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Limitless Seas 2, Chapter 22.
🕑 Added 2022-02-14 21:57:38 +0000 UTCChapter 22.
“Bug Bartholomew, are you two okay?” Larson asked as Gilroy served the evening meal to the remaining crew that wasn’t out on leave. The ogre had tucked into his meal, rapidly cleaning out the first trencher of fish stew he was served, but now, the ogre only picked at the second plate, and the two heads were quietly muttering to themselves. If the loss of appetite for the ogre was unusual, speaking quietly was even more so.
“Uh, sorrys Cappin Larson, we’s gots stuffs in our brains,” Bartholomew mumbled.
“What my brother means is that we’re having quite the time deducing the nature of the knowledge imparted to us by the artifact. From what I have been able to glean, it contains a portion of the history of our people, back from when ogre kind possessed a greater mental acuity. Apparently, those such as ourselves were held in high esteem and not cast out as a bad omen, very much unlike what we faced with our tribe,” Bug said gesturing toward the two heads.
“I can’t say I know anything about ogres, but why would your kind being treated differently long ago make you two lose your appetite?” Larson asked.
“It’s not that, it’s an image we can’t see clearly and something else our minds aren’t able to grasp,” Bug said.
“What was the image?” Larson asked, worried about what was going on with one of his officers.
“The image was of ogre warriors carrying great weapons that slew their foes in droves and secured a great empire for my people. Ogres such as we were key to these weapons, but I can’t figure out how. It has something to do with the sand, that sorcerer’s sand we keep running into. I can almost grasp the final piece of the knowledge, it deals with alchemy, but it eludes us and causes pain every time we try to focus on it,” Bug lamented.
Larson thought about the sand, he had found a small pouch of it aboard the sunken vessel on the very island he had met Bug Bartholomew on. They later liberated several dozen barrels of it from the Lost Soul’s holds. Could the two have some kind of connection? From what the alchemist had told him, the sand was pretty and had an interesting name, but wasn’t possessed of any type of magical power. Maybe having the ogre talk to the alchemist would solve their mystery, or at least find a way to alleviate the distraction so they could get back to work. He needed several siege engines created as well as having both ships gone over for any problems with their last refit.
“Why don’t you go into the city tomorrow and see the alchemist Sarvo. He seemed to know about the sand and even bought a sample of it from me,” Larson offered.
“Okey dokey, we’ll see Slobbo and asks about the sands,” Bartholomew agreed.
“Good, while you’re there, see if you can negotiate a deal with him, we need healing potions for the crew and maybe we can work something out through Lucian’s shop to feature Sarvo’s potions in exchange for a discount on our purchase,” Larson added. He didn’t want to needlessly lose any of his crew if a few silver spent on a potion could have saved them.
With a dopey smile posted on each of his faces, the ogre found his appetite once more and began to eat with gusto. Hopefully, the talk with the alchemist would set the ogre at ease, he needed Bug Bartholomew back at work, crafting the weapons they would use to defeat any pirates or beasts that they needed to fight at sea. The ogre ate as much as twenty of his other crew, and Larson would go broke feeding him if Bug Bartholomew wasn’t contributing to the fleet.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, and Larson enjoyed spending time on watch. A bustling city has a strange appeal late at night when everything is quiet and peaceful. You knew the place would be a riot of activity in a few hours, but he enjoyed the quiet and the quick conversations with the others on watch. A few guardsmen patrolled the docks, many of them were new faces, recent recruits hired to make up the losses that Stratwall Harbor had taken during its fight with the makon. Larson still had a makon figurine in his possession but had no idea how the ritual functioned to summon forth the creatures. It might be best just to give it to Lord Buxton to add as additional evidence against Mox.
When morning came, the officers and crew went about their day. Shada and Tarley would take turns heading out to recruit new crew members and testing them to see who would make the cut. With two successful voyages under their belts, they could finally afford to be a bit more choosey in who they signed on, at least that was what Larson hoped would be the case. For his first stop, Larson was going to head to the tailor, he needed clothing that fit properly if he was going to present himself to the lords of the city with the results of his voyage.
