Chapter 72
The companions wake after several hours, comfortable in their hammocks of silky butt-yarn, courtesy of Grindlefoot, the giant spider. Mond notices that Ikasa has moved away. The lanky blink dog is curled up into a ball and nestled into Redbud’s roots at the base of its trunk. Its rear leg is twitching and the stones in the collar around its neck are glowing blueish. “Throw it. Throw the ball. I’ll get it. Gotta get it. Stop rolling. I got it! Got the round toy!”
The rest of the group rolls out of their suspended berths, most without issue. Bilwin’s is a touch too high for his feet to reach the ship’s deck and the sling abruptly turns on itself, dumping the dwarf from its safety. Looking around, “I meant to do that. It was getting weak at the seams and I, um, needed to exit of my own accord before that butt-yarn gave way! Totally on purpose, it was.”
Dolor quietly descends below deck and into the study, where he disables the final glyph guarding the captain’s magical artifact. When he returns, the group agrees that it’s time to visit the captain in the remaining piece of the Lambent Zenith. Redbud asks them to convey that they and Ikasa are safe, and await their captain’s return.
Grindlefoot looks to Gven and she asks, “Want to be tossed again?” He shakes his head yes and turns to face the western sky. The half-orc scoops up the tiny halfling as though he weighs no more than a light backpack and pushes him off into the air. His legs take on a walking motion, pressing against nothing solid underneath his feet but looking as though he’s walking away, up into the sky. Gven takes a single step and leaps up after him, following his path towards the ship’s prow. The others follow, each one rejoicing in the odd feeling of flight.
The companions land on the ship’s prow and discover that it’s been impaled by a mass of land jutting out from the ground. Mond considers for a moment, to the side of the ship is a piece of the dead god’s body that looks similar to a human’s rib. On one side of the prow is a large hulk of material, lopsided and shaped like an oddly formed pear with a tube extending outward. It looks squishy, but doesn’t seem to be moving. After landing on the top deck, Grindlefoot descends a stairway to midship and investigates the mass, discovering that some parts are petrified while others are slightly fleshy. Listening closely, Dolor hears the resonance of a thump that follows the pattern of a metronome, a periodic beat in a persistent rhythm.
Mond ventures a guess, “That’s a heart. A god’s heart, and it’s still beating.” He looks at the others, “This rock isn’t quite dead.” Motioning past the ship’s railings, “That’s a rib and the land out there isn’t dirt and rock, it’s petrified blood. What happened that can make a god’s heart burst?”
Peering around the ship’s topside, they see two doors on the middle deck and another stairway leading further down, to the cargo hold. A large timber, most likely a mast, protrudes from the humongous deity’s heart, runs across the deck, and through one of the doors, effectively blocking it. The other door appears to be accessible. There are barrels and crates strewn about each of the decks, remaining where they landed after the crash.
“I’ll be asking ye to kindly leave me ship. And right now.”
A human woman with shoulder-length purple hair leans against the inside frame of the open door. A blouse with billowing sleeves of an earthy brown lies underneath a brown leather vest, tightly drawn to form her figure. Worn leather pants are tucked into a knee-high leather boot on her left foot. On the lower portion of her other leg, where you’d expect a matching boot, is a mechanical prosthetic and foot, covered in ornate metal etchings. The visible parts of her arms are covered in complex tattoos that extend to her fingertips. A single feathered wing is attached to the left side of her back and almost as long as she is tall. It must extend a dozen feet when fully expanded, even without its match on her other side. A sword hangs at her hip and her hand rests on it’s pommel. Gven notices the stance of a tested warrior, comfortable with her weapon and its possibilities.
Dolor speaks first, “We’ve come from the starboard piece of the ship and bring good news from Redbud and Ikasa. They’re safe and await your return. Those in the stern are now safe, as well. Unfortunately, your quartermaster, Illren, wasn’t a giff. They were a slaad in disguise and had put your first mate, Figaro, into a trance. We helped them break the spell and slay the creature.”
“Aye, so might a skulking bilge-rat or a blood-stained cutthroat claim. How be I to discern the truth o’ yer parley, especially when it rings as sweet as a siren’s song—the very words me wistful heart be achin’ to hear?”
Dolor shakes head and then Gven speaks up. Standing firm and looking at the captain squarely, “Kycera threatened to slit Daveras’ throat in the night if he didn’t help us.”
The captain grins and crosses her arms, relaxing her pose. “That rings true of me favorite tusk-face, bless ‘er beastly soul! But it don’t do a lick to change the stark truth: I be still marooned in this ‘ere abyss.” She points at her backside and the obviously missing wing.
“Perhaps our cleric or druid can offer some assistance with your healing?” Dolor points to Bilwin and Grindlefoot, who both nod in agreement.
