Nocturna League- Season One Box Set

by Kell Inkston

  “How about… that?” She points at a small, unassuming octopus plushie, smiling brightly as it wraps around a stuffed anchor.

  The skeleton pauses amidst his exposition of wares, and sighs. “Ahh, you just want this?”

  Colette looks to the kitchen and spots the bare silhouette of a bleak-faced Grancis wiping down sooted cookery. “It’s kinda… cute?” She asks as if it were a question. Colette’s not exactly sure what cute is per se, but she’s pretty sure this is it.

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah I guess it is, but more importantly what do you have for it?”

  Colette looks to the side in thought and then reaches for her coat.

  …

  Half an hour passes, and finally Captain Russhaw Livingstone exits The Captain’s study with The Captain himself and they break up the parlay. The ghouls and ghosts return to the great wooden ship and they turn off back to the mist. Colette waves them off with a couple of the other more less-macho sailors as The Captain steps up next to Colette.

  “Made some friends?” he asks, watching the vessel leave.

  “Made some contacts,” she corrects.

  “A most captainly way of putting it, my croissant.”

  She looks over to him. “So, what’d captain calcium want?”

  The Captain scoffs. “He wouldn’t appreciate such a nickname, I assure you. He’s quite sensitive about his non-mortality.”

  She raises a brow in humor. “Terrifying.”

  “Most other captains would agree, though I find him a good drinking companion… He wanted to deliver a message from the Mayor of Wreckwind Port.”

  Colette’s brow squints down in suspicion. “Wait… What? Isn’t that-”

  “It is indeed the same mayor that took flight in her airship some months ago and attempted to blow us to smithereens as we made our daring escape.”

  Colette hums the way one would when hearing about a scheming ex’s latest depravities. “So…—”

  “So?”

  “What is it?”

  The Captain nods and turns to the others. “Sailors of The Nocturna. I have an announcement to make.”

  A few doors along the various deck floors crack open to listen as others fly open to allow the flood of attentive crew members to get a good spot to hear from. Colette snaps around and sees, just barely, a scant line of darkness revealed inside the enforcement closet on the third floor deck- someone really is in there, and they just opened the door a sliver.

  “Judging that this message I’ve received from captain Livingstone is true, Mayor Irefall of Wreckwind Port wishes to administer us a pardon. She desires I meet with her personally to discuss things formally during the Irefall Manor Ball. I’ll be attending this ball, will work out the negotiations, as assure our safe travel to and from the port from here on. We set our course for Wreckwind, do you understand?”

  Salutes across the board.

  “Yes, sir!” is the resounding response from the majority of the sailors in uncanny unity.

  The Captain nods. “Very good then. Any questions before we set off?”

  Itrim Kalamest slowly raises his hand, only to be given a dirty glare from Hoqq Lorenzo, that one constantly angry dude that has a harpoon gun for one arm and a wriggling, biting shark for the other. Itrim lowers his hand as quickly as he had raised it, figuring he’ll ask someone when the time comes.

  “Excellent!” The Captain exclaims, “Then we’re off. Carry on.”

  There are cheers and agreements abounding among the men as they go off to either go back to napping or ensure the ship’s readiness for departure, depending on their job.

  Colette and Captain are left watching the scores of men meander off to their day-to-day activities.

  She addresses him. “So… She wants to apologize?”

  He straightens his cap. “Probably not the term she would use, but yes.”

  “And you believe her?”

  The Captain smirks, his bandages curling up slyly around his mouth. “Not in the slightest. I’ll have you to my study, Miss Ketiere.”

  “Sure.”

  Kolette’s allowed into The Kaptain’s Klub 4 Kool Kidz

  Colette’s let into the cool, dark study of The Captain, rich with the scent of wreathed pipe smoke and some other imperceptible scent Colette seems to only recognize in this one room - like something from far off childhood.

  “A drink?” He pops open a bottle of some caramel-colored fluid.

  She squints an eye. “Didn’t you just have one?”

  “That was scotch, this is rum- wildly different drinks. You support a properly rounded-out diet, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” She takes a glass. “Now what d’ya need?” She leans into her chair with a satisfying, leathery *puff*.

