low level and moderate fighting capabilities would be struck down by an unseen or even unintentional blow. Besides, my left arm was still in a sling. I’d be useless. The XP of the group fight wouldn’t compare to the XP I expected as the Captain of the winning vessel, so that aspect didn’t matter and it seemed Jones’ mandate was okay with that. I was fulfilling the spirit of his orders: sentencing those who hadn’t wronged me to die.

I’d never loathed my profession more.

I boarded when the crew was bound on the main deck, archers looking over the prisoners. Some of the prisoners had elected to stay facedown when their hands had been bound behind them. Others dared to look at me and spit on the deck as I walked past. I ignored those.

“Where’s the Captain?” I asked. No one responded. I kicked one of the people glaring at me in the face, knocking him on his back with a spray of teeth and blood. “Where’s the Captain? Or so help me I’ll kill you all one by one and read your notifications to find him. Speak up!”

There was a murmuring as whoever knew tried to rat the Captain out. Before the murmuring became definitive, a dignified voice called “here!” I knew the dignity of the voice was a pretense. Or maybe I was just telling myself that to make what I was doing easier.

The Captain had been bound and laid out without any regard for his rank. Given that his working clothes didn’t differentiate him much, I assumed he’d given up without mentioning his station to his attackers.

“Captain Dylan,” I said cordially as I analyzed him, hauling him to his feet. “A pleasure to meet you. Look at your ship’s interface and give me your estimate of how long before this vessel sinks.”

Confused, he did so. “Estimate it at six hours before she’s under, less than that for the lower holds to fill, of course.”

While disaster could lead to ships being dashed and sunk in an instant, usually sinking took a good bit of time. Our ram had done terrible damage to the ship’s durability, but it had also filled the space of the hole it made. The ship was flooding, but not as bad as, say, the hole I’d punched in the Wind Runner.

“Fine. Rhistel … RHISTEL!” I had to raise my voice to a shout since the elf hadn’t boarded the schooner. With the grace of high agility, Rhistel leaped over and approached.

“Captain?”

“I want you to take Hrothgar and whoever else and search out the lower decks.”

Rhistel glanced around before leaning close and whispering, “Captain, I want no part of this!”

“I’m giving you an order, Rhistel.”

“Captain, please!” Rhistel said, with the emphasis of a man who had no intention of obeying.

“Rhistel, I am going to drag this ship to the bottom and claim it in place of the Death’s Consort. First I have to deal with these people I know are on deck. Do I make myself clear?” I said, meeting the elf’s eyes. I saw the confusion pass through him before he schooled himself. He understood I was getting at something I wasn’t saying – was trying not to even think – but hadn’t pieced it together. It should be enough, I had faith in him.

“Captain,” I said to the captive Dylan. “Walk with me.” I took him towards the bow. “You’re going to help me do …”

“I think not,” Dylan interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“I have no intention of helping you. I’ve heard the stories. I know who you are. While I never believed in this ‘Davy Jones’ before,” he said with a sneer. “I will not further your goals or his in any way.” I was wrong. He had been dignified before. Or pompous – it could be hard to differentiate sometimes.

“Why Captain Dylan,” I said with mock hurt. “All I was going to ask you to do is number your crew.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Number them? So you could conscript them?”

“For tidiness’ sake.” Before he could object again I pulled a blade and pressed it to his throat. “And if it’s too hard for you, I’ll get your first mate to do it. Clear?”

“Clear,” he said through clenched teeth. Going to the first bound crewman, he glanced at me. “Count in order?”

“Count however you see fit, Captain.”

He looked back at the first man. “One,” the second. “Two …”

I wanted to smack him so badly.

I followed him until he’d counted every hand on deck, including – to my consternation – several passengers. He gave me a challenging look at the end as if daring me to make my next move.

My crew was waiting too. Besides Rhistel and Hrothgar, I’d kept everyone above deck, waiting on my whim. They knew I was splitting the crew up, but not the importance of each person’s number.

That was because I hadn’t decided on the import yet. I’d hoped the Captain would take the hint and spout random numbers, and I could do evens/odds in a skewed manner.

Maybe it was better that he hadn’t. I needed to get this over with.

I want you to attack, raid, and destroy until you’ve gotten over this squeamishness of yours. You understand – you are not to leave the isles until you’re willing to slay whomever it is necessary to slay.

“Even numbers at the starboard rail, odd numbers at the port rail.”

As they sorted them out, I tried to decide if I was going to flip a coin. No, starboard side was closer to the northern island. They would be the first. It had nothing to do with the female passenger on the starboard rail.

I took my hat off and walked up and down the line, letting each of those present see me. See my young face, cursed by Jones into something they wanted to spit at – probably even before my charisma debuff.

“Unbind them.” Some of my crew hesitated, so I repeated myself. Ropes were cut and manacles were dropped on the deck. I fanned myself with my hat while the work was done. When had it gotten hot out? Why was I sweating now?

My crew backed away, hands on weapons to deal with any now desperate unbound people. I waved my hat at the northern island. “Jump and swim.”

Most gave each other and the sea behind them confused looks. It gave me some satisfaction to see some who didn’t think twice and dove over the side, taking the chance to get away. They’d do well in life.

“What do you mean, ‘jump and swim?’” said one. “We can’t make it to shore!”

“That’s what, just over half a mile?” I turned to Dylan. “Captain, would you place the shore at half a mile?”

“Maybe three quarters,” Dylan said slowly. I nodded.

“There, that’s your chance. Go on, shoo. Take your chance.”

