Erastus 24

  A sharp vinegar scent wafted through the room as Jerry unboxed the new arm. It wasn’t much to look at; it was thin to the point of seeming withered, with dark green skin glistening from the enchanted pickling solution he used to preserve his spare parts. The arm was about two feet, slightly too long for a halfling like Rosie.

  “I’ll try to adjust it slightly before attaching it.” Jerry expined, measuring Rosie, “but I’m afraid it will take some getting used to. If your shoulder socket were still intact I’d have much more leeway, but it’s likely your new arm will be slightly longer than the old.”

  “Is that a goblin arm?” Rosie asked, grimacing as Jerry pulled her hand away from her nose, “do I have any other options?”

  “Sure. I can do a more detailed flesh-sculpt if you like.” Jerry answered, “six days before my next open time slot, and another two hundred gold. I include a basic sculpt as part of the process, but if you really care about aesthetics that much…”

  “No, no it’s fine.” Rosie said hurriedly. “I’m very thankful that you’re doing this at all.”

  “Thank him.” Jerry jabbed a thumb at me. “He’s paying for it.”

  I’d managed to convince Jerry to agree to an affiliate discount for any future body-work, but it wouldn’t go into effect until I paid off my up-front loan of five hundred, as well as an extra five hundred on top of that. The fact that I was dropping 215 gold pieces to help out Rosie was probably a bad idea financially, but I was willing to bet on myself. I could make that back, no worries.

  In an extreme worst case scenario, I could theoretically tell Ragsmauda where he is, since he’s in hiding from his old teacher. I’d really prefer to just pay him back, but if he came looking for a pound of flesh then the gloves would already be off. Who knows, maybe I’d be trading up? Courting favor with the scary pirate lord Lich dy isn’t a bad idea in a vacuum. Probably.

  I offered to hold Rosie’s hand during the procedure, and damn near lost my fingers as she cmped down. I didn’t want to lose my composure when she was already having a terrible time, so I took a mental step back and watched Jerry work through detect magic. The necromancy was far beyond my level of expertise. I could tell that he was casting multiple spells in quick succession, but could only vaguely track the intent of each stage. Attach the arm physically, attach the arm spiritually, leech the alchemical preservative out, and baffle her body into accepting the foreign object. All the while he maintained divination spells to assess her vitals. I could tell what he was doing, but hadn’t a single clue how he was doing it. Then again, I’d never been very good at necromancy. (Spellcraft 3+7=10)

  I could also see the spirit he kept as a companion, an entity I’d sensed several times. I couldn’t get a clear view of her face, as if I was catching her in the corner of my eye even when I stared directly at her. I could tell she had long, curly hair and an ornate green dress, but the harder I tried to focus, the more indistinct she became.

  Jerry had told me once that Ragsmauda kept a stable of young women in the p of luxury as spare bodies in the event of her demise. As her apprentice, he’d made the mistake of falling for one of them. The Lich had responded first by killing the girl, and Jerry had fled the isnd with his lover’s spirit before Ragsmauda could punish him as well. A huge part of why he was working was so he could give her the kind of standard of living she was used to on some estate a thousand miles away. That, and he wanted a good body for her.

  Presumably he wants one that looks just like her. Or one that she really likes, or something. Hell, maybe he’s just holding out for a total smoke show to fall into his p. God I hope he’s not some creepy stalker keeping her trapped in purgatory and making up a love story in his head. If I hear a ghostly whisper begging for help, I’m going to be pissed.

  Despite my worries, the spirit seemed content to cooperate with Jerry’s work. As he performed the necessary rituals, the ghost quietly pumped positive energy into Rosie to deaden the pain and heal any internal injuries. Given the sweat pouring down Rosie’s white face, she might have gone into shock without the spirit’s assistance. It would have been kinder to knock Rosie out, but Jerry warned that approach tended to have more fuckups.

  The whole procedure only took half an hour, after which Rosie was about six percent goblin. The limb seemed frail next to its well muscled mate, but Jerry insisted that the difference was smaller than it looked.