  The Captain pulls down his spectacles a slight as if to assume an incriminating glare. “You really have grown quite friendly with me. Allow me to remind you that you are still but a jobber upon this crew.”

  She takes a sip. “And?”

  “And as such you should address me with the respect owed to one’s superior. Do you understand?”

  “We’ve been over this. I’m not being disrespectful, just friendly! You know, keepin’ it light.” She says this with a decidedly comfortable smile, as if this were her study, rather than his.

  The Captain takes his own seat. “Light on proper formality, for certain.”

  She smirks as she takes the glass to her lip. “So, sir, what did you need me for?”

  The Captain raises his glass and puts down a decisive gulp. “While you are but a jobber, you are also my apprentice. I feel it’s right to let you in on our plan.”

  “Plan. We’re going to Wreckwind Port for a specific reason other than receiving the pardon?”

  The Captain scoffs with the lightness of a feather. “The pardon is intended to bait us, my dear. There is simply no way in or out of The Eversea that Miss Irefall would actually pardon me.”

  She leans forward. “You have a history?”

  He takes a long sip. “ ‘Epic saga’ would be more accurate.”

  “So… a long history?”

  “Precisely; the amount of stories I have of her and she has of me could fill volumes I’d imagine, but that’s beside the point. She’s has something up her sleeve and will definitely pull it out the moment it suits her best. She’ll likely see my sailors behind bars, and my head on a stake.”

  “Whoa.” Is all she says.

  The Captain nods. “Indeed. Once you get to know her she’s… an ambitious lady and is not quite so interested as you or I might be about making lasting friends.” he chuckles for some reason. “So don’t be deceived- she’s as captainly as they come… in comparison to other captains, that is, not in comparison to me- I’m far more captainly.

  “Obviously.”

  “Obviously. So I fully intend on taking this pardon, if she does in fact intend to give me a temporary one just to have me lower my guard, but I won’t be led along like some fool. I’ll take the opportunity at her abode and steal her most prized possession. Something far more valuable than all the port and all its exports.”

  Colette leans in a bit more after taking another sip. “Go on.”

  “Pertalaine thinks she’s a clever one, as if no one would notice, could notice; but this upcoming week will be her downfall. In the end— ” He leans back into his chair, flipping one leg over the other. “She’s a degenerate like all the rest- only grasping for what she feels will fulfill her ambition… I suppose I shouldn’t step on her too much. We have many similarities, She and I… ” He scratches his chin. “But then again… Tell me, Colette, would you rather be wise, or be powerful?” He looks forward, to and through her.

  She flinches.

  He hums softly. “Something the matter, Miss Ketiere?”

  She decides not to say it, but this is the first time he’s used her first name in a long time, if ever- she can’t remember. It sounds strange coming from him, anyway. “Uh, no, nothing… I think I’d… I�
�d like to be wise.”

  The Captain pushes his glasses to the bridge of his nose, the spectacles glinting grimly in the porthole light. “Would you?”

  Colette looks aside in thought. “No. No I wouldn’t. I’d rather be powerful. If you’re powerful you can gain wisdom, but not the other way around.”

  The Captain smiles. “So you think it would be easier to be strong and become wise, rather than to be wise and then become strong?”

  She squints as she looks deep into her glass. “I… yeah. Yeah, that’s how it would work, I’m sure, because you would be strong enough to get any kind of knowledge, right? I mean, you could just smash into a library and read if you started strong, but if you started wise, you couldn’t guarantee getting as strong as the person who started strong… I guess.”

  The Captain coos softly and thoughtfully, manifesting one of those rare moments that makes Colette feel like she’s just answered to seal her fate forever, and she may have chosen the wrong answer. “I expected that would be your answer.”

  She draws back. “…Is that a… good answer?”

  He nods. “It is an answer, certainly. We’ll see in time if it’s the correct one or not.” The two listen to a pair of eldgulls screeching outside on top of the deck. Colette never thought she’d find the sound of them comforting. “Thank you, Miss Ketiere. I think you really are ready,” The Captain adds. “While I’ll be taking you and Miss Vereyrty along for the party, you will be one of the few that will know my plan at length.”

