Sara spent the st few minutes of the militia's preparations with Hurlish and Evie at her side, crouched over the mad mage's body. Jungle flies had already begun to swarm, a thick buzzing coat lining the bloody gash that ran through the front of his skull. The charred flesh of forking lightning that burned across his face was strangely appropriate, considering the rest of the decorations marring his body.

  "I dunno," Hurlish said, turning over one of his arms. It was covered in ashen tallymarks, just as the rest of his skin. "It's weird, for sure, but you're making some awfully big jumps here."

  "Sure, but I can't shake the gut feeling," Sara said, rubbing at the lines. Even though they looked dotted on by simple powders, they didn't smear. "Ten, ten, ten. It's all over him. Groups of ten covering him from head to toe. And he had such a specific interest in Amarat's Champion."

  "Could it not be the simple fascination most people hold towards meeting a Champion, Master?" Evie picked at the tallies with a dagger, dark blood oozing while she experimented to see how deep the dye penetrated the skin. "Many are fascinated by you. Be it your appearance, knowledge, power, or potential, those that seek to take advantage of what you represent are plentiful."

  "Also true, but I'll counter by reminding you that coincidences are hard to come by for me these days. I mean, what're the odds that the first vilge I try to scope out not only has exactly the kind of bandit problem I was hoping for, but an experienced army captain for me to recruit? And then the bandits have a mage that's got a freaky obsession with me. Hell, the guy even said our meeting was 'providence'."

  "You yourself impressed upon us the sheer scale of Divines and their reach, Master. Is it not presumptuous to assume She guides your every step?"

  "If this really is dealing with our mystery god number ten, I can't imagine anything that'd be more pressing for her to involve herself in. My crusade against svery is what matters most to me, but I doubt it's Amarat's priority, considering it's been happening for millennia. I'd bet good money that I was brought here to do something about ol' dark and spooky."

  Hurlish gave her a look. "Dark and spooky? Really?"

  Sara raised her hands, palm-up. "It's what he looked like. Throne like all the others, but the god themselves was shrouded in shadow with big glowing red eyes. He was screaming 'vilin' harder than the actual skeleton wearing a big gold crown."

  "Larianos wore a literal golden crown?" Evie asked disbelievingly.

  "Yeah. Though they all seemed to be dressed up for me in particur, since some had getups from Earth, so keep that in mind. I imagine a god could make themselves look like whatever they want. But it sure says something about Larianos if his chosen getup was Warcraft raid boss cospy." Sara watched her girlfriends blink without comprehension. "Uh. Like the bad guy in a cheap, shlocky py."

  "Huh." Hurlish rolled the mage's body over, inspecting his back. It was teeming with burrowing insects already, drawn to the surface by trickling blood entering the soil. "Guess that god really didn't want you to choose him, if he went for the maximum evil getup."

  It was Sara's turn to stare bnkly, mental gears grinding. "Oh. You know, I never really considered that. If all of the gods were really trying to attract me to their side, why was everyone but Amarat doing such a shit job of it? Most were boring and generic, a few looked outright evil, and one even fucked up hard enough to look like a cop. Their speeches sucked, too. Amarat seemed like the only reasonable choice by a long shot. You'd think gods would be better at maniputing people."

  "They're masters at it, every st one," Evie stated confidently. "They mold mortal minds like putty, treat their lives and ambitions as pythings at best, disposable tools at worst. As a mere mortal standing between ten of them, I suspect you were the only being in the room who did not know exactly how events would proceed. But I agree, their ineptitude at recruiting your service is curious. Why did all present see fit to cede your loyalty to Amarat?"

  "Hell if I know. And considering the topic, that might be literal." Sara shoved the corpse back over, hiding the revolting flesh-devouring insects. "I think this one's above our paygrade, girls. Evie, can you dictate a letter for me? I want to send it to Garen."

  "Of course, Master."

  Sara stood over the body with hands on her hips, doing her best to describe what she had seen and heard of the mage in as clinical a fashion as possible. She tried to recall the exact wording of his sentences, noted the nature and appearance of his magic, and carefully worded her reying of the tally marks and their pattern across his skin. She and Evie both took a go at actually drawing the mage, but Hurlish's ughter at their attempts dissuaded them from including the not-quite-stick-figures in the final letter. Considering the magical potential of glyphs in this world, she was half tempted to ask the militia members if any of their number had artistic talent, but secrecy prevailed. Garen would have to settle for words alone.

  When they were finished, Evie tucked the notebook away with a thoughtful expression. "Is it wise to trust Garen with such intimate knowledge, Master? To discern the nature of your quest is to ascertain the designs of the gods themselves. A treasure beyond measure."

  "He's one of the only people in the world that knows about the tenth god, at least as far as we're aware. Which, y'know, was my bad. Whoops. But he's also the only powerful mage I've personally met, and even further, he doesn't seem like that bad a guy. I'm definitely not going to ferret out a hidden god on my own, so I figure it's worth it."

