The Winds of Oblivion

[DeathbyFlossing]

Storms brings his hammer down on the feak before him with a thunderous crash.

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Storms attacks the enemy in space AO 21. Attack roll (1d20+10)[26], damage roll (3d6+9)[21], skip move action.

[DeathbyFlossing]

Scar-Eye mauls the mutant before him, raking it with his claws and fangs.

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Full attack action with natural weapons.
Attack roll(bite, primary) (1d20+5)[14], damage (1d6+3)[7], attack roll (claw, secondary) (1d20)[3], damage (1d4+2)[5], attack roll (2nd claw, secondary) (1d20)[5], damage (1d4+2)[5]

[AlphaLuke]

Storms' hammer comes down with a satisfying *squelch* as he smashes the man thing before him down to the very deck. The only thing left is disjointed limbs and a lumpy pulp. Then, looking to the only other enemy before him, he whistles to Scar-Eye with two sharp notes.

Scar-Eye immediately leaps upon the creature and begins to maul it with fang and claw, but the creature's leathery hide seems to stave off the worst of it.
[spoiler]Storms kills the baddie he hit. I added a command to Attack. Please try to remember that Scar isn't autonomous. He needs commands to act.

Scar-eye doesn't hit with any of his three attacks.[\spoiler]

Lictor Mournhold grabs and crushes the skull of his opponent with a great, gauntleted hand. Archie desperately and wildly swings a long knife, favoring his injured wing. He catches a lucky strike that the Hellknight capitalizes upon. He runs the tentacled man through with his blade of shadow.

Master Gent sees the writing on the wall for the creatures on the aft deck. None will survive the remaining crewmen's sabers and pikes. Instead, he turns to look down at the single foe near his captain. With a hefty grunt he hurls his meat cleaver and with a sharp *thock* the blade sticks into the back of the creature's skull.

The remaining few creatures slump to the deck, writing and bleeding, but the battle is won.

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Combat over, post at will.

"Won", Zeph thinks as he looks around. "Barely". The bodies of Apparition crew are scattered all over the deck, almost as thickly as the bodies of their attackers. The foremast is shattered, and the ship is tipping precariously forward, making a slow descent to the rough seas below.

The Captain doesn't give anyone time to rest. "Mr. Archelos, put her to rights! Level us out!"

Archie's voice sound high and weak from the helm. "Can't, Cap'n. She's got no foremast. Best I can hope for is a controlled descent . . . but I," he falters and nearly falls before the Lictor can grab him.

"Thrice damned," the Captain curses. "Doctor! We need you on deck!" He shoults down the ladder. Doctor al-Aruni's voice echos up, rushed and harried. "As soon as I can sir! We have wounded down here too!"

Alessia hops off the gunwale and hurries over to Kalinda. The two women examine the cuts across Kalinda's arms and chest, none of which seem fatal. Still, Alessia begins to apply a strongly scented oil from her belt to the wounds and pulls clean bandages from a small pouch in a cupboard of the deck before wrapping the first officer's slashes carefully.

"Aye, 'less, I'll be fine. Tend to Archie and Greggor. They look a bit worse for wear." Kalinda's voice is pained but familiar. A stark departure from her normal clipped tone. Zeph has also never hear his first officer use the crew's familiar names before. Always the formal. She must be rattled.

Lictor Mournholdt supports a limping Archie as they make their way down the ladder to the mid-deck. The Syrinx looks like he's on the verge of unconsciousness. "Mr. Leornian. We need a helmsman to help control our descent. Mr. Archelos is in not state and both the Captain and First Officer need to tend to more pressing matters. You're up. Try to land us softly. If you can, look for land where we can dry-dock."

The Quartermaster also makes his way down to the mid-deck, albeit with difficulty. He clutches a massive red stain in the side of his gut, holding on to it like his life depends on it. He moves toward Storms. "Don't suppose you have any field medic craft, lad?" Seeing Storm's shake his mask-covered face he sighs. "Aye, didn't think so. I seem to have taken a small stitch to me side and could use a careful hand for tendin'. You think you can give me a hand till the good doctor finds it in his heart to prance his padded slippers up 'ere? Oh, and fetch me cleaver. Don't want it going to rust in that man's head over there."