He checked in with the smith, Felicia, on the way to the tailors, but as he suspected, his new armor wasn’t quite ready yet. The tailor was in a nicer part of town and going about with four arms and a tattered shirt garnered more attention from the guard than he wanted. One or two recognized him from the battle against the makon and confirmed he was welcome in this part of town. The tailor’s shop, Francine’s Finery, was as he remembered it and even though he had a good experience with Francine in their earlier meeting, he still was no fan of shopping for clothing.
“Welcome to…oh my, oh dear, what in the name of the gods of haberdashery have you done that garment? Francine! Francine! I need you!” Hamilton Purdue shouted after realizing the customer entering the shop was Larson. He seemed less aghast that Larson had four arms and was more concerned at the hack job he had done on his shirt to accommodate his new body. He ran into the back, which was fine with Larson, he didn’t exactly want to deal with the stuffy tailor and would prefer dealing with Francine directly, as he had done previously.
“Stop that, Hamilton, a shouting employee is not exactly what our clients expect from our shop, is it?” Francine said as she emerged from the back.
“Ah, Captain Larson, good to see you again, though, it looks like the short time you’ve been away hasn’t been kind to my work, has it?” Francine asked. She pulled out a measuring tape and began to take new measurements, mumbling numbers to herself. Larson let her have at it, knowing from his previous visit that she would be totally focused until she was done. That was fine with Larson, the quicker he could get this over with, the better.
“I assume we’ll need to make alterations to everything I made for your earlier, including the formalwear?” Francine asked as she worked.
“Yes, please, can they be altered, or will I have to buy completely new outfits?” Larson asked, hoping that altering would be an option and a cheaper one than remaking everything from scratch. Francine ignored his question for a while, lost in her work as she pulled Larson this way and that to get his measurements.
“Well, I can alter everything, which is cheaper than buying new, and it won’t take as long. Your torso grew a bit as well as the second set of arms, but nothing I can’t handle. When can you get me the garments to fix, this one is garbage, so I hope you didn’t do that to everything or I really will have to start from scratch,” Francine told him.
“This shirt’s the only one I butchered, here are the others,” Larson said, pulling them from his void storage, which he could tell surprised the tailor. He resisted asking her to hurry because he needed to meet with Lord Buxton, but Larson had a feeling that, just like himself, the woman wouldn’t take well to being rushed.
“Give me a moment, this won’t take long,” she said, swiping the clothing and heading toward the back area where she worked. Hamilton made another appearance, handing out some wine and finger foods while he waited. Larson was hungry so he jumped into the refreshments, the cost of which were no doubt going to be added to his final bill.
True to her word, Francine didn’t take long to make the alterations. Larson had access to magic as well as special abilities based on his species and class, no doubt the tailor had used something similar to alter his garments in such a short time. His formalwear retained the same bonuses as before and he was happy to see it fit perfectly, allowing plenty of range of motion for all his arms. The simple clothing was just as well made, and while it didn’t have any of the magical properties of his formal outfit, it was comfortable and should last a long while. As he was leaving the shop, one of his crew hailed him.
“Captain Larson, they sent me to find you, sir,” the sailor, one of the newer crew members, a man named Simon, said.
“What’s going on Simon?” Larson asked, readying himself or trouble as he scanned the street for threats.
“It’s Bug Bartholomew, sir, he’s caused some kind of problem over at the alchemist’s shop and the alchemist is demanding you show up with funds to pay for the damages or he’s going to call the guard,” the sailor said.
“Ugh, fine. I’ll head there now, you can return to the ship,” Larson said, trying to remember the way to Sarvo’s shop from where he currently was. It wasn’t too far from the clothing store and he arrived only a few minutes later to find an angry ogre shouting outside the shop with the shop owner, Sarvo, shouting right back. The scene would have been comical with the diminutive alchemist shouting at a huge, two-headed ogre, but it wasn’t funny since he was the one that had to deal with it.
“What’s going on here?” Larson said in his best command authority voice.
“Oh, Captain Larson, your ship's officer made a shambles of my shop and not only refuses to pay for the damage, but he also keeps trying to get back inside where he’ll, no doubt, wreak even more havoc upon my wares,” Sarvo said, the older man’s face turning beet red with anger.
“Okay, I know your shop is small, let’s see what the damages are. You,” he said pointing to the ogre, “wait out here until I get back,” Larson ordered, following Sarvo into the shop.
