Tall Sails and Tall Tales

A pennant showing the colours of Waterdeep atop the Tide-Runner’s mainmast whipped and snapped in the wind, while the large flag of the House Thann merchant fleet proudly billowed out from the ensign staff above the ship’s stern. The party members observed the flurry of activity on the sailing ship’s main deck as the crew squared away a pair of newly-installed mangonel catapults fore and aft. There was a long-haired half-elf who appeared to be in charge of the gunnery crew, supervising the storage of the heavy mangonel stones and ballista bolts. A woman in a broad-brimmed hat wearing a veil that covered her face below her eyes strode about the quarterdeck in high wading boots, a heavy hammer held over her shoulder adding some weight to her step. She barked orders at the crew in a piercing tenor, her speech salted and peppered with profanities in the many dialects of the Sword Coast. The crew grumbled good-naturedly as they carried out her commands. Varien ventured into the ship’s stern castle in search of Captain Ironclaw, navigating a narrow hallway off which were several closed doors. He turned sideways to edge around the heavy pole of the mizzenmast that bisected the corridor. He presumed that the quarters at the far end of the stern castle belonged to the ship’s captain. He knocked smartly on the door. “Captain, the crew is looking for orders and a heading.” “Come in,” a slurred voice from beyond the door said. “Okay,” Varien said, opened the door. The room, though spacious, stank of fish oil and spilled alcohol. The captain’s quarters featured several tall rectangular windows of heavy-leaded glass affording a view of the sea, with Waterdeep receding swiftly in the ship’s wake behind them. To Varien’s left was a sideboard covered entirely by empty and half-empty bottles of rum and other sundry spirits that clinked together musically, and there was a leathery slapping sound as some loose books and tomes slid from one side of a bookshelf to another with every cant of the ship in the waves. Beneath his feet were overlapped areas rugs that were unsettlingly damp, having the appearance of fanciness that had been lost due to ill maintenance. Strewn about on the deck were articles of clothing, likely stripped off by the Captain on her way to the large, pillow-festooned bed at the far end of the room, where Ironclaw, half-naked, lay sprawled face-up on the soft mattress, her tricorne hat tipped over her face. Stowed hither and yon were a number of padlocked footlockers and chests, but the Captain’s chest was open and bared, her pierced nipples pointedly pointing at the slightly warped timbers of the poop deck superstructure above her. Varien averted his eyes and instead studied the Captain’s artificial limb that was her namesake, outstretched as it was on the sheets. The clockwork limb featured intricate gearwork and was banded by lengths of armor, with mounting hardpoints for what looked like a crossbow or blade, depending on the Captain’s mood. The arm terminated in an iron hand that looked like a cross between a grapnel and a crab’s claw. “Captain,” Varien repeated, tugging on the bedsheet with one hand, causing the Captain to pitch sideways, her hat rolling off her head to reveal long curling tresses of brown hair, somewhat lank with grease. “What d’ye want?” she mumbled, trying and failing to put the hat back atop her head. “The crew needs a heading,” Varien repeated. “We’re anchors aweigh.” Captain Ironclaw threw her uncooperative hat aside, where it caught and spun atop one of the bedposts. She sat up and gave Varien a long look up and down, making no effort to cover herself. “Who’re you?” she squinted at him. “The First Mate, it would seem,” Varien said. Captain Ironclaw frowned. “The last time I laid eyes on the First Mate he was being dragged to his death…you sort of look like him, I guess.” “That was a different First Mate, I believe,” Varien said. “Oh,” Captain Ironclaw replied, trying and failing to fix her unkempt hair. Her artificial hand spasmed with a series of clockwork clicks. “Of course. Well, I’m sure you have things well in hand. Just watch out for Loud Laurel, she was gunning for First Mate as well.” “Aye-aye, Captain,” Varien said. He turned to leave. Captain Ironclaw was snoring before he had left her chambers. As Varien walked back out into the hallway, he heard the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being cocked behind the door to his left. Varien froze and looked at the nameplate on the door. Quartermaster. Varien tapped the door gingerly. “Unless you’re bringing good news, piss off!” A slightly panicked voice squeaked from behind the door. “I bring questions,” Varien replied. “Is it not a little early to be loading crossbows?” “It’s always a good time for crossbows!” said the voice, tinged with indignance. “I’m sitting on board a ship with a bunch of thieves. A man’s got to take precautions!” Varien opened the door to behold the sight of a crossbow aimed directly at his head. The weapon was mounted on a tripod, with a gnome standing atop a locked strongbox with his hands on the crossbow’s grip, peering through the weapon’s sights with a mixture of fear and loathing. “Not one more step, or else Berrick will pin you to the wall.” “Is Berrick the name you’ve given your crossbow?” Varien said with a raised eyebrow. “I’m Berrick,” the gnome growled. “Were we not introduced when you came aboard? The crossbow’s name is Bianca. I’m Quartermaster Berrick Joymip Vorrybar, and let me tell you, if you think you’re getting what’s in here, you’ve got another thing coming!” He stamped a foot atop the strongbox. “You will pin me to no such wall, nor will Bianca,” Varien said crossly. “Don’t point that weapon at me, or anyone else, got it?” “Got it,” Berrick said, taken aback. “Good,” Varien shut the door and walked away. As he did so he heard Berrick mutter, “Ah, Bianca I just came up with the perfect comeback for that but I missed my chance. Damn it!” Varien smiled. What a strange little man, he thought to himself. Back out on the deck, Erwen had scampered up the mainmast to the crow’s nest in search of crows and was disappointed to discover only gull droppings encrusting the barrel that served as the lookout’s seat. Alec was immediately bootstrapped into lifting some heavy crates and stowing the items away, a job he took to with aplomb. Siegfried was wandering around the quarterdeck, mingling with the crew. Most of the deckhands were too busy to engage in conversation, but Siegfried was careful to pick up names and shake the occasional hand, getting to know the crew as best he could while spreading some goodwill around. As far as the crew was concerned, Siegfried Thann was acting as supercargo on the vessel’s scheduled run to Neverwinter, but he was exactly the right kind of untrustworthy sort