Limitless Seas, Chapter 7

Chapter 7. 

“Captain, there’s something that needs your attention,” Nogreb called out as he knocked on the cabin door. Larson stowed the charts and grabbed his weapons before heading out on deck to see what was going on. 

“Bosun, report,” Larson ordered. He noticed the deck looked much less cluttered than it had before. Most of the bodies had been heaved over the side and stacks of salvaged weapons and gear were placed near the quarterdeck. 

“Sir, we’re still getting things squared away and tallying up our supplies, but there is a problem with the ship you should see,” Nogreb said motioning below decks. Larson followed Nogreb down the hatch leading to where the oars waited for their rowers, the chains of his former imprisonment dangling ominously. The small hatch at the rear of the compartment led further down. Larson had to duck as he slid down the stairwell, it wasn’t designed for naga to easily traverse. The lower deck held some supplies as well as much of their water stores. While he had been a prisoner, Larson had never seen the crew go down this hatch, which didn’t surprise him since he could make out the shape of another access hatch near the bow. The crew wouldn’t have wanted to be in the stench filled compartment with the prisoners if they could help it. 

“It’s all the way aft sir, you can see where a ballista bolt must have hit us during the fight,” Nogreb said. A pair of crew were trying to wedge scraps of sailcloth and anything they could find to stem the water flowing into their ship. The ballista bolt had hit at an angle, pushing in one of the deck planks and allowing the growing flood. 

“Most of these boys aren’t sailors, sir. One of them saw the ballista bolt sticking out and gave it a pull. Too much damage had been done to that plank and it’s giving way. The leak isn’t the largest I’ve seen, but without proper pumps, there’s no way we can bail it out fast enough. We’re trying to patch it, but the force of the water is preventing us from making much headway. I’m not sure what else to do, sir,” Nogreb said, a note of alarm overriding the usually steady orc. 

“Let me take a look,” Larson replied. He could see where the plank had buckled, some wedges kept the fractured plank from being pushed in any further, but water was still pouring in through the existing gap. “With me, men, let’s see if we can push it back into place and then wedge it in,” Larson ordered. Pushing with all his might along with the two crewman, he made no headway, the force of the water was too much for even their combined strength to overcome. 

“how long do we have?” Larson asked. 

“No idea, but a few hours at best, Tarley can probably give you a better idea, but it’s obvious we won’t be making it to port before she floods. Perhaps we can stretch that out a bit longer if we have the lads start bailing out what they can,” Nogreb advised. 

“What about patching the thing from the outside?” Larson asked. 

“Sure, if we could get someone to cover the plank from the outside with some canvas, we might be able to slow the water enough to patch the leak. We don’t have the tools or materials to repair it completely, but we could keep the Gull Dropping from sinking until we make port. It’s a tall order though, sir, the seas are none to safe with all the predators about. I’ll try and find one of the boys who can swim and have him go over the side with a sheet of sailcloth, maybe they can get it over the leak before the sharks take them,” Nogreb said. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Larson replied. The crew knew he was a naga, but there were dozens of sub-types so they would have had no idea that he could breathe underwater. He headed back onto deck after telling Nogreb to stand by and be ready to patch the leak. 

“What’s the problem down below?” Tarley asked. Larson pulled him aside, not wanting the rest of the crew to panic. 

“A ballista bolt hit below the water line and caved in some hull planking. I’m going to try and plug it from the outside with sailcloth so that Nogreb and get a proper patch over it,” Larson said. 

“Hmm, you sure you want to go over the side, with the bloodshed from the battle and dumping all the bodies over the side, it’s got the locals all riled up,” Tarley said, pointing down to the sea. Larson watched as one of the dozen or so bodies floating along the surface was pulled under, onto to pop back up again with the legs missing. Sharks, and who knew what else, were having quite the buffet. 

“Nothing that can be done about it, I’m the best swimmer unless any of the crew can turn into a fish. I’ll take my spear along in case I need to dissuade anything from trying to add me to the menu,” Larson replied. 

“Aye, sir, it’s risky, at least let me get a line around you in case you get into trouble. It just wouldn’t do to have our captain drown before we even get under way,” Tarley said. 

“No need, Tarley, I can breathe as easy down there as I can up here,” Larson said. The old sailor looked shocked, but to his credit, got on with the task at hand. Tarley ordered a man to cut a large square of sail cloth for the captain to use. Leaving his shield behind, Larson took a good grip on both his spear in one hand and the cloth in the other. The knife he had stripped from the dead pirate was still belted securely to his waist, but it would be more of a last resort weapon when going up against a shark. Taking a deep breath out of instinct, a silly action, he thought, born from his old life, Larson jumped off the side of the ship. 

“Keep a line ready in case I need to get out in a hurry,” Larson ordered before diving under the waves. The waters felt like a warm embrace, felt like home, but this was a deadly home to the unobservant. A quick check around revealed that there wasn’t anything about to eat him, at least not quite yet. Keeping his head on a swivel, Larson swam along the hull, using it to shield some of his body and limiting the direction an attack could come from. The leak was on the port side, aft. He found it quickly, the water around the stove-in plank was bubbling as it filled his ship. 