More realized I meant what I was saying and jumped, taking the opportunity to avoid a bloodbath. The woman began to take her dress off with dignity – despite shaking hands – so it wouldn’t drag her down. Foresight was good – she’d do well in life too. Someone whistled at her, and I barked at them to be quiet. Some of my inner emotions leaked through my command, and no one dared comment on her appearance again. She jumped over the side and began clawing towards the shore like she was making up for the delay of disrobing. I tsked and turned to the last man at the starboard rail.

“The lady can’t swim. I’m sure she’d appreciate the man who made sure she survived.”

“I can’t swim either,” he said.

Cursing him, I turned to the port rail. “Swimmer! Who’s a swimmer?”

A trio of hands went up out of all the men. As if! I pointed to one anyway. “You! Make sure the lady doesn’t drown in the next minute.”

As the brave volunteer trotted over to the starboard rail, I asked him. “Lifesaver achievement level?”

“Uhm, three, sir.” The man said, his voice having an odd twang to it.

“Not bad. I’m at six myself. Go on!” With a surprised look at me that almost ruined his perfect dive, the man was off. I gave the last reluctant man the choice of jumping or being thrown. He jumped.

“What of the rest of us? Captain?” Dylan said, somehow finding the courage to mock me.

“A choice.” I said. “The choice I was given: the choice my crew was given. The worst choice you’ll ever face.” I selected every person there and offered them service. “Join.”

“Don’t do it!” Dylan yelled. “Whatever else he offers, it’s not worth it!”

“Oh shut up,” I snapped at him, and remarkably he did. Maybe it was a bit nice to have someone to throw a little vitriol at.

“What does joining mean?” a brave soul asked.

“You don’t know.” I answered.

“What does refusing mean?” another asked, thinking themselves clever.

“You don’t know that either. All you know is this ship is going down, and before it does I will have an answer from each and every one of you.”

“Don’t do it lads!” someone else in the line shouted. “An eternity of service, cruelly bound to constant drowning, never able to satisfy your thirst! That’s what those who deal with Jones and his lackeys get!” Others spoke up with the same message, encouraging their fellows not to yield. I didn’t silence the clamor.

And so I was shocked when I received the notification my offer had been accepted. One stepped away from the rail. “I accept!” he yelled, getting on his knees. A young man in his teens.

The rail went silent before more began shouting at him not to do it. I analyzed him:

Name

Willard Thorpe

Age

16

Race

Human

Profession

N/A

Level

5

Health

80

Mana

120

Stamina

110

“Well Will,” I said, loud enough to silence his former mates. “The first thing we’ll have you do is get your constitution up, can’t have a bad fall take you out, can we? I’m going to put you with Sadeo, my artillerist. He was my first crewmember, and he’ll walk you through the pros and cons of being on my crew.”

I slapped the boy on the shoulder and handed the dazed young man off to one of my crew, who also slapped him on the back and welcomed him aboard, though the welcomes from my crew were less “glad you’re here” and more “you jumped into a prison ship, lad.”

Still, seeing the positive reception convinced three other young men – likely Will’s friends – to jump ship too. They were accepted, freed, and sent to the Death’s Consort. After that, there was nearly a riot as those left cursed anyone who dared condemn their souls, and threatened to harm their own fellows before they’d let them turn. Doubting I’d get any more volunteers, I rescinded my offer.

“Very well, you’ve made your choice. I don’t know whether you’re all fools or heroes, but I can’t fault you for it either way.” I had to swallow before I could give the command. “Kill them.”

31 people … sentenced to die by my own order.

It wasn’t a matter of giving the order and it being over with. It took time to carry out. Time where some pleaded, others fought back, a few jumped overboard. Those that jumped were shot by archers. Those that stayed were killed by spear and sword.

Captain Dylan had charged me as soon as I’d given the order. I channeled shocking touch through my dagger blade as I cut him, observing the effects. Because of the shock, and given my speed buffs, I could have easily toyed with him even one handed. He had enough constitution to take lots of hits, but I didn’t play games. I disabled his limbs and executed him in a way that would have made even old trainer Kane back in Tulisang nod in respect.

Looking over the starboard rail, I saw more swimmers than had initially jumped. Good work Rhistel; I almost never knew.

You have captured an enemy ship without a threat level. You have been awarded 2,000 XP.

Argh, apparently taking a target incapable of putting up a fight didn’t give me the kind of XP I was looking for. At least I had gained a few crewmen from this.

When the screams of the dying were silenced, there was a stillness in the air like the calm before the storm. It was broken by one of my crew puking his guts out over the side. I shook myself and went into my crew interface. It was time to upgrade my ship and get rid of the Melancholy crew status. Even a ship spitted through the middle would be better than a carrack!

At your current level, you may not claim two ships at the same time. Upgrade your ability to claim two ships if you wish to have both.

If you proceed, your other ship will be discarded. Would you like to proceed?

Yes. Please, yes!

Error. You are unable to discard vessel Death’s Consort due to ongoing questline Reluctant Slaver. Complete or discard the quest to proceed.

No, don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me …

You are unable to discard the quest Reluctant Slaver.

You are unable to discard the quest Reluctant Slaver.

You are unable to discard the quest Reluctant Slaver.

“No!” I shouted, stilling my crew. I cursed the schooner, the Death’s Consort, and the quest that tied me to a ship that I not only hated, but couldn’t develop.

On top of that, I could tell that Jones’ order was still in place. It wasn’t satisfied. I wasn’t callous enough.

After a moment, Phillip approached me. “Captain? What’s …” After a moment he changed whatever he was going to say. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Carry everything useful off this boat,” I said. “Store it in the Consort. It seems we’re not going anywhere.”