that could get along with the sailors. Siegfried saw that while the ship appeared to be in relatively good repair, he couldn’t help but notice that the ship’s deck was covered in a multitude of scratches and claw marks, including significant nicks in the deck railing. Several swabbies were hard at work sanding down the rougher patches, where splinters could catch wayward fingers and toes. He also learned more about the ship’s officers. The veiled woman barking profane orders at the crew was in fact the ship’s bosun, named Loud Laurel. Her tirade was generally good-natured, though peppered with insults and foul language that would have put the woman first in her class at any bardic college worth its salt. There was also a Halfling named Gulliper Blackwater who served as the ship’s carpenter, who was jaunty and amicable as he supervised the repair work. The leader of the gunnery crew was a half-elf named Varic, who seemed to have a supernatural affinity for water, which Siegfried found quite interesting indeed. Siegfried was also informed that the ship’s surgeon, who was below deck at the moment, was known as Doc Crablegs. Siegfried also took note of a grizzled old codger, wearing a heavy raincoat and smoking a corncob pipe while he loitered on deck. His wool mariner’s hat was pulled down over his eyes as he gazed out to sea with a hardened stare. Hanging from his belt was a collection of prosthetic hands – hooks, claws, clubs, and so on. He didn’t seem to be tasked with any particular job at the moment. “That’s Herc McGurk,” Gulliper said cheerfully in answer to Siegfried’s question. “Scared of work, is ol’ McGurk!” He chuckled at his own joke. In Siegfried’s view the old man had perfected the art of looking busy, but he wasn’t about to start barking orders at some layabout just to make an example of him. He respected the man’s lackadaisical hustle. Varien exited the sterncastle and took the starboard set of stairs up to the pilot’s position, relieving the man at station and giving himself a moment to familiarize himself with the ship’s steering controls. This activity did not escape the notice of the bosun. Loud Laurel stomped purposefully up the stairs and got directly in Varien’s face. Her veil puffed outwards with a hard exhalation of breath. “And who you do you think you are?” she said in a low, loud voice as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Varien Aether,” Varien said, stretching out a hand. “Laurel, I presume?” Loud Laurel’s eyes flicked down towards Varien’s outstretched hand as though he had just offered her the business end of a slimy hagfish. She slung the hammer over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, and then gripped Varien’s hand and squeezed. Varien squeezed back until Loud Laurel’s knuckles began to squeak. She flinched slightly and then released her grip. “What are ye doing on me deck?” she asked, rubbing her hand. Varien slapped her sportingly on the shoulder with his other hand. “I’ll be taking First Mate on this run. How are the crew? Are they ready to head into the rough waters ahead?” Loud Laurel’s eyes blazed with barely-restrained anger. “First Mate? Are ye now?” her voice deepened as she repeated herself as though she was trying to comprehend the news. “Are ye now?” She spluttered in rage. “That’s…that’s interesting.” She collected herself but continued to glare at the paladin. “Interesting. I assume you’ve spoken with the Cap’n?” Varien cocked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve just been to speak with Captain Ironclaw. She’s taking a lie down right now, but she has agreed to let me serve as First Mate. Now, about the crew…” “Fine!” Loud Laurel barked. “Great!” She spun about on a booted heel and stormed away in silent fury, each stomp threatening to put her foot through the wooden stairs down to the quarterdeck. Her fuming was volcanic to the point that Varien thought he could see smoke pouring from the woman’s ears. She strode across the deck and took the stairs below without saying a word. A wave of uneasiness passed through the crew members within earshot. “Loud Laurel is quiet,” they murmured to one another in furtive whispers. “Loud Laurel is quiet.” “Oh, no,” whispered Gulliper. “Oh, no.” Varien nodded to Siegfried, who walked over to confer with him, his boots of the winterland turning puddles of saltwater beneath his feet to patches of ice. “So, how long is left on our voyage, expectantly?” he asked Varien. Varien gazed upward at the sun and licked a thumb to check the wind. “I can provide you with an answer shortly,” he said. “We’ve put about 15 miles behind us so far, nautically speaking,” Varien said to Siegfried. “The Tide-Runner’s top speed is about 5 miles per hour, more if we catch the wind right.” “Well, I think I’m getting my sea legs,” Siegfried said. Behind him, a deckhand slipped on a patch of ice and fell on his rear. The party noticed that Varien seemed more at home aboard this ship than he had been anyplace else. He barked orders at the ship’s crew, who hopped to it and obeyed, and soon the Tide-Runner was making good time. Siegfried watched Varien at the wheel of the ship with an amused expression on his face. He leaned over and in a low voice asked, “do you want her?” “Siegfried, our business is far too pressing for seafaring,” Varien replied unconsciously patting the wheel with some affection. “I know, but afterwards,” Siegfried said. Varien shook his head and went back to the wheel, rolling his eyes. “I mean, I’m not offering you a job, but perhaps after the battles…” Siegfried said. “The battles never end, Siegfried,” Varien said. “Then what are you fighting for?” Siegfried asked. “The darkness will always need to be pushed back,” Varien replied. “Then you plan to fight until your light is extinguished?” Siegfried asked. “That sounds very familiar to the High Lady. Speaking to Nero, your Lady Sune perhaps is not my scripture or my religion, but he seemed to describe Lady Sune to be a woman to say that your work and your battles will be done, and will allow her warriors to lay down their swords, and take up a garden, take up a ship, take up a fishing line, and enjoy some peace. There is something I see in you that reminds me of the High Lady, to push and push, thinking that only yourself can be the one to do it. Are you sure that’s what you want?” “Don’t presume to know what I want, Siegfried,” Varien said. “I don’t,” Siegfried said. “If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.” Varien nodded to the north. “Neither of us know what’s beyond that horizon,” he said, “but for now, the Lady would like me to fight, so that is what I will do. We’ll see what path she has in store for me on the morrow.” Siegfried patted the scratched-up deck railing. “Well, don’t burn out too soon, the world has need for Varien Aether yet.” He thought for