  "As you say," Evie agreed, pcid as always. She tucked the notebook away into their bag of holding, giving Hurlish's hip a firm rap. "Keep that close, remember. Far too much in there to fall into a pickpocket's hands."

  "Can it, kitty. You might've been born in the big city, but I've spent more time in the streets than you have at fancy parties."

  "Oh, really?" Evie's tail wiggled tauntingly as they stood to rejoin the militia. "How do you think I got to the balls, Hurlish? Teleportation? Flight?"

  The orc rolled her eyes. "Riding in a carriage with a herd of guards doesn't count. I actually know how to keep a hand on my pursestrings."

  "You do have me beat there, I must admit. Before coming under Master's ownership, I never had the opportunity to carry enough money that I would have been bothered by its loss. The coin would have been too heavy to lift, you see."

  Sara chuckled. Hurlish narrowed her eyes, pinching Evie's thin bicep between her fingers.

  "That's 'cause they didn't feed you right. Maybe if you had some meat on your bones, you could have done it."

  "Even you aren't capable of lifting a caravan, Hurlish."

  The orc shook her head, sniffing disdainfully.

  After a few moments of silent walking passed, signaling the end of the bout, Sara told Hurlish, "That round goes to Evie, I'm afraid to say."

  "Nah, I didn't give up," the orc argued. "Just got bored of it."

  Evie's tail flicked out briefly to caress Hurlish's lower back, a subconscious gesture the catgirl did nothing to arrest. "Well now, Hurlish, that's almost sad to hear. If you're truly growing bored of my company, I suppose there won't be much need for you to suffer my nightly distractions any longer."

  Hurlish's eyes widened. "Woah there. Let's not get hasty, alright?"

  Evie primly hid her snicker behind a hand while Sara openly ughed. Sara was always fighting off some lingering resentment about Amarat's control of her new life, concerned about what it meant for notions of free will and the like when one was guided by a precognisant being, but if the goddess kept leading her to people like these? Matters of philosophy could be glossed over.

  Watching the militia set off down the road, Sara posed the question, "So do you guys think Nora will still be there by the time we get back with the stuff she wanted?"

  "No way in hell. That girl wasn't just chomping at the bit, she was gnawing."

  "I agree," Evie said. "Captain Nora has spent her life preparing for the eventual procurement of a ship. To have finally succeeded, then immediately find herself marooned in harbor, must smart something fierce."

  "That's about what I figured," Sara agreed. "How many ships do you think she'll bring back? One? Two?"

  "I can hardly imagine her bringing back two. Towing two ships at once seems an impossibility to me."

  "I dunno about that," Hurlish said. "She could put a few of her crew on each one, have them sail 'em back. I'm betting two."

  "I'm with Hurlish," Sara decred. "My bet's on two ships for us to fix up when she gets back."

  "We'll have to see, won't we? And what exactly are we betting, again? Coin? Favors?"

  Hurlish shrugged. "Eh, who knows? She probably won't be back for a couple weeks, so we got time to think up somethin' fun."

  "I suppose you're right. I wonder what's she's doing right now?"

  -----------------------------

  Nora

  -----------------------------

  The setting sun had begun inking the waves in deeper hues, sinking the crystalline Tulian coast into navy shades more becoming of deep ocean bounds. While Nora never intended to risk the trenchlines in such a timid vehicle, the fgship she would assemble according to Sara's designs would be more than capable of fording storm waves. Entanglement with surface dwelling beasts was still an inherent risk, but she didn't think there had been any ship like it built by mortal hands. To challenge the beasts was folly, it had always been held. Escape was the only avenue that offered survival, and so all far- sailing vessels had been magecraft, built to outrun and outmaneuver.

  Sara's world differed in philosophy, clearly. Iron crossbeams would support old oak timbers in the hull of Nora's fgship, decking shielded by thick boards bent by boiling steam. She could barely fathom what warfare such a vessel was meant to endure, shielded as it was.Certainly not of the sort that Nora was presently engaged in. The Respite Seeker had given her an admirable chase, correctly guessing the intent foretold by Nora's fgless mast, though their heavily den ship failed to avoid the Crossed Glory, prescient maneuvers not enough to escape Nora's grasp. She would have to speak with the captain, if he still lived, or loot his cabin, if he didn't. The man was clearly a student of history.

  Nora swung her wooden leg up onto the gangpnk, stepping into the shadow of her boarding sailors as they charged into the fray. With the ships shed together as firmly as they were, there was little risk of crew tumbling from the narrow walkway. She hummed a shanty as she listened to the tapping of steel against steel, cries bouncing from wood water to fill her ears.Nora used the arc of a wave to hop off the gangpnk, tapping her boot heel on the opposing vessel's gunwale as she passed over it. Landing amid the sweating backs of freedmen trading blows with merchant marines, she slipped to the side, sliding with the shade of clouds to escape the press.

