“Pirates, Plunder, and a Plethora of Problems”

The four adventurers soon found themselves in an elegant drawing room overflowing with tall bookshelves, large map tables, and rows of map stands that held dozens of tubes for rolled maps. Various brass navigation instruments, mostly sextants and telescopes, lay scattered about the room, as if their owner still cared too much for them to put them into storage, yet knew they were of little use in the modern day of astral navigation.

Standing beside one of the tables, pouring over a large chart illustrated with various-sized spheres connected with straight and dashed lines, stood one of the largest Giff the group had yet seen. His deep blue uniform was overlaid by a wide gold shoulder-sash, tucked under an equally wide leather belt from which hung a pair of matching hand weapons with what looked like ivory handles.

Church coughed politely and said, “Marshal Durrang, these are the four I mentioned.” But the Giff seemed too involved in the chart in front of him, and in the discussion he was currently holding with another uniformed Gif, equally rapt by the events as detailed on the chart. The two officers leaned their bulky bodies on the table, supported by their meaty knuckles. The table groaned under their combined weight. They continued their hushed conversation, much of which was inaudible. But the group was able to discern a few words, including raiders, and depredations, and survivors.

Finally, Church gave a second less gentle, metallic cough that sounded more like it came from an ancient wheelbarrow than a sentient being. The sashed Giff sighed and turned to face the group.

“Yes, yes, McCarren,” he said wearily to Church, “I know you’ve got a new crew you want to introduce. But as you can see, I’ve been attending to other matters of some extreme importance.” He nodded to the other Giff who was already rolling up the large chart. “Make copies of that for each of the seven Grand Admirals,” he said to the fellow, “and make sure they understand the dangers involved.”

The Giff rested his big hands, more like hooves with wrist-sized fingers than normal hands, on his wide belt. “So, gentlemen and lady, McCarren here tells me you just magically appeared on an island in the Astral Sea, without so much as a flint and tinder among you. But he vouches for you, and he’s not often wrong in his judgements. My apologies for keeping you in one of our holding cells, but we can’t be too careful.”

The Marshal walked heavily around to a side desk, where he retrieved a cylindrical brass smoking pipe. He filled it with loose leaf material, and lit it with a flick of a small black wand. “The Astral Plane is a wide and wonderous place. Here, we don’t age and we suffer no hunger. But sentient species still want their own particular desires fulfilled, from fancy clothing to expensive trinkets. And though we need not eat, these same sentients also want to consume the most exotic foodstuffs and drink the most curious of beverages. So, trade flourishes far and wide.”

Durrang inhaled a deep lungful from the pipe, then blew out a cloud of smoke that slowly floated to the ceiling far overhead. He watched the smoke drift and dissipate as he continued. “But where there’s trade, there are always those who would rather steal than earn an honest living. We’ve lately been plagued by pirates, and our navies are spread thin protecting the trade routes. We have a surplus of ships, but not enough experienced crews to man them.”

“What I need to know is,” he said, turning his focus on the four, “is if you’d be willing to serve in the New Astral Sea Navy? I know you have no gear, but we can outfit you with most of what you’ll need. You do seem to have the two things that a good sailor needs: experience in combat, and a willingness to face unknown dangers.” He inhaled again, leaving this smoke inside for a while longer until it drifted out through his wide nostrils like the inadvertent exhalation of a sleeping dragon.

“So, are you willing to join up?” he asked, in a voice that was tinged with curiosity.

The four looked around at each other to see who would answer. Before Kah’terra or Dowlin could speak up, Rohkud took a step forward. Looking the massive Giff almost eye to eye, he said in a strong voice, “Rohkud and friends, have fought evil many times. You have problem with pirates? Rohkud and friends fight pirates for you. When Rohkud and friends finish, then, fewer pirates you'll have.”

The Giff officer tried to hide a smile behind one of his large hands. “So, you must be Rohkud, eh?” The officer nodded to himself. “I admire a fellow who’s willing to step up and take on the dangerous jobs. Tell you what.” He reached across to a different table and opened up a brass-bound chest. Inside were a collection of brass keys, each one almost as large as one of his hands. “I’m going to assign you and your friends a ship—under the command of Church McCarren here—and a simple mission: travel to a not-too-distant port, pick up a small but valuable cargo, then return here with it. If you succeed in getting back here in one piece and staying alive in the process, then we’ll see about offering you more challenging employment.”

He pointed the stem of his pipe towards them. “And of course, you will be paid.”