[Pent]

"Aye sir!" Zeph responds. Despite the chaos and carnage, he finds the bright side to look at - without his help, the Apparition would surely have been lost.

He takes control of the helm, and does his best to glide the ship along gusts, instead of fighting them. He pushes his glasses further up on his face as he searches for a landing spot.

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Perception(1d20+15)[33]
Profession (1d20+9)[23]

On the deck of the ship, he also watches carefully that the bodies of all the attackers aren't disposed of. He would love to study a corpse in case it reveals a clue.

He also makes a mental note to follow up with the Captain about what he was about to say when the attack happened.

[AlphaLuke]

Zeph makes his way up the ladder to the helm, careful of the slippery, blood-drenched deck. At his navigator's station he finds a map of the surrounding sea. It seems that there's a small archipelago of islands no more than a nautical league north. Small and storm-battered, they don't have any notable settlements. Still, it's something. He runs through rapid calculations in his head, doing math behind his eyelids that most university students would have difficulty doing with a blackboard. "We should have enough forward momentum, and the windage is in our favor . . . yes!" He begins the slow and steady descent, using the prevailing winds to help him glide as far in the air as the Apparition will let him.

The crew, what remains of them, are too busy tending to the injured and dead to much worry about the bodies of their attackers. Still, they make sure to set at least one aside for Zeph's examination later.

Doctor al-Aruni's medic bay is quickly overfilled, and he set up a triage on the main deck, flitting back and forth between injured men laid out in neat rows.

Gregor Gent and Archelos are some of the worst, both requiring extensive alchemical and magical remedies for their injuries. Zeph sees the bandaged head of the Chief Engineer pop out from the lower deck.

"SHE DID WHA' TO MAH SHEP!?!?! I'LL GUT 'ER!!! I'LL TURN 'ER GODS BLASTED TAIL INTO A BELT!!! WHERE IS SHE??!?!?! NO! GE' OFF ME, GE' OFF ME! I'M FINE! JUST A BUMP! I'M FINE!"

Throki makes his way up to the main deck, followed by a pleading crewman. His head is bandaged and his face is beet red. That is, until he sees the wreck that remains of the foremast. Then, all the color drains from his face entirely and he falls to his knees.

"Mah girl! Wha' have they done to you? Oh, lass. Danne you worry. We'll fix you up soon as we can."

[DeathbyFlossing]

Shrinking down to normal size, Storms retrieves the cleaver and does his best to lend an extra set of hands where he can.

[Pent]

"You can't be mad at Alessia!" Zeph calls from his station. He doesn't take his eyes off skies, or his hands off the controls, but Throki knows who Zeph is talking to just the same.

"She made a snap decision to save lives. The monsters, these...things, they did this. They forced the situation. As soon as I set her down, I'll help you in your repairs. How's your head? Are you concussed? "

[AlphaLuke]

Throki turns his gaze up to the helm with renewed rage. "I can yell at whoever I godsdamned please, Mr. Leornian! And my head feels as dull as a bag of hammers and rings like a bell when I turn my head faster than half the speed of smell -" as he takes in another breath, ready to launch into Zeph again, he catches himself and deflates like a bellows. "Agh, I'm sorry, lad. You dannae deserve tha'. Doc tells me the only reason I'm not seven fathoms under is because of you. Thank you."

Zeph lets his peripheral vision climb into the rigging and he sees Alessia wrapped around the yardarm, higher than would be strictly necessary. She warily watches Throki like a kitten treed by a barking hound.

[DeathbyFlossing]

”So does anyone have any idea what those things were? Because I will eat my shoes if those abominations were people. Once, maybe, but definitely not anymore.” Storms says as he starts laying the bodies of the attackers on in a row.

[Pent]

Zeph pulls his hand off the helm just long enough to give Throki a "don't worry about it" wave with a smile that said "you'dve done the same for me".

Zeph then nods to Storms' comment. Its absolutely one of the next things to do once he sets the App down safely.

[AlphaLuke]

The Captain looks pointedly at Storms. "Aye. Not men. Not, at least, anymore . . ." The Captain lets the statement hang in the air like the final note of a very sad song.

