Limitless Seas, Chapter 4.

Chapter 4. 

Larson was burdened with a second set of chains on his body by the time the crew were finished securing him. After they left, he tested his strength against the bonds, only to find they weren’t budging in the least. It would be some time before he was able to work them loose like he had with the first set, time he didn’t believe he had after Karth's threats. A strange bar in the corner of his vision appeared and began blinking, just above where his health had been displayed earlier. Larson tried to focus on it, finding the process felt natural.

Larson, Level 0. 

Race: Water Naga

Class: N/A, reach Level 1 to unlock a class. 

Experience: 6%. 

So, this was a way for him to track his experience. Sadly, it looked like he had discovered another negative of his race, he was starting at level zero instead of one. His attempt at escaping and the fight with Maggot must have somehow been enough of a challenge for the system to grant him 6% experience. It was a start, and Larson didn’t intend to stay at level zero for long. 

“Should have woke me first, you were dumb to trust the Maggot,” the orc behind him whispered. 

“It’s not like I trusted him, more like I needed help in freeing the others,” Larson shot back a bit too harshly, frustrated over his current circumstances.

“Lay low and bide your time. Our freedom will come, and the ship will be ours. When that time happens, you will owe me for stealing the life of Maggot. He had wronged me greatly and I had planned to make his end a long a painful one. Now, you have taken that vengeance from me and will have to repay the debt,” the orc said. Larson didn’t quite know how to reply to that. He could tell there was some bad history between the two but didn’t realize it had been to that extreme. Larson let the threat rest; he was in no mood to argue with the surly orc. 

“Oy, yer name’s Larson, isn’t it?” The skinny man beside the orc asked. 

“Aye, it is, are you willing to part with yours?” Larson asked, shocked the man had spoken. In the brief time he had been a prisoner, Larson had only heard the man whisper short conversations with the orc. In fact, most of the other prisoners only spoke to one or two others, rarely trusting anyone save for those physically closest to them. 

“Tarley, my name’s Tarley. Before I was swept up by this lot, other sailors knew me as Jolly Jim Tarley. Now I just go by Tarley, not much in this life to be jolly about anymore,” the man replied. 

“Tell me Larson, what were your plans if we had taken the ship?” Tarley asked. It was a good question, and Larson hadn’t given it much thought past the desire to free himself and take the ship. Once he had the ship, then what? Command of a vessel was in his blood, that much he remembered from his old life, but were these shabby prisoners willing to follow his lead or would they back someone else? 

“I would sign on any crew that wished to stay and head toward the nearest friendly port. This isn’t the best ship to ply the seas, but I doubt it’s the worst. There should be some cargo or passengers that need to move from one place to the other and perhaps I can have a go at being a merchant. I’ve been in command of a ship before, both in peace and in war, so I should be able to eke out a living moving cargo with this old tub,” Larson replied. He was short on details at the moment, but should they take the ship, he intended to be the one in command. 

“Might be some others that want the captain’s title as well, Larson, and that could lead to problems. Of course, our problem right now is that we’re all prisoners. Once free, men can get a bit squirrely after being held for a long time. Best to watch your back,” Tarly warned. 

“You trying for the captain’s slot as well, Tarley? Is it you that I have to watch out for?” Larson growled, he was in a bad mood and didn’t like hearing what the man was telling him, even it was true.  

“No, perhaps back in the day I’d have a play for it, but I’m too old and run down. Same with most of the others, but there’s always a worm in the apple when power’s involved. Treat the crew fairly and I’ll throw my support behind you. From what I know of the rest of this riff raff, there aren’t many that know a ship’s bow from the boatswain. Most of them were drunks that were crimped from the taverns. The few that they scooped from the sea after a fight, aren’t good for much more than pulling at an oar,” Tarley replied. 

“What makes you think I’d do better at leading the ship than one of the others? After all, I was scooped from the sea as well. For all you know, I’m a lubber myself and just talk a good game,” Larson replied. It was late, but he didn’t need any sleep and talking helped to keep his mind occupied. 