Durrang then stared directly at the smallest of their group, the old Gnome. He thought for a moment before broaching what must be a delicate subject. “I understand you, sir, are a follower of a certain God. I will say, while the Sea was once known as a vast expanse where the Old Gods went to die, they’ve not been seen up here in many ages. You may find your connection, as it were a little intermittent.”

Kah’terra considered mentioning his interesting discussion, if that was what it was, with the Voices of the Cathedral. But for the moment, he held his tongue.

“There are some believers among us who feel they are in contact with what they call the One True God, whom they address as Ao. It’s possible that you may find your previous religious connection a bit tenuous, this far from wherever your original home was.” He cradled the pipe in both hands. “I can’t advise you one way or another in this matter, but I can offer you a ray of hope: where there are systems of planets wrapped within their own crystal spheres, the connection you once had may be stronger.” He straightened up to his full height. “Your service with us may bring you into contact with these lands, and hopefully, you’ll find your connection restored.”

The Giff moved to shake their hands, one at a time. “I wish to welcome you to the Fleet. We may seem stuffy and uptight with our uniforms and regalia, but I assure you, we value loyalty and duty much higher than pomp and ceremony.”

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of fittings, briefings, meetings, and training. They were each provided with a dark blue naval uniform, though the only one that would fit Rohkud was a Giff outfit that matched his height well enough but was far too expansive around the waist. He adjusted it by wadding up as much of the extra fabric as he could, and tucking it beneath a wide leather belt to which he added several new notches.

On the opposite end of the scale, Kah'terra had to make do with an outfit normally assigned to buglers and drummer boys. He grumbled mightily, until he discovered they were also being offered their choice of armor, if they wanted any. He chose a suit of full plate that was sized for the son of one of the admirals, which hid as much of the child's uniform as possible.

Dowlin and Yumaia had an easier time finding gear that fit them. All four were allowed to choose weapons they were familiar with: swords and daggers, bows and crossbows. But as they were leaving the armory, one of the Giff quartermasters asked them, "Wouldn't you all be happier with something a little more modern?”

In his hands, he held one of the tube-and-wooden-stock weapons that the Giff troopers carried. Yumaia inspected the flared open end. “What is this thing called, and how does it work?”

Church gently took it from her. “This is called a blunderbuss, lassie.” He put the wooden stock up to his shoulder. “You fill it with bits of metal or rocks or what have you. Put a charge of gunpowder here,” he indicated a loading port half way between the stock and the tube’s end, “then cock this hammer,” he said, pulling back an s-shaped piece, “then point it at your enemy, and pull the trigger.”

The little metal-man aimed the weapon down a long alley beside the quartermaster’s building which had several wooden-faced targets about thirty paces away. With a mighty roar, the weapon went off and scattered debris across three targets. The force staggered Church back a few steps, but he seemed ready for the recoil, and quickly steadied himself.

He handed the weapon back to Yumaia and said, “Never look down the business end.”

After a little more instruction, each of the four left the stall with a blunderbuss slung over a shoulder. “Now you do look like right proper naval personnel!” the quartermaster called after them.

A quick stroll through the port’s packed streets led them to the docks, where dozens of imposing ships lay berthed. Unlike the sailing ships the group was familiar with, these vessels rested a dozen feet above the quays, and rocked gently in the afternoon breeze.

Church led them through a maze of connected wharfs and berthing areas until they reached a small jetty. At anchor lay an impressive ship fully faced with thick metal sheathing and sporting three stout masts. Along the top deck, the business end of a half-dozen large weapons could be spotted, ballistae and mangonels, with a pair of even larger cannon hanging out over the nose of the mighty ship.

“Well, this looks to be a splendid vessel to serve upon,” Dowlin said.

“It would be indeed,” Church replied, “if that were the one we were serving upon.”

As if on que, the mighty ship cast off its hawsers and rose into the bright sky. Behind it, until then obscured by the large ship’s bulk, lay a much smaller ship with but a single mast, one ballista, and no cannon at all. It resembled a large wooden mayfly, and seemed much more frail and delicate than the massive ship that had just lifted into the sky.

“There she is, my friends. The Wasp.” He began walking towards her, though the other four hesitated a moment before falling in step. The metal-man chuckled. “We’re doing a simple cargo run, not taking on an enemy fleet. The Wasp is big enough for our task.”

“And also more expendable for an untrained crew?” Kah’terra offered.

Church shot him a glance over his shoulder.

“Just saying,” the old Gnome added. “We’re new here. We need to prove our worth before we’re handed the reigns to the King’s Own stallions.”

The metal-man nodded his head back and forth. “Yeah, something like that.”