The crew works in silence for the remainder of the descent. Zeph sees the jagged rock formations of the archipelago and is able to deftly settle the damaged Apparition high upon the sandy shore. The entire maneuver was beautifully handled, and both Archelos, his wing in a sling, and Throki look to Zeph appreciatively.

Once they make landfall, Kalinda begins to shout orders to the few remaining crewmen to go ashore for provisions and scouting. "Don't dawdle, men. Won't be ambushed again. Not while we're grounded."

The officers, while wounded, all seem to be stable. Gregor Gent is the only one still confined to his bunk, nursing a severe gut wound. The Doctor looks harried and exhausted.

[Pent]

Zeph approaches Throki stepping down from the helm with a supernaturally light step.

"Sorry for the yelling, didn't mean to come off as angry. I just wanted to make sure you heard me, and I couldn't step away from the controls..." Zeph looks around awkwardly. "I suppose I can look over the corpses of the attackers once we're she's made whole again. How can I help repair the foremast?"

[AlphaLuke]

The engineer waves his hand in a vague dismissal at Zeph's apology.

Throki then laughs mirthlessly as Zeph's offer to repair the mast. "Lad, unless you're hiding two tonnes of skyship grade timber in your trousers, I dennae think it'll be quite tha' easy. Not only tha', but we'll need new capacitors and runelines to make the mast move with the rest of the ship. All told, losing a mast is a week-long job in the most well equipped shipyard this side of Absalom. On a deserted island, it's damn near impossible. Best we can hope for is to shore up the two masts we have remaining so she'll fly level. I appreciate the offer, but you might as well examine those bodies while they're fresh. I'll grab you when I can get my tools together and start working on the reinforcing runes."

[Pent]

Zeph makes a show of patting his pants pockets. Nope, no timber here.

He heads over to an attacker corpse and kneels down next to it. He uses his Mage Hand to make simple movements to the corpse (move a limb around, check in pockets, etc) to do a cursory examination without actually touching it himself.

Spoiler

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Perception: (1d20+15)[17]
any other skill check you may want: (1d20)[6]

[DeathbyFlossing]

Storms flexes his jaw in thought. ”I wouldn’t pretend to know what kind of timber qualifies as ‘skyship grade’, but there may be trees on the island of fine enough quality that we won’t need to dip into the ship’s stores, or at the very least replace some of what we do use. Turning to the captain, he says, Sir, I could take a party ashore to look for some. I can swing an axe with the best of them, I just need a guy can show me what trees to cut, and a couple extra hands to help haul it.”

[AlphaLuke]

Zeph makes a careful examination of one of the attackers' corpses. When he does, he's glad for the extra precaution. The "man's" body is riddled with pustules, sores, and open gashes. The entirety of the body looks full to bursting with tumors and cysts. Some foul corruption was putting this poor creature through more pain than Zeph can sanely imagine. The clothes that the man is wearing seem to be simple homespun. Something a farmer or fisherman might wear. They are threadbare and smell to high heaven. They haven't been washed or mended in ages. In one of the corpses pockets he finds a length of fishing line and a bone hook, confirming his suspicion.

These men were fishermen once, he thinks to himself. Maybe they were transformed somehow?

Doctor al-Aruni step in front of Storms and squares his shoulders. It's a comical expression from the meek doctor, as Storms stands a full head-and-a-half taller than the man. "Absolutely not! You are still injured, and I can't have you running off to chop down trees when you look like that. Not until you're patched up."

The Captain smiles. "Have to agree with the good Doctor, Storms. You look like you got the rough edge of one of those sword. And your still bleeding, look!"

Storms looks down to find that the captain is right! A small, barely noticeable trickle of blood is running down his leg and leaving sticky footprints on the deck. The doctor begins to fuss at the wound. "You aren't clotting. Damn. This . . . this complicates things. Get down to my infirmary. Now!"

[Pent]

Zeph holds the hook with his Mage Hand as he ponders his findings.

Something about this screams abduction. The fishing supplies on their person, the painful corruption. Zeph imagines fishermen on their boat, enjoying their freedom when they are attacked, and shanghaied.