a moment. “I think as First Mate, you should have access to the stateroom,” Siegfried said to Varien. “I plan on sleeping somewhere a little more…conspicuous.” “Suit yourself,” Varien said. “What is it with you and denying yourself a good night’s sleep?” “Truth be told, I don’t sleep well,” Siegfried said. “You’ve seen my mother, not the woman who raised me but the woman who raised my brother, and did this,” Siegfried made a column of ash form on his outstretched palm. He flicked the ash away. “I don’t sleep well, because that’s when my mother takes me on a walk through the night Neverwinter burned down. Every night. That’s what I see. If I’m not going to enjoy it, someone else can enjoy a good bed. And if I can’t enjoy it, I might as well find a place to sleep where someone won’t slit my throat.” “Well Siegfried, it looks like both of us have pasts that we can’t let go of,” Varien said. He handed Siegfried his explorer’s pack. “Be a gent and put my bag down for me.” A smile tugged at Siegfried’s mouth, and he complied. “I’ll arrange for suitable quarters for the rest of our group whiIe I’m sorting out your luggage situation,” Siegfried said. Pack in hand, he hopped over the rail. Varien gave him a two-finger salute. “You landlubber,” he said under his breath. Theryn set about exploring the lower decks, intent on discovering for himself the ship’s cargo. He went below and discovered a general hold and sleeping quarters for the ship’s crew. Hammocks were strung up between bulkheads and pillars, and the heavy-duty mechanisms for raising and lowering the anchors were also present – large chains wrapped around massive spindles. Several sleeping sailors, no doubt preparing for the next watch, rocked lazily in their hammocks, while others worked on various tasks around the deck. Here, Loud Laurel was pacing the length of the deck, causing those sailors along her route to cringe in fear and look busy. Theryn approached Loud Laurel. “Good day, First Mate,” he said. Loud Laurel whirled about and fixed Theryn with a look of restrained fury. “At least someone on this ship recognizes my abilities,” she said through clenched teeth. “Well, you were First Mate before we got here and you will no doubt be First Mate when we depart, yes?” Theryn said. Loud Laurel’s flushed complexion, visible through the silken veil covering the lower half of her face, lightened somewhat. “Well, acting First Mate, perhaps. The previous holder of that office met an untimely end.” “Oh, do tell,” Theryn said. Loud Laurel looked Theryn up and down. “Why?” Theryn shrugged. “What else are we going to do?” “And who are you again?” Loud Laurel asked. “I am Theryn Hellvalor.” “Well, we don’t usually involve passengers in our personal business,” Loud Laurel said. “Indulge me,” Theryn said. “It looks as though you have something you want to get off your chest.” Loud Laurel grew quiet. She half-turned away from Theryn, staring out one of the rectangular portholes in the hull of the sailing ship for several moments. “The sea was a lot like it was that day. We were trying to make for Port Llast in the middle of a storm. Oh, how the ship was tossed about. First Mate Kask, he had skills as a pilot, and he fought for every league, bringing the ship closer and closer to shore. Captain Ironclaw was at her best that day too, but it was a very near thing. We were in danger of being dashed against the rocks, or swamped by wave after wave of frigid seawater, but the Mate, aye, he brought us in. It was so cold. It was so wet.” She paused. “But…but what awaited us in Port Llast was worse than any storm.” Tears began to form in her eyes. “The people at Port Llast. They weren’t people anymore.” Theryn raised an eyebrow. Loud Laurel was staring off into the middle distance with haunted eyes. “The people, they were swarming the docks to welcome us. At least that’s what we thought. That they were waving us in, celebrating our arrival. But…but their hands. Their hands were claws. Their mouths filled with razor-sharp needles. And then they were on us, before we’d even pulled up to the dock. We…we had to fight, desperately, even though we were nigh exhausted from our fight through the storm. We had to retreat back into the maelstrom. But the First Mate, he kept saying ‘I can see them, I can see them,’ over and over again. His wife and children, he said, they were in the crowd, calling to him, waving to him. Amid the throng of horrible, misshapen monsters. And even as we were punching, kicking, and hammering away at the creatures that swarmed our deck, he walked off the ship and into their waiting arms.” Loud Laurel’s voice had died away to a whisper, and she shivered at the memory. “We barely made it out of Port Llast with our lives.” Then she straightened up and cleared her throat. “So, that means there’s a position open, but woe betide anyone who’s too eager to take it.” “So, you all fought off the horde. Did you inspect all of the crew after the fact for scratches, cuts and wounds?” Theryn asked. “Yes,” Loud Laurel nodded. “Doc Crablegs looked us over and gave us a clean bill of health.” “Was anybody scratched, cut our wounded?” Theryn pressed. Loud Laurel shrugged. “Not too many. Mostly, if they got their claws or teeth into ye, you went over the side and into the water to become chum in the harbour. Those of us who escaped didn’t let those creatures get too close.” “And how long ago was this?” Theryn asked. Loud Laurel sighed. “It was two tenday ago. We’ve been resting and refitting in Waterdeep ever since that disaster.” “All right,” Theryn said. “And there’s been no incidents since? Is anyone sick?” Loud Laurel raised an eyebrow. “This is a sailing ship. There are always people sick. You’d have to ask Doc Crablegs about it.” “Indeed,” Theryn said. “And where might I find this Doc Crablegs?” “The infirmary’s below deck,” Loud Laurel said. “Just follow the smell of putrefaction.” “Thank you,” Theryn said. “And by the way, your name is?” “Laurel,” the veiled woman said. “I’m the bosun.” “Thank you, Laurel,” Theryn said. He found the stairs. As Theryn made his way below deck, he heard Loud Laurel tear into the nearest crewmembers with gusto. “What’s the matter, ye scurvy sea-wretches, have ye never seen a grown woman cry before? Get back t’yer posts or you’ll feel this hammer wedged into yer backsides!” Theryn made it to the bottom of the next deck and sniffed. He could smell three things – livestock, gangrene and butchery. He decided to follow the smell of gangrene to the ship’s infirmary, located on the port side of the deck. Theryn knocked on the door. There was a heavy sigh from parts beyond. “What are your symptoms?” a world-weary voice called out. “Clarity and wisdom,” Theryn said. Theryn heard a snort. “You’ll find both of those in short supply on board this ship. But do come in.” Theryn entered. It was