Once aboard, Church had the four stow their gear. He explained how to rig the mainmast’s sails, how to load and aim the sole ballista, and the realities of working on a floating ship. “Once we leave the protection of the port,” he said, while rummaging around in a large green footlocker, “the gravity envelope of the ship is designed to keep a bubble of breathable air around us. The ship’s gravity will also allow us to remain planted on the decks. You can even walk around the hull, if you so choose, since the gravity simply pulls us toward the ship.”

He found what he was looking for: an odd-looking suit of what appeared to be canvas, with attachments made of silver and brass, and adorned with small knobs along the front. “But once you step completely away from the ship, you’ll only have about a minute of breathable air before you start to suffocate. One of these suits will keep you alive a lot longer, if you need to retrieve something out there.” He displayed a matching helmet, then folded the suit and repacked them both into the footlocker.

The half-Giant spoke up. “Rohkud want to know, how many suits like that you have?”

Church cocked his head to one side at the question. “Uhhh… three, I think.”

Rohkud pointed at himself, then Church, then the others. “Rohkud think maybe someone should check Rohkud’s math.”

“Don’t worry,” Church said. “This is what we call a milk run. Easy in, easy out.”

Kah’terra chewed his lip. “The only thing easy is dying. Everything else takes effort and planning.”

Whatever doubts the four had were soon lost as Church donned a glittering steel circlet and took a seat in a fancy looking metallic chair, from which he controlled the ship’s movements. The ship bounced gently upwards a foot or two, bobbing like an expectant puppy ready to chase a toy. After the four released the fore and aft lines, he pulled the ship up and away, quickly gaining altitude.

In reaction to the sudden vertical acceleration, the four steadied themselves. Yumaia, through her years of druidcraft, was accustomed to being in a bird or bat shape, so she acclimated to the flight quite well. So did Dowlin, whose owl-like ancestry proved more than capable. Kah’terra had acquired experience with some arcane flying, a gift of his cleric skills. Even Rohkud had put in time on a magical flying device they had used back in the Underdark.

Church was mildly surprised that none of them suffered any kind of negative reaction to their first ship-bound flight. “None of you need an airsick bucket?” he asked.

“Nope,” they all responded in turn.

“Not even a little sick” he asked, somewhat hopefully.

“The only thing I’m sick of is the lack of good food,” Dowlin replied. “Have you got any fresh squid? Or maybe a nice worm stew?”

The grimace on Church’s metallic face brought a smile to Dowlin’s.

It took less than a day’s travel to reach their destination, an outpost slightly larger than their home port. Church went alone to retrieve the cargo, and left orders for everyone to stay onboard. And everyone followed those orders, except Rohkud. Dowlin’s comment about “good food” had weighed on him for the better part of the trip. So when he smelled something cooking from somewhere in port, no amount of begging or pleading, not even Kah’terra’s strongest Command spells, could keep him on the ship.

When Church returned with two extra handlers and four not-so-large crates, he was surprised to find only Kah’terra still onboard. The old Gnome explained that Rohkud could not be dissuaded from satisfying his hunger, despite Yumaia and Dowlin both trying to physically drag him back onboard.

Kah’terra was tasked to go and retrieve the half-Giant, and to figure out where the other two had disappeared to. Finding Rohkud was easy; convincing him to return to the ship was a bit more challenging. It took an additional hour to discover that Yumaia and Dowlin had been taken by the shore patrol after stirring up some sort of disturbance while trying to get Rohkud to listen to reason.

When Kah’terra returned to the ship with the released prisoners, he stormed up to the half-Giant, almost twice his height. The old Gnome crooked his finger at the big fellow, still munching on his third fried-pig-tube-on-a-stick, who bent down closer to Kah’terra’s head.

With all of the restraint he could muster, the old Gnome growled through gritted teeth, “The next time you disregard orders like that, we’ll chain you to the nearest tree! Or in our case, the nearest mast!”

Looking genuinely sorry, the half-Giant replied, “Rohkud sorry, very sorry. But Rohkud also very hungry.” He held out the fourth fried-pig-tube-on-a-stick. “Rohkud share?”

The ship lifted off into the calm sky, then transitioned into the Astral Sea. The difference wasn’t as much physical as it was somewhat psychological: from having a planet or a slightly smaller spheroid beneath them, to having nothing beneath them at all. The sky shifted almost immediately from a deep azure with tufts of white clouds, to an almost black indigo with pinpoints of light that represented systems or crystal spheres.

The four were still somewhat amazed at the fact that despite having no covering over the ship, they had air to breath, as well as enough gravity that they could walk around on deck without any risk of flying off into space.

Sitting on one of the green footlockers with his back to the main cabin, Kah’terra admitted, “This sure beats walking.”

