-[Chapter 021]-

Basil stood poised on the edge of the 9th Hell. The ruins of the Dragon’s Roost were still smoldering behind him. Looking down past the harbor wall he saw nothing but the endless red skies of the Astral Sea. Here, at the very edge of the 9th Hell, stood moored the fleet of the famed Sea Dragon, the old and venerable Admiral Razazil. The astral sailing ships that he commanded were among the oldest and most reliable forms of traversing the Astral Sea. Other methods, such as the use of gateways and teleportation, had become more readily available with the passage of time, but those carried their own limitations. Magic means of travel incurred a greater cost than sailing; a cost that was measured either in exotic resources used for magic rituals or in the essence of someone’s soul to power them.

It was only due to the seemingly endless pool of resources that the Guild possessed that it was even able to maintain its strangle hold over the Nine all the while feeding, transporting and maintaining its millions of inhabitants. The Nine Hells were islands, stacked on top of one another, perpetually suspended in this realm-between-realms. The Astral Sea surrounding it was vast, but far from empty. Many floating islands, entire archipelagos and even shards of broken worlds permeated this red expanse that connected the known universe. The portion of the Astral Sea that fell under Guild’s supervision was charted, but an untold number of worlds remained beyond its boundaries, their fates unknown; their exploration forbidden under the penalty of death to all but the Guild’s own agents. Eager as they were to extend the influence of the organization through the conquest of new worlds.

Disregarding all the death and destruction that she had witnessed today as only a dungeon keeper could, Elnora found it curious that the Admiral was taking his time with greeting Lord Doom upon his arrival. Dungeon keepers were not commonly made to wait on others, but Basil’s party remained standing at the ramp, waiting to be called upon, even as prisoners and sailors were allowed to pass freely onto the ship.

While Basil was the patron of Razazil’s crew, he was not their master in any sense of the word. Unlike the minions of his household, which had sworn to serve the dungeon keeper before any other masters, the subordinates of the Admiral bore no loyalties towards Basil. It was therefore a matter of courtesy on Basil’s behalf to wait for the Admiral’s permission to come onboard, even if he was akin to a giant waiting for an ant to pass. He could have insisted and the Admiral would have complied, but in Basil’s mind it was no way to treat his old acquaintance on a day as harsh as this one.

With the crew still scrambling to assess the damage caused by the battle for the Sea Dragon’s roost, the Admiral took his place at the top of the ramp to welcome his guest. With the sudden change of plans, what with the attack and all that, Razazil appeared a little run down and agitated. Still, he endeavored to put up a welcoming presence in front of the dungeon keeper. It was at the Admiral’s invitation that the dungeon keeper had arrived, after all. In spite of his justified misgivings about the occasion or the subject of the visit, Razazil endeavored to see it through to the end.

“Permission to come onboard,” Basil asked.

“Permission granted,” Razazil answered.

The dungeon keeper climbed onboard the ship and the old dragon-kin Admiral greeted the demon prince with a firm handshake. Despite their fine clothes and dignified postures it was clearly an exchange between two monsters; two commanders that both towered over their subordinates in both size and power.

Basil was followed onboard by his escorts. Schwartz, Scarlet and their minions kept up a stoic front in the presence of the pirate crew, but Elnora could barely hide her excitement as she took in the utter scene of carnage that was the Sea Dragon’s roost. The hopeful dungeon keeper welcomed every opportunity she got to study the worldly arts of strategy and combat, so this fresh battlefield made for an excellent tour.

Ivar and his crew remained behind in the plaza to help with rounding up of the prisoners. With the battle concluded, the surviving attackers were disarmed and shackled by steel and spell. They now came into the possession of the old Admiral, who was sure to extract all the value he could from them in recompense for their transgression. And with the harbor damn near burnt to the ground during the attack there was much to compensate him for.

“I am glad that my forces could to be of assistance to you,” Basil said. “From what we were able to gather from the hostages that we took along the way, their intention was to drive you from the harbor. It is a feat that no one has been able to accomplish thus far and, judging from the bodies we saw lining the streets, never will.” He glanced back at the charred ruins of the Sea Dragon’s roost behind him. “What a damned waste it is, though. Your stores have been ruined, my friend.”

Razazil nodded. “True enough, we lost a lot,” he said. “But buildings can be replaced. All that matters now is that my crew pulls through the coming days and weeks.”

The Admiral paused, constructing his next statement with the utmost care. “Lord Doom, if I may inquire for some additional troops,” he said, trying to sound dismissive about the idea, “I could use a few of your minions to aid us in securing the harbor for the time being. The battle has left my forces a little depleted and I will need to be on the lookout for the possibility of some third party looking to exploit this moment of weakness to attack us while we are reorganizing our crews.”

