The Enemy of the World Chapter 7 The Blind Dogfish

THEY COULD NOT BE FURTHER, IN BODY AND SPIRIT, FROM where they wanted to be. Their destination was Kriegerr, a quiet sea and fishing village; instead, they found themselves in Var Raan, a dubious city filled with sinister people and a reputation for betrayal. If that wasn't enough, Kriegerr lay at the northern end of Collen, while Var Raan was at the southern end.

"But there are boats," Ashlen said.

"There are pirates," Vallen spat, Winter and Inferno, the sister blades, begging to spring from their sheaths.

They had hoped to be on the easy part of their journey—a trip through Collen, the Kingdom of Exotic Eyes, where nothing serious could happen. However, they had already been threatened, chased away, and lost a dear friend to a hideous aberration. Without Irontooth Andilla, they were unable to resume their path north in a timely manner. They had followed a trail dictated by Ellisa Thorn to a place where they could acquire supplies and transportation. Unfortunately, that place turned out to be Var Raan, a dirty city rumored to harbor pirates. But it was better than the dark, evil woods they had traversed just over a week ago.

They decided to spend as little time as possible in Var Raan. No rest, no wasted time—just hire a boat and buy the necessary food.

In its current state, the city was uninviting. The smell of sea air and dead fish permeated every corner, and the rooms were dirty and decaying. There were no tall buildings, just rickety shacks and the occasional ugly stone edifice housing unhealthy types. The people of Var Raan regarded the adventurers with crooked faces, many preferring to turn away rather than answer even a simple question. On one hand, this was precisely the kind of place where criminals would hide. On the other, perhaps this distrust was the result of years of derision and the "Collen shame" brand. The sun shone brightly, but it did not illuminate the city properly; everything bore a dull tone of rotten wood and fish scales that resisted Azgher's shine. The midday light only intensified the stench and brought forth a gray sweat from the hostile inhabitants of Var Raan. Almost everyone wore shabby clothes, and even the children appeared aged.

None of that mattered to Vallen Allond. He noticed only that an unusually high number of villagers were armed.

They divided the group. While most went to browse the small market for supplies, Vallen, Ellisa, and Ashlen entered one of those unattractive stone buildings that housed unhealthy types. Artorius and Gregor insisted on joining them, but Vallen simply said, "You two won't like what we're going to have to do there," which settled the matter. Inside, several men drank in silence or grunted at one another. Some games of chance were played under watchful eyes, and some Tibares changed hands without questions about their origin or purpose. The light was dim, the smell was of dirty breath, and the darkened windows obscured the outside world.

"It's everything I expected," Ashlen said quietly. "Look for a man with a wooden leg and an eye patch!"

Vallen and Ellisa didn't laugh. Although this was indeed a tavern straight out of pirate stories meant to frighten children, it wasn't amusing. Stories of pirates laughing and drinking rum, walking the plank—real pirates killed men and raped women.

They approached the counter and ordered three shots of brandy. The tavern keeper, a man with lots of hair and few baths, regarded them briefly before pouring the drinks into small, grimy glasses without uttering a word. Ellisa felt eyes on her body, particularly from two men who were paying close attention. They murmured something in low, broken voices and then burst into laughter. She didn't look at them, instead calmly touching the sword at her waist. More comments followed, this time louder, and Ellisa, Vallen, and Ashlen could hear them clearly.

Unlike Artorius, Vallen, and even Gregor, Ellisa did not relish fighting. For her, weapons were a means to an end. She did not feel the rush of exhilaration at the onset of battle, as some claimed. For those who lived for the fight, there was a moment—after the greatest fear, when combat seemed inevitable—when the body ignored the mind's pleas for caution, consumed by a wave of frenzy, entering a state of blessed abandonment. It was when weapons became extensions of arms, legs moved with unearthly speed, and nothing occupied the mind. A fight could last mere minutes yet feel like hours. Those who died in battle did not have time to despair and departed with surprising swiftness. However, Ellisa Thorn felt none of that. In battle, she remained conscious and methodical, failing to grasp how jeopardizing one's life could be pleasurable. She understood that no matter how skilled a warrior, sharp metal was still sharp metal, and even a drunken villager could strike with luck. For her, a safe position and one or two well-aimed shots were far preferable. It wasn't cowardice; she simply had much to lose.