New senses born of his link to the sea kicked in and Larson could feel a slight change in the water pressure around him, the flow pushing slightly against his back. Larson swerved around, both hands on his spear as six-foot shark charged at him, only breaking off its attack when Larson thrust his spear into the creature’s snout. Trailing blood, the shark swam off a ways, content to now circle him slowly, waiting for an opening.

“Why are you bothering me when there’s was much easier prey to be had?” Larson said to himself. He could see now that much larger sharks were the ones taking apart the bodies on the surface while the smaller ones, if you could call a six foot long shark small, were trying to gather up any scraps on the fringe, wary of becoming meals for their bigger kin. 

Keeping one eye on the circling predator, Larson maneuvered himself over to the leaking hull. He had released his grip on the sailcloth when the shark had attacked, wanting both hands on his spear. Thankfully, the cloth was floating nearby and was easy enough to snatch up. Spreading the patch of cloth out as much as he could in the water, he placed it over the caved in plank. The sturdy sailcloth was sucked into the leak, Larson had to keep both hands on it to keep it from being sucked all the way in. He could feel the crew on the other side going to work, the thump of the hammers transmitting through the hull as they tried to stop the leak. 

Peeking over his shoulder, the shark continued its circling, getting closer it seemed with each rotation. The thumping from inside the ship stopped and he could feel the pressure on the sailcloth decrease. Leaving it there in case it helped with the leak, Larson started his way back up to the surface. A flash of movement drew his attention, the shark that was circling him shot away as fast as it could. In fact, all the other sharks were doing the same thing. Once on the surface, Tarley and a few sailors were waiting with a rope ladder they had found. Larson wasted no time in getting back on deck. His last view from under the waves was of an impossibly large shadow approaching from the deep. 

“Tarley, get some men on the oars and get us moving, I don’t care where, just get us out of here. There’s something coming up that I’m pretty sure we don’t want to be anywhere close to when it makes its way to the surface,” Larson shouted. Tarley jumped to it, grabbing the tiller, and ordering the men on deck down to begin rowing. Larson watched as a trio of oars stuck out on either side and began to row in time. There were too few crew members and he could only hope that whatever was coming would be slow enough to not want to give chase. 

After a few strokes, the ship was barley making headway. Another pair of oars pushed out from each side of the ship and they began to creep slowly away. The distance from the floating bodies widened from twenty feet to fifty feet, still far too close. As the wreckage of the battle was about a hundred feet behind them, the water on the surface roiled. Great tentacles, as big around as a ship emerged from the sea. Larson could do nothing but stare in fear as the appendages began snatch up the bodies that were left. Whatever this monster was, it like the taste of humanoid flesh. He never saw the main body of the creature, only the tentacles, like an octopus from hell, seeking to snatch anything it could. 

“I don’t think it’s going to follow, we’re not worth the effort, I suppose,” Tarley said. The old sailor appeared calm, but Larson could see the white knuckled grip the man had on the tiller. He let them row for a good fifteen minutes before calling all his officers to the cabin for a debrief, passing instructions for their course to the man taking the tiller over for Tarley. 

“What was that thing?” Shada asked, her green complexion noticeably paler. 

“Ah, you land lubbers act like you’ve never seen a leviathan before, that one was a bit on the small side, sure, but they’re impressive beasties, aren’t they?” Tarley asked. Larson knew his words were only bravado, he had seen the fear in the old man’s eyes, the same fear his own likely showed when the monster had breached the surface. 

“Whatever it was, it’s not chasing us as far as I can tell, and I hope we don’t run into any more of them along the way,” Larson said. 

“Not likely to encounter another, sir,” Tarley started. “They’re territorial and each of the creatures maintains a large hunting ground they seldom leave unless it’s mating season,” 

“Please don’t tell me it’s leviathan mating season,” Nogreb said. 

“No, we got a few months yet before we need to worry about that,” Tarley confirmed to all their relief. 

“Enough about monsters, give me a rundown of where we stand with supplies,” Larson asked. Nogreb pulled a small list he had compiled, somehow finding some paper, ink, and a quill during his inventory. The system categorized everything for Larson, making the information easier to understand. 

Ship’s Status. 

Vessel: The Gull Dropping. 

Ship type: Merchantman.

Size: Small.

Maximum crew of 50 sailors and 5 officers. 

Hull: 74%. 

Ship’s Armaments: None. 

Cargo: None.

Supplies: Fresh water for 22 days and food for 5. 

Tools and repair materials: 13%. 

“What happened to our food and water supply?” Larson asked. 

“The flooding, sir, most of the food was being stored below decks and the saltwater ruined most of the flour and oats. All we’ve got it the salted meat and some of the fruits and vegetables that were hung up. Several of the water barrels were fouled and aren’t usable,” Nogreb replied. 

“Fouled? How did that happen, weren’t they sealed?” Larson asked. 

“Aye, but the tops weren’t exactly watertight. The two prisoners that were killed by the ballista bled all over the deck, and that leaked through to some of the cask’s sir,” Nogreb advised. 

