What miracle have you been hidin’ from all of us out on the sea?

Caleb grinned down at Harbormaster Finnobarr. But once again, that strange dragging sensation tugging at him went up yet another notch. The red-ringed screen appeared again in the corner of his vision.

WARNING!

Your Corsair-related abilities have begun to decline!

Current skills operating at 70% capacity and falling!

In his head, Caleb envisioned a team of stokers from the time of the coal-powered steamships. They began heaving shovelfuls of crystal gems, each stamped with an XP into a pair of furnaces. The furnaces were marked on their faces in blood-red script.

Charisma Boost Bluff Assist

“Why, my crew and I ran into the fabled sirens,” Caleb lied smoothly. “The fabulous bird-women of legend, who have the wings and legs of eagles, and who play songs that no one can resist. Only I was immune.”

“Immune?” Finnobarr scowled. “How?”

“I’m not a fan of tortoiseshell lyre music. Anyway, I went ashore, seduced them, and had them fix my eye and my face.”

“Blimey!” breathed one of Finnobarr’s guards. “That’s amazing!”

The second guard looked skeptical. “If they was bird women, with wings instead of arms and hands, how’d they play their lyres?”

“Aw, don’t be a ripe cabbage! Magic, of course!”

“Quiet, you two!” Finnobarr ordered, before turning back to look up at the Damsel. “And I’m no ripe cabbage either! There’s no such thing as sirens!”

Well, it was worth a try, Caleb thought.

His mind recalled part of the description under Bluff Assist: The possibility of a bluff succeeding is improved when it is in alignment with the subject’s beliefs.

If that’s the case, I think I know what Finnobarr is set up to believe already.

Caleb spread his hands and moved to his backup bluff.

“Aye, I thought not. Thought I’d just lighten the mood, as I have bleak, black news to share with you, Harbormaster.”

He gave a meaningful look to his subordinates. Patrick duly put on a sad face and made as if to wipe away a tear. Sienna raised her arms and called to the heavens.

“Woe! Woe betide us, who have suffered so grievously!”

Way to sell it to the cheap seats, Caleb thought. Still, it appears to actually be working.

Indeed, Finnobarr and his guards had concerned looks on their faces now.

“What might this news be?” he asked.

“From our earlier conversation, it sounds like you know all the Captains and Komturs in these waters. Is that right?”

“Prayer’s up, that’s close enough to the truth.”

Caleb smiled grimly. “Then I take it you know of Komtur Malum Kane.”

Finnobarr’s face went a shade paler at the mention of the name. Inside, Caleb nodded to himself. He’d gambled that Kane’s reputation would precede him. He’d seen and felt Kane’s cruelty and malice, and there had been one other clue hinting at the man’s notoriety.

When he’d been thrown in Deephold Keep’s dungeon, none other than the Myrkur Inquisitor Virgil Draymon had said: You did murder Komtur Kane, Mister Ledger. I was no fan of his, but he was a useful officer to the Seeress, and a favorite of the Lord High Captain.

“No need to answer,” Caleb went on. “I can tell that you know who he is.”

“Aye, that Komtur’s reputation is pitch black,” Finnobarr admitted. “The official word is that he left Deephold Port on a secret mission known only to the Lord High Captain. But the scuttlebutt ‘round here says that he was murdered by some dirty scrugg-all when he left a tavern to siphon the python.”

Apparently the grapevine’s pretty accurate in these parts, Caleb thought. The dirty scrugg-all bit wasn’t too far off then, either. I didn’t even have shoes back then.

“Well, Kane showed up when the Damsel was at port,” Caleb said aloud. “He demanded passage out of Myrkur waters. When my uncle One-Eye refused, Kane challenged him to a duel. It was horrible…they slashed each other to ribbons, then traded killing blows, leaving me in command.”

The Harbormaster scratched his head in confusion. “Can a Komtur do that?”