Through it all, Ellisa chose to ignore the comments of the tavern's filthy patrons. She knew Vallen would want to rub the two bastards' faces into the ground if he could, but the last thing they wanted in Var Raan was trouble. Furthermore, Ellisa was well aware that adventurers were bound to frequently hear comments that would make a lady swoon.

"Where can we get a boat?" Vallen asked the barkeep, pushing a small stack of coins forward.

The man regarded them once more. One of his eyes was dark green, while the other was blue, completely obscured by a thick white film. It was almost impossible to discern the color beneath the milky membrane. Finally, he replied, "At sea," and shoved the Tibares back at them.

The three exchanged glances. Ashlen gave an imperceptible nod and moved to a table at the back of the room, attempting to engage three scarred men in monosyllabic conversation, hoping to extract more useful information from them.

"Is there enough money, man?" Vallen said, adding to the pile of coins. "Don't you need more?"

Once again, the tavern keeper gazed at the gold on the counter, sniffing loudly. "Trying to lose your eyes, stranger?" he replied nonchalantly, returning to rub a glass with a cloth blackened with dirt.

Ashlen, trying to entertain her tablemates with a story of Valkaria's brothels, stole a quick glance at Vallen and Ellisa. They were both skilled at cutting throats but not so adept at defending their own. If they continued to flaunt money like that, the tavern patrons would descend upon them like hawks the moment they stepped outside.

"Lose your eyes?" Vallen leaned on the counter, scrutinizing the man. "Would you care to clarify that?"

"Those who have two identical eyes do not venture into Var Raan, stranger," the man replied, ceasing to rub the glass and letting both hands fall out of sight behind the counter. "Not if you don't want them both to end up at the end of a dagger."

"I heard that's a much worse fate for a Collenian."

Ashlen attempted to hold her conversation partners at the table, but they all stood up. Throughout the room, games continued, Tibares exchanged hands, but eyes remained fixed on the three outsiders.

"What's this people's problem with taverns?" Ashlen thought, returning to Vallen and Ellisa's side.

"Gentlemen!" a voice called from a nearby table. "Tibares are Tibares, and coins don't have eyes!"

A collective groan went through the room. An elderly man approached the counter with steady steps. "My name is Balthazaar," he said, extending a hand to Vallen Allond. "I think I can help you."

Vallen pocketed the coins, keeping a wary eye on the old man as he spoke. The regulars in the tavern seemed to slowly lose interest in them.

"Vallen Allond," he said dryly. He found the old man's readiness to assist suspicious. He shook the man's hand, feeling it soft and limp.

"Are you looking for a boat, then?" Balthazaar asked as he greeted young Ashlen and gave a curt bow to Ellisa Thorn. "I can help you; I really can. I see that you are men of arms, and you must understand that, but when it comes to business, it is better to look for a merchant," he smirked. "In this case, me."

The three adventurers, accompanied by Balthazaar, left the tavern. The man chattered incessantly, and none of them entirely trusted him. He explained the natural distrust of the natives in Var Raan, how the city lacked adequate protection from the regent of Collen, and how, as a result, many citizens had resorted to robbery and piracy.

"Easy way to prove a thesis, don't you think?" Balthazaar said. "Make it true!"

The old man didn't seem overly dishonest, although he himself didn't deny he had interests of his own. He claimed the quickest way to obtain a boat was indeed from a pirate. However, among the pirates, some remained loyal to gold and would not betray whoever was paying them.

"Honor among thieves, as they say! But if you were some kind of militia, you wouldn't survive," Balthazaar said, leading them toward the port. "Although there are almost no militias here, and the one that exists only differs from the bandits by their uniforms. They lack courage, you know? Thus, those who enforce the law are truly the evildoers."