If this corrupting force...these beyonder cultists.... need to abduct people to serve as shock troops, there's a certain sense in targeting fishermen out at sea. Where all hands lost can mean a ship lost to a storm or monster, and no investigation would start.


If his theory is right, maybe it possible to determine a geographic location of the abductions. So far the only tools he found are generic fishing materials and clothes too threadbare to bear any possible identifying information... but maybe its enough. He examines racial characteristics of the men (what can be determined behind the corruption), the properties of the fishing tools, and the type of clothing used to determine where in the inner sea these men are from.

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Grasping at straws, but what the hey.

Knowledge check Nature: (1d20+10)[14] (maybe to theorize the size of the fish based on the fish hooks)
Knowledge check Geo: (1d20+8)[28] (possible climate of the home of the fisherman based on their clothing)

[AlphaLuke]

Zeph's knowledge of fishing is very basic. He is able to tell that these hooks are home-made, rather than some forged works. They seem to be whittled from bone, rather than drawn from steel or iron, which might indicated a lack of mineral resources or technology. The hooks look large enough to catch some of the sea bass or salmon common to these waters, but too large for river or stream fishing. These were ocean fisherman.

His examination of the attacker's physical phenotypes, however, reveals a wealth of knowledge. These men were divided between Varisian and Shoanti bloodlines. Perhaps with a dash of Chellish. More importantly, they all share similar distinct characteristics, indicating a smaller gene pool than might be present in a city or even a town. They all bear distinct markings, tattoo it looks like, beneath layers of scar tissue and polyps. These tattoos aren't magical, instead seeming to belong to a culture of inner sea fisherman. He remembers reading about some of the subcultures on the small islands of the inner sea.

Tau - no, Torlin! These were some of the Torlin peoples of the Whitefoam Islands. A small chain north of Escadar, the Whitefoams don't even appear on most maps. They have no important trade goods, no open port, and an estimated population below 100. Originally founded a little over two centuries ago, the Torlin people settled the rocky and barren island in an attempt to escape some type of religious persecution in Andoran. Since then, they've remained isolated, xenophobic, and mostly out of the public eye. Occasionally, a Torlin fishing boat will arrive in Escadar and trade fish and ivory scrimshaw for items they can't fabricate themselves, but it's always a brief visit and never more frequent than once or twice a season.

Zeph looks around at the rocky islands he chose for their landing pad.

This might be one of the southernmost islands of the Whitefoam chain, actually. The geographical markers are right. Basalt spires, scree grass, and high winds. Yep, this is definitely one of the Whitefoams. These men aren't far from home.

[DeathbyFlossing]

Blinking for a moment, Storms belatedly realizes he is, in fact, badly injured. He must have lost more blood than he thought.
Meekly, he follows the doctor to the infirmary.

[Pent]

Zeph jumps to his feet with a start. This is an exciting discovery! He needs to find the Captain and brief him on this! They may be right on top of the base of operations for this cult! Just before he gets to the Captain he realizes something.

That works both ways... those cultists are here. All of them. And they have a big advantage... they know where the Apparition is. But the Apparition has no idea where to start looking for the cultists.

Just the same, he's eager to brief the Captain on what he's learned.

[AlphaLuke]

Storms stumbles down the ladder to the infirmary. It's the first time he's seen the doctor's workplace and it looks to be a converted officer's cabin on the mid-deck. The typical bed and furniture has been replaced by three low cots, a high surgeon's table, and a workbench crowded with various bottles and other glass instrumentation. Powerful, whiteflame, smokeless torches blaze on the walls, giving the room an aura of daylight without any of the heat or smoke that would normally accompany so many lights. The entire area smells powerfully of antiseptic, and the wood boards have been scrubbed smooth and nearly bleached by hours of thorough sanitization. The doctor ushers Storms to the surgeon's table and has the man lie down, insisting that Scar-eye waits outside.