“Of course, I can provide you the troops,” Basil said. “We can help secure the harbor for you, but why are you not planning on striking back at your foes instead?” he asked. “I would think that this little escapade has left their ships undermanned and ripe for the picking! Now is the time to counterattack. Patch up your men and throw them back into the fight.”

Razazil grimaced. “There will be time for vengeance,” he replied. “For now we will need time to heal our wounded… and to bury the dead. Besides, I am not entirely sure that the timing of their attack was a mere coincidence.” He gave the dungeon keeper a sideways look. “We should discuss that in my private quarters.”

While Basil’s demeanor when first meeting the Admiral had come off as a little light-hearted, his expression grew more intense as the Admiral’s insinuation reached his ears. In lieu of an answer he gestured for Razazil to lead the way.

“As I understand you have little time for idle chatter,” Razazil said. “If you would please follow me inside, we can proceed with addressing the reason for your visit as soon as I will have tended to my casualties.”

Basil regally nodded and followed Razazil below the deck. They were taken to the ship’s sick-bay where the Admiral’s wounded sailors had been gathered. They were a mixed bunch, the men and women who served under the Admiral’s banner. A variety of races could be found among them, both human and demi-human in origin. The kind of minions that flocked to the life of piracy were generally not the skittish lot. They had not shied away from danger when the rival crews had attacked them—a laudable showing, to be sure—but their headstrong defense had come with a high price.

The ship’s sick-bay was overcrowded. Tending to the wounded was a motley crew of healers and doctors. Druids, priests and shamans used their magic to ease the suffering and mend the flesh of the ravaged sailors. Alongside them worked surgeons and nurses with their tools of medicine and science. They brought together their mastery over magic and anatomy to stabilize the fading souls and bodies of their fellow crewmembers. Emergency supplies were cracked open and healing potions passed out to any who asked for them; curses were lifted, poisons neutralized and wounds mended with needle and enchanted thread. A veritable hoard of exotic reagents and rare ingredients passed from herbalists to alchemists and then enchanters, before finally being administered to the wounded.

Basil drew Elnora’s attention to the work of the healers and commented on it. “A marvel to behold isn’t it—the work of these minions?” he said. “If a pirate survives long enough to reach the sick-bay, then chances are good that they will make a full recovery.”

The apprentice dungeon keeper closely followed the frantic efforts of the doctors and healers. She did not shy away from the bloody work of these minions. Her morbid curiosity was on full display as the she-demon examined the myriad of injuries and open wounds on display here.

“Pirate crews are probably the most versatile mercenaries that you can hire,” Basil continued. “Professional soldiers are great at holding lines or bleeding down entrenched forces in prolonged battles, but pirates seek to find ways of outmaneuvering their foes to achieve victory quickly or to inflict the maximum amount of damage while taking as little as they can in return. They pick their engagements carefully, but don’t shy away from a challenge if the prize is worth it. Life in the Astral Sea is full of hardship and privations, so they either become proficient survivalists or quickly perish at the hands of a better crew.”

The old dragon-kin Admiral nodded in agreement with Basil’s appraisal. “Nothing is wasted,” Razazil said. “The Sea is a harsh mistress. We have learned to harvest anything and everything that we come across. Even life itself…

“Shall I demonstrate?” he asked.

Razazil gestured for his marines to bring forth a batch of the recently taken prisoners. The Admiral’s guests looked on with great interest as several chain-bound captives were brought before the wounded members of the Sea Dragon’s crew. The sailors lying on the stretchers near the surgery tables were lingering on the brink of death. Covered in burns, torn by magic and cut with saber and shot—the lives of these crewmen were well and truly beyond saving by normal means. Yet the healers and surgeons persisted in their efforts to stabilize them; to make them last long enough for a magical ritual to be conducted. An unnatural power would have to be invoked for them to survive, so an unnatural solution was being brought forth.

To the sound of shuffling feet a fur clad arcane construct entered the scene. Its beady red eyes scanned the ship’s hold for any signs of danger to its ward. Holding on to the stone fingers of the grizzly patchwork contraption was a little human girl.

“Come closer, child,” Razazil said and beckoned for the timid girl to approach him. “I need you to use your gift now to help my people.”

The girl shuffled over to Razazil. The arcane construct stuck close to her, never taking its eyes off of the chain-bound captives, as if expecting them to lash out and attack the girl at any moment.

The prisoners’ restraints were tied to metal hoops that were nailed to the floor of the surgical station. With the sacrificial offerings now secured in place, the Admiral’s mages began drawing a circle around the captives with the blood of the wounded sailors. Once the ritual circle was complete the girl closed her eyes and summoned up her arcane power. As her gift began to manifest she appeared to rise ever so slightly above the ground in a trance-like state. She was then ushered by the surgeons towards one of the wounded sailors. As the girl placed one hand over the head of the wounded man the healers picked out one of the captives and brought him before her. They held him down while she began to siphon life essence—the manifestation of one’s soul and health—from the helpless prisoner, passing it onto the wounded man lying on the stretcher.

