Str: 3

Dex: 3

Con: 3

Int: 7

Wis: 6

Cha: 6

‘Force of personality,’ Vaskir muttered, shaking his head. He set the book aside.

The ship was not large enough to have crew quarters, so everyone had to make do with the hold. The men slept on hammocks, if they were lucky. Most, chose to fold up whatever clothes they had spare and use them as pillows or sheets. The truly lucky ones had a partner for warmth. Vaskir rolled out of his hammock and gave a nod of permission to the man closest to him, who had immediately looked over with anticipation. Vaskir stretched, looking around for anything new; the same, pale milk-wood hold slowly swayed back at him. He started making his way over to the forward breach, stepping over dice games and slumped sailors. Not a single person looked up, yet they all, unconsciously, moved out of his way. There were always at least 20 men on break or sleeping in the hold. The rest were at work. Vaskir and Pravin, who had spent every ship journey working for their suppers, felt awkward lazing about or cultivating like Covens and Cradow. Vaskir, now a confirmed Ascendant, drew strange looks from the crew when he first requested to help out. Now, after a week of labour and sleeping amongst them, he was finally being treated like a long-lost, estranged cousin of the family.

‘Going up to practise, boss?’ asked a young voice to his left. Vaskir looked at Callum Patrice Roland (Cal to his friends) and smiled. He and the kid shared a passion for weaponry. The only real difference in their knowledge came from the fact that Vaskir had spent the majority of his adult life wielding them.

‘Going up for some sunlight,’ Vaskir said. ‘Even though whoever's got my hammock is gonna make it smell like their distinct nastiness by the time I get back.’ Cal was unsympathetic.

‘’least you got a hammock. ‘sides, why not just stake a claim like your buddy Cradow? Scare off these unwashed twits with your Ascended…’ he wiggled his fingers at Vaskir, ‘spookiness.’ Vaskir shrugged. He still didn’t feel all too different. Stronger? Yes. Smarter, maybe. But different... no. He was still human. Still Vaskir. And Vaskir didn’t care enough about an old worn-out hammock to start a fight over it.

‘Let’s go up, kid,’ Vaskir said.

‘I’m not a kid…’ Cal muttered, following.

The deck of The Red Dot was awash with activity. The ship had taken some damage during the last storm, leaving the starboard side empty of railings. The captain took no chances and had ordered the men to tie themselves to the rigging or masts if they were going to perform repairs. Vaskir was surprised when no derision followed the order, just silent acceptance. Vaskir tilted his head up, soaking in the sunlight.

‘Stray vessel!’ came a shout from the crow's nest. Vaskir frowned and stood off to the side as the crew sprang into a frenzy, even the sleeping sailors in the hold were called up.

‘It can’t be pirates,’ Vaskir thought. ‘The Consortium has established trade for a month, maybe less.’ Still, he walked over to the starboard side and shaded his eyes from the sun, trying to spot the ship. A sleek black ship slowly sailed into view.

‘No Varam markings, captain!’ came another shout. Vaskir walked over to Roland just in time to hear him curse. He saw Cal in Vaskir’s company and frowned.

‘You just got off shift. Go back down into the hold,’ Roland said to Cal.

‘If there’s a fight I want to help,’ Cal said. ‘’Sides, master Vaskirs been teaching me a few moves.’ Roland opened his mouth to rebuff him but Vaskir interrupted.

‘He’s no child, Captain. And he’ll have to learn to defend himself eventually,’ Vaskir said, earning a grateful smile from Cal. ‘Best to start here, on a ship with friendly Ascendants and trained sailors, than 5 years down the line when he’s captaining his own vessel and freezes at the first sight of blood.’ Roland raised his eyebrows at Vaskir.

‘You both have it wrong,’ Roland said. ‘There will be no battle. I’m not sacrificing a single man’s life for some barrels of Consortium mushrooms. Drop the anchor!’ he shouted. ‘And show them our starboard side. No reason to make the boarding anymore difficult than it has to be.’ Vaskir grunted in amusement. Covens walked out of her private room, disturbed by the ship’s lurching after the anchor reached the seafloor. She stood beside Vaskir and gave Cal a friendly smack on the back of his head. Vaskir had been avoiding her all week.

‘Pirates?’ she asked, nonplussed.

‘Yep,’ Cal answered. ‘The saintly Captain Roland has deemed for us to stand down and give them our booty.’ Covens laughed.

‘No one says booty. You’ve read too many books,’ Covens said. Vaskir chuckled as well. He felt somehow infected by Covens' air of calm and waited patiently as the black ship came alongside their vessel. The black ship’s crew was dressed much the same as their own, and Vaskir was suddenly worried about identifying friend from foe if a fight did break out. Planks were fastened between the ships and a single man made his way across, his green snakeskin boots already striking quite the impression with Vaskir. He hopped down onto the deck. His hair was slicked back and glistened in the sun. He had sharp features, quite handsome in Vaskir’s eyes. Although the appreciation quickly faded when he smiled, revealing black, crusty teeth riddled with holes.

‘And who here is the captain of this fine vessel?’ the man asked. Vaskir could not place his accent, although the drawl with which he spoke was unique enough to leave a lasting memory. Roland stepped forward from the crowd of sailors. Vaskir, Covens, and Cal all watched from the raised platform at the stern of the ship.