"Don't know what you were thinking, walking around, lifting things, all while you were still bleeding." The commentary seems to be more to himself than toward Storms, so the bloodrager lets him talk without interruption. "Anticoagulant and analgesic. Mosquitoes? No. No lingering anaphylaxis. Mayhap bat saliva . . . yes, that might explain it." All through his running commentary, the normally meek and reserved doctor works with an intense focus. His fingers quickly and deftly clean Storm's wounds with some kind of clear liquid that burns like alcohol. Then, with a shiny silver needle and strong thin filament, he begins to stitch. Storms has been sewn up before. He usually isn't one to mind a little pain, but this is another experience entirely. Fire lances up his side where the doctor stitches his gaping rib would. It's all he can do to not punch the tiny man. "My word! A parasympathetic reaction. Maybe . . . no. It's too soon to say. Still . . ." He carefully lets his needle and thread rest against the surgical table and turns to his workbench. He begins to rapidly mix ingredients and then, in the span of under a minute, holds out a glass full of seafoam green liquid. "Drink this. All of it. Best to do it in a single downing." Storms sniffs curiously at the small glass before immediately regretting his decision. It smells of old loaves of bread and the rot that some men get in their feet when they don't change wet boots frequently enough. He looks at the doctor with a horrified expression that is only mostly hidden by his mask. The doctor's face holds no sympathy. "All of it." Storms shoots the vile liquid, trying his hardest to completely avoid his tongue in the process. It burns like cheap whiskey and he coughs like a young boy taking his first drink. "Good," al-Aruni says perfunctorily. "Now, lay back. It should start worki . . ." the next few words sound like they're coming from underwater. The lights of the room begin to bleed into one another before a warm, swift sleep takes Storms.

. . .

Zeph turns to find Captain Morales. The man is up at the pilot's platform, speaking to Kalinda and Alessia. He dismisses both officers as Zeph approaches. "Mr. Leornian. What can I do for you?"

[Pent]

Zeph is excited. "Sir! I did a close examination of the corpses of our attackers. And I discovered a LOT! These men were corrupted. Corrupted with a force completely foreign to us. To this realm, even! But, behind that corruption, I saw telltale signs that these men are fishermen. From the Whitefoam islands. Where we are now! I believe the ones who attacked us were fishermen that were shanghaied, corrupted, and set loose on us. And we're docked at their home.

If the cultists are taking people from here, then their base of operations can't be far. If their base isn't far...then I think we're under high risk for another attack."

Zeph drops his voice into a lower tone and speaks more slowly. "And sir, I would like to continue our conversation from earlier at your convenience."

[AlphaLuke]

Captain Morales stares at Zeph, clearly impressed. "You were able to glean all that from examining those creatures? Impressive. Actually, that's a damn sight more than impressive. It's brilliant! Well done, Mr. Leornian. Damn fine job." The Captain turns and calls down to Kalinda, who's organizing some of the remaining crew into duty shifts. "Kalinda, double the watch! We could be expectin' company!"

Kalinda spins and snaps a sharp salute. "Aye, Sir! Shifts'll be long as it is, Sir. We lost the better part of a dozen men. And four more are in no shape to work. All told, we've got Lanham, Gellert, Pollin, Shrake, Kovar, and Moneth. Truan, Uvani, Lordern, and Yor are down in the good doctor's care. We'll be short-handed for a while, Sir."

"Understood," the Captain barks, "Won't be forever. Just have to make due. I know he won't like it, but ask the good doctor if we can get some wide-eye for the more healthy men."

Kalinda nods before spinning on her heel and relaying orders to the men gathered around her.

The Captain turns back to Zeph. "That'll have to do." Noticing Zeph's eagerness to return to the previous conversation, Morales nods and holds his hands up. "I understand that we were cut short, Mr. Leornian. But I think we should wait until your deckmate, Storms, is out of the woods. I suggest you follow me down for now. The other officers have things handled up here."

And with that, Captain Morales begins to stride down to the infirmary, expecting Zeph to follow.

. . .

Storms awakens like emerging from a fog. A dizzying and nauseating fog. He moves reflexively to turn to his side and vomits violently on the deck. When he opens his tear streaked eyes, he's surprised to find a chamber pot already in place to catch his sick.

"The nausea is to be expected. It'll wear off in a few minutes."