The door was still on its hinges, but just inside, several display cases had been toppled over, leaving a noxious pool of broken glass and brightly colored liquids scattered about. This wasn’t going to be a cheap or easy fix. Sarvo was running on about the various potions that had been destroyed and how difficult and perhaps even dangerous the cleanup was going to be.
“That is a mess, I’m sorry for my officer’s clumsiness. I’ll take care of the damages, so calm down and deal with this reasonably,” Larson said. Sarvo turned from the potions and began to rant at Larson once more until he noticed the changes on Larson’s body.
“Well, what have we here, still a water naga, but with enhanced physical modifications. Tell me, captain, was this a result of some curse, a hidden racial talent, or merely a temporary magical effect of some type. I’ll just have to get a sample. How long ago did the transformation take place, I do hope it was recent, there might still be some of the reagent causing the change to be present in your blood. With the proper care and distillation, I could make a marvelous elixir out of this,” Sarvo said, forgetting the debris around him as he rummaged about at the sales counter, coming back with a scalpel and several empty vials.
“Woah, hold on there, let’s have a chat before you come near me with anything sharp,” Larson said, backing away, and narrowly avoiding crashing into another display case. He righted the rocking display case, preventing further damage.
“We can discuss restitution for the damages, and as part of that restitution, I’ll need some of your blood and perhaps a few skin, bone, and hair samples,” Sarvo said. Larson summoned his shield and spear, the sudden action causing the alchemist to reel back.
“They’ll be no samples taken until we talk about this. Not only that, my ship’s engineer, the ogre, has some questions for you as well. Hey, now that I think about it, why aren’t you interested in him as much as you are in me, he has two heads and all?” Larson asked.
“Bah, his kind is documented extensively in Berikinian’s dissertation on the ancient ogre kingdoms. Sure, there were many unanswered questions in that work, but the conclusions were accurate and showed little to no alchemical use for any of their bodily components. The old wife’s tale of ogres exploding has been put to rest long ago,” Sarvo said.
“Fine, I may, and I stress may agree to a blood and hair sample, but I’ll take them myself. In return, you’ll agree to a nominal fee that will cover your damages, and you’ll answer Bug Bartholomew’s questions. Do we have a deal?” Larson asked.
“I believe so, thankfully, most of the valuable potions are kept further back in the store, that prevents petty thieves from getting anything useful. Between that and the cursed potions I salted in among the good ones, it keeps the riffraff away. Let me tally up the damages, while you lead that behemoth around back. I have a cellar there that you and the oaf can wait in while we take care of things here. Now, make sure you don’t accidentally slither into that blue patch of liquid over there, I think that might be the remnant of a frost nova potion,” Sarvo said.
Larson carefully made his way out of the store, avoiding any of the spilled elixirs on his way out. Once outside, he led Bug Bartholomew around back where there was indeed a large cellar entrance. A short stairway led down into a surprisingly clean and uncluttered storage area, with another door that must have led into the shop directly. The ogre plopped down on the stone floor of the cellar and somehow managed to keep from breaking anything else. It wasn’t long before Sarvo rejoined them.
“Okay, the total is 4 ducats, 77 fins, and 11 scales. That, along with the blood and hair will cover the damages, and is more than fair considering all my time that you’ve wasted,” Sarvo said. Larson glared at his clumsy ship’s engineer who looked down and avoided eye contact.
“I’m trusting your calculations, let me count out the coin and get your samples while Bug Bartholomew asks you some questions,” Larson said, sadly depleting his funds even more.
“Here, you can use this, and fill these with blood and this with hair,” Sarvo said, trying to pass him a rack holding a dozen empty vials and a box for the hair.
“I’ll give you two vials full, I don’t think I have enough blood in me to fill all of these,” he replied taking two of the vials and the box. Instead of the scalpel, he’d use the dagger in his inventory to cut his finger for the blood and slice a locket of hair to drop into the box.
“Humph, I suppose that will suffice, at least for now. Okay, ogre, what is this question you’re dying to ask?” Sarvo asked.
“Its our head thingy, we knows things now and it has something to do with glittery dirt,” Bartholomew started.