“Battlefield promotion, yeah. Duels count.” Caleb let out a sniff. His voice grew more theatrical and melancholy. “I’ll never forget it as long as I live…we Gortaks live to serve Myr, so we take deathbed statements seriously. There was my uncle, sprawled on the deck, covered in heroically in his own blood. He grabbed my hand and spoke to me, tears streaming from his eyes–”

“His eye, Captain,” Sienna put in quietly.

“Streaming from his one good eye,” Caleb continued, without missing a beat. “Nephew, I promote you to Komtur. Take this ship, more dear to me than anything, and finish the mission bequeathed to us by Lady Lilin Ravencrow.”

Both of the guards looked glum now. The Harbormaster wiped away tears as best he could with one hand.

“That’s how my own father went,” he sobbed. “Only he died in a tavern, not on a ship, and it was a drunken brawl, not a duel. But everything else was just the same! Hand me down your papers, I’ll see to it that you get what you need.”

Caleb had the docking pass and the rest of the documents on hand lowered on a line. Finnobarr read them with a raised brow, matching the pass with a notation in his large leather-bound book. He called up to them once more.

“Your papers are in order, you may tie up to this quay. Matagorda’s facilities are your to use.”

At that, Caleb’s Quest Window lit up again with several more updates.

Beginner’s Level Quest: Bring ship into a Protected Neutral Port for the first time. Select and successfully moor at a dock or quay. Convince harbormaster not to impound your ship or goods by paying a docking fee, showing the correct papers, providing a bribe, or forcing the issue by threat. STATUS: COMPLETE. Bonus #1 Granted: XP Value of this quest has been increased by 10% due to the completion of the last Bonus Level Mini-Quest. Bonus #2 Granted: XP Value of this quest has been increased by 10% due to the required double bluff of Harbormaster Finnobarr. New Veteran Adventurer’s-Level Quest:

Get the Arrenmar held on Matagorda out of their holding cages and safely onto your ship. STATUS: IN PROGRESS.

WARNING: Completion of quest shall likely trigger additional Veteran Adventurer’s-Level Quests such as escaping the Myrkur’s Naval Arm, the Sea Vipers.

Lir and Danu’s Helpful Hints:

Being out-gunned or out-manned does not mean you can be out-fought. When stuck in a corner, the unexpected should at least throw things into chaos, restoring chance where before there was only certain defeat. Unfortunately, these two prior hints could lead to confrontation and violence. However, there’s not much you can do to avoid either in this environment, so we salute your attempt to avoid death.

Thanks, Lir and Danu, Caleb’s mind noted sourly. You’re proving to be helpfully unhelpful as always.

“I hate to throw the jinx on you,” Finnobarr went on, as he sent the documents back up. “Though I dare say that your visit might not be as quick as you think, and certainly not as pleasant.”

Something in the man’s words chilled Caleb yet again.

“How might that be, Harbormaster?”

“Your papers state explicitly stating that you’re to collect the ‘chattel’ direct from Governor Sims. For that, you’ll have to visit the Governor’s mansion. Things have been…different around here. Leave your gunpower weapons behind, or you won’t be admitted. Oh, and I’d bring something to present as tribute. Something worth a bit of coin.”

Caleb, threw a surprised glance at Patrick. The curly-headed man shook his head.

“That’s a new one to me too, Captain,” he said quietly.

“I’ll send a runner up to notify the door guard at the mansion,” Finnobarr said. “Best of luck, Komtur Gortak. If things go ill for you, be aware that as Harbormaster, I get first claim on your ship and its cargo.”

With that, the Harbormaster turned and headed back, an uncommonly satisfied look on his face. One of his guards stayed with him, while the other left at a jog up the closest avenue.

Caleb shut down the use of his Charisma Boost and Bluff Assist for the moment. The flush he’d felt inside as his XP were burned faded away.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Sienna ventured “As in, ‘Lir and Danu protect fools and drunks, for we are definitely one or the other’.”