“Nay, ‘tis no fleshly wound nor body ache; these be gears and cogs, a mammoth bit o’ clockwork intertwined with incandescent sorcery. I’ve been toiling to mend the sundered wing, but I’ve had nary a lick o’ luck against such stiff and stubborn metal!”
“I’m familiar with working glass and fine metals and engineered objects, perhaps I could be of assistance?”
The captain acquiesces and motions for the tiefling to follow her inside the door. They pass through the first room, which appears to be her living quarters. A bed is covered with clothes in various states of disarray, a pile of books rests on a small nightstand, and a small desk against the wall is littered with open books and papers. She waves her hand dismissively at the messy area and proceeds through another door.
She and Dolor enter the Lambent Zenith’s navigation room where they see a large bronze sphere hovering in its center, spinning languidly. Laid out on the table below the sphere is Inda’s prosthetic wing with several tools spread around it. The rogue looks to Inda for approval, who nods accordingly, and then moves to the table, inspecting the feathered mechanical appendage from all angles. Perusing the tools, the tiefling finds the one he wants and begins to tinker with it.
On the midship’s deck, the rest of the companions wait patiently, taking advantage of the downtime to rest. It’s hard to miss the giant wall of flesh at the other end of the broken ship’s prow or the long wooden mast jutting out from it and across the deck.
After an hour of pulling on wires, twisting knobs this way and that, and bending slender metal pieces, Dolor holds the wing up to Captain Inda’s back one more time. “I think that’s the final adjustment. Let’s see if it works this time.”
The mechanical wing is surprisingly light, similar to the miniscule weight of a bird with its hollow bones. The glass smith inserts it into the receptacle on the captain’s back and there’s an audible click. Inda stands a little taller and widens her stance. Flexing her shoulders, both wings expand outward from her body, filling the width of the enclosed navigation room. Retracting them, she turns to smile at Dolor and a radiance fills the room as she extends them again. The tiefling is suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of awe. This woman was born to captain a mighty vessel, such as the Lambent Zenith.
“The name be Captain Inda, and I be deeply beholden to ye, me hearty. I owe ye a mammoth debt o’ gratitude, friend!”
With her wing repaired, Captain Inda is happy to help the companions with their quest for the second piece of the rod. She leads them below deck, into the hold, where a set of double doors blocks their passage further.
“Now we be seein’ if ye truly tended to them magicked wards, or if ye left ‘em threadbare as a ghost-ship’s sail.”
Approaching the doors, the captain grips both door knobs and finds them unlocked. With a sigh, she opens both doors simultaneously to reveal a gaping hole nearly ten feet across and the god’s heart beyond. A rush of putrid air escapes the humongous organ and a putrescent smell overwhelms the pirate captain and the companions. Having lived much of his life underground, Bilwin can immediately tell that the air is unhealthy to breathe.
“Beware, that’s some nasty shite! Poisonous air doesn’t bother me, I’ll investigate further.”
The dwarf moves towards the opening and Grindlefoot joins him, “Me too. Let’s see what this is all about.”
The two move into the entry area, visible to the others until they turn a corner. It’s a small oval area with walls made of purple flesh and dimly lit by hundreds of tiny pink bioluminescent orbs that appear alive. The air reeks of death, even more rancid inside than out. An opening larger than a typical person leads to another area.
The halfling and dwarf pass through to find a massive chamber with walls that alternate between grey, petrified stone and undulating purplish flesh. It’s fifty feet to the other side of the oddly shaped chamber. There are stalagmite-like shapes jutting out of the floor that also connect to the ceiling, easily fifty feet above their heads. On the other side of the fleshy pillars to their right, the cavern continues for another forty feet.
The two are taking it slow, being cautious when Bilwin holds up his hand, communicating to Grindlefoot silently. The cleric holds still for a moment, closes his eyes, and prays to Hanseath for support. His senses become more alert, the atrocious smell almost overpowering, and he hears rustling from the ceiling. Looking up, the dwarf sees a monstrous lizard-like creature without any skin clinging to the roof. The sinuous body is thirty feet long, not including the tail, and has spikes covering it. The head looks similar to a dragon’s, with a hundred sharp teeth visible from their vantage point. It appears to be sleeping or resting and hasn’t noticed them, but it seems only a matter of time to the dwarf.
He motions for Grindlefoot to look up, gives him a moment to understand their peril, and then motions for them to withdraw. They slowly recede from the cavern, careful to not disturb the creature and return to their companions.
Grindlefoot asks Captain Inda, “You wouldn’t happen to have a very large, very scary looking, weirdly skinless, lizard-type creature on your crew, would you?”
She shakes her head no and Bilwin responds, “Guess we’ve got a problem.”