Rishmond was running from an unusually tenacious press-gang that had been pursuing him for the better part of the day and into the evening.  Usually they gave up after a few hours and a few good slips, but this group seemed to be particularly interested in him.  He'd thought he'd lost them several times during the chase, just to have them find him again.  He headed down to the cargo ship docks hoping to lose them in the tide tunnels dug beneath the quay, a good place to hide at low tide.  Just his luck to run headlong into a short, stocky sailor smoking a pipe on the quay, waiting to cast off.

"I'm sorry sir", Rishmond kept his head down and began to back away, shooting a glance back toward his pursuers.  No sign of them yet.  "I'm very sorry."  

"You'se should watch where yu're goin' kid, not ery'one 'round here would be so nice as to let that go without a good beatin' ya know."  The short, older man picked himself up off the ground, brushing his short coat off.  He peered at Rishmond in the light of the torches on their tall poles here at the head of one of the larger berths of the dock.  The boy kept his head down and tried to look smaller and dirtier, a proven method for keeping most people from looking closer or caring to take more than a swift kick at him as he scurried away.

"Hey, wait.  Where ya off ta in such a hurry?  You'se OK kid?", The sailor reached out toward Rishmond with his pipe still in his hand. "You'se in some sorta trouble?" 

"No sir, just fine, just in a bit of a hurry, so..."  The sailor cut him off. "Come on son.  I've seen hurry and I've seen gettin' away from sumpin.  Looks like you'se doin the gettin' away part."  The sailor's voice changed from bothered to concerned.  Why would some stranger be concerned at all about a street urchin, running from something or not?  Perhaps he thought he might get some reward for catching him?  Rishmond considered running but suddenly changed his mind.  "A gang is after me.  You know how it is on the street. They think I owe them something I don't and I just don't want to take a beating if I don't have to mister."

The sailor glanced back up the wharf to the warehouses and the dark alley Rishmond had come running out of. 'Didn't think he'd noticed me until I knocked him over. Did he see me coming? Then why didn't he get out of the way or shout or something. Was he expecting me?', Rishmond thought. 

Rishmond eyed the man while keeping his head down.  The sailor wasn't a tall man, but he was stocky.  He outweighed Rishmond by a lot.  Even running Rishmond shouldn't have been able to knock him over if he'd seen him coming. His encounter with this man began to feel like a setup. A subtle sound from further up the berth, the soft scrape of a boot on wooden planking.  Two men, much bigger than the one-eyed sailor with the pipe, seemed to appear from nowhere, blocking the easy route of escape for Rishmond.  The flickering torch light created unpleasant shadows on the ground around him.  It dawned on him that the gang chasing him may have herded him towards the docks tonight.  Was this their play then? Were they working with this sailor? If he was indeed a sailor?

"Look kid, this kin be hard or easy.  Life 'board a ship would be good fer ya.  Damn site better'n livin' on the streets in this town.  Not sayin it'll be easy, but, ya get fed, and that's gotta be a good thing for a kid from the streets.  Ya gots no family, no ties, jus' come wit us and no one gets hurt."  The sailor stepped toward Rishmond, hands free of the pipe now, both hands reaching out in what was surely supposed to be a friendly manner.

This man knew more about Rishmond than he should. This was definitely a setup.

Rishmond bolted for the edge of the quay, if he could make it into the tide tunnels and into the sewers beyond, he could easily lose these men there and make his way to the edge of town and out to the caves near the old church.  Unlikely they would follow him that far.  He heard the shouts of the two men up the dock as they began pursuit.  The sound of rope and a metallic click he could not identify was soon followed by the feel of heavy ropes wrapping quickly around his lower legs, the heavy metal balls on the ends slamming against his shins and calves followed by his body and head hitting the ground.  Stunned, it took him several seconds to understand what had just occurred.  He struggled to turn over and sit up to untangle himself from the ropes around his legs. He didn't get far before he was roughly tackled to the ground again, the backside of his head striking the ground as hard as his forehead had a second ago.  The two big men were on him, pinning his arms, kneeling on his chest, forcing the air from his lungs.  The last thing he remembered was the short, older man standing over him, lighting his pipe.

Service aboard a cargo ship wasn't nearly as bad as many things he'd endured before.  The captain was definitely hard, and not at all fair, but Rishmond learned quickly to accomplish tasks before he was told and then get out of site if he could.  He didn't expect praise or reward and he didn't receive any, even though he put in twice the work of most of the young deckhands.  His actions did save him half the lashings though.