indeed a ship’s infirmary, with several cots packed in beside the curved hull of the ship. A large hutch held a number of potions, tinctures, salves and balms, as well as several jars containing odd sea creatures whose shapes defied logical classification in Theryn’s analytical mind, being a collection of nodules, polyps, and frills that were unsettling to look at through the veil of milky liquid they occupied and the condensation on the outside of the glass vessels. Nearby was a shelf holding a number of medical tomes and scrolls. Theryn tilted his head and read some of the titles inscribed upon the tomes’ spines: Metaphor and Withdrawal in Medicine: Reproducing Resentful Verbiage Deducing Impolite Memory: Biology and/in the Colony Brilliancy, Incarnation of the Wolf Mystagogical Witchcraft: Applying Arcane Techniques to Field Surgery A writing desk containing sheafs of anatomical sketches was tucked away against the bulkhead beneath the bookshelf, which smelled of rich mahogany. Three of the cots spaced along the walls contained patients swaddled in sweat-and-blood-stained sheets who moaned in painful harmony with the creaks and groans of the ship’s superstructure. Beside each man were large sick buckets, some of them brimming with foul-smelling ejecta that sloshed disgustingly with each heave of the ship through the rough waters. Tending to the ill sailors was a stooped, lanky man wearing a discoloured smock, cradling a long, sharp surgical instrument. His long face was covered with scars and nicks long-healed. As he moved from patient to patient, he walked with a strange, side-shuffling gait that Theryn at first took to be an adaptation to working in a cramped environment. “I have a spare cot or two if you’re feeling a need to lie down, but you’ll have to take a number,” the ship’s doctor said over his shoulder to Theryn. “I’m afraid I have my hands full here.” Theryn shook his head. “I’m merely inquiring about the wounded here. Were they all wounded during the events at Port Llast?” The doctor shuddered involuntarily, and then turned with a shuffle to view Theryn head-on. “And who might you be?” “The voice of clarity and wisdom, as I said,” Theryn said. “Ah,” the doctor inclined his head. “A passenger, then.” “Aye-aye, Captain,” Theryn said. The doctor chuckled, “Don’t presume to promote me, unless you’re in possession of a letter of marque from House Thann. I am merely the ship’s doctor, surgeon, barber, and last line of defence against scurvy and infection.” “Yes, it’s that latter one that concerns me the most,” Theryn said. “Oh, are you a medical man, yourself?” the doctor said. “Just a well-travelled man,” Theryn said.  “Who has seen a thing or two.” “This ship has seen a thing or two as well!” the doctor said with a rueful chuckle. “Yes, Loud Laurel informed me of your recent encounter at Port Llast,” Theryn said. “That’s what brought me down to you and I am inquiring about the sick here. Were they wounded during the incident at Port Llast?” “And what’s your interest in that?” the doctor asked. “Well, I ran into a similar experience in my travels, and those who were wounded become infected and soon turn into the very things you fought off,” Theryn explained. “Well, we do have a few men recovering after that unfortunate incident, and not to toot my own hornpipe or anything, but I’m getting them back on their feet as quickly as possible,” the doctor said. “And have you encountered anything worm-like?” Theryn asked, thinking of the infested dungeon beneath Old Owl Well. The doctor shook his head. “Well, no more than the usual. Have you seen what sailors can contract if they’re not careful? Filthy buggers, they go from port to port.” “Indeed,” Theryn said. “Are there any who have made full recoveries.” “Well, let me check my ledger,” the doctor said, turning sideways and shuffling towards his writing desk. Theryn stepped out of his way as he awkwardly tottered past. Theryn quickly studied the patients languishing in the infirmary. He saw fever, chills, and delirium. The doctor flipped through a thick volume of records written in an inscrutable hand. “Ah yes, we had a number of recoveries.” He paused and squinted at his own handwriting. “Well, the number was in fact one, but I feel that is a relatively decent rate of recovery, all things considered, for the number of losses we suffered.” He shook his head. “We had to take on a number of new crewmembers when we finally made port. I wouldn’t recommend trying a landing at Port Llast anytime soon, not that the Captain listens to my counsel on the matter.” “The individual who you said made a full recovery, what did you say his name was?” Theryn asked. The doctor chuckled. “Ah yes, that’s good ol’ Herc McGurk. Too old to be a cabin boy, but nobody’s quite sure what he does on board this ship.” “Thank you for your time, doctor, I’ll leave you to your work,” Theryn said. “Ah, yes, yes,” the doctor said, picking up his blade. As Theryn took his leave, he shuffled over to a shivering crewman and pulled the covers away, revealing a suppurating abcess that looked for all the world like a barnacle attached to the man’s midsection. He spun his surgical tool with a practised hand and smiled down at his patient. “Now, Monty, this is going to hurt a great deal.” Theryn closed the door on the man’s screams.

Theryn moved through the narrow passages of the deck, taking note of the folded sails and coils of ropes that were packed into a central channel amidships. The forward section of the deck was built around a multilevel cargo hatch that would provide access from the main deck through to the hold somewhere below. Currently it was covered with a wooden grate to prevent accidental falls. The sounds of livestock, as well as their smells, pervaded the forward portion of the deck, and errant bits of straw and fodder were stuck to the decking beneath his feet. Theryn could hear a crewman shouting, “Go on, Matilda, eat! You know you like it, what’s wrong with the hay, it’s good for ya, so what’s the matter? Eat!” His entreaties were met with an indignant moo from the obstinate cow in question. Across the way was a carpenter shop and at the stern of the ship was the ship’s galley. He could hear the clanging of pots and pans beyond the galley doors. “Matilda, come on!” Theryn poked his head in and saw a deckhand attempting to cajole a dairy cow into sampling a bale of hay inside an enclosure. The cow was having none of it. “What seems to be the trouble?” Theryn asked. The swabbie glared at Theryn. “Who’re you?” “Just a passer-by, but a guest on board your ship,” Theryn said. “Well, I hope you have a taste for steak, because if this stubborn creature doesn’t get her appetite back soon, she’ll have a date with the butcher’s block!” The deckhand turned back to the cow. “You wouldn’t like that, now would you, Matilda? So come