“I can tell, an old sailor knows his own kind, he does. Gets us free and I’ll do what I can to bring the others around. Most of them will jump ship at the first port we find, a few might even have families to go back to. The others? Just remember that when their ships were taken, they were the ones who willingly surrendered to the pirates rather than risk death fighting for their ship,” Tarley advised. 

“What about your friend there, is he going to be a problem?” Larson asked, trying to gesture toward the orc, but his hands were held fast by the new restraints. 

“He’ll come along, any beef between the two of you over Maggot will have to be resolved, but that’s not something I want to be involved in. While we’re not the best of friends, I can tell you that he’s an orc of his word, and has no designs on being a ship’s captain,” Tarley said before leaning over his oar to sleep. There was no comfortable position to sleep with the restrictive chains and Larson had seen most of the crew simply fold their arms over the oar and rest their head that way. Thankfully, it wasn’t something he had to worry about. 

Morning came and the usual breakfast followed. Larson was a bit shocked that Karth hadn’t brought the flenser along for a little entertainment. The fact he hadn’t been punished with a lashing was a bit disconcerting, it meant that Karth had bigger plans for him. They kept their steady pace, tracking back and forth over the route as the pirates looked for prey. 

“Put your backs into it boys, we got us a sail on the horizon. Keep in time you dogs!” Karth shouted out as he threw open the hatch and stomped his way into their compartment. Sounds of an excited crew preparing for battle drifted down through the open hatch. Karth was calling out a modest pace, they were making headway, but not fast enough to wear down the rowers. 

“Keep your weapons out of sight, no need to tip them off too early. Let them think we’re another merchant pulling up so that we can trade information,” the captains voice called. The poorly constructed ship left lots of gaps in the planking that allowed the shouted commands to be heard in the lower decks. Larson didn’t think that whoever was onboard the other ship would be fooled into believing the Gull Dropping was a friendly vessel. Time passed and their pace was increased slightly. From the bits and pieces of conversation that drifted down from the crew’s conversations above, he could tell they were gaining on their prey. 

“Ease off starboard, pull hard port-side!” Karth shouted as commands were relayed from above decks. Larson was on the port side and pulled hard enough to keep Karth’s eyes off him, but not as hard as he could. If the Gull Dropping took a prize this day, his life wouldn’t last too long if there were any prisoners. The ship came about, and Larson wished he could see what was happening. Sadly, the small opening for his oar only gave a view of the sea below. 

“Ware the other vessel, they’ve got siege gear, looks like a small ballista!” The shout went up. Larson didn’t think the Gull Dropping sported any long-range firepower like that, their only strategy was to close quickly with their prey and board. 

“Now, pull like your lives depend on it, because they do!” Karth shouted and the ship began to gain speed. Walking up and down the compartment, Karth got out his longer whip, lashing out at any who he thought weren’t working hard enough. Larson pulled only as much as he was forced to, not wanting to contribute to his own demise if the pirates were successful. Still, their efforts must have been enough, and Larson heard the crew begin to shout insults and threats across whatever short distance now separated the vessels. Karth called out several course corrections, using the pull of the oars to supplement their rudder as the other ship began evasive maneuvers. 

Wood splintered and flew among the rowers, causing Larson to look up at just the wrong time. A two-inch-long splinter hit him in the cheek, piercing the inside of his mouth and taking a chunk out of his tongue. The pain hit a second later and blood began to fill his mouth. Larson panicked as he choked on the blood dripping down his throat, trying in vain to grasp the splinter that had wounded him. Taking a calming breath and tilting his head down as far as his bonds would allow, he was able to let the blood drain out of his mouth and bring his head to an angle that allowed his restrained hands to grasp the offending splinter. With a sharp tug, the splinter was out, but the pain hardly diminished. Larson was forced to spend time fishing for the few remaining slivers of wood that stuck into the wound. Once they were out, his body’s rapid healing could start on the injury. 