“Very well, I have an ability to conjure up a gallon of water per day, which isn’t much, but it will help stretch our supply. As for the food, I haven’t any answers other than finding the nearest island so we can forage. Tarley, what’s the status on the crew?” Larson asked. Another batch of information filled his interface as Tarley gave his report.  

Ship’s Complement:

Crew: 13/50.

Officers: 4/5.

Prisoners: 5. 

Personal weapons: Poor. Your crew is equipped with castoff gear and makeshift weapons. While everyone is armed, the quality of the gear is poor.

Personal armor: None. 

Other equipment: None. 

Ship’s coffers: 3 silver, 11 copper. 

“Not the most impressive start, but at least we’re alive and have our own vessel. According to the crummy charts that Ikar’re had, the nearest port, Stratwall Harbor, is at least a week’s sail away. Given that our mainmast was destroyed and the limited crew on hand to row this tub, I doubt we could make it before our supplies run out. Our only chance is to make it to one of these smaller islands and search for food and fresh water,” Larson offered. 

“Aye, that’s likely our only option. Some of these islands can be pretty barren, or have hostile creatures on them. We’re not exactly equipped to fight off angry natives or monsters right now,” Tarley said pointing to the nearest islands indicated on the chart, the small land masses appearing as only dots of ink in relation to most of the ones that made up the Free Isles

“I don’t’ think we have much choice, it’s take a shot at reaching an island or starve to death trying to get to Stratwall Harbor,” Nogreb said. “Not only that, the patch we have on the hull isn’t going to hold for long. We’ll need to beach the ship so it can be repaired correctly,” 

Larson knew it was easy enough to get a ship to beach itself, the hard part was getting her back in the water afterward. He supposed he could beach the ship as the tide ran out and complete repairs before the tide came back in. With the limited number of crew, he was going to have a hard time even making it to the closest islands. If the chart was wrong, and all indications were that it wasn’t the most accurate every drawn up, they could miss the island and suffer a slow death. 

“We’ve no other option. Tarley, set a course for the nearest island and get the crew to start rowing. We can make the prisoners earn their keep, chain them to the oars. Let’s see how they like it when the roles are reversed,” Larson ordered. 

“Shada, how are the crew doing?” Larson asked, a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t led with that. The people under his command were important to him, but something was a bit off with this crew. It was like they all blended into a homogenized group. Each of them looked different, but most seemed to possess the same skill in their shipboard work, despite their diverse backgrounds. A few of the crew knew their way around the ship, but most were similarly incompetent. The only exceptions were the officers onboard. He felt that he should learn the names of his crew, but couldn’t recall what they were, save for the more memorable encounters with Maggot and Krixdon. The interface seemed to reinforce his observation and the concern over not knowing his individual crew members fled from his thoughts. 

Ship’s surgeon’s report. 

Crew: 

Level 0 sailors, 10. Most of your crew were crimped into service, meaning they were forcibly taken to serve on the crew. Their only sailing experience is in pulling an oar. At this level, a sailor cannot chart a course, raise a sail, or make more than the most rudimentary of repairs. Untrained, the sailors of this level are poor fighters and at a severe disadvantage in combat. 

Level 1 sailors, 3. A few of the former prisoners had a basic understanding of working on a ship. Some crewed fishing vessels or small merchantmen for at least a brief time. The level 1 sailors can perform simple tasks when ordered under the direction of an officer. 

Officers: 

Larson, Captain, level 1. 

Tarley, Level 2 First Mate/unknown second class. The first mate is an experienced sailor that had moved up the ranks until attaining officer status. In charge of the crew and day to day ship operations, the first mate defers to the captain for any major decisions. 

Nogreb, Level 1 Bosun/ unknown second class. The bosun or boatswain, is in charge of the ship's hull and the components attached to it. Working with the first mate, the bosun maintains the ship and organizes damage control parties when needed. 

Shada: Level 1 Ship’s Surgeon/ unknown second class. In charge of the health and welfare of the officers and crew, the ship’s surgeon uses various techniques to help heal wounds and prevent infections and disease. 

Average crew health: 84%. Your crew is physically exhausted and traumatized by recent events. 

Morale: 51% 

“We’re as healthy as we’re going to get until the crew gets some rest and a few decent meals in them. While morale is holding for the moment, I fear that once the euphoria of our freedom is passed, morale will decline sharply. Most of our crew aren’t sailors and don’t want to be here. The only thing holding us all together is your leadership and the promise of returning them home as soon as we make port,” Shada advised. 

Larson was a bit curious. The system was showing everyone’s skill and level in regard to their position on the ship's crew, but they also had other skills and classes that weren’t revealed. Shada herself had said she was a shaman but the only class visible to him was the ship’s surgeon. The way both Nogreb and Shada had handled a blade told of serious training at some point in their life. As he gained their trust, hopefully, they would open up and reveal more about who they are. As far as morale, he would be glad to cut loose all the ones who didn’t want to be here. That was, of course, assuming they made it into port before the ship sunk or they starved to death.