All in all, much better than the starvation and abuse he took as an orphan on the streets of Mott. On board the Dutchess' Teat he got fed and had a place to lay his head that wasn't under the open sky or in a rotten sewer. The work was hard and hours long, but no one had tried to kill him since he came on board.

Being conscripted on to the crew of a cargo ship got him out of the country of The Arrangement of Peace and it's capital city of Mott.  He'd most likely be dead by now if he hadn't stumbled in to the recruiter from the Dutchess' Teat. Of course, death was still a very real possibility shipboard. Two recruits that had come aboard at the same time as Rishmond had been swept overboard in a storm on the fifth day of the voyage. They'd not been recovered.

The Charge Priest from the Church of Peace aboard the ship held a funerary service for the two boys the day after the storm.  Typical to the Church, the funeral was as much an admonishment to all on board to cease their sinning as it was any sort of acknowledgement of the dead or comfort to the living.  The priest instructed all to follow the rules and ways of the Church, and to spread the Word of the Church as far and as wide as possible, bringing all into its fold so that the Gods would return and expel the demons from the mortal world.  He also spoke about how the death of the two boys was likely punishment from the Gods for lives lived in sin.  The Church's stance on most hardships was that they were brought on by sin and a life not lived in accordance with the Law of the Gods.  In Rishmond's experience, the law had a funny way of rewarding the rich and punishing the poor.

Rishmond spent the next two weeks scrubbing empty pickle barrels, swabbing decks, and learning everything he could about sailing. He kept his head down but never missed an opportunity to listen, observe and learn. No one was keen to teach anything, but it was of no surprise that a number of sailors were willing to show Rishmond how to do a task if it meant Rishmond would do the task for them. 

Arrival at port meant that all of the new and untrusted crew were confined below decks.  The Church and the country of The Arrangement of Peace did not want its citizens exposed to the sinful, ungodly ways of foreigners, unless the exposure was to attempt to get those same foreigners to convert to the Way of Peace and join the Church. Rishmond wouldn't have been able to recognize a place not under control of The Church, he'd been born and lived all of his young life under its influence. He glanced about the darkened fo'c's'le where many of the crew were chained to beams or irons in the floor. Those not needed to actively dock the ship or unload its cargo were not permitted to disembark at foreign ports. Those that were allowed were closely watched by crew loyal to the Church and the Church sub-priests while in any foreign port. The Church and The Arrangement of Peace did not want its congregation and citizens escaping their control.

Cargo was being unloaded.  The sounds of crates, boxes, and barrels being moved about and the muted sounds of men and women shouting reached the quiet fo'c'sle.  The crew had been warned to be quiet while the ship was in port on fear of lashings at the Captain's mast.  A few priests and several guards watched over the untrusted crew.

The grimy, skinny kid next to Rishmond leaned close and whispered, "Where does ya s'pose we are?".  The kid's name was Toby.  He was only 12 turns old.  Young for conscripted ship work, but here he was.  He and Rishmond had developed a friendship over the last five weeks.  Toby had already been on board by the time Rishmond awoke in the fo'c'sle below the main deck.  Toby had taken it upon himself to wipe the blood from Rishmond's head and ensure he was as comfortable as he could be while chained to a fitting in the floor and dumped on a low slung hammock. 

Toby had greeted Rishmond as he came-to and fetched him water from the small bucket by one of the posts from which the hammocks were hung. "Hi." Toby's voice was soft and concerned.  "Ya'ight? Looks like they hit yur head pretty hard."  Rishmond couldn't place his accent, not one he'd heard around Mott, not even among the sailors and riff raff of the street. Toby later told Rishmond he was from a small, poor village near the mountains far to the north of Mott.  Not some place Rishmond was familiar with, but then, education about geography was something sorely lacking for an urchin on the streets. Rishmond had taken to the kid and endeavored to teach him what he could and keep him out of trouble as much as possible. It worked for the most part, and the kid was a willing student and a hard worker, but more than once Rishmond had taken a lashing for something Toby did, or forgot to do.  Not that Rishmond really minded, lashing and beatings were just a part of life really, even many of the officers on the ship took at least one beating during the voyage. The first mate had taken a lashing after those two kids went overboard, apparently the Captain didn't appreciate being short handed at all. Worse punishment was to be had in the form of missed meals, at least as far as Rishmond was concerned, even if the meals were as bad tasting as any he'd ever had, the only flavor to any of the meals was the sharp, sour dill pickles that accompanied every meal.