“Is this going to be some sort of a blood sacrifice?” Elnora whispered to Basil.

Basil shook his head in denial. “Blood sacrifices look impressive—organ effigies, heads on spikes and blood runes can work to bolster some healing spells—but they are actually very inefficient for treating flesh wounds. No, they are just going to drain a portion of the prisoner’s soul to bolster the endurance of the sailor. For such severe injuries these kinds of brute-force healing rituals are the last resort. They are costly, painful and don’t actually heal the wounded creature, but they can bring back a mortally wounded minion from the brink of death and buy enough time for the other healers to do their work.”

He pointed to the girl siphoning the prisoner’s soul, “but there are very few creatures that possess the correct collection of traits to carry out such brute-force rituals. And while she can aid with stabilizing the wounded, this is no way a manifestation of her ability to heal them. She is just buying time.”

“You are correct, Lord Doom,” Razazil said. He backed away from the ritual circle to let the doctors do their work. “The girl is no healer. She has a special ability that allows her to permanently weaken a person, all the while passing a portion of that power onto others. Or things,” he added and pointed to the fur covered stone construct, “That creature was a fluffy little teddy bear when I bought the girl down in the slave markets of the 7th Hell—a stuffed toy, if you can believe it. And look at it now...”

The three meter tall teddy bear-of-death gave Elnora a quick glance. The succubus felt shivers run down her spine as the beady red eyes of the monster sized her up to see if she was a threat to the girl or not.

“Quite the exotic ability to have,” Basil noted. “It must have cost you a fortune.”

“Aye,” Razazil answered, “but it was a necessary expense. She has saved many lives already. Who knows how many others she will save in the future?”

“A wise investment,” Basil said. He scratched his chin as he pondered the nature of the girl. “Having someone like her should allow your crew to retain more veteran members over time. But was it the most effective use of your wealth? I don’t imagine there is a shortage of willing sailors looking to sign on with your crew right now.

“Using this sort of a ritual on common minions seems to be rather wasteful,” he noted. “Surely the lives of your captives could be better spent by selling them to slave traders or ransoming them back to their masters. I doubt they will fetch a good price after the ritual, what with their power levels all but depleted. Who needs their minions back after they have been permanently weakened? A bit of a waste, wouldn’t you say?”

“No effort is wasted on saving the lives of my crew,” Razazil said. There was a hint of displeasure in his voice.

“Of course there is merit to such a luxury,” Basil said and gestured at the little girl. “The morale, loyalty and confidence of your sailors has surely been bolstered by her presence, but—”

The Admiral’s gaze narrowed, but he kept quiet in the presence of the dungeon keeper. He knew better than to argue with a dungeon keeper over topics such as the value of life.

“You could always simply hire more minions,” Basil continued. “They are dime a dozen these days.”

Elnora noted the cold hard looks the Admiral’s crew was giving them. She certainly felt the sea of unvoiced disagreement washing up against the bulwark of blind pragmatism that was her master, but she was in no position to intervene.

“Well, let’s just agree to disagree,” Razazil said. Eager to change the subject, he gestured for Basil’s party to follow him. “I am now free to discuss my findings with you, Lord Doom. We should leave the healers to their work.”

Either unaware or indifferent to the sentiment his commentary had garnered among the pirate crew, Basil elected to follow the Admiral through the ship, as if strolling through a museum and not a scene of carnage and ruin. Along the way he occasional stopped to point out something curious or noteworthy to his apprentice. Elnora was more than happy to listen to Basil tutor her on the life and hardships of pirates, but she could feel the eyes of the crew following them wherever they went. It was not as though she didn’t understand the nerve that his casual remarks about the value of one’s life had touched, but, having seen to the end the purge of an entire civilization just a few days ago, she knew just how insignificant life truly was; important only to oneself and those close to you. And deep down these sailors knew it to be true, but it was never easy to be reminded of it, least of all by a creature that had the power to destroy gods, for how could one ever object to an argument from such an overwhelming position of power?

The Admiral led his guests to his private chambers and ushered Basil inside ahead of himself. Both Scarlet and Schwartz were allowed to follow their master, but Elnora was stopped at the door.

“This is a most personal matter,” Razazil said and bowed his head to the succubus in apology. “If you could please wait outside for a moment.”

Elnora obliged his request and stepped back as the door slowly closed before her. The doorframe then flashed blue several times, indicating that some sort of spell had been cast on the doorway, likely to prevent her from overhearing the conversation. While the meeting was ongoing, she set out to explore the ship on her own, mindful not to bother the sailors who were still hard at work mitigating the damage caused by the battle.