“It even beats riding on that rickety wagon between Reeshow and Sshamath,” Dowlin agreed.

“Rohkud wants to know, why ship have sails?” the big fellow asked. “Rohkud don’t feel any wind.”

Church waved a hand. “The Astral Sea is filled with energy, though it’s as invisible as the wind where you’re from. The sails catch the energy and translate it to our powerplant below decks. The more sails, the more energy we can catch, and the faster we can go.”

They had traveled about a third of the way back to their home port when they were suddenly dropped out of their lightning speed, and forced into a lower speed that in comparison seemed like a crawl.

“What happened?” Yumaia asked. “Why’d we slow down?”

Church had already jumped out of the captain’s chair and was peering into the darkness from the nearest railing. “It’s an automatic response. If the ship senses there’s an obstacle within a mile, it halts the lightning speed to prevent a possible collision.”

All five of them stared out into the darkness, punctuated here and there with tiny white dots. Kah’terra spotted the obstacle first. “There,” he said, “about eight hundred yards out.”

Off to port far ahead, a moving speck showed itself against the stationary background blips. A big ship approached, much bigger than the Wasp.

“Remember when you said this would be a milk run?” Kah’terra asked, never taking his eyes off the approaching object.

Church nodded reluctantly. “Aye, I do.”

“Well,” the old Gnome replied, “looks like the milk’s turned sour.”

A brief flash erupted from the blip, and a shot flew past the mast.

“Turn us around!” Dowlin yelled.

“Already on it!” Church replied, running back to the captain’s chair and hopping in.

He swung the ship 180 degrees about and pushed its innate speed as fast as he could. But with the other ship so close, he couldn’t access their lightning drive.

A second shot hit their main sail and ripped a sizeable hole in the cloth, slowing them down even further. A third tore a gash in their starboard decking. The four adventurers manned their one weapon, but its range and accuracy couldn’t match that of the bigger ship, and their shot drifted wide.

Just then, a voice entered their heads, a telepathic message similar to the ones Apophis once shared. Stop your flight, the voice commanded. Prepare to be boarded. We only want your cargo, not your lives.

“Rohkud say you go straight to hell!” the half-Giant roared back.

In response, the attacking ship’s canon barked again. This time, it smashed into the aft section of the Wasp, spinning it to port and wrecking a section of the rudder controls.

“She’s not responding to my commands!” Church called out.

The attacking ship closed the distance. Rohkud and Dowlin fired off another shot from the ballista, hitting the bigger ship near its bow, but it did only a trifling amount of damage. Kah’terra fired off a couple of arcane blasts, while Yumaia tried hitting them with her own spells, but the bulk of the attacking ship shrugged off their attacks.

They were close enough now to see that the attacking ship looked like a giant ant, with a glowing green barrel sticking out of the section where its mouth would be. On its deck were twenty or more Thri-kreen, who each carried a pair of cutlasses in their four arms. Holding onto part of the rigging was a taller and bigger Thri-kreen, who peered intently at them as he sent a second telepathic message.

We’re going to board you. You’re outnumbered. Do not resist!

His telepathic words were followed by a volley of grappling hooks and sturdy ropes. The Thri-kreen on the ropes pulled the ships closer together.

“I’m not plannin’ to give up our cargo without a fight!” Kah’terra muttered.

He waved his hands and prepared a spell, holding it like a glowing ball of energy. Yumaia shrugged her shoulders and assumed the form of a giant polar bear, and roared her defiance. Rohkud fired his blunderbuss, picking off one of the insectoids, then tossed the empty weapon to the deck and picked up a sturdy halberd, preparing to strike the first attacker who tried to board them. Dowlin fired his weapon too, striking a fellow just to the side of their leader, then discarded the weapon to unsheathe a pair of sharp short swords.

As soon as they got into range, the larger Thri-kreen leader leaped aboard. As he landed, he got off a series of wicked swings with his cutlasses at Yumaia, who roared back and struck him with her own claws. When he leaned right to dodge her attack, Kah’terra got a good shot at him. He released his held spell, and the Thri-kreen was enveloped in a bluish-green sphere of energy and poof! He vanished!

“I can keep him away for a minute!” the old Gnome yelled, “if we can cut ourselves free!”

But the other Thri-kreen weren’t going to make that easy. In twos and threes, they leaped aboard and began a swarming attack. Rohkud slammed into a pair of them, striking them both down, though three more took their place. Dowlin did as well with the ones in front of him, though he too found that as soon as one went down, two more would fill the breach. Even Church got into the action, firing his blunderbuss from behind the cover of the wheelhouse. Yumaia fought bravely as well, but after taking a dozen nasty hits, she was forced to return to her previous Tiefling form.