  “Goblins have a fairly incredible metabolism and build lean muscle very quickly, and your soul knows what your body is supposed to look like.” He expined between long pulls from a jug. “If you exercise it and generally treat it as your own arm, it should be exactly the same within a year or two. Well, other than the coloration. That's why I don’t usually bother with fleshcrafting in advance.”

  Rosie looked at the thin green arm, flexing the fingers on her new hand. It was wrinkled, as if she’d been soaking it in water for hours, and the fingernails were bck and pointed. She reached out and picked up a wooden tankard filled with water, then pulled it to her mouth. Unfortunately, she misjudged the distance slightly and sloshed some of the water onto her face and down the front of her shirt. Her face fell into a rueful smile.

  “I’ll need to work on that before I use it for anything dangerous.” She said, mostly to herself. “Thank you, Emrys. You’re good people.”

  I stood up and straightened my coat.

  “You’re my friend.” I said, firmly. “Friends don’t leave friends out to dry. Syl, can you take care of her? I’ve got shopping to do.”

  ??????????

  Despite my epiphany the night before, I had pns for the day. I actively avoided using my magic and ordered Sandara to do the same, but otherwise went about my errands as if I were not pnning two heists before the end of the week. I needed a proper wardrobe, if for no other reason to avoid another scramble like the one I’d had before seeing Varossa.

  “I’m hoping to go for merchant,” I expined, “or formalwear. I don’t really know all that much about fashion in the Shackles except that it’s very subject to interpretation.”

  We were drifting from stall to stall, mostly looking at secondhand clothes to start. I was hoping to get something tailored, but I needed a baseline first.

  “You’re not exactly going to inspire fear looking like a dandy, or a mark.” Sandara pointed out.

  “They’ll fear my name once they know what I can do, or they won’t.” I countered. “Once I establish a brand and manage a few jobs, my name should spread. Besides, look at me.”

  I spread my arms, dispying my meager physique. I wasn’t quite as slim as I had been on my first day as Emrys, but I didn’t cut an imposing figure. I was a pretty boy, and it seemed better to capitalize on what I had. If I tried to go for an intimidating macho man look, I doubted the results would be impressive. Better to be an unruffled and powerful gentleman.

  “You’re sure you can’t grow a mustache?” Sosima asked, “from what I’ve seen they are popur among the merchants here in Goatshead and would make your face appear slightly more mature.”

  “Unfortunately, no.” I sighed, “I haven’t shaved since I got on the Wormwood. Can you even tell?”

  _Probably for the best. I’ve never _shaved with a straight razor and I’d probably end up looking like my face was mauled by a cat.

  “A lot of elves are like that, yeah.” Sandara agreed. “I guess the other question is whether you want to remind people of someone else. A lot of pirate lords stick in people’s minds. If I was going for pirate lord, I’d need to take a long look at myself and decide whether or not I’d want everyone to think I was trying to be the new Tessa Fairwind.”

  Tessa is one of the big movers and shakers in the Shackles political world, the leader of one of the main political factions: the Unity Faction. She’s a redheaded half-elf in her te fifties, though thanks to her elven blood she looks closer to a human in her thirties. When she was a rising star in her mid-twenties she pioneered the fashion trend that Sandara leans into, with tight pants and cleavage accented by an armored jacket. Knowledge (Local) 13+2=15

  A fashion trend that Pepper seemed to be actively swerving away from, as another redhead with political aspirations. I’ll bow to her wisdom.

  “I’d prefer not, if it’s all the same.” I said, “So, are there any prominent lords who go for the merchant look?”

  I picked up a bright blue top that would hang down to cover the sides and back of my knees. I’d seen other men in Goblintown wearing something simir over a ruffled white shirt and pants.

  “Jolis Raffles, lord of Bag Isnd. Mostly because he is actually a merchant. Inherited from his dad, who inherited from his granddad.” Sandara supplied. “He can hold the isnd because he has the support of most of the Halflings and Amurrun in the Shackles any time he cps his hands.”

  “So he’s popur?” I asked. “Kinda surprising for a pce like the Shackles. Seems like a pce where the toughest bastard would win out.”

  I picked out a white shirt that wasn’t too badly stained. They seemed to be the bottom yer for quite a few styles in the region, so I was gathering up several.