As the group entered an alley, the old man's chatter was interrupted by the appearance of four men, marked by dirt and scars. The adventurers recognized them as patrons from the tavern. Three more rough-looking fellows blocked their way behind them. A woman dragged two small children along the narrow street, but she vanished the moment the seven men appeared.

Vallen, Ellisa, and Ashlen glanced at Balthazaar, but the man looked just as frightened as they were.

"You better not be a good actor," Ellisa Thorn growled.

The newcomers tightened their circle. In their hands were short swords, sabers, hooks, and a fishing harpoon. One of them displayed his rotten teeth in a malicious grin. "Is there more money where that came from?" he asked in a phlegmy voice. "And other women where this came from?"

"What happened here?" Gregor Vahn inquired, seeing his friends emerge from an alley, leaving behind seven sprawled bodies.

"Nothing," Vallen replied. "We had a minor problem. But now we have a solid lead."

"Are they...?" began Nichaela.

"Alive."

"Only by Vallen's orders," Ellisa Thorn added. Though she didn't enjoy fighting, once engaged, she preferred to resolve any outstanding issues.

Behind them walked the old man, his expression frightened, his clothing suggesting he had once possessed considerable wealth. Appearing just under sixty years old, he exuded refined manners, although they had deteriorated from a life among the riffraff. His hair, combed with care, was very white but full, slicked back with oil, and falling apart at the ends to just below his neck. He sported a thick, well-groomed white mustache. Slightly taller than Ashlen, he adorned himself with rings set with stones, twisting his hands to hide them whenever someone suspicious passed. He was a native of Collen. One of his eyes was a perfectly ordinary brown, while the other was a bright orange, resembling a jewel embedded in his face.

"Who is he?" Artorius asked.

"Balthazaar," the man offered again, extending his hand. However, the minotaur did not greet him.

"I don't think he had anything to do with this attack," Vallen said. "I think." Artorius reluctantly extended his own hand, engulfing the old man's in his grip. Balthazaar continued talking, explaining about an acquaintance—unfortunately a pirate, look at how life goes—who coerced even the most honest people into crime, who could, for a modest price—definitely not one that successful adventurers could afford—take them to Kriegerr.

"There's no point in anything else," Masato declared. "We've already lost the trail."

"But perhaps we can glean a clue," Vallen offered.

At first glance, Artorius no longer favored the old man. He exuded weakness, spoke excessively, and flattered too much. In Tapista, the Kingdom of the Minotaurs, he wouldn't last a week.

But Balthazaar led them to a man—a tall, broad-shouldered young man with long black braided hair and a thick scar dividing his face from forehead to chin. He called himself Sig and was nicknamed "Black Eye" because of his right eyeball, which was as black as pitch.

Sig Olho Negro's boat was the "Cação Cego IV," a medium-sized vessel capable of navigating deep seas and rivers.

"What happened to the other three?" Ashlen asked.

"Sea serpent, tidal wave, mutiny," the young captain replied, interspersed with black spits of chewing tobacco.

"Did your crew mutiny?"

"Oh, no," he smiled, wiping the grime off his teeth with a finger. "I was the one who mutinied. Unfortunately, the boat didn't survive," he said, wiping his finger on his pants while grinning widely. "But I still have the old captain's eyes." He pointed to a jar where, indeed, two disparate eyeballs floated.

The crew of "Cação Cego IV" consisted of robust and hideous men. They all appeared ageless, as years of hardship at sea, fighting, and drunkenness had drained the vigor from the young and hardened the old. Among the mass of toothless, unshaven men, only Captain Sig stood out, a handsome man despite his scar, along with his mate, who was called that for lack of a better term, since she was a woman. Her name was Izzy. She was a stunning young redhead dressed in men's clothing, although they were clean and expensive—in fact, they smelled of the booty of rich ships from afar.