on, eat!” The cow spurned the hay, turning its head away and stomped its cloven hoof obstinately. Theryn surmised that the deckhand seemed to have some sort of affectionate relationship with this particular animal and was genuinely concerned for its health. “How long has this been going on?” Theryn said. “She’s suddenly off her food, what can I say?” the deckhand said. “But by all other accounts, the animal seems well?” Theryn asked. “Oh, healthy as a horse, if the horse was a cow!” the deckhand exclaimed. Theryn blinked. “Right,” he said. “Close the door or you’ll let the chicken out,” the deckhand said. Theryn turned his head to regard a chicken that was staring at him with its beady eyes, perched at head level atop a beam. He closed the door as a flurry of brown feathers launched itself towards him, and heard the sound of furious pecking against the other side of the door. “Whew, that was a close one,” Theryn could hear the deckhand murmur. He turned and descended another flight of stairs to the cargo hold and bilge. He could see the ribbing of the ships keel here. There was a bit of bilge water sloshing about beneath the wooden decking. There were piles of stones for the mangonels and there were several kegs of some sort of alcohol strapped down securely. As Theryn moved about the hold, he found a section walled off with a locked door barring his way. Now, that won’t do at all , Theryn said, jiggling the doorhandle. I shall have to speak with our supercargo Siegfried. He made his way back to the main deck and found Varien and Siegfried on the quarterdeck at the ship’s wheel. “Gentlemen, if I may have a moment,” he said. “It would appear that this ship had a recent run-in with some creatures that infested Port Llast and killed and injured a number of crewmen, some of whom are recovering in the infirmary.” “Port Llast?” Siegfried said. “That’s a protectorate of Neverwinter to the north, run by a First Captain to defend against intrigue from Luskan.” “It’s the one deep-water harbour between Neverwinter and Luskan, if memory serves,” Varien said. “Also, I’m interested in borrowing either your lockpicking tools or your lockpicking skills to investigate the locked cargo hold,” Theryn said. Siegfried was muttering an incantation and did not reply. “Also, Varien, usually the mention of undead triggers a visceral response in you,” Theryn said. “You seem a bit serene at the moment.” “Well, did they mention any undead?” Varien said. “Well, what else could they be?” Theryn replied. “Port Llast,” Siegfried repeated, almost to himself. “Wait, weren’t there a large number of refugees from Port Llast trying to gain entry into Helm’s Hold?” Bob leaned in to join the conversation. “Didn’t we hear something about Port Llast when we arrived in Neverwinter? I seem to recall Warduke Fitzhugh Montgomery of the Lord’s Alliance mentioning that the lighthouse at Port Llast had gone out, which seemed suspicious.” “You’re right, Bob,” Siegfried said. “Neverwinter and Helm’s Hold were sharing intelligence about new threats to the region.” He cast a sending spell to Fitzhugh Montgomery in Neverwinter. Spoken with sailors who escaped Port Llast. The port has fallen. Population replaced by ghouls. Large paladin force needed to salvage port before Luskan takes control. “I just wanted to pass on what seemed like useful information,” Theryn said. “If you already didn’t have your head on a swivel, you should now.” “And to answer your second question, Theryn, no, you are not to be fiddling with locked doors on board my family’s ship,” Siegfried continued. “Why are there locked sections of this ship, anyway?” Theryn asked. “Because we are transporting expensive wines to sell in other ports,” Siegfried explained. “Those wines are out in the open,” Theryn said. “Something else is being hidden.” “That wine is probably for the crew’s consumption,” Siegfried said. “We would keep the good stuff under lock and key.” “Don’t you want to know what your ship is carrying?” Theryn asked. “I would ask somebody for the ship’s manifest in that instance,” Siegfried replied. “And you would take the manifest at its word?” Theryn pressed. “Why wouldn’t you want to verify with your own eyes?” “Theryn, why don’t you trust my family?” Siegfried thundered. “Don’t take it personally, I don’t trust anybody,” Theryn replied. “Are you accusing my family of corruption and trading in illicit goods? Slavery? What are you accusing me of?” Siegfried said, looming over the monk in high dudgeon. Varien placed a warning hand on Siegfried’s chest. “Calm waters, brothers.” “Take it down about 40 percent, Siegfried,” Theryn said placatingly. “I am questioning out of concern for your family’s reputation because I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t say that any of these folks on board are above treachery. They’re not your family, after all.” “Now, now, Theryn,” Varien said, “They’re good men and women.” “Nobody here is above reproach,” Theryn said. “So, untwist your knickers.” Siegfried took his Thann family shield off his back and handed it to Theryn. “Go take this to the quartermaster, tell him that Siegfried Thann has permitted you access to the locked room to examine it.” Theryn gave Siegfried his bo staff. “Now, was that so hard Siegfried?” Siegfried smiled. “Theryn, I was messing with you because it’s funny.” “And I will continue to do the same to you simply because it’s fun,” Theryn replied. “Did someone mention the possibility of slavery?” Bob asked. “Nobody said slavery, it’s an awful business and abhorrent practice,” Siegfried replied. “And where might I find the quartermaster?” Theryn asked. “In the sterncastle,” Varien said, tapping his boot to indicate somewhere below deck. Theryn walked down the stairs and found Herc McGurk loitering near the deck railing, puffing on his corncob pipe and humming a sea chanty as he stared at the waves, hands shoved into the pockets of his oversized rain slicker. “Mr. McCurk, how’re you now?” Theryn asked. “Arr, who wants to know?” McGurk replied. “Theryn Hellvalor,” Theryn said. “Hellvalor?” McGurk repeated. “I know no Hellvalor.” “You do now,” Theryn said. “Yer not a member of the crew, which means yer a passenger, which means yer ballast,” McGurk said. “And what does it take to be a member of the crew?” Theryn asked. “Someone who contributes to its greater good and survival? Then you may count me as one of your own.” McGurk looked the monk up and down. “That’s a lot of fancy words there, but ye have the look of a landlubber about ye.” “My words may be fancy but my work is straightforward,” Theryn said. “And I love anywhere my feet my land.” McGurk chuckled harshly. “Well, ye’d best keep yer legs beneath ye, laddie.” “I’ll do so with crewmen like you by my side,” Theryn said. McGurk grunted. “And where might I find the quartermaster?” Theryn asked. “The quartermaster, eh?” laughed McGurk. “Well, yer as like to get a crossbow bolt a’tween the eyes than ye are to speak to ol’ Berrick! He’s a mite shall we say touchy, being the quartermaster and the ships purser and such.” “Well, if you don’t hear from me in the next hour and things start to smell worse around here, come look for me,” Theryn said. McGurk chuckled. “Well, tell you what, in that instance we’ll lash yer corpse to the figurehead and you’ll be our new hood ornament.” “And the ship will be the best-looking one in port, then,” Theryn said. McGurk laughed uproariously. “Aye, aye. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He turned back to the water. As Theryn made his way into the sterncastle, he heard McGurk muttering “here, fishy, fishy, fishy…” Meanwhile, Captain Ironclaw, dressed in a new set of outerwear, made her way back out onto deck. Varien let the Captain take the helm. “Sure,” Ironclaw nodded at Varien, impressed with his abilities. Loud Laurel had also reappeared on deck, her veil hiding any ill feeling towards the new First Mate. Siegfried strode to the edge of the poop deck and put his hands on the rail, surveying the main deck and its complement of sailors. “All right, you drunkards!” he shouted with all the authority vested in him as a noble supercargo representative of the ship’s owners. The sailors paused, and even Loud Laurel ceased her tirade to stare up at Siegfried in silence. “I’m sure you’ve heard some ill tidings and are wondering why a fancy nonce such as myself has brought his band of brigands out to sea amid such lovely sailing weather!” he waved at the gathering storm. There were some chuckles from the sailors. “Now,” Siegfried said. “We all know what happened in Port Llast. We also know what’s been happening in other ports along the Sword Coast, most recently Auckney. Now, a wizard bastard by the name of Markosian has thrown his lot in with the devils aboard the St. Asmod’s Hope. ” The name of the infamous pirate ship got the crew’s attention, and Captain Ironclaw sobered up immediately. “Now, they’ve been sacking multiple towns and ports to get hold of what they found in Auckney, an artifact known as the iron flask. Guess what he wants to do with it?” “Drink it?” Alec asked. “No, pour that filth onto Waterdeep. Now I say nay. He’s riding a storm going by the way of the Leaning Lighthouse. I say we stop him. I say we board that ship, take what’s their’s, kill every mother’s son above and below deck, and we take that stuff for our own. We’ll take their cursed death-bringing devilry. We lock it in the deepest, darkest vault in the gods-made coast, so no abyssal sea-witch, no upstart necromancer, and so no pirate king can bring that kind of death to our ports ever again. Any of you disagree?” Herc McGurk reached into his overcoat to pull out one of his prosthetic hands to raise it, but then thought better of it, letting it drop. “Now, you’re no heroes. None of us are any kind of charitable idiot who would risk their lives for some high-flown ideal,” Siegfried continued. “No, we’re here to make money and get paid. And maybe, maybe leave some good in this world in our wake.” He grabbed his bloodsworn axe and slammed it into the railing where it stuck, and then followed up with the gearblade , jabbing in into the rail. “Two weapons from my personal armory,” he thundered. “I’ve taken them from the bodies of enemies who would put our homes at risk. These go to whoever want to bring me the head of a pirate king, a necromancer, and whatever other beasties we find on that ship.” There were cheers from the crew. “And you know what else we need to find? That iron flask. I want to put that away. Whoever gets it to me gets paid. There’s a pirate king leading the St. Asmod’s Hope who’s raided a lot of villages. That means there’s a lot of gold. Put your work in and you’ll get a share of that gold on board. And most importantly, if we kill every bastard aboard that accursed ship, then who’s sailing the St. Asmod’s Hope ?” He locked his gaze onto Loud Laurel. “Who will fly the Thann flag to Waterdeep as the new captain after we vacate the place and air it out?” Loud Laurel nodded. “Now, I’m not going to force anyone to fight for something they aren’t willing to do,” Siegfried said. “If anyone is willing to sail through a storm, kill the bastards who have been ruining every port they’ve come across and want to bring that mayhem to Waterdeep, take their stuff and get rich, stamp your feet and say aye!” There was a multitude of stampings and “yarrs” from the crew on deck. “Any who disagree, lower your heads and whimper nay,” Siegfried said. There was no dissent. “Never has the Council of Waterdeep been as unified,” Siegfried shouted with a smile to the sound of cheers. Siegfried leapt over the rail to land on the quarterdeck, high-fiving cheering crew members as he walked the length of the deck, and strode up to the forecastle, where he took up a position near the bowsprit to rest. “Quite an orator, that one,” Captain Ironclaw slurred. Varien nodded absently. “Perhaps we should rally to the Officer’s Mess to sort out a plan of action,” Captain Ironclaw said. Varien nodded. “Bosun!” he called to Loud Laurel. “You have the helm!” Loud Laurel shouted something back at Varien that he chose to ignore.   While Siegfried began his speech, Theryn entered the sterncastle in search of the quartermaster. He saw that the door was locked. He knocked. There was the sound of a crossbow being cocked. “Unless you’re bringing good news, don’t take another step,” someone squeaked from behind the door. “I have been sent to request and make use of your position and power,” Theryn said. “Are you saying you’re angling for my position?” the voice said warily. “Then by all means, come in,” the voice said. There was the sound of a number of bolts being thrown. Theryn opened the door to see a short-statured gnome standing astride a footlocker, training a crossbow on him. Theryn held the Thann shield out in front of him as he entered. “You don’t look like a Thann,” the quartermaster barked. “I am not, but I have been given this by the supercargo,” Theryn said. “I have been charged by the supercargo to inspect the cargo, and I require the use of the manifest and your keys to the locked hold in the lower deck.” “Well,” the quartermaster said. “I’m in charge of the manifest. What d’you need to know?” “I am to lay eyes on the contents of your cargo hold,” Theryn said firmly. “Are you now?” the quartermaster said with a sneer. “Aye,” Theryn repeated. “Well, we’ll see about that. Close the door on your way out, I will be with you in a moment,” the quartermaster said. Theryn stepped outside the door and listened. He heard the sound of keys jangling, locks being opened, objects being moved around, and then things being locked back up. Then he heard a low voice