Well at Least I’m a Magic Pirate Now

Sareneth 23

The next morning, I gently knocked on the thick wooden door of Peppery Longfarthing’s quarters. Just as I was about to knock again, the door creaked open to reveal the statuesque Ship Mage huddled over a leather bound book on her desk. The vials of liquid on her desk quietly hissed and popped as she made minor adjustments to the flame beneath them.

I leaned against the door frame with my thumbs hooked into my pockets, glancing around while awaiting instructions. Peppery’s current project didn’t seem particularly delicate, but I had no intention of interrupting her. Instead I started quizzing Autopilot about the contents of the room, almost entirely so that I could look knowledgeable. Most of what I discovered was rather mundane, but examining her project gave me insight into the process of potion making.

A base of peanut oil; likely a powerful potion. Oils are denser than water and can hold more energy. She’s mixing in clippings from a bird’s feather, and a few drops of dark liquid that might be blood. If she’s a sorcerer like myself the blood might even be her own, as it would be highly magically charged. The feathers are a material component for the fly spell, which is a spell that takes well to potions, so I assume she’s making a potion of flight. (Spellcraft 17+6=23)

Peanut oil? Gross, man. Flight is probably worth it, but that can’t be healthy. I wonder if I can learn the recipe? I doubt it’s as simple as shoving some feathers in a bottle of peanut oil then jumping out a window. What a world if it was that simple, though. 

“You’ll find the jacket and the materials you purchased in that bag.” Peppery said, vaguely gesturing at a satchel on the foot of her bed. “Get to work, pipe up if you need any tools.”

“Of course, Mistress Longfarthing.” I said, hastening to obey. 

I began by familiarizing myself with the armored coat I was to enchant, letting the magic in my blood become acquainted with its resonance. It was blue, sized for a man with broad shoulders, and featured gold epaulettes. The first full hour of my work consisted of in depth study; after all, like all of my magic enchanting came to me intuitively. I needed to know this garment intimately so that I would know what to do with the materials I had procured. I prayed that Mistress Longfarthing would not watch too closely, as I knew that my entirely improvisational methods were quite irregular. 

I tried to pay attention to what Autopilot was doing. I really did. I wanted to know how this whole enchanting thing worked. Unfortunately, the exhaustive catalog of individual stitch lengths and speculation as to the hidden meaning behind an irregularity near the left shoulder completely lost me. I retreated to my menus, my thoughts, and the SRD, fully expecting a long day.

I disassembled the coat, carefully removing the armored plates so that I could coat them in swirling patterns written in Kraken ink. The swirling lines I drew were evocative, but meaningless. I infused the ink with the magic of Mending, allowing them to always reassemble using the design as a roadmap. They were a part of the completed coat, and it would not do for the owner to need new enchanted plates every time one broke. 

I wonder if I could have gotten Sandara in bed last night? I mean it’s possible. She’s a massive tease but she really did seem into me. At minimum, I’m certain she wanted me to believe that she would put out if I kept pushing. That’s probably playing with fire, though. Way too easy to misstep and offend her by pushing too hard. I may be a mind reader, but not a reliable one. 

I don’t just want to pump and dump, and if I absolutely had to choose between getting in her pants and having her as a drama-free ally I’d choose the latter. Grudgingly. Very grudgingly. As sketchy as it sounds, I don’t even know if I could use a magic item on her to facilitate things the way I did with Syl; that damn will save could make it go haywire.

“Mistress Longfarthing?” I asked timidly, “if it’s not too much trouble I need a mortar and pestle, a large tray, and a stable source of flame.”

She cocked her head quizzically, but fished out a portable folding desk while the rest of the requested materials floated to me one at a time. So armed, I began to burn several hundred gold pieces worth of fine imported silk. It was a relatively safe process compared to most fabrics, as silk does not burn long once removed from fire, but one must take every precaution with a lady’s property. I burnt the entire bolt of fabric, one square foot at a time, then crushed the results into fine ash, with which I gently buried the coat on the tray. I took care not to rub the ashes in. 