Rishmond shook his head and shrugged slightly giving Toby a significant look.  They'd been told to be quiet and Rishmond meant to be.  No reason to earn a lashing if it wasn't warranted.  Toby glanced away from Rishmond toward the guards at the door.  Were they likely to lash or beat someone here in the port where they wanted everyone to be quiet? Maybe. Probably. Toby seemed to come to the conclusion that perhaps it wasn't worth finding out.

They'd been confined below deck even before entering the harbor.  As soon as land was sighted they were ordered below and told to keep quiet.  The priests instructed them in no uncertain terms that attempting to escape off the ship, or sneak up to the deck to take a peek at the godless, heathen place they were about to dock would result in severe punishments to include plenty of time in the Cage in the lowest hold.

The new recruits had been shown the Cage on the first day at sea. At the lowest point you could get on the ship and still be in the ship, against the keel in the bilge was an iron cage.  More like a series of 5 small cages, each with a locking door on one side.  Each cage was small, barely big enough for a full grown man if he hunched over and squeezed in.  Which was kind of the point, Rishmond guessed.  An uncomfortable place for anyone to spend any amount of time.  Two to three feet of ocean water constantly covered the bottom of the bilge.  Standing in one of those cages meant your feet and lower legs would be submerged in cold sea water constantly.  The cages were all set about 4 feet apart, likely so the occupants couldn't grab at each other if there were more than one down here.  The only light source was the lamp held aloft by the crewman tasked to show the new crew what they might find themselves in if they disobeyed orders or stepped out of line of Church or ship law. The cages were enchanted they were told, so that a person in one could not hear or speak to anyone outside of that cage. That sounded to Rishmond to be an unnecessary addition to an already terrible state, but, there must be a reason for it.  Rishmond had never been sent to the cage, but one of the new recruits had been, a thin, angry-faced man who professed a great love of the Church and claimed to know a Priest in some town called Stormend.  The professed celebrity did him no good when he demanded more food on the second day of the voyage and pushed one of the deckhands out of the way to serve himself a second helping of stew.  He'd been beaten and dragged off to the cage, returning several days later, sick, weak and much quieter than before he left.  He'd been given a night to recover and then put back to work.  He'd caused no trouble since and even now sat quietly on the deck, head down, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

They'd all been told that even if they did escape the ship and run away into this new land, the Church would be able to locate them via magic in the marking they'd all been given.  And no country would ever accept them or shelter them out of fear of the Church and The Arrangement of Peace.  They would become hunted and shunned. Rishmond had no intention of testing the truth of any of that.  He had his doubts about the fear other countries might have of The Arrangement of Peace and the Church, military might or not, else why would the Church not be the established religion of all other countries?  But, the risk seemed real, and no doubt there were plenty of people in other countries willing to turn over a runaway sailor for the right amount of coin.

Coin.  You either had it, or you didn't.  Those with it did what they wanted, those without were at the mercy of those with.  Not really the best arrangement as far as Rishmond was concerned, especially since getting coin if you didn't have it was damn near impossible.  The goal for most people seemed to be to get coin, by hook or by crook.  The means didn't matter to most. Rishmond couldn't recall anyone in his life getting enough coin to raise themselves from the ranks of the poor to that of the rich.  He was pretty sure it had never happened and never would.  Not for him or any of those he knew.

Rishmond strained to hear the sounds from outside.  He wondered what this port was like.  What the people who lived here were like.  He listened as voices were raised outside on what he thought might be the end of the gang plank.  The voices became louder, an argument had started.  He listened, the voice of the first mate he recognized.  The words clarified as the voices got louder.

"You've no right or authority to board this vessel!  She is the property and under the sov'rent o' the Church and The 'Rangement o' Peace!!"  The First Mate's voice was loud and firm with certainty.  

A second voice, much quieter than that of the First Mate, deep and sonorous answered, "We have reason to believe you have received illegal cargo here at this port.  We only request a look at your hold to ensure you have taken on no illegal cargo."

