Chapter 13-369: Heart of a Sailor (1/2)

Captain Fernando was an opportunist of the first order, and realized that he was about to get in on the ground floor of something very important if he moved fast. Very quickly he was in talks about moving people to Waterdown and participating in this grand experiment... and taking advantage of the faculties.

Then he, and everyone else, got to watch as Legion grabbed six of the wrecks that had been grounded in rather inconvenient places, and hauled them out to deeper waters.

Watching someone walking on the air, steadily backing up as they drag along thousands of tons of rusting ship that should be breaking apart in their grip, and instead simply and loudly is hauled back and away from the shore where it has rotted for decades, was a totally surreal experience for most of those involved.

Might 87 is no joke. +8 to Strength Checks with Philosopher’s Might above and beyond that isn’t, either. Yes, the old metal should have just torn apart under the stress of being pulled like that, but all Might past the late 30’s has a touch-teke component, because there was no way an organic body could handle all that power and pressure. Dragging thousands of tons of metal was just a nice, casual display of super-strength that rightfully belonged up in the ranks of the gods, at least to most minds.

The smallest of them, an old tramp freighter with only a designation called the QY, Legion lifted right out of the water and carried out to a convenient spot to dump next to the others, none of them showing even their stacks once they went down in the deeper water... because Legion had torn their command stacks off their superstructures to make sure they weren’t a hazard to ships crossing above them.

Briggs was muttering to himself on the other side of the world about cheaty Binders and Warlock Pacts and Amazons and stuff. Shvaughn really wanted her some half-dragon bloodline of her own, but didn’t want the demonic Taint that would come with this variety. Burning up her Erinyes Pact Grantor was about all she wanted to dare, although just doing that made her about the second-strongest person on the planet, as directly sublimating Racial Levels was certainly much faster than the Hagsbloods having to pay for them.

Sama and Briggs would catch up to her eventually, of course. Them Rantha Levels weren’t for show. Catching up to Legion? Mmm...

Urgent requests to take up more Warlock Pacts followed rapidly on the heels of this, ignoring the implications of your life not being really your own afterwards. A primitive society as focused on martial prowess as the Hollow World didn’t really worry about such things if there was glory to be had.

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Legion stayed behind to induct more Warlocks, while I took over plotting out the positions of the two Shroudzones. After all, Teleporting groups between them, and supplies, was the best kind of support function I could undertake at this point.

Naturally that involved thousands of miles of travel, which took time to do. 200 mph only gets you so far so fast, in the end. More days frittered away, but it was stupid not to do it while I was down here.

In the meantime, the discovery of the Hollow World was going right onto the Internet, and taking the world by storm.

After all, there were dinosaurs down here...

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Several days later...

“Captain Finnach MacDonnel?” the man in a white cassock and rather severe face of a member of the Church of Harse asked loudly as he finished the last hike up the trail along the lonely hill overlooking the sea.

The greying old man sitting on the edge of the cliff staring out over the moody waters of the English Channel had seen him coming for a long time, and although he was curious as to what business a Justice-Priest would have with him, he didn’t rise from his crude chair to greet the middle-aged man, who appeared somewhat familiar on further glance.

“I know ye?” the old Scot asked rather sourly, keeping his quilt about himself. He didn’t like his dark moods being intruded on.

“You do. We spoke at length after you were pulled out of the sea after the Muggy Lass went down with all hands.” Old blue eyes blinked at the Priest, and the long-retired captain sighed aloud.

“Ye’ve not aged much, sir. Connor McDuff, wasn’t it?” He was the older brother of poor Sean McDuff, lost upon the Lass all those years ago...

“Contrary to those others who doubted you, Captain, I never faulted your memory. Justice Connor McDuff of Harse is indeed my name, and I’m happy to see you remember it.” He paused significantly, his stern face working as if holding something back, and he finally a smile that was indeed quite rare from the way it cracked his face burst forth, like stone bending in irritation at the feat. “Sir, may I be the first to shake your hand?”

The old sailor blinked in shock at the beaming expression on the dour Cleric’s face, so very out of place and burning with sincerity. “Whatever for, Justice McDuff?” he asked, stunned.

“A hero should have his hand shaken, sir! That is why!” The aghast captain watched a tear fall from the corner of the stalwart Cleric’s eye, and a beefy hand was thrust out to him. “Harse praise your courage, sir!”

Wondering what this was all about, Captain MacDonnel extended a rather gnarled, arthritic hand, and found it grasped surely and strongly, and pumped warmly.

“Ye’ll, ye’ll have to explain ta an old man what ye mean by this, Justice,” he asked uncertainly.

“Of course, Captain!” The cleric dropped the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a metal plate that he let go of in mid-air, and it hung there on its own. Then he pulled out one of the new small computers, the portable ones with screens and videos of their own, and by its design, not cheap, either. Justice McDuff placed the laptop on the metal plate, and flipped it open and on.

The captain watched, brow furrowed, as the screen was rapidly negotiated, some application with the initials HH was opened up, and a couple other screens were rapidly shuffled past with bewildering speed.

An attractive younger woman with brown hair popped up on the screen, moving with the wasted motion of a non-acted, live presence. She blinked at the screen. “Justice McDuff? Is this Captain MacDonnell?”

The Cleric just looked at him, so Captain MacDonnel drew himself up a bit straighter, letting his quilt fall some from his tweeds. “I am,” he declared despite himself.

“Sylune bless a sailor true, Captain.” He swallowed at the words, wondering what in the world he had possibly done to earn such praise. “They’ll be on in a moment... one second now.”