  Colette tenses. Finally she’s really on his side. “Thank you, sir.”

  He puts aside his glass upon the chair-side table, carved with a curling, angry depiction of a kraken-beast. “We’re going to steal an object in her possession called the Black Eye of Vathhl the Beholder, said to be able to empower the bearer with the abilities of most any seasort.”

  “Seasorts… like Boris and Dunks?”

  “For instance, yes. It imbues, or perhaps more accurately, corrupts the bearer with the soul shard of… I suppose the patron of the seasort desired. Everything from the lowly starfish to the heraldic eldritch gods are offered up to the bearer, giving him a devious tool for any situation. What’s more, the shards offered by the eye are only temporary, and thus do not fully corrupt the wielder, unlike folks like Boris, who are overtaken and transformed completely by the thing affecting them.”

  Colette hums. “Boris was human once?”

  “Probably. Could have been born that way as well, or perhaps some other race that was corrupted. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but for every day you spend on The Eversea, your perception of what is, or is not becomes… foggy. That said, this relic is what Pertalaine’s used for decades to stay at the top of both the official bureaucracy and the criminal underbelly of Wreckwind, The Eversea’s most profitable port by far.”

  “So she can basically use the power of any seasort.”

  “With some limitations, yes. We have little to worry about though, because once someone other than herself bonds with it, she will lose the gifts of the eye until she can retake it, which we will not allow. On the night of the ball, I plan to make a distraction that will draw the attention of both friend and foe with such ease that they will be helpless to ignore it. You will then make your way through any defenses she might have up to her bed chambers. It is there you will bond with the eye, take it, and we’ll make our escape. That is, unless you’re capable of getting The Eye earlier by some means.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jar filled with clumpy white crystals, along with a smaller parchment with a strange inscription. “Here you are.”

  She takes the thin, unlabeled jar and the paper slip. “What is it?”

  “Occult salt- far better than regular salt when it comes to dealing with the unknown. Think back to when you were in the sewer with Engineer Luisoix. Remember that he was spreading something out to ward off the beast?”

  Colette hums. “That morning was… I dunno, blurry. I don’t remember much of it…” She places a hand on her forehead. “Now that I think on it… yeah, Luisoix was real pissed when he found out it was sugar. So this is the salt stuff meant to ward off things?”

  The Captain, his composure professionally measured, nods. “It works well on creatures of overwhelming evil or incorporeality. Demons, most undead things, spooks, spirits, phantoms and whatnot. The slip is to be attached to them to neutralize their anchoring to this plane of existence. She’ll likely have more than a few spirits serving her in her manor, so if you find yourself haunted, consider spreading a line between yourself and your hunter. Ideally you’ll trap them in a circle of the salt, carefully attach the slip, and that should take care of them. Just keep in mind that if your opponent is fully phantasmal it can just travel around the line and through the walls and floors of a place; something to recall if you ever find yourself chased by a ghost. Just be fast and remember that your opponent will not have to worry about the walls you do, and you should be fine.”

  She rolls the slip along the small jar in her hand a moment and then tucks them away into one of her pants pockets. “Got it. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Glad to hear it. Any questions so far before we go across the rest of it?”

  “No. Fill me in,” She says.

  “Glad you’re engaged; allow me to give you the details then… Aren’t you cold?”

  Colette folds her arms; she doesn’t have her coat on. “No, please go ahead.”

  The Captain shrugs. “Suit yourself. Here’s how it’ll work—”

  Grancis Receives a Wonderful Gift

  Dinner time. After strangling half a dozen Vftrangals with her bare arms for Boris, Grancis is ordered to serve the giant stew in all of its writhing, greenish glory.

  “BE OF THE QUICK, APPRENTICE MEAT. VFTRANGAL MEAT IS OF THE BURSTING INTO THE FLAME IF OF THE LEAVING TOO LONG IN A BATCH OF THIS SIZING.”