Storms looks to see Doctor al-Aruni working on something at his workbench. He doesn't even turn around when he assures Storms.

The bloodrager lays back, feeling the cool breeze on his face. It's sweet and clean. The good doctor must have some magical way of circulating the air in his interior room. Then, Storms sits up with a sudden start. The movement elicits a painful stab in his side, but that's the least of Storms' worries. Cool breeze. Unhindered sicking up. His hands streak to his face and his fear is confirmed. His mask is gone.

[DeathbyFlossing]

OhMeRcIfUlGoDsWhErE’SmYmAsk!?!?!?!?


Panic burns through his veins like boiling magma.

Without the mask, he isn’t Storms-As-He-Walks, magic warrior of Maagyamba.

Without the mask, he isn’t even Azgat-Blooded, warrior of Lyrune-Quah and wielder of strange magic.

Without the mask, and the protection it gave, he is merely Akrem, the stupid, stupid boy who got his whole clan killed because he was too stupid to listen to his betters.

Without the mask, IT CAN FIND HIM, WHEREVER HE IS.

”WHERES MY MASK?!?!” Akrem bellows, as he hauls himself to his feet, heedless of the nausea, knocking the chamber pot over in his desperate rush to regain his defense. ”Where’s my MASK?!?! I need my mask!!! IT CAN FIND ME WITHOUT THE MASK!!! WHERE’S THE MASK?!?!

[AlphaLuke]

Doctor al-Aruni spins, breaking a beaker and spilling its contents across the workbench. His eyes go wide at Akrem's bellows. He hurriedly reaches to a drawer and pulls out the frenzied man's mask, handing it to him quickly. Akrem slaps the mask to his face and pants, slowly but surely becoming Storms-as-he-Walks once more.

"I - I'm sorry. I needed to assess your vitals and place a breathing tube for . . . The - the mask was in the way. I - I didn't realize. I apologize."

Storms' breathing is ragged and harsh. How long had the mask been off? How long had he been unprotected? How long had he put this ship and her crew in danger?

Right as he's about ready to speak, the Captain and Zeph open the door. The Captain steps into the room before picking up his boot and looking at the bottom, disgusted.

"Captain! I'm terribly sorry, sir. I'll -" The doctor grabs a short and simple wand from a shelf and points it at the floor and the boot. The sick is vaporized in a sizzling flash.

"Sorry, sir. I usually keep my infirmary spotless. This is a terrible breach of -" The Captain cuts his doctor off with a wordless gesture. "I know you keep a clean surgery, doctor. Think nothing of it. How's our patient?"

The doctor smiles slightly at the Captain's forgiveness and spins excitedly to grab something off the workbench. "I noticed that he had deeper and more profuse bleeding than any of the others. That, combined with the reaction to begin sutured, indicated a foreign body. Under surgical examination, I was able to find these." He holds up a lidded jar filled with what look like three wriggling blue-green maggots the size of small sausages. "They must've been implanted somehow during the fight. Though I don't see how they would have been missed. Look at the size of them!" The doctor looks altogether too giddy as he holds the jar up to his eyes for a closer look. "My guess would be that they were in a spore or larval state when they were applied. Then, once introduced to a host, they grew with tremendous speed!"

The Captain looks warily at the jar. "And you got all of them? You're sure?"

The doctor looks slightly offended. "Of course I'm sure! . . . sir," he adds meekly, remembering to whom he's speaking. "I did a thorough exploration of the cavity and all adjacent systems. Then, I administered the most powerful antiparasitics, antifungals, and antibiotics I had just to be sure. Covered all the bases."

This seems to satisfy the Captain, and he nods with a gruff grumble. "Thank you, doctor. If you wouldn't mind, may we have the room?" The doctor seems slightly taken aback, but nods obediently before beginning to shuffle out. "Leave the jar." the Captain orders. al-Aruni sheepishly places the jar on the workbench before closing the door behind him.

The Captain looks to Zeph and Storms seriously, letting the silence grow in the room like a droning swarm.

[Pent]

Zeph twitches slightly, keeping his mouth shut. Is this one of those situations where he speaks only when spoken to? He's pretty sure it is. But there are so many questions!