  “He’s a merchant first, but he defends his interests.” Sandara answered, “He’s fought other lords to a standstill. Sorrinash and Hanji, mostly. He also deals fairly and takes care of his isnd, so he’s pretty easily the lord most popur among non-sailors.”

  “Not someone to compete with.” Sosima mused, “it would not do to invite comparisons this early in your career.”

  “Someone to emute, but not too obviously.” I agreed. “It’s not even like I could set myself up to be the next Raffles. He’s probably going to pass the mantle onto a son from the sounds of it. How about a military style?”

  I held up a bck Chelish jacket with gold trim. It wasn’t quite a uniform, but had a very military vibe to it.

  “Arronax Endymion.” Sandara answered, trying on a tricorne hat, “Former Chelish admiral, built up Hell Harbor himself. The man sailed most of a fleet through the Eye of Abendego; if you don’t want to be compared to Raffles you definitely don’t want to make anyone think of Endymion.”

  I sighed and put the jacket back. It would have needed to be adjusted to fit me anyway.

  I don’t think the fuckboy look is going to serve me well. I prefer to have people take me seriously.

  Almost an hour ter, I’d assembled an outfit that appealed to me on a primal level. More importantly, it wasn’t a terribly popur style among pirates. I’d managed to find a matching bck jacket and trousers that broadly fit me, which paired well with a white shirt and red ascot. Combined with my boots, I had something that felt like a business suit without feeling too alien to the Shackles. Some men in the merchant css wore simir clothes, particurly dandies, but the look hadn’t been stylish since around when Sosima was shipwrecked.

  Once I’d settled on a specific look, Sandara drifted away. She seemed to enjoy thrifting more than she liked hunting for specific articles.

  So much the better. If nobody else is wearing it and I deliberately pick it up, it can become my thing. Good enough for me.

  “You’ll want a few different colors in cool shades, I think. To match your skin.” Sosima said thoughtfully. “I believe Lubo mentioned that she has some skill at sewing. If we buy a few bolts of cloth, she may be able to use this as a pattern.”

  Sosima held up a light grey suit that would have probably made me look washed out, but would be nearly a perfect fit.

  I’d honestly be fine with just one signature outfit and pulling the rest out for special occasions. Autopilot, can I enchant one of these as armor? Making it super durable and resizing would be nice.

  No. It doesn’t have the protective value required to cast most protective enhancements, nor do any of these have Masterwork Resonance.

  You take all the fun out of life. Welp, no self imposed uniform for me.

  We picked up several bolts of cloth that seemed like they would contrast well with my skin. Sosima was particurly enthusiastic about the one in cranberry red.

  “It will bring out your eyes marvelously!” She insisted. “Your eyes are possibly the only physical feature you have with natural intimidation value. A red suit would invoke visions of blood and Hell, allowing you to use it when you wish to project strength. It’s a common tactic in Cheliax, though ironically most tieflings can’t make use of it.”

  “Yeah. I can see it.” I answered thoughtfully. “That could work. Thanks, Sima.”

  https://postimg.cc/6TWBsCWg

  She preened at the attention, before returning to draping multiple swatches of fabric across my shoulders for comparison.

  “Of course,” I continued, “you might want to consider getting a few more outfits that match with your real face.”

  “Why would I do that?” She asked. “It’s a completely different palette than my usual, but there’s enough overp that I’m never at a loss. Bck looks good with any variant of my skin.”

  She was wearing a simple bck dress at the time, and demonstrated by brushing a finger across her left earring. She flickered from tiefling, to elf, to orc, to human: all lovely and all filling out the bck dress nicely. Her earrings would only transform her into her own rough equivalent, so she kept the same general olive skin tone as she shifted, and bck looked good on anyone who wasn’t too pale. Lucky that her armor was made of bck-stained chiton, I suppose.

  “Sure, but it does look a little generic. Think about how something in blue would look on you?” I pushed, “are you really telling me you want to just wear bck for the next week?”

  She frowned slightly, not answering, and I dropped the subject. However, when we passed a stall selling dresses half an hour ter, she plucked one off the rack. It was a frilly blue number that would only go down to her knees, and certainly needed to be adjusted to make room for her bust. On the other hand, it was in good shape and only one silver; she bought it.

