I’m beginning to think this ointment is cursed.
Things started off well enough. Since our new cannon fodder decided to get involved in a shore battle last night that was near enough one of our usual smuggling stops, I decided to take the chance to re-up supplies. We added a new guy, Milton, who seemed to get quite a hazing from Kozaar and friends.
During my supply run, I chewed on who and how Delilah’s possessive ex was able to track her and thus me. Nothing pisses me off more than being tracked. Especially by a landlubber. When I got back to the ship, I made everyone submit to a Truth Session. I can’t decide if I was relieved no one was a spy or disappointed I didn’t get to put my pointy leg through some jerk’s throat. Alas, I had to content myself with smashing Delilah’s guitar, which her ex knew was her prized possession. I confess I could have asked someone to dispel magic or even, you know, technically confirm that was the source. But a captain has to trust her instincts. And it was a bit of a stress reliever.
As we sailed on, a handful of hungry griffons gave us a minor hassle. Then we hit a weird fog. At the center of it was a floating chest. It wasn’t floating in the water; it was floating on the water. Would a more cautious person have sailed on? You bet. But that’s not how we roll on this old chariot.
Inside were a half-dozen pairs of boots, and they seemed imbued with the same magic as the chest. Walking on water will surely come in handy on the open sea, right? But you can’t be too careful with strange items, so we gave them to the cannon fodder to try out. Turns out we marked them for death and almost killed them with our own hands. Whoops?
I’m a little hazy on the rest, since I was, um, technically under possession. But from what I’ve been told, it went something like this:
- Seven ghosts used the distraction of the floating chest to sneak up into the hull.
- They probably assumed our strongest and best crew would get the boots, marking them as the ones to kill.
- They possessed the rest of us and, well, sicced us on them. I genuinely feel bad!
- The cannon fodder were holding their own! I’m not sure I like the prospect of a group strong enough to mutiny against my officers but they don’t seem like the types. Yet.
- Once they got the crew involved, they kicked the shit out of us and the ghosts took off. That part I remember — the ghosts seemed VERY pleased with themselves. Assholes. They also named dear old Dad as their master, though I was already feeling pretty damn sure about that.
Honestly, the whole thing felt like more of a deranged prank than a nefarious plot. He’s pulled this kind of shit before, but it’s been years. If Dad is feeling playful…it’s a bad sign. He’s getting cocky, which means he’s up to something.
Thank god for loopy clerics and the like. Now let’s just get this ointment to the sick people and collect our reward so we can head off to get laid somewhere warm.