Catching his breath as the blood flow slowed, he looked toward the aisle and could see a spear-like weapon quivering in the deck. The knowledge that the system had implanted in his mind told him this was a ballista bolt. An image formed of the siege engine that hurled it, a simple, yet deadly device. If the merchants they were attacking had this kind of firepower, Captain Ikar’re might be in over his head. Larson still had no idea how many crew the Gull Dropping carried, but based on the size of the ship, it might not be an overwhelming force for the merchants. 

Moving his gaze toward the bow of the ship, he spotted the hole that the ballista had punched out of the ships. It was near the top of their compartment, just below the upper deck, the plank had shattered on impact and was the source of the splinters that sprayed along the rowers on the port side. Karth was stunned but unhurt from the ordeal and wasted no time cracking his whip at them to get back to pulling on their oars. Larson gripped his oar and pulled slowly, the distracted orc wasn’t looking too close at their efforts and was focused on the pair of prisoners who had been seated at the front bench on the starboard side, both had taken the brunt of the splintered plank and were not moving, no matter how many lashes Karth snapped out. The growing pool of blood around them told Larson they were gone. 

“Hey, Larson, can you reach that with your tail?” Tarley called from the bench behind them. Looking down, he could see Tarley indicating the long, bloody splinter that he had pulled from his face. It was situated just under his bench and if he tried, he could barely reach it with the tip of his tail. The drying blood allowed helped it to stick to the end of his tail. Straining, Larson pushed his tail under the bench as far as it could go. He made it just past the bench, not nearly far enough for Tarley to reach with his manacled hands. 

“That’s as far as I can go,” Larson said, turning his head to look at Tarley. The skinny man just winked and bent down toward the deck below. With little struggle, Tarley pushed his skinny arm through the manacle holding his wrists chained to the oar. 

“Lost me a bit of weight during my stay aboard the Gull Dropping. These manacles might too small to slip off of my wrists, but my arms can push through just past the elbow if I try,” Tarley whispered. With his arm pushed through, the skinny old sailor was able to pinch the splinter with the tips of his fingers. Larson held his breath, waiting for the man to lose his tenuous grip. Tarley held on, and went to work on his own manacles, using the sharp splinter like Maggot had claimed he was going to do. 

The crack of another ballista bolt hitting the ship was heard, but there was no damage to their compartment this time. Karth didn’t notice Larson and Tarley’s actions, instead he spent time taking out his frustrations on the dead sailors of the front row. Shouts from above ordered the ship to pull hard to starboard. Larson and the remaining prisoners on the port side kept their pace while those on the starboard side, backed oars. They brought the ship about as quickly as the ungainly vessel could manage. Karth ordered them all to ship their oars, pulling them in before they snapped against the side of the other vessel. The ship began to shudder as it scraped against the other vessel, the shouts on the top deck intensified and Larson began to hear the clash of weapons, and once, a flash of light and a blast of heat was felt through the hatch opening. 

Karth drew his shortsword, clipping his whip to the belt. For the first time, the orc looked unsure of himself. Larson could tell that Karth wanted in on the action on the top deck but must have been ordered to stay down here after the attempted escape. A loud clatter sounded behind him as Tarley finished unlocking his restraints. Karth turned toward the sound. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect them to be that loud,” Tarley said as he got to work on the orc’s restraints. 

“I see you little man, no need to keep you weaklings alive now, we’ll have plenty of new prisoners to row the old Gull Dropping as soon as we take care of the merchant’s guards. You’ve met my lash, let me introduce you to my blade,” Karth threatened as he stomped toward the frantic Tarley. The man fumbled his lock picking and dropped the shard of wood. 

Tarley would stand no chance fighting unarmed against the powerful Karth. Larson had to try and even the odds. As Karth neared his row, Larson struck. The contraction of the muscles inside his throat where the venom was housed felt strange and almost painful as they forced his fangs forward and shot venom onto Karth. Larson had been aiming for his face, but the stream of venom had dropped over the short distance to the orc and splattered over the leather breastplate he wore. 