  Grancis is already frantically angling stew into rows of bowls using a ladle as big as her arm. “Yes, sir!” She finishes ten bowls and serves them out on the serving window connected to the mess hall. She takes a deep breath. “FIRST COME FIRST SERVED. NO SECONDS. NO STEALING.” she screams out the customary “it’s time to eat” warning over the long lines of hungry sailors. In pairs of four the sailors approach, filling the window with hands grasping for their fill.

  “AND BE OF THE REMEMBERING HOW THE ANGRY TENTACLE FLESH IS OF THE LIKING OF HIS STEW!” Boris adds just as Queeg… or whatever his name is, crawls up and folds his myriad tentacles through the window.

  “I’m waiting,” “Queeg” says, tapping the tip of his foremost tentacle into the metal plating of the window.

  The action now committed to muscle memory, Grancis snaps up a vial of cyanide and adds a generous portion to Queeg’s bowl. “Next time please be near the railing after you’re done if you feel the need to… eject. It caked the floors and was really slippery,” Grancis says in a tone of caution to the burly octopus man.

  “I throw up where I want, bitch. I’m a real man,” he snaps back, winning a few impressed guffaws from among the line for how tough and disrespectful he is.

  Grancis smiles and stares him in the face. “Boris.”

  “WHAT IS OF THE MATTER, APPRENTICE FLESH?” Boris booms back. Queeg curls instantly.

  “The sailors are thinking about an octopus dish tomorrow night. Any ideas?” She says in the same sort of cheery tone expected for her best friends.

  Boris directs a stalk-like eye and spots Queeg. “I AM HAVING OF A FEW OF THE IDEAS. OCTOPUS IS OF THE LIMITED OUT IN THESE WATERINGS, WE’LL HAVE TO BE OF THE MAKING DUE WITH WHAT WE ARE OF THE HAVING.”

  Queeg sighs. “Alright, fine.” He storms, or more aptly, furiously slithers out of the mess hall to eat his stew, leaving a nodding Grancis turning back to deliver more bowls. She finishes with trained speed, and in only a minute more’s time, the food is served to everyone present, and the one bowl is quietly placed next to the door labeled “ENFORCEMENT” as she has every night
on duty. As Grancis returns she finds The Captain pouring the remainder of his stew into a small gap between his bandages- it doesn’t matter much where he pours it in. Grancis knows by this point that The Captain’s not so picky when it comes to obeying common human laws, like eating through one’s mouth.

  “Miss Vereyrty. I’d like to fill you in on the upcoming operation,” he says, placing the bowl aside while keeping the focus pointed directly on her.

  Grancis fails to comprehend his sentence for a moment. “Wh…what?”

  “Please take your own stew early to the officer’s table and I’ll explain all you need to know.” He turns out the door and moves to the mess hall, leaving Grancis and Boris.

  “Am I… being deployed with the next away party?” She asks, half to Boris and half to herself.

  Boris shrugs. “I AM OF THE SURE THE CAPTAIN IS OF THE PLANNING FOR SOMETHING. I’LL BE OF THE TAKEN ALONG AS WELL. HE MUST BE OF THE LONELY AND BE WANTING OF THE COMPANY OF THE GOOD!”

  “Y-yeah. Maybe so, Boris,” She bows to request leave, but Boris is already trotting out the door to go to the mess hall. Grancis takes up the last bowl of stew and follows close behind Boris and then down the rows of tables to the officer’s table, usually only where The Captain and those nerds Estradia and Luisoix sit at to eat, though all three of them are not considered regular appearances at the mess hall by the others.

  Already sitting at the table is of course The Captain, then Luisoix, Jim Masthaven, and Colette.

  Grancis instantly tightens up. “Colette.” She takes her seat at the opposite side of the table from Colette.

  Colette sighs. “Gran.”

  Jim raises a hand in greeting. “H-hey, Gran,” he says with an awkward smile.

  Boris smashes down into the table as Grancis returns the greeting and sits into the now-tilted bench thanks to Boris’ horrifying weight.

  The Captain nods. “Good, now that everyone is here. Allow me to read out this letter I received earlier today.”