“Hold on brother, perhaps I should take the lead here. My dear alchemist friend, we are truly sorry for our negligent behavior earlier, but we have recently come into contact with an artifact that has imparted to us ancient knowledge of our race and we’re having difficulty parsing out some of the data. I can see the image of my people using powerful weapons to protect their empire. It’s not entirely clear, but two things are. The image of sparkling red sand, the sorcerer’s sand, we believe, and something else, there’s some liquid that is important,” Bug offered.
“Well, sorcerers’ sand is unusual, but it’s been highly tested over the years and proven to have no uses other than as a conversation piece. It’s found in small quantities in caves near the ocean, caves that are adjacent to unnaturally deep water,” the alchemist said. The ogre got a strange look on his face and then clutched both his heads in pain.
“Ouchey, that hurtses us, not like deep water, but that’s where the pretty sands is,” Bartholomew said.
“A new memory just unlocked when you mentioned the location of the sand. I could see ogres, led by those with two heads, sending other waterborne creatures into the deeps to gather the sand. They would bring up baskets full of it, and that was the key to this weapon. That sand wasn’t the only key, it was also ogres like ourselves. There was something else, something about an alchemist needed for the process,” Bug said, eyes watering from the headache the memory had given him.
“Alchemy played a part? I’m not sure how. You said that an artifact imparted this knowledge to you, may I see it?” Sarvo said. The alchemist had perked up when Bug Bartholomew told him about the headaches.
“I gots it, here, don’t breaks it,” Bartholomew said, passing the ogre figurine to Sarvo.
“Huh, I can assure you it is safer in my hands than in your own clumsy mitts,” Sarvo said as he pulled a jewelers loupe from the pack he had brought with him from the shop.
“We needses one of those brudder,” Bartholomew said.
“That we do, but I suppose we’ll have to make it ourselves, since most will be too tiny for us to use,” Bug replied.
“I can see faint etchings here, it’s in a language I cannot decipher,” Sarvo said.
“Write out the symbols, I may be able to read it if it’s what I think it is,” Bug said. Sarvo ran back upstairs for parchment and ink, slowly drawing out the images that were still legible. Many had faded to time.
“That’s all I can see; do you make anything of this?’ Sarvo asked, now totally engrossed in the search for knowledge.
“Until a short time ago, I wouldn’t be able to, but after encountering the artifact, we can read it, or at least I can, Bartholomew doesn’t care for reading all that much. It’s a language called Ogrish, an ancient dialect used by my people. Here’s what I think it says,” Bug said, writing out the meaning in the common tongue.
…slayers of the foe. With sand fire, steel, and the blood of the double chosen we smite those who threaten…
“Not much to go on, but the double chosen, could it mean an ogre such as yourselves, one of those possessing a dual cranial structure? I suppose it will be necessary to get a sample of your blood, not to mention some sorcerer’s sand, let me get my things,” Sarvo said, running upstairs to retrieve the small pouch of sand that Larson had bartered to him in their first encounter. He showed the sand to the ogres, setting the open pouch of glittering sand on the floor of the cellar as he retrieved his scalpel and a glass vial. Bartholomew didn’t look too happy about the blade, and when Sarvo approached to prick his finger.
“Calm down brother, you are fearless in battle, but now you’re going to cry over a tiny poke from a scalpel?” Bug chastised.
“Noo, ouchies, I’s not like finger blood!” Bartholomew roared as the scalpel pierced his finger. His antics caused the blade to cut deeper than intended, the ogre nearly slapping Sarvo in the head as he flung his hurt finger around, splattering blood everywhere as his brother tried to gain control over their body and calm Bartholomew down. Larson watched the splatter land on his newly tailored shirt. At the same time as he worried about the stains, drops landed inside the bag of sorcerer’s sand.
With a loud crack, the sand in the bag exploded, filling the cellar with smoke and pelting them with burning bits of burlap. The three of them sat there stunned, Bartholomew even forgot about his finger that was still slowly dripping blood onto the floor. Larson was assailed with images of his past, weapons belching fire and hurling projectiles at the foe. That must have been the ancient and powerful weapons that the ogres of old had been using, crude firearms.
With Bug Bartholomew’s help, he could do it. He could bring back firearms to this world and with his ship's mounting cannon, he would rule the seas.