  ??????????

  My team assembled just outside of Goblintown, in a small hovel whose owner was thrilled to rent the space for a few hours. He apparently got offers like this often; he had going rates for a hideout. Given how suspicious that was, I kept him in the house for the evening while my team trickled in. We deliberately spaced out our arrivals, so as to avoid being seen. I arrived first, and passed my time in the one-room hut going over my HUD.

  I had three missions, renewed at dawn as usual. The first was my random encounter, and that night’s main order of business.

  The reclusive artificer Melku lives in Goatshead; you might as well check in with him while you’re here. Commission and receive an item from him, whether by force, falsehood, or finance.

  Reward: 2 exp, Scroll of Inverted Reactions

  I’d have preferred to just buy the thing, but if you’re not even going to answer my phone calls? I’ll get pushy.

  The reward was only marginally important, as I didn’t know what the scroll would even do, but the experience would be enough to get me and the rest of my party to level 5. I was about to do something moderately risky, so giving everyone on my team a 25% boost to their stats seemed like an excellent idea even before factoring in any specifics.

  I really hope Cog is right about Melku being Indy. If he goes crying to Dahk about me, I’d really prefer if he got a sales pitch for their protection racket instead of help.

  My other two missions from the day before had been recruiting Varossa, which I’d managed, and having a kinky threesome.

  Have a threesome that integrates specific kinks from both other people involved.

  1 exp, one lover will gain a perk reted to the kink indulged.

  It sounded like fun, but I’d dismissed the mission for the moment. I was about to have a few weeks of hopefully uneventful time to kill, and I knew from experience that rejected missions would return soon enough. It seemed better to cycle through them quickly and get a vague picture of the next few months based on what my missions revealed.

  Win a drinking competition with stakes worth at least 50 gp.

  1 exp, Companion Quest

  Oh. The easy BS missions weren’t just for the Wormwood. That’s good. Of course, I don’t get the impression that this body can hold much liquor. I bcked out after shotgunning… what, 5 mugs? Weak. I guess I’ll need to cheat unless I can convince a sickly goblin child to bet me 50 gold.

  Put to rest the spirit haunting the Saber’s Kiss.

  1 exp, Regenerating Puppet Talent

  Note to self: ask Sandara if she’s heard of the Saber’s Kiss. Wait a second. Autopilot! Have we heard of the Saber’s Kiss?

  Why yes, actually. The salvage operation went quite well, as I recall. It was a pirate ship that went down near Hesndaena about twenty years ago, after killing one of the local dragons. My mother was able to summon several bathysphere jellyfish which allowed one of Mistress Dovnu’s work crews to snatch the contents of the ship. I wasn’t part of the team, but I did assist in identifying and cataloguing the ship’s contents afterwards. I learned quite a lot about identifying magic items throughout the process. I could mark its coordinates on your map, if you like. (Knowledge (Local) 20+1= Critical Success)

  That’s why it’s always worth asking. Looks like we will be going back to drow country after all.

  Dragon, actually. Very few of the nds and waters around Hesndaena could properly be called drow country. As I recall, a few of the dead dragon’s offspring scuffled over the territory and split it up after. If we are particurly lucky, we won’t need to make contact with House D’Lann at all, since the dragons are so fiercely territorial.

  It’s a very bad sign you consider that an obvious improvement.

  Syl, Cog, Sandara, and Sosima each arrived in turn as the light outside faded. Our host passed around a pot of radish stew, because apparently pre-robbery safehouses needed to include meals to be competitive in the Goatshead market. We poured over an architectural map of Melku’s home that he’d somehow acquired. He refused to eborate, so I assumed it was from the temple. We weren’t exactly professionals, so the whole process consisted of an hour of arguing while Cog shot down any particurly stupid ideas from the rest of us.

  In the end, we settled on something simple: get in through the roof, and threaten the guy in his bedroom. Easy. Like taking candy from a baby. A rich baby. One who makes magic items and lives in the roughest town in the Shackles. Like I said, easy.