Izzy was not a Collenian—she had two very green, but identical, eyes. A few freckles adorned her face and above her breasts, giving her a youthful appearance, but her body, accentuated by practical clothes that often clung to her with moisture, was voluptuous. It was evident, however, that aside from the captain, none of the crew dared to do anything but cast frustrated glances of desire toward her.

Sig Black Eye was prodigal in telling stories, and before long, he had explained that Izzy was a native of Fortuna who had entered as a stowaway and had become his lover.

"I taught her everything she knows," he laughed, slapping the girl on the backside. With a smirk, she threw a dagger that passed inches from his ear. Black Eye laughed. "Including this."

According to Sig Black Eye's tale, Izzy had been raised in a convent and one day decided to flee an arranged marriage. She ended up meeting the former mate of "Cação Cego," an old man who hid her aboard the ship until she was discovered by the captain. Izzy appeared impressively innocent when she arrived, but she adopted the ways of seafarers, earning the crew's respect before she could even defend herself. Today in...One day, he said, she could wash the deck with any of those sailors. When the former first mate decided to step ashore, Izzy emerged as the best candidate to take over the position.

"And the old fool died of a fever a few years later, mind you," he added with a laugh. Despite his repulsive appearance, Sig Black Eye possessed a certain fascination. Nichaela studied his face and saw a strong, unmistakable love for both Izzy and the deceased. Confirming the half-elf's assumption, the captain drowned the memory with a generous swig of brandy.

"A beautiful story," interrupted Ellisa Thorn. "But we just want you to take us away from here."

They were in the captain's personal cabin aboard the Blind Dogfish, which had been anchored for three weeks in the cramped port of Var Raan. Artorius, Masato, and Rufus had preferred to remain on deck, watching the bustling port activity. The minotaur and the samurai had struck up an unlikely conversation, discovering shared beliefs in their rigid ways of thinking, while Rufus entertained himself reminiscing about the charms of magic and Ellisa Thorn.

Balthazaar, an old acquaintance of Captain Black Eye, was also present in the cabin. The old man interceded on behalf of the group, haggling for a lower price until Sig abruptly silenced him, only for Balthazaar to resume his chatter at the next opportunity. The negotiations dragged on, more due to the captain's loquaciousness than any real difficulty or tension. Eventually, they settled on a price that would significantly reduce the gold they had paid for Irynna, and they agreed to leave the following morning. Throughout the discussions, Izzy remained close to the captain, like a guard dog, flaunting her figure and the saber at her waist. Sig occasionally left the cabin to bark orders at the sailors.

At Ellisa and Gregor's insistence, they formalized the agreement with names and signatures on parchment. The Tanna-Toh church had worked hard to spread literacy throughout Arton, making it easy to find someone who could read and write, especially among travelers. The document detailed the route, conditions, and amount of gold, and after Vallen and Sig reread it and approved it with their signatures, Ashlen noticed Balthazaar leaning in close to scrutinize the parchment, squinting his mismatched eyes until he seemed to comprehend the lines.

The day passed without further incident in the dreary village of Var Raan. Balthazaar pointed out a cleaner inn where they could spend the night, the owner—a frightened old woman—seemed eager to host armed visitors who could defend her from her neighbors. Nichaela blessed them before bed, while Rufus studied calmly, and Artorius settled into a bed much too small for his frame. Vallen and Ellisa snuggled into each other's arms, and the day came to a close.

"Blind Dogfish" was an ominous name for a Collenian ship. For a Collen inhabitant, being deprived of sight was worse than death, and the implication of such a fate, painted in proud letters on the vessel's hull, made seasoned sailors pray to the Great Ocean to ward off evil. The crew, however, dismissed superstitions, insisting that what sank ships were not names, but weak men. Sig Black Eye himself had claimed that his very appearance had been viewed as a bad omen. His mother had thought his tar-like eye was blind and had attempted to drown him at birth, only for a brother to save him, delaying his death until he proved he could see well with both eyes.