“There’s too many of them!” she yelled at Kah’terra.

In response, the old Gnome cast a cleric spell that manifested a spectral hammer. The living weapon attacked on its own, striking one of the insectoids nearest Yumaia. But the Thri-kreen was strong enough to withstand even this powerful manifestation.

A group of Thri-kreen still on their ship took aim at the old Gnome, somehow aware that it was his spell that was keeping their commander away. They employed a nasty three-bladed throwing weapon that hit him multiple times, despite the heavy armor he wore. After the fifth strike, he lost concentration on his Banishment spell, and the lead Thri-Kreen reappeared exactly where he’d left. After a brief hesitation, he dove back into the fray, this time against Dowlin. But Kah’terra had enough spells in reserve that he recast the same Banishment incantation, and poof! The leader vanished again!

Just then, a loud crash sounded from below decks. Church peered over the side and noticed several insectoids leaping across the void between the ships. “They’re after the cargo!” he yelled.

Before Kah’terra could respond, four more insectoids leaped across from their ship to take him on. As tall or taller than Rohkud, they whirled at him with a blinding flash of cutlasses. He took some on his shield, dodged a couple of others, but more than a few got past his defenses. Combined with another volley of thrown weapons, he succumbed to his wounds and dropped to the deck.

When he did, the leader reappeared. He quickly surveyed the scene, realized that his crew had captured the cargo they were originally after, and silently ordered them back onto their own ship, as Dowlin and Rohkud got off a few wicked parting shots.

For a brief moment, Kah’terra lay unconscious. His mind left his body, and he felt himself straying towards that ethereal Cathedral he’d visited once before when he thought he had died. But before he could approach close enough to see the living banners, he saw instead a face.

It was a face he was certain he’d never seen before, yet at the same time, he was just as certain he’d known her all of his ninety-odd years. He was enthralled by her beauty, though he instantly realized she was of Dwarven heritage. Her eyebrows were a deep golden color, as was her long flowing hair—and her neatly trimmed and braided beard! That beard surmounted a noble chin, offset by strong cheekbones, and the most ravishing blue eyes he’d ever seen.

Kah’terra was stunned by the beauty of her face, and wanted more than anything right then to stare at her forever.

She was yelling or shouting something, though Kah’terra couldn’t hear what that was. She was whirling around as if she was dancing, or running—no, she was fighting! She was fighting for her life! He got a brief glimpse of her opponent, a green-skinned Orc warrior with long, braided jet-black hair and a scar across its left eyebrow down to its cheek. From the number of glittering adornments this warrior bore, he got the impression that this Orc was also a female, though he was repulsed by her battle-scars, her tattoos, and her slavering lips.

Kah’terra soon realized the two weren’t fighting with weapons; they seemed to be wrestling, as if one of them was trying to impose their will on the other. They threw each other against the furniture and the walls of their room, beat on each other with their fists, then struggled on the floor as if one would strangle the other. Finally, heaving a great lungful of air, the Orc warrior stood up, dragged the Dwarven female to a nearby window, and flung her bodily into it.

The window exploded into a thousand pieces, as the Dwarven female soared outwards into space. Kah’terra was devastated that the beauty he had just been introduced to was in danger, as she tumbled wordlessly into the darkness, heading towards some small floating sphere of iridescent red light. When she got close to it, it expanded to a size large enough to engulf a medium-sized sailing ship, and swallowed her whole.

The Orc warrior heaved another great lungful of air, and flicked a button that replaced the broken window with a shimmering blue field. She turned around and crossed the room to a stout wooden door. When she flung it open, in rushed a tremendous volume of noise and a deafening roar of cheers and congratulations.

The next thing Kah’terra knew, Yumaia was standing over him. The last trickle of her healing energy was leaving her fingers, as she pulled him up roughly by the shoulders.

“You okay?” she asked.

The old Gnome was still shaken by the vision he’d had of the Dwarven female. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs, them grumbled, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” As he stood, he clapped the Tiefling on her back. “Thanks. It’s usually me that’s doin’ the healing.”

She grunted. “I’m sure you’ll repay the favor at some point.”

He kicked some debris away from his feet and looked out at the enemy ship. It was pulling away into the distance, accompanied by the high-pitched chittering of its Thri-kreen crew, who were no doubt reveling in their success.

Rohkud and Dowlin joined them, followed soon after by Church.

“Well, what do we do now?” Dowlin asked, fluttering his feathers back into place.

Church ground his metal jaws loud enough to make even Rohkud wince.

“What do we do?” he echoed. “We go after them, and get our cargo back!”