  Once clear, she could see that the deck was a mess and getting messier, more and more of the Respite Seeker's crew joining the fray. Soon they would realize that Nora's ship choosing to retract their oars prematurely was not a tactical error, but rather the expnation for her anomalously outsized marine detachment, and that their defense was hopeless. The shock troops engaging now were freshly rested, but should the need develop, there was a hundred more troops ready to repce them, gathering in neat lines on the deck above abandoned rowing benches.

  Nora stepped over tangled ropes and crunched across shattered splinters, humming her shanty as she danced through the chaos of men and women gone mad. Brutal gres and snted stares swept past her when she met them with absent half-smiles, fae madness sparkling beneath the shifting colors of her eyes. A few of the weathered hands took note of her, she guessed, because they paled and moved quickly past with averted eyes, avoiding what could only be hallucination or the opening act of siren song.

  The captain's wheel was empty, the helm as a whole abandoned.

  Nora, no matter what happens, when you're on the back foot, you're on the back foot at the helm

  Nora frowned. He was not among his fighting men, and he wasn't at the helm. She tipped a nod to a cabin boy as she passed him by, the child's greening nausea showing what he thought of the battle he'd excitedly snuck out to observe. The captain's cabin was directly ahead, door locked tight.

  Nora hooked a left to the far side of the ship from hers, nails biting wood as she found sound footing on sheer salt-slicked boards. The wind whipped at her coat, which she shook free as a gift to the frothing waves below.

  The stained gss windows appeared in short order, metal wiring framing religious scenes set in dyed gss. Within, discolored by greens and blues, sat a man behind a desk, thick wrists guiding a quill across parchment. Nora's frown deepened as she pulled her head back, licking salty lips as she reached for the tidal bore at her core.

  Ability Activated: Convenient Crash

  She smmed her forehead into the gss just as two waves coincided beneath her feet, coincidence bolstering her smash into the gss-cracking variety. Profanities abounded from foreign lips as she was washed into the cabin with the bubbling seawater rushing over lush rugs.

  Nora gathered her foot beneath her and stood, soaked cloth uniform weighing heavily on her body. The captain and an officer beside him had drawn rapiers, razor tips pointing at her heart.

  "Permission to come aboard, Captain Desolio?" Nora greeted, stepping into his bde. It slipped into the gaps between her ribs and out through the muscles of her back, prompting a gasp from the first mate that was cut off by a crossbolt bolt filling his mouth via the soft space behind the chin. Nora dropped the emptied implement in favor of wrapping Captain Desolio's swordhand in a firm handshake, giving it a pump that stirred the organs of her torso against his bde.

  "A fine fight you're showing me, Cap'n," she coughed, stepping back with her hand still firmly gripping his rapier. His trembling grip broke easily. Nora tossed the sword, then took a swig of a hipfsk holding bitter potions. "Of course, there weren't much for you to do, but what you could do, you did right."

  Nora scanned the cabin, drinking the suite of his power in. "Your reaction to our approach surprised me, Captain Desolio. To take drastic evasive measures when faced with such antiquated evidence of piracy is a move most would call paranoid, yet proved commendable."

  With the wound in her gut sealing and the corpse of his first mate cooling, Captain Desolio took a shuddering breath. He popped his sleeves free of debris and brushed his thinning hair with a hand, mastering himself.

  "If you're in my cabin," he gnced at her shoulder epaulettes, "Captain," his eyes widened as he recognized her rank, "Then I imagine the battle has already concluded. Have you come to levy demands?"

  "Aye, I have, but the battle's not over." Nora stepped up to his bookshelf, back to Desolio. "Your men still fight, and we've not yet breached the lower deck . All the same, the conclusion's reached." She tapped the spine of one red tome in particur, ignoring the nce of hot white as Desolio ran her through his recovered rapier. " Bansanio's Histories of Coastal Banditry is where you learned of the habit of pirates failing to fly colors of loyalty, I assume?"

  Desolio stumbled back, dropping the rapier that now hung from Nora's back, emerging amidst her right breast. "I'll have you know," she told him, pausing to take another swig from her fsk while she leisurely turned about, "That my patron regurly beds a woman who is dating an estranged jungle priestess who recently supplied my sailors with a decade's worth of accumuted alchemaic products. Should you force me to drain this fsk of healing draughts, I have two more besides."

  The re-knitting of her flesh slowly pushed the bde from her back as she spoke. It dropped to the deck with a rattle.

  'I-I-I see," Desolio stuttered. He popped his sleeves and brushed his hand once more, sweat beginning to stain the underarms of his fine silk clothing. "Then. Well. As you said, I, ah, suppose? Your demands?"

  Nora shoved a hand into her brassiere, taking out a rolled piece of paper that was now stained with equal parts blood and seawater. After knocking off the rgest drops by tapping its end on Desolio's desk, she unraveled it and began to read in a clear, loud voice.

  "Individuals meeting the following criteria will be immediately freed from legal or financial bonds effective immediately and offered clemency among my crew, subject to admission standards. Persons affected include sves, indentured servants, unpaid bor, pressganged sailors, sailors whose weekly wage is below one silver..."