Peppery repeatedly stopped her own work to glare at me throughout the process, but this was a delicate stage. If I paused to explain, the reagents would be wasted and the stains would be extremely difficult to remove. 

So, how about my quests? 

Become the owner of your own ship

Reward: 1 exp, Diverse talent

Kill Barnabus Harrigan

Reward: 3 exp, Mythic Ascension

Distinguish yourself in battle

Reward: 1 exp, Crystal Mirror of Opposition 

So two things I was going to try to do anyway and something I don’t even know is possible yet. At least the “distinguish yourself” mission is new; I wonder what the mirror does.

It is a variant of the notorious Mirror of Opposition. When active, it can create a perfect copy of someone who looks into it, including their knowledge, equipment, and abilities once per day. Regardless of their personality, they will feel an uncontrollable urge to kill the original. Should they succeed, they will behave in accordance to their own nature, which is generally similar to their original except with one or more key character traits, such as alignment or deeply held beliefs, inverted to make them more likely to align with the owner of the mirror’s current goals. The clone will vanish after 24 hours if they are more powerful than the attuned owner of the mirror, but can survive a full lifetime if they are no more powerful than the user. The mirror can be tuned to create a weakened variant to ensure survival, but this will make destruction of the original target more difficult. After the death of the original, the mirror shatters. (Spellcraft 18+8=26)

You got all that from the name but you can’t identify the boots you have in your damn hands? Kinda a fucked up item. Make a clone of someone that will try to kill the original, then vanish in 24 hours if they aren’t weaker than me? I don’t know if the clone being tailored to me makes it better or worse. Kinda fucked up to make a new person that exists to kill one guy then vanish, and not much better if the plan is kill-and-replace. 

As I chanted, focusing intently to avoid stray intrusive thoughts, the essence of silk preserved in the ashes intermingled with the waterproofed wool. The result was stronger and more durable than either fiber could naturally hope to be, while also being exceptionally soft. Once the ashes were expended, I carefully removed the coat from the now-useless pile of black powder. Cleaning it and ensuring it wouldn’t stain was the next step, as the garment needed time before I could further imbue it. 

I was surprised, probably more than I should have been, to recognize the verbal and somatic components of detect magic without Autopilot’s help. Something in the way Peppery’s hand formed a circle in the air seemed familiar, and though she didn’t speak abyssal the cadence was extremely precise. That said, the context also made it fairly obvious. I wasn’t going to be casting any spells myself any time soon, but I was starting to believe it was at least possible.

I didn’t need to roll to see that Peppery was extremely skeptical. She kept putting down her alchemy to look at Autopilot’s progress. She frowned frequently, but didn’t interrupt. Whatever Autopilot was doing clearly had some observable effects through detect magic; I doubted that she was rich enough to let him burn this much money just to catch him in a lie.

I don’t blame her for not trusting me. I’m listening in on the thought process and I’m still skeptical. As far as I can tell this is a bit like someone claiming that they could make a smartphone by buying a bunch of random computer parts and tinkering based more on vibes than any actual plan. Hell, if we get to the end of this process and I get a notification that I rolled a natural one, I wouldn’t even be surprised. Terrified of an angry milf sorceress, but not surprised. 

The adamantine shavings served to reinforce the gold buttons in a manner similar to the ashes. I had to be far more careful submerging the gold. The soft metal could still easily be scratched, and would be nearly impossible to correct once infused. Adamantine was as hard as diamond while having greater tensile strength than steel, and was essentially impossible to forge without highly specialized equipment. Perhaps the coat would have been fine without high indestructible gold buttons, but I had a budget. Once the ritual was complete, I brushed away the now useless flakes of metal. 