mutter, “Okay now, Bianca, you mind everything while I’m gone, okay?” There was the sound of a crossbow being cocked, and then the door creaked open, the quartermaster backing out into the corridor, a great book affixed to his back with shoulder straps. The gnome was playing out a line as he backed out, looping the cord around the doorhandle. Theryn guessed that the line was connected to the crossbow’s trigger, and the quartermaster was setting a trap. Sure enough, the quartermaster closed the door and withdrew an overlarge ring of keys from a pocket, locking his chambers closed. “That oughta do it,” he muttered to himself. He was dressed quite fancily for a crewman, with pressed breeches, buckles on his boots that shone to a gleam, and a high-collared jacket skilfully tailored to his proportions. Jammed in his belt, however, was a meat cleaver. He set an ostentatious tricorne hat on his head that sported a long feather that drooped nearly to the deck. “Please, follow me,” he said curtly. Theryn motioned for him to lead the way. Quartermaster Berrick led Theryn down to the cargo hold. “No peeking,” he wagged a finger at Theryn as he worked the lock on the sealed bulkhead. He opened the door with a jangling of keys, and opened the doors. Beyond the doorway Theryn could make out cargo crates, casks, and other sundry items tied down against the rocking of the ship in the waves. The quartermaster gave Theryn a rather significant glance as he stepped through ahead of the monk. “No funny business. I’ll be turning yer pockets out on your way out.” “Speaking of which, the manifest?” Theryn asked. Berrick chuckled and danced out of reach. “Just a moment,” he said, and stepped over to a lectern set up on one side of the hold. He doffed the manifest from his back and proceeded to lock it into position on the sloped surface of the reading stand using a network of thin chains. He cranked the book open, then stepped off the platform, standing nearby. Theryn could see that the gnome was hooked up to the book by what looked like a pocketwatch chain. “All right, take a look,” Berrick said. “But I’ll be watching.” Theryn stepped up and began to read the manifest. He took note of the meticulously-recorded contents of the ship – casks of wine, their vintages and grades listed alongside their weight, indicating points of origin from several counties in Tethyr to the south, that had been transshipped to Waterdeep for shipment to ports further north, including Neverwinter. Also listed were spices and other sundry commodities, nothing that caught Theryn’s eye. He turned to the cargo itself and looked it over to ensure that nothing had been tampered with or altered in any way. Satisfied that his inspection had uncovered nothing amiss, Theryn turned to Quartermaster Berrick. “Thank you, everything looks to be in order.” “Just as it should be,” Berrick said with a knowing chuckle. “Well,” Theryn said. “One can never be too cautious.” “Tell that to the Captain,” Quartermaster Berrick said. “If we’d been more cautious we wouldn’t have tried to make Port Llast in that terrible storm, and look what that got us,” he shook his head. “But I suppose you were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t, eh?” Theryn asked. “Well, the crew we lost are damned, that’s for certain,” Berrick said with a hint of regret. “Unfortunately, I had to pay out a number of widow’s pensions when we made port in Waterdeep.” “Well, that’s honorable of you, considering that many wouldn’t go through the trouble of tracking down next of kin,” Theryn said, impressed. “Well, as a representative of House Thann, you must know they do take good care of their employees,” Berrick said. “Some branches of the family, that is.” “I’ll take your word for it,” Theryn said. “Yes, well, will there be anything else?” Berrick said, unlocking the manifest from its podium and shrugging it back onto his backside. “That’s all for now, thank you,” Theryn said. “All right, I believe you know your way back up top, then?” Berrick began to reconfigure the lock. Theryn made his way back to the crew deck and encountered the rest of his friends as they were filing into the Officer’s Mess for a meeting with Captain Ironclaw. Theryn handed back the Thann shield to Siegfried. Siegfried gave Theryn the smuggest of smug looks. “And did you find the illicit substances and stowed-away necromancers you were looking for, Theryn?” “For someone of your position, it is strange that due diligence seems to be such a foreign concept for you,” Theryn said. “No, it’s a very important thing that I pretend to not care about. As it happens, the Thanns pay a great sum of money for others to do their due diligence so that we only have to do due diligence against those who have done their due diligence on everything else. If I did due diligence on every manjack under my employ, I would never sleep nor get any real work done.” “Then I’ll blame whatever happens on your misplaced faith in your employees,” Theryn said. While the two were talking, Captain Ironclaw took a seat at the head of the table and conjured a stein from her pocket. Finding an egg in another pocket, she cracked it on the rim of the mug and dropped the yolk in, following that up with salt, pepper, and a generous helping of rum from a wineskin hung round her neck on a leather strap. She downed the concoction in one gulp. “Hangover cure,” she muttered to Bob and Alec, who were sitting nearby. Bob rolled his eyes. “Well,” Captain Ironclaw said, leaning her chair back and putting her boots up on the long table. The party noticed that all the chairs’ back legs were bolted to the floor with hinges. “You’re quite the orator, Master Thann. Soon you’ll be running the family’s merchant fleet, if you aren’t already.” “Oh,” Siegfried said as he placed an orcish axe on the table. “I’m not really much for sailing.” “Well, you’ve worked the crew up into quite a lather. My hat’s off to you,” she said, taking off her hat to reveal her tangled raven tresses. Replacing the hat, she smiled darkly. “Now, instead of blinding forging ahead into these wild waters, let’s place our cards on the table: what you know about the St. Asmod’s Hope ?” “Not as much as I should, sadly,” Siegfried said. “Let’s do some due diligence, shall we?” He cast a pointed look at Theryn. “We are aware that villages have been vacated up and down the Sword Coast,” Siegfried said. “We’ve received word of a recent attack on Auckney, and purpose of that attack was to secure this iron flask but we don’t know what the reason was for sacking these other towns. We can’t sink the St. Asmod’s Hope, because we would lose the iron flask to the depths and someone else would find it and do this all over again. We have to capture the vessel, lock the dangerous stuff down, and everything that is not dangerous and shiny you can take for