"And, in the end, he was the one who drowned," the captain laughed, taking another sip of brandy. The reverence for sight and the true cult of vision that existed in Collen was met with contempt by the pirate. He had traveled to many places where an eye was merely an instrument of the body, just like a foot or hand. In fact, he argued, for a farmer to lose a foot would be far worse than losing an eye. All the signs and omens that Collenians attributed to blind, pierced, or imperfect eyes were nonsense to Sig. He declared that there was no such thing as luck.

"After all, she herself is from Fortuna, the Kingdom of Good Fortune," he remarked, nodding toward Izzy. "And see how luck has treated you!" He punctuated his statement with a playful slap or pinch to the girl, quickly covering his face to avoid her retaliation.

The journey through the water was long. Leaving Var Raan, they would head west, avoiding the ominous Snake Island, passing between the large island of Collen and the tiny island of Lardder. Then, skirting the coast between Collen and Tollon, they would sail north to Kriegerr, where the adventurers would disembark while the Blind Dogfish continued on. Balthazaar did not accompany them, and after collecting his share of the deal he had helped negotiate, the old man vanished from the adventurers' sight.

The sea journey brought its challenges, with the boat rocking and stomachs unsettled, but there were a few days when feeling unwell was their only concern, and for that, they were grateful to the gods.

On the third night, Nichaela was awakened by a strange sound and followed it to the makeshift bedroom Ashlen shared with Gregor. The paladin of Thyatis slept heavily and did not stir, but the half-elf discerned the noise behind the constant hissing of the waves and the ongoing activity of the ship's crew. They were hiccups. She found Ashlen writhing in tears on his bed.

Nichaela sat on the edge of the straw-covered mattress. If Ashlen noticed her presence, he made no mention of it. He continued to bury his face in the pillow, choking back sobs as despair and mucus consumed him.

"Ashlen," Nichaela's voice was soothing as she ran her fingers through his long, messy brown hair.

After a moment, Ashlen managed to control his sobs. Slowly, he turned his red, swollen face toward the cleric. They were both quite young, and though he was only a little younger than her, in that moment he resembled a child. "She died," he said, his voice thin and broken.

Nichaela opened her arms and cradled his head in her lap. There was nothing to say, for she knew: Andilla Irontooth was dead.

"He died," Ashlen repeated. "And it was my fault."

Nichaela understood that sentiment; it was one of the fundamental laws of the universe that Lena's clerics believed in. Life was an opportunity for peace; death brought hate, guilt, and pain, tormenting the living. Some viewed death as a relief, a chance for eternal rest, or the opportunity to be with the gods and lost loved ones. But for Lena's devotees, death was a plague that afflicted a world full of life. To them, it was not a natural cycle, just as disease or war were not. Nichaela knew she had to alleviate that guilt before it swallowed one more.

"No," she said firmly. "If anyone is to blame, it's me. After all, I was the one who didn't save her. Ask Masato." Nichaela didn't truly believe it, but it was better to tell a few lies than let her friend bear that unbearable weight.

However, Ashlen saw himself as solely responsible. He had lost the fragile map they had, which led them into that forest and faced the monster. Later, they would discover it was known to the Collenians as the Forest of a Hundred Eyes. None of them understood why the locals did not give it a more ominous name, one that suggested what lay within.

Once again, Nichaela recognized that feeling. Death brought guilt. In the other rooms, Artorius likely blamed himself for his weakness in failing to save his friend; Vallen blamed himself for not foreseeing the danger; Ellisa blamed herself for being away from the monster, safely perched with her bow; Gregor blamed himself for not being able to share his gift of resurrection with others; Masato blamed himself for urging the group into a hasty decision; and Rufus blamed himself for his inability to cast spells or identify the creature. Nichaela was only wrong about Rufus.

"There must be a way," Ashlen continued, his voice choked with tears. "We can bring her back; there has to be an artifact or some cleric who can do this!" But even as he spoke, he recognized it was nonsense, praying it might not be. His body convulsed with sobs. Nichaela observed: no matter how much bards and poets romanticized sorrow, it was never beautiful. There were no tears that weren't ugly. People cried when they were helpless, when they could do nothing but weep, when fate became too overwhelming.