[AlphaLuke]

The Captain seems to notice that Zeph is practically bursting and rubs and the bridge of his nose like he's getting a headache. "I think it'll be best if we start with your questions. That way, you won't keep thinking of new ones before I've answered the old. You two have proven yourselves enough to get some straight answers. I won't lie to you, but you need to accept that there are some things the crew knows, some things my officers know, and some things only I know. You two are capable enough and gods know I'm shorthanded enough. You two'll make good enough officers for now. Mr. Leornian, I hereby give you a field promotion to Navigator. You'll report to Mr. Archelos. Mr. Storms, you're going to be my new Assistant Gunnery Sergeant. You'll report to Lictor Mournholdt. Now, what do you want to know?"

[Pent]

Zeph inhales.

[Pent]

He starts counting on his fingers.

(1) What in the name of Saranrae's Spheres were those gastropods?!
(2) What is your experience with the slugs?
(3) Were you expecting an attack of this kind?
(4) Do you have special insight into our attackers?
(5) What is the full story of the dragon rider? In all the commotion I've forgotten his name.

Next hand.
(6) What were you going to say about the crew of the Apparition before the attack?
(7) Thank you for the promotion, you won't be disappointed.
(8) That wasn't a question. Did the dragon rider - Skoll, his name was Skoll - was Skoll acting alone when he left the Apparition?
(9) Why are these cultists so rallied against you? What threat do you face to them?

Zeph pauses before deciding with a nod to himself that his these questions will need answers before he has any follow ups.

[AlphaLuke]

The Captain smiles and his luminous eye flare in amusement. He holds up his fists and begins to raise fingers as he answers each question slowly and methodically.

"(1) Those wriggling little puss sacks on the workbench aren't, in the strictest sense, gastropods. They're the larvae of something much closer to a cephalopod, but not quite.
(2) Like I said, not slugs. But, in my experience, they can be uncomfortable right up to the point where they're deadly. Then, when they're full grown, they're a whole new layer of terrible.
(3) I'm always expecting an attack. I was caught off guard by this one. Perhaps I was surprised by the coherence and planning involved. Typically, these folk have far less sense than a bag of moldy peaches.
(4) I do. They were, at one time, men. Seen it only a couple times before. Through mad fervor, rampant experimentation, or simple bad luck, they were befouled. Their minds went first, then their bodies. Men like that get that way through contact with one of the Outer Gods or a Great Old One or one of their agents. Mostly rage, madness, and adrenaline by the time they're done with 'em.
(5) The full story of the dragon rider, Sköll as you correctly remembered, is too long a tale for this conversation. Suffice to say, he was my first officer before Mrs. Waycrest ascended to the role. He was my friend. And he betrayed everything we believe in. When he left, we all felt it powerful hard. None more than his former paramour, Kalinda.
(6)"

The Captain hesitates on this finger and says, "Let's move this to the end, shall we?"

(7) You don't need to thank me. Good work invites more work aboard the Apparition in Time.
(8) No, it wasn't. Yes. He left alone. It was bad enough that he left. Don't expect we'd know what to do if he'd taken anyone with him.
(9) These cultists. Sköll and the lot that attacked us. They're part of the bigger picture."

The Captain puts down his fingers. "I don't suppose either of you know much about the Outer Gods or the Great Old Ones, do you? How about the Dominion of the Black? The Black Truth? Ringing any bells? Surely you've heard of the Aucturn Enigma? Well, all of these things are connected with what I . . . what we do."

He pauses, starting both men in the eyes with his own blazing orbs of light. "What I'm about to tell you is a secret, known only to a choice few. All my officers know. And we have a few friends on the ground, but the majority of the crew doesn't. It should stay that way." He continues. "The Apparition in Time is a vessel in the service of the Order of Oblivion's Eye. Some may mistake us for the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye, but in truth we are far older and far more important to the survival of Golarion. We sail the world looking to thwart the efforts of the Night Heralds. To that end, we are gathered by . . . well, by the Oracle. Each one of us fits into her vision of the future. The future that will save our world from the predation of the things that slither in the Void."

Storms' and Zeph's minds reel as they process.

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