"We haen't taken on any cargo that ain't been loaded by your dock crew and stamp'd and 'proved by the 'arbor master."  The first mate seemed a bit calmer and the two speakers sounded as if they had mounted the gangway and were near the top deck of the ship now. The two sub-priests and two of the 6 guards here in the fo'c's'le moved to the steps up to the deck, one of the priests telling the others to keep an eye on the chained sailors here.  "Keep 'em quiet," he whispered loudly and harshly as one of the guards opened the door at the top of the steps.  Sunshine spilled into the fo'c's'le, causing Rishmond to turn his head and blink hard for a moment.  The sun was cut off as the door closed behind the exiting guards.

"What seems to be the problem here?" came the Captain's voice from above. His voice always carried, a raspy baritone made to project across the ship above the sounds of the sea and a storm. "First Mate Thompsiat, what's going on?"  The captain had an educated way of speaking and when he used a formal title, it was a good indicator the person he was speaking to was about to catch his ire.

"These soldiers wanna come a'board an' check our cargo, Cap'in." The first mate sounded sure about his refusal, expecting the Captain to agree with him and turn these intruders away.

"By all means then, let them.  We haven't anything to hide now, do we?"  Captain Talisan's voice was pleasant but carried with it a promise that if there was something hidden that he didn't know about, there would be definite hell to pay.  "Good sirs, welcome aboard!  What would you be looking for and how can I help?"

A new voice answered. A quiet tenor that Rishmond had to strain to hear. "My apologies, Captain...?", the voice paused... "Talisan," answered the Captain, voice quieter now causing Rishmond to lean toward the door of the fo'c's'le. He caught sight of Toby's face looking up at him curiously. 

"Talisan.  Yes.  My apologies for the slight deception.  We are representatives from the Malminar Wizard's Society and we are here looking for a Warlock brought to our shores on your ship."

Rishmond glanced hurriedly around the poorly lit room to see how the others were taking this news.  A Warlock?!  On board this ship?! The Church would never allow such a thing!

No one else in the crowded room appeared to be shocked at all. In fact, they were all looking at him in a curious manner. Like he'd just grown horns or two heads. Rishmond glanced down at Toby.  He didn't remember when he'd stood up.  Toby's eyes were wide and scared.  He was looking at Rishmond as if he didn't know who he was.  An odd light seemed to highlight the younger boy.

Rishmond looked up and around, the four guards remaining in the room had freed their cudgels from their hips and were holding them as if preparing for a scuffle.  The one remaining priest had backed toward the steps to the door, his hands up making holy symbols in the air. All of them looking directly at Rishmond. He noticed the light in the room seemed much brighter now than just a bit before.  He looked down at his hands and realized that the new glow of light in the room seemed to be coming from him.  He looked down at his body, fear and unbelief flooding his mind.  The glow suddenly disappeared just as a rattle of chains caused Rishmond's head to snap around toward the far end of the fo'c'sle.  

A skinny. dirty looking man stood in the corner, his wild hair matching the now wild look in his eyes as he stared at Rishmond.  He stood straight and tall now, not like Rishmond remembered him throughout the voyage.  No longer hunched over, the man was over six feet tall, his left arm was missing about halfway down the upper arm, and the left side of his face was a mass of old burn scars from neck to the top of his head.  He was grinning now.  An evil, crazy grin, his eyes alight with an inner fire, his missing teeth creating a demon-like grin.

The man's name was Plug, or at least that's what he'd been called by most on the ship since Rishmond found himself aboard.  Rishmond had avoided him for the most part during the voyage, out of principle mostly, but also due to a bad feeling that the man was not a pleasant sort.  Now the man raised his right arm and pointed at Rishmond and began making a series of animalistic sounds. His hand flashed and began to glow, a thread of blood red light snaking quickly out from his hand to wrap around Rishmond. The shackles around the man's wrist fell away and clattered to the deck.  Red light seemed to emanate from the man, casting flickering red and black shadows against the walls.  

Rishmond fell to the deck, his arms bound to his side, wrapped in red tendrils of light, his legs bound together by the same. Pressure caused his breath to come in shallow gasps as he watched the others in the room scramble to get from between Rishmond and Plug.  The sound of chains and screaming and yelling seemed to seep through air thick as pudding to Rishmond's ears.  His own heartbeat was as loud as the sounds of the terrified men and boys around him. He tasted vomit and pickles. He tried to turn his head to find Toby, to make sure he was ok.  His head remained immobile, his face toward Plug across the room.  One of the guards crossed into Rishmond's vision, his cudgel raised to strike at Plug.  A slight gesture from Plug's right hand sent a small crimson beam of light at the guard and the guard exploded into pieces, blood spraying outward from the place the guard had been, parts of him flying in all directions, except Plug's. Rishmond could smell blood and vomit now.