yourselves, and if we’re lucky, we get to add another ship to the Thann fleet. As to the nature of naval combat, that is your area of expertise, as it is yours, Varien Aether. I will be relying on your guidance for the best way to engage the enemy.” Varien and Erwen were poring over the navigational charts at the far end of the table. “Erwen, we need to divine the eye of the storm and place both it, and our location, on this map, so we can determine how best to cut them off before they reach the Leaning Lighthouse.” Erwen cracked open a window and blew some dandelion seed pods into the wind, closing his eyes as he computed the speed and strength of the storm. He hopped up onto the table, concentrating on the map. Varien used a sextant, a compass, and calipers as Erwen whispered information into his ear. Varien looked up at the mention of his name and gestured for Erwen to take a seat. “Ah, so you have your very own storm tracker?” Captain Ironclaw said. “A fine addition to any crew.” Varien brought the map over to the other end of the table. “If this storm is as arcane as I think it is, there’s no way to trace its natural course,” Erwen piped up. “But it appears to be sweeping down just off the coast.” “We can get to the Leaning Lighthouse before the eye of that storm gets there,” Varien said, pointing at the map. “Or we can meet the storm in open water. There’s no telling where the ship might be hidden inside the storm, but we could find it. If we wait for it to arrive at the Leaning Lighthouse, we have little margin for error, but we can hide among these islands and strike at the ship once we have her in our sights.” “And our benefactor for this job hinted that there’s an important reason why the St. Asmod’s Hope needs to make port at the Leaning Lighthouse,” Siegfried said. “His little urchin agent also suggested as much.” “If we plot our course well enough, we could get to that lighthouse well before the ship, and then we would still have time to meet the St. Asmod’s Hope in open water,” Erwen said. “That gives us a chance to interrupt whatever ritual is being performed at the Leaning Lighthouse as well as keeping them well away from their victory condition.” “So it’s to the Lighthouse, then?” Captain Ironclaw said with a smile. “Aye-aye,” Varien said. “Plan for the beacon to remain unlit,” Siegfried said. “We may have to drop anchor and carry out some bloodshed on shore before this day is through.” “I would expect nothing less,” Captain Ironclaw said, flexing her prosthetic hand. “This is beginning to sound like it might be fun!” “Yes, well Varien, if things go as well as I think they will, you might get to notch two more runes off your sword today,” Siegfried said. To the captain he asked “do we have a spare Thann flag?” Captain Ironclaw nodded. “Yes, we keep a spare in case the livery gets damaged.” Siegfried nodded. “If all goes well, you’ll be able to keep your appointment in Neverwinter and make your delivery, all the richer for your troubles, while we borrow the extra flag and sail our prize back to Waterdeep and deal with the troublesome paperwork back in port.” “If you can float her home with a prize crew, so much the better, but we’ll do what we can to help you take the ship.” Captain Ironclaw’s expression grew grim. “It won’t be easy though, from what I know of the St. Asmod’s Hope.” “Just get us close enough to the ship for us mad lads to get on her deck and clean house,” Siegfried said with a confident smile. “From what I know of Captain Mange, he’s quite adept at keeping the St. Asmod’s Hope hidden from his prey, from prying and scrying eyes alike.” Ironclaw said. “I’ve heard stories of ships lost in a fog, when suddenly they are overtaken by that accursed ship where no ship had been just seconds before. They’ll leave the occasional survivor to tell the tale back in port to strike fear in the hearts of sailors far and wide.” “Well, I’m sure it might be worth keeping their bosun alive to keep their ship afloat,” Siegfried said. “We know what they are sailing into – a ship that hides in fog and storm. Crewed by a dark mage.” “Who is this Captain Mange?” Varien asked. “He’s a bugbear,” Captain Ironclaw says. “He considers himself a rather sophisticated creature and I daresay he does cut a dashing figure on deck, if what I’ve heard about him is true. He’s assembled a motley crew of scalawags, scrags, cutthroats and other ne’er do-wells. Perhaps with the element of surprise and some divine luck on our side, we’ll be able to best him in open water.” “Erwen, is there anything in your magical arsenal that you can use to disguise our ship the way that guy do?” Siegfried asked. Erwen nodded. “I will have to read the tea leaves,” he said. “We can beat the St. Asmod’s Hope in a contest of speed, that’s for damn sure,” Captain Ironclaw said, getting to her feet. “Let’s show you how close to the tide the Tide-Runner can run!”   The crew rested as the Tide-Runner closed in on the coast and the Leaning Lighthouse. The storm had grown worse, the sky darkening from light grey to dark grey to the darkest black as the hours passed. Great forks of lightning blasted through the clouds, illuminating the great waves that threatened to swamp the ship at every turn. The Tide-Runner ’s crew were fearless and skilled as they worked in concert to keep the ship on an even keel and its sails filled with wind. Soon, the craggy cliffs of the coast came into sharp relief against the lightning-illuminated clouds that swirled overhead, and with each crack of white light, the party members could see the unnatural shape of a lighthouse leaning out over the foaming shoals. Lightning forked down to strike the lighthouse repeatedly, creating afterimages in their field of vision. “You’ll have to take a longboat ashore,” Captain Ironclaw said. “A ship of our draft can’t get close to the cliffs.” She pointed. “I think there’s some ladderwork or stairs bolted onto the face of the cliff. Unless I miss my guess, that means there’s a boat launch hidden away down at the base. Might come in handy.” Suddenly there was another flash – not of lightning, but a sickly yellow-green spotlight emanating from the lighthouse that darted back and forth across the waves in an irregular manner, like no lighthouse beacon the adventurers had ever heard of. The sweep of the lighthouse signal seemed unnaturally capricious, as though some malevolent force was projecting its evil intent in the form of a wan beam that seemed to add, rather than subtract, from the gloom. Siegfried tried to dismiss the idea of a beholder’s petrification ray from his mind’s eye, and found he could not. “Well, well,” Captain Ironclaw said. “Looks like the Leaning Lighthouse is under new management.” The beam of ghastly light seemed as though it was on the hunt, searching hungrily over the unsettled waters like a roving predator.