Speaking of terror, I wonder if I can extrapolate Peppery’s level from things I know about her? She doesn’t have a character sheet, but I would hope that the classes loosely followed actual growth curves. I’m bored enough that it’s worth a shot as a mental exercise, at least, and it might give me some idea of exactly how strong Harrigan is. She’s his subordinate, after all. 

I wracked my brain for the feats of magic she had performed. She could make chores happen automatically, she could heal with devil blood, she could cast Mage Armor, and she could make a potion of flight. I scoured the spell list, and confirmed that Infernal Healing, Mage Armor, and Unseen Servant were first level spells, so they didn’t tell me much. She cast them extremely proficiently, but they weren’t anything exceptional.

Potions, however, required the creator to cast the spell infused into them. That meant that Peppery could, at minimum, cast the third level spell Fly. If she was a sorcerer like myself, that meant a minimum level of 6. Even if she was a wizard, she was still around twice my level at 5. Assuming that Harrigan was her equal or superior, he’d be in a similar level range.

So picking a fight is a bad idea even if I was in the mood for murder. Not to mention that merely double my level is my conservative estimate. Probably not too much higher, though. She implied my guess about her Mage Armor’s duration was right during her little quiz, so that’s beneath level 10. Still, far and away able to smoke my ass if I got uppity. If I really wanted to commit murder, maybe I could use one of my special items. The mirror, if I can earn it. 

It certainly wouldn’t be easy, it would eat up a resource I could probably find other uses for, and it would piss people off, but summoning a clone of Harrigan and helping that clone even a little bit is probably the most viable strategy I’ve come up with to get Mythic Ascension. Do I want that, though?

Fantasizing is all well and good, but it feels a lot more real when I have an actual plan to murder a man in cold blood. Sure, he kidnapped me and his son is a real creep, but I don’t really hate him, per se. Am I actually ready for premeditated murder?

Yes. 

You don’t make the decisions here! 

The ritual of reshaping was perhaps the most awkward, but that was why I’d purchased the mannequins. Assembling and dying the four wooden mannequins until they matched the color of the jacket took nearly an hour alone, guided by my intuition. They ranged in size and shape, with a large human sized man and woman, and the same for a goblin sized pair. The color was vitally important. I needed the armor to feel like it was supposed to match the mannequins, and a near perfect color match could go a long way. Once I could coax it into reshaping itself, it could be trained to do so for any body type. For the sake of completion, I’d even purchased a porcelain doll to expand its repertoire. Again, likely unnecessary, but I had 8 hours to fill. 

“Why like that?” Peppery interjected. “It seems awfully inefficient compared to a few dozen runes stitched into the lining.”

“I’m sorry. Of course the method you use is likely superior,” I apologized. “However, I do not know any such runes. I must teach the coat what it must be.”

After staring down the barrel of a moral conundrum for a bit, I muddied the waters further by considering who I might kidnap and force to work for me with magical compulsion. The mannequins were far less of an involved process than the ashes or metal shavings had been, so I was able to pester autopilot about outsiders. I didn’t have a very high knowledge (planes) skill, so I had to wade through quite a few exchanges consisting of “can you tell me about an outsider in our weight class that does x?” with a response of “I don’t know.” If I changed my phrasing, I could sometimes prompt a new roll, and it helped if I asked for something specific. Other times, I just lucked out.

What can you tell me about the size, strength, and personalities of elementals?

They very wildly. Some are smarter than others, and tend to have their own names. Genies for example, though they are drastically stronger than we could hope to bind. We might be able to manage small elementals, or Mephits. Those are small winged creatures with moderately strong magic and regenerative abilities. (Knowledge Planes 16+2=18)

Ok. Adding them to the list. Mephits. Elementals. Genies someday. That said, I’m pretty sure wishes are just about radioactive in most stories. Maybe skip the genies. Uh… how about something that would be willing to be a trustworthy and intelligent bodyguard for me?