“You’re next after him, naga. Spitting on me only makes me want to make your end a bit more painful,” Karth threatened. The leather on his chest began to smoke as the venom broke down the organic matter in the vest. Karth tried to brush off the smoking liquid, only to begin grunting in pain as the venom ate into his unprotected fingers. Larson didn’t know what to expect with his attack and watched in fascination as the fingers on the orc’s hand turned black as the flesh rotted away. The venom spread from the fingers that had initially come into contact, all the way up to the wrist. Karth dropped his sword and began to fumble one handed with the clasps holding his breastplate in place. The venom had eaten thought the leather and now the flesh on his chest had also began to rot away. Karth dropped to the ground and began to groan as he succumbed to Larson’s attack. 

“Tarley, get his keys,” Larson ordered. Tarley and the other prisoners were looking at Larson with shock, trying to come to grips with what he had just done to their captor. Tarley crept toward Karth, stopping to scoop up his fallen shortsword before approaching the groaning overseer. Tarley spit on the orc and drove the sword into his chest with all the wiry strength he possessed. 

“The key Tarley, hurry before someone comes down here,” Larson urged. Tarley grabbed the key ring off Karth’s belt and went first to his orc companion, unlocking him before going to work on Larson’s bonds. 

“Free, but to remain so, we will need to fight,” the orc said as he pulled the sword from Karth’s chest with a sickening slurping noise. Larson’s chains clattered to the floor as Tarley went to work on the next row of prisoners. 

“Hold up, Tarley,” Larson ordered, causing the man to pause in his work. “Listen up everyone, we can free you, but only if you agree to fight. Anyone who doesn’t wish to fight can remain down here chained up like dogs. If the pirates win, they might let you live since you didn’t participate. Make your decision when Tarley gets to you, fight or stay, your choice, but anyone who refuses to take up arms against our captors deserves the chains that bind them,” Larson said. Tarley went back to work as Larson moved over to the ballista bolt. 

“This might work, we need every weapon we can get our hands on,” Larson said as he pulled the bolt from the deck. The tip was warped from the impact, but overall, the weapon would suffice. 

You have acquired your first weapon. The ballista bolt is an improvised spear which belongs to the polearms weapon category. Proficiency in one weapon class will be granted to you. Be advised that when you reach Level 1 and choose a class, certain weapon types may be restricted. Do you wish to acquire weapons proficiency in Polearms? Y/N? 

Somehow, the weapon type felt right to Larson and he hit yes. His mind flooded with knowledge as he learned the basic stances, attacks, and defenses that were effective with the weapon. When the system was done with him, Larson felt he could handle himself in battle with a small degree of competence, but he also had a long way to go in order to master this type of weapon. The makeshift nature of the ballista bolt wasn’t helping any, but he figured that he could get the somewhat pointy end into the squishy parts of a foe. 

“Any of you know how to use a whip? The orc asked, pulling the hated weapon from Tarth’s body after also finding a small dagger he had hidden in his boot. Tarley motioned for the dagger, hooking the sheath inside his waistband. 

“I’m no expert, but I can use a whip. Used to work on a caravan and needed to snap the whip a time or two when the Mukok were being stubborn. If all else fails, the handle will make a good club, it looks like old Karth used a metal shaft for this thing,” one of the sailors said, taking the dreaded weapon from the orc. 

“What’s your name?” Larson asked the man as he gave the whip a couple of test cracks. True to his claim, the man seemed to at least get the lash going in the direction he wanted. 

“Name’s Winston, sir. Ready to take it to these pirates whenever you give the word,” the man replied. 

To their credit, nearly all the prisoners offered to fight, the only three that wanted to remain behind had been wounded by the shrapnel from the ballista bolt. Larson left them locked to their stations as he counted up who he had left. Not every oar had two rowers, the lack of prisoners had been one of the things keeping Larson alive after his first attempted escape. Not counting the pair that had been killed by the ballista and the three that refused to fight, Larson had thirty-seven prisoners willing to fight.