"I don't understand either," Gregor Vahn's deep voice came from the nearby bed. He sat up on the straw, bare from the waist up, his face swollen with sleep and his long hair disheveled. "I don't understand how someone can die forever."

"If you only knew," Ashlen whispered, lost in his grief. "It's so simple."

Gregor and Nichaela held opposing views on death, though both ultimately led to similar paths. For Nichaela, death was hideous, repulsive, the most abhorrent thing the gods had created. For Gregor, it was trivial, inconsequential, a minor detail. Yet both shared one goal: life. Both, with sad smiles and shaking heads, were once more forced to confront the truth: death, their enemy, was what defined life.

"I wish the gift of Thyatis could be bestowed upon everyone," Gregor continued. "So that you would understand how death is nothing for us." He gestured to the paladins of the God of Resurrection. "For us, coming back to life is as natural as the beating of our hearts, as ordinary as blinking our eyes or breathing."

Ashlen rose from Nichaela's embrace and wiped his face. The boat swayed from side to side, growing more tumultuous.

"Has no one ever died around you, Ashlen Ironsmith?" Gregor asked.

"Never," Ashlen replied, attempting a sad laugh. "My grandmother, but I was very young. I don't even remember her."

"I lost a brother," Gregor confessed, tying back his straight hair. "It was horrible, but it happened a long time ago. Sometimes I forget he existed. I think that's the only way to live."

"I've never lost anyone either," Nichaela admitted. "But I never had much either. I don't remember my parents, only the clerics at the temple." She sighed and shrugged. "Maybe it's better this way. After all, everyone knows how most half-elves are born."

Everyone knew—or perhaps they were just stories of prejudice, but most half-elves were children of rape.

"It could have been different," Gregor tried to console her.

"But probably not. Either way, it doesn't matter." She stood from Ashlen's bed and settled onto a small bench tucked into a corner. "I've learned to love and value all life. Lena's clerics see everyone as parents, children, brothers."

"It must be wonderful," Ashlen said.

"But on the other hand, there is always a death in the family," Gregor replied, and everyone silently agreed.

In that moment, they felt like veteran warriors exchanging battle stories. Among them, only Gregor lived by the sword, but all had faced weapons long enough to understand that among soldiers, even those who had once been enemies shared a unique camaraderie born from similar life experiences. They were all soldiers, just as everyone living in Arton were soldiers in their own right, confronting the same battles and witnessing the same world, admiring, fearing, or simply observing the same gods, heroes, and monsters. Even the humblest villagers or the most peaceful bourgeoisie were veteran soldiers in that sense.

Of all the adventurers, Ashlen Ironsmith came closest to resembling someone with a peaceful life. He was not an orphan; he had not been chosen by any god; he had not witnessed his city being attacked; his parents were not mercenaries, nor did he harbor grand aspirations for heroism. He was the son of a wealthy family from Valkaria, the largest city in the Kingdom and capital of Deheon, effectively the capital of the known world. He had several brothers who lived in the same large house or nearby, in an affluent neighborhood. The blacksmith business, inherited from his father and grandfather, filled their home with wealth, and the brothers continued in the trade. Even their family name had been derived from the craft over a century ago. Ashlen was the only one who rejected the tradition; he chose to join Vallen Allond's group and explore the world before taking on that responsibility. Initially, his contributions to the adventurers were financial and an intense, lasting youthful curiosity. Over time, he became a valued member, having witnessed the addition of Artorius after himself, and more recently, Masato. Death had never been part of Ashlen's plans. Risk? Yes. Perhaps some minor defeats or desperate escapes to be recounted later at the tavern. But generally, he aimed for victory and wonders. Treasures held little allure for him; he had them at home. Instead, he focused on victories and marvels. He had encountered monsters, wizards, dungeons, enchanted places, and formidable enemies; he had even crossed paths with famous heroes. Life had been going well for Ashlen Ironsmith until death crossed his path and took Andilla away, forcing him to confront his reality.