“There’s no backing out now,” Caleb replied. “Fifty Arrenmar lives are depending on us. Have someone bring us a small chest filled with a hundred silver pieces. With luck, that should be enough for our ‘entry fee’."

"I've also got my feelings in a twist, Captain," Patrick said. "There weren't any restrictions on our pistols last time."

"I don't like it either, but we're not getting our people back unless we follow that rule," Caleb said, as he removed the pistols from his belt. Sienna and Patrick followed suit reluctantly.

A few minutes later, Caleb headed up the avenue taken by Finnobarr’s guard. Sienna stayed at his right side, while Patrick stayed on the left, carrying the small chest in his arms. The road widened and straightened as soon as they left the docks, turning into paved highway of sorts.

The dim light, supplemented by the lanterns sitting in most buildings’ windows tinted everything a strange shade of dull green or bright orange. Shops gave way to residences, and then to stretches of open space dedicated to growing some kind of citrus tree. Wrinkled yellow fruits resembling puckered-up lemons hung from the lower branches.

They continued up a steepening slope, approaching the sprawling structure that made up the Governor’s mansion. They passed a pair of long, narrow one-story buildings set on either side of the road. While each structure had primitive wooden roof, iron bars substituted for walls.

Caleb scowled as he saw dozens of people held inside those bars. The smells of stale water and undisposed-of human waste wafted up from their holding areas.

They weren’t quite as starved looking as the Arrenmar held in Deephold Keep, or as dirty as the Roshannon taken off the Damsel. But they’d been reduced to rags all the same. A mixture of young men and women sat back-to-back, legs in chains and with a resigned, hopeless look on their faces.

One, a young woman with a shock of red hair, looked up in surprise. She got up and waddled as fast as she could over to the bars. Her voice was a low hiss, but it was filled with excitement.

“As Lir is my witness!” she said. “Sienna Sheahan, is that you? How come you to be here? Are you…are you one of the cultists now?”

“Go, keep her quiet!” Caleb said to his quartermaster. “There could be guards around. If she starts a commotion, our cover might be blown!”

Sienna nodded and went over to the bars. She spoke in a loud, crude voice.

“Hold your tongue, wench! I have no need of a serving woman!” She dropped her voice and added, “I’m no cultist, Jannah. Wind your necks in, but let the others know: Be ready to move. With luck, we’ll be back to try and free you very soon.”

Can I free them if everything goes to heck? Caleb asked himself. The bars look rusty enough, perhaps my Extend Forge Crack spell?

No sooner did he think of it, then a new red-rimmed window popped up into view.

WARNING!

Your magic-related abilities are being suppressed by anti-magic talismans

or other dark magic sources. Spell effectiveness reduced 95%.

“Oh, Lir and Danu be blessed!” Jannah whispered. “Salt up, and I’ll spread the word!”

Sienna rejoined the two men as they arrived at the open double-doors of the Governor’s mansion. A guard ushered them inside, where they passed through a stony courtyard and into a high-ceilinged, dimly lit room. It took a moment for Caleb’s eyes to adjust to the flickering torch and lantern lights that tried and mostly failed to illuminate the chamber.

Well-worn flagstones made up the floor. A pair of staircases descended from the second floor to end at a raised platform at the far end of the room. The furniture, what little there was, had been fashioned out of dark wood. A small group of people stood in the shadows nearby, talking amongst themselves.

Sienna let out a gasp of horror. “Captain! The…the ceiling!”

Caleb looked up. Both he and Patrick stared wide-eyed.

Bodies had been suspended from the ceiling by a network of red-crusted ropes and iron chain. The bodies looked mummified, with eyeless sockets staring out from dried husks of faces. But the desiccated nature of the corpses were only part of the horror.

Each body had been flayed. The process had left each corpse with a strangely pinkish hue. Cords of muscle, like those out of an anatomy book, stood out in sharp relief against the glint of exposed nails and teeth.

Lir and Danu protect us, Caleb thought to himself. What have we gotten ourselves into?