Maybe one of the less antagonistic denizens of the First World? The Fey have absolutely no fear of death due to their rapid reincarnation. Atomies are honorable, quite arrogant about their skill with the blade, and often serve as bodyguards. With a bit of flattery and a promise of adventure, they might be persuaded to work for a reasonable rate. 

Fairy bodyguard? Honorable or not I don’t feel like I can trust fey. I mean, at least it’s not a demon. 

You requested trustworthy and intelligent. An atomie would always uphold any bargain struck and is slightly smarter on average than a human. 

Okay. How about no-guilt, no-consequence cannon fodder? Can you give me some real sons of bitches that I can get killed without feeling bad about? Preferably without any chance of backlash. 

Most demons would go completely unmourned by their fellows. The lesser varieties that we have any chance of controlling would be extremely replaceable lackeys to any demon capable of striking back at us from the Abyss. I’d suggest a Dretch; they are the weakest naturally occurring demons and extremely weak willed, but fearsome by mortal standards.

I’ll take it. I’ll need to experiment, but at least I have a few options. 

I handed over the finished product to Mistress Longfarthing after trying it on myself and checking for any curses. It shifted to fit me perfectly, the softened cloth making the coat immensely comfortable. (Spellcraft 12+6=18 Success) She studied it with detect magic, her own project finished hours ago. Her lips were pursed, and she frowned slightly.

Hah! I know that look. My piano tutor hated telling me when I did a perfect performance. After all, I was just a kid. She was expecting me to fuck up somewhere. 

“Impressive,” she finally relented, “It wasn’t a bluff after all. Very unorthodox methods, however; who taught you?”

“Self taught?” I answered nervously. “It’s like my spells. I know some theory, but the magic itself came first and study later. I like to know about my tools.”

“Interesting… I’ve never heard of a bloodline supplying something that complex.” She mused, “do you happen to know what your source is?”

Source? 

Where the magic in our blood collects and is distributed from. It is frequently the heart, but I believe in my case the kidneys infuse the bloodstream while filtering my blood. (Secret Knowledge (Arcana) 1+8=9 Critical Failure)

“The kidneys.” I answered confidently.

Peppery stared at me for several seconds before taking a deep breath and resting her forehead on the heel of her hand.

“Self taught indeed.” She muttered, “I meant your bloodline, the reason you are a sorcerer? Is it genetic, or caused by exposure to an outside force before adulthood?”

Oh. I’ve got the Rakshasa bloodline. All of my magic is based around lying and manipulation. Maybe best to not say that, though, since I have other weird powers cropping up all the time. Set up some plausible deniability, Jeeves. 

“I believe it’s genetic, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what unusual ancestors I might have.” I lied, empowering my words with magic inherited from my Rakshasa grandfather, “I haven’t noticed any particular patterns. I can levitate, enchant weapons and armor, and dance with supernatural skill. Can you think of anything that fits all of those?” (Opposed plausible Bluff 6+20=26)

“Maybe Azata?” She suggested thoughtfully, “Artistry and performance, and it’s possible that your drow heritage explains the levitation. It would be unusual, but it’s certainly possible. Or you’re a mongrel mage, and your gifts will continue to be unpredictable.”

“I’m not sure how useful speculation will be,” I deflected, “I’d much rather get a more solid grounding in the basics. Is there any chance I could try reading some of your books? No need to bother you, and I can still learn. Everyone wins.”

“Except Ambrose.” She reminded me. “This is an active ship. You’re not lucky enough to have a free pass to lounge around reading books just because you’re an adequate enchanter.”

I was about to reveal Keep Watch, perhaps negotiate for a loan or two for night time reading, but as the thought was forming we were interrupted. The deck muffled the words, but I was able to make them out regardless. (Perception 19+3=22)

“Ahoy!” Rosie’s voice rang out from the tops, “ship to starboard!”

“Well, this will need to wait.” Peppery said, standing. “You might as well come too. If we found prey, you’ll need to brief your team.”