The silence among the three was comforting. Living together bred tension and conflict, but it also fostered a bond only those who shared adventures could know. Suddenly, their wordless dialogue was interrupted by a loud noise. The sound of footsteps and running filled the ship, jolting the three awake.

A decisive kick opened the door without so much as a test of its sturdiness, and six crew members burst into the room, crossbows drawn. Gregor, clad only in light trousers, sprang toward his sword, but four arrows pierced his body, and he fell lifeless. The remaining two crossbows aimed at Ashlen and Nichaela, who raised their hands in surrender.

As those who had already fired reloaded their crossbows, one checked Gregor's lifeless form while the remaining two led Ashlen and Nichaela, at gunpoint, out of the room. Both quickly searched for their companions. Ashlen, in particular, scanned the ropes, masts, and canopies of the Blind Dogfish for anything that could be used in a fight. But when they reached the deck, they saw their friends tied up and surrounded by armed crew members. Artorius lay unconscious and badly injured, while Izzy pressed the blade of her saber against Ellisa's neck. Vallen, on his knees with his hands bound behind him, grunted, blood trickling from his mouth and nose. In front of everyone, grinning widely, stood Captain Sig Black Eye.

"Have I told you how I defeated the former captain?" he boomed, his voice loud and amused. "A dagger, while he slept. Unfortunately, the dog was smarter than me and gave me this unfortunate scar!" Black Eye continued, laughter erupting from the sailors. "But he fared worse. By the end of the fight, he was no longer a man."

Ashlen and Nichaela were forced to kneel beside their friends, their wrists tied and watched closely by the armed crew.

"I was put in irons, look!" the captain declared, waving his arms dramatically. "But the crew was more loyal to me, so they let me go, and the bastard went to sleep with the fish." Vallen tried to observe everything carefully, searching for any chance of escape. He noticed Gregor was missing and exchanged meaningful glances with Ashlen. Moments later, however, the body of the paladin of Thyatis was dragged away like a sack of potatoes by a hefty sailor.

"Then I killed the crew too, of course," Sig Black Eye affected a sudden seriousness. "After all, traitors cannot be trusted!" Another round of laughter ensued. The captain paced across the damp deck, scrutinizing the captive adventurers. Dressed in loose black attire, with long braided hair and a tar-black eye, he resembled a large raven.

He continued with an innocuous tale about how he had poisoned the old crew, how the ensuing conflict had set the ship ablaze, and then unleashed a particularly creative barrage of insults aimed at the group's leadership, focusing especially on Vallen Allond.

"What did you expect?" he said, breathing alcohol-laced words into Vallen's face as he bent down. "We are pirates! Straight out of your mothers' stories!" He picked up a piece of wood from the floor. "Take your wooden leg!" he shouted, throwing the wood, narrowly missing Ashlen's head. The crew erupted in laughter once more.

He gestured to two sailors, who helped carry Gregor Vahn's body across the deck. "All I need is a parrot!"

They positioned the body over the railing, arrows protruding from its chest and back. "And now he's going to walk the plank," Sig said with heavy sarcasm. "Let's be pirates, right? Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!"

The two crewmen released Gregor Vahn's massive body, which splashed into the sea with a loud thud. The adventurers looked on in horror, Ashlen nearly petrified; mere moments ago, he had been discussing the meaning of life with Gregor.

"Now, don't be sissies," Sig sneered. "He's a servant of Thyatis; he'll get out of this—if he's man enough."

The crew erupted in cheer, invoking the names of Hyninn, the God of Thieves, and the Great Ocean, the God of the Seas. Some even spat jokingly in the name of Sszzaas, the God of Treachery, who was dead.

"To the pirate gods!" shouted Sig. Only Izzy remained silent, a cold laugh playing on her lips.

Amidst the strange devotion, Ashlen prayed that Nimb, the God of Chaos, Luck, and Misfortune, would roll some better dice from now on. But he had never been particularly religious and sensed that the god, somewhere, was saying something like, "Well done."