‘I am. What business do you have with The Red Dot, sir,’ Roland asked. The men directly behind him moved an inch forward, some drawing weapons. Snake boots was unconcerned.

‘We’re here to relieve you of your cargo. What the consortium has, we want,’ snake boots said.

‘You don’t even know what it is, do you?’ Cal shouted. ‘The Consortium can barely make a profit on the stuff and you think you can do better?’ Roland shot Vaskir a glare. Vaskir reached out and gripped Cal’s shoulder, silencing him. Snake boots looked up at Cal, an indiscernible expression on his face. He licked his lips; his tongue was yellow.

‘I didn’t know this ship carried little sailors. Is this a ship of little sailors?’ he said, looking around. 'Little sailors on the great blue sea,’ he looked up at Cal. ‘You don’t belong here little boy. Why don’t you come with us? We have so much more fun.’ Roland stepped forward.

‘The child isn’t going anywhere,’ Roland said.

‘No,’ snake boots said. ‘I think he is.’ He tilted his head and looked at Roland from the corner of his eye, his mouth slightly agape. ‘Everything in the hold. And. The boy.’ He grinned, his gums had begun to bleed. Cal looked over at Vaskir, unsure of why the restraining hand had disappeared from his shoulder, only to see a flutter of white cloth as Vaskir jumped from the raised stern and landed in a heavy crouch amongst the gathered sailors behind Roland. They parted before him, and snake boots licked his teeth as he spotted the scabbard Vaskir had unslung and was holding in his right hand. Vaskir stopped just beside Roland.

‘Let's not stain The Long Blue red with your men’s blood, Captain,’ Vaskir said, carefully standing his scabbard between himself and the pirate. Snake boots raised his hands in mock surrender.

‘Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that his—’

‘This isn’t about the child,’ Vaskir said. ‘So stop talking about him. I was told that Captain Roland was willing to give up the hold in exchange for safe passage and human decency. So, for us all to remain decent, I say that you take half of what they’re hauling and be on your way.’ Snake boots doubled over with laughter, dropping his raised arms and gripping his knees.

‘Oh! Oh! Oh! Heee he he. That’s good!’ he righted himself and pointed at Vaskir. ‘I’ll be taking everything. Including the drinking water. So maybe it’s best if you shut your—’

‘Look at me,’ Vaskir said. Snake boots stopped whatever horrendous spiel he was about to deliver and looked at Vaskir. Vaskir’s rage had begun to roil from the man’s words. Vaskir had never considered himself to be very intimidating, and honestly, even in his line of work, intimidation was a lost art. Still, he had met a few artists in his time and picked up a few tricks. He let his rage rise, but didn’t give it release; so it lay, silent behind his eyes, as the mercenary and the pirate locked gazes. Whatever snake boots saw behind Vaskir’s serene expression gave him pause.

‘Half doesn’t even begin to cover the cost of raising anchor,’ snake boots said, his tone suddenly business-like. ‘Let’s say three quarters and all the weapons on the ship.’ Vaskir was about to answer before Roland jumped in.

‘Three quarters, and I have the new navigation charts,’ Roland said. ‘Those can save you a terrible encounter that leads only to the briney depths.’ Snake boots seemed to mull it over. Vaskir frowned, his gut was telling him something was off. He looked behind snake boots to his ship. There were maybe 20 men lined up behind the plank, ready to storm their ship. It was a lot of men, but not enough for the level of confidence snake boots was displaying. Roland and snake boots were still arguing.

‘Settle this,’ Vaskir interrupted, causing both men to frown at him.

‘There are many factors at play here, good sir,’ snake boots said. ‘These sorts of things can’t be rushed.’

‘You’ve already earned a quick death, pirate. Don’t earn a slow one,’ Vaskir said. Snake boots ignored him and went back to arguing semantics with Roland. That feeling in Vaskir’s gut grew into a deep foreboding. He looked back at the men on the pirate ship, trying desperately to figure out what he was missing. The pirate’s men were nervous, casting glances at Roland’s crew and the hull of his ship. Vaskir frowned and focused into the middle distance; the sound of waves, wood creaking, the argument, the men’s breathing, the rustle of clothes, a splash… Vaskir’s blood ran cold.

Vaskir took a step forward, drawing his longsword in the same movement, and used the momentum to throw the weapon at snake boots. Taken off guard by the strike, snake boots screamed in pain as the sword lodged itself into his shoulder.

‘They’re climbing the ship!’ Vaskir shouted, just in time as a score of men finished their silent ascent and climbed onto the deck of The Red Dot. A melee erupted around them, Vaskir’s warning giving Roland’s men just enough time to turn and meet their attackers. Vaskir turned to see how Cal was faring and was relieved to see that Covens had taken him under her wing, interposing herself between him and the attackers that had ascended the stern. He turned back to snake boots, just in time to see him running across the plank to his own ship. Vaskir swore; bastard still had his favorite sword lodged in his shoulder. The bigger problem was the 20 men that had also taken to the plank, and were about to swarm the deck, turning the tide of battle in their favor. Vaskir couldn’t allow that. He sprinted passed Roland, who was shouting orders and trying to create some favorable order in the chaos and jumped up onto the plank. Only a single man could viably attack Vaskir. All Vaskir had to do was win 20 duels in a row… he swore as he held up his scabbard, preparing for the encroaching wave.