Plug opened his mouth and seemed to silently scream for a long second before the sound lowered to the point where Rishmond could hear it, a scream that became a shriek and then a howl, like the call of a wild animal. A sound like splintering wood caught his attention nearby.  A crevice opened in the wood of the deck near him, the crevice widened quickly into a gaping hole in the deck, like a crooked evil mouth.  The smell of sulfur and ash filled the room quickly, two of the crew fell into the hole as it grew, their screaming being audible for a few seconds after they fell, the chains still holding them to the deck going tight with their weight before going slack when their weight was suddenly released.  Black and red, slimy-looking tentacles suddenly appeared from the hole, wriggling their way out.  Suckers along their underside pulsing, striving for anything to grab on to.

The tentacles reached out and found first one, then two, then four of the still chained crew members, wrapping them up quickly and dragging them back toward the hole. The chains resisted for mere moments before either ripping away from their moorings on the deck, or ripping off legs or arms of those being dragged away. Terrified screams came from all around.  The smell of blood, shit and piss permeated the air.

Rishmond spotted Toby, held by one tentacle just feet away while a thick slimy tentacle began wrapping himself up, lifting him from the deck and beginning to drag him toward the open hole.  Rishmond could see the inside of that gaping wound in the deck, fire seemed to writhe in its depths and the walls appeared made of molten stone.  Black waves pulsed across the walls leading down to a black and smoking depth from whence the tentacles emerged.

Rishmond tried to scream. Tried to move. He had to help Toby! The kid must be scared out of his mind!

A sudden flash of light blinded him and he dropped to the ground.  The cacophony around him suddenly grew as the room spun back into focus.  The tendral of red light had transformed at some point to a thick, slimy tentacle similar to those he could see coming out of the fissures in the deck. The tentacle was still wrapped around him, but its color was rapidly fading and the squeezing power felt before was gone, as was the hole others had squirmed from.  The deck where the hole had been appeared as if nothing had ever happened to it except for the few chains that appeared to be embedded in the wood now.

Rishmond turned over to look up and found himself at the feet of the man called Plug.  Beams of light danced around Plug, sparks and crashes formed a sort of shield in front of the tall man.  Plug gestured and a large section of the roof above ripped away and planted itself between the rest of the room and the two of them leaving the exposed beams and the underside of the deck above exposed.  Sounds like an army trying to break through a city wall came from the other side. Plug continued to growl and half scream in an unintelligible salvo of sound.  

Plug reached down and grabbed Rishmond by the arm, yanking him painfully to his feet. He jutted his chin toward the hull of the ship and a swirl began in the wood, growing rapidly into a smokey, dark hole to somewhere else.

A great cracking sound came from the makeshift wall Plug had created to isolate them and suddenly the wall was gone.  Plug turned in a half crouch toward where the wall had been, the constant noise ceased as he grunted toward what was now standing there.

"Fuck you!".  Plug yelled turning, pulling Rishmond with him as he started for the swirling, smokey hole in the hull of the ship, yanking Rishmond's arm hard enough to dislocate his shoulder with a distinct pop and pulling him from his feet.  A bright beam of light crossed Rishmond's vision, seeming to erupt from the center of Plugs chest.

Blood sprayed across Rishmond's face as he was flung toward the hole in the hull.  He realized it was from Plug, but had no idea how or why.  Suddenly he found himself in sunshine, several feet above a shining blue sea.  He spun in the air as he began to fall, his vision not yet adjusted to the brightness of daylight.  A small part of his mind took note  that Plug's hand still gripped him tight on his left forearm.  Plugs head and one shoulder were there as well, but the rest of his body was nowhere Rishmond could see.  Then he hit the water flat against his back.  The force knocked the wind from him.  Rishmond's vision began to go black as the water wrapped around him, cold, but comforting in some small way.  Only a pinpoint of vision was left as he sank deeper, unable to move to save himself, his final vision fading from bright blue to black.