Swamped

Leave a note for your crew to guard the evidence and leave it untouched for further investigation.

Right. You'd best get moving before you lose your chance. But there's some things you want to make sure the crew can take care of if something happens to you.

You scrawl a quick note about the carcass, the feathers and handprints, along with orders not to disturb them if possible. Luckily, you write fast. You put it on top of the water tank. You wish there were a better place to put it, but it's all you have at hand.

Then you start chasing the strange prints. They go back towards the floor after a bit. Seems the climber slowed down on the descent, because the path is nearly vertical.

Unfortunately, making out prints on the floor is a lot harder. You might be able to do it if you get down low enough, but that's sure to be slower. Maybe there's some other way you can pick up the trail again from here.

There are only so many directions the fish duck monkey monster could have gone. And two of them ultimately lead past the same blind corner, the other side of which you can reach more quickly if you double back the way you came.

If you're lucky, you'll catch it as it goes by, otherwise you can check for prints there and see if you gambled correctly.

Well. There aren't that many ways to go from here. You're already approaching one of the corners. And your quarry was here recently, as far as you can tell.

So you may as well head for that corner, in case it's where they end up. It'll be faster if you double back. Not to mention this creature may have turned around to throw you off the trail, in which case you might catch signs of that along the way.

If you're wrong... well, the other way is closer to where the crew's looking.

Before long, you do find something unusual: a pair of shoes. Which does make perfect sense if she's been climbing around on the walls somehow, you suppose. It's just that you're not sure it makes sense for her to be climbing the walls.

But did she get rid of these before or after making the prints you saw? Could she have carried them for a while and then dropped them here to leave a false trail?

No. No time to worry about that. You've already made your choice and there's no benefit to second-guessing it. You keep going towards the corner.

And you spot her. She is climbing the walls. She looks the same other than her hands and feet, which are not only webbed, but a strange color.

Only, this corner isn't the dead end you thought it was. She seems to be climbing towards a strange hole in the ceiling. And she's getting there fast.

You don't have much time to act. What do you do?

>Do you have any ways of climbing the wall (or like, a projectile weapon?) If not, call out.

There's no way you could scale the walls yourself. Even if you could, you doubt you'd be as fast as her.

You consider flinging something at her, but you've only got small objects. The most you could do is inconvenience her. It would be more effective as a way of getting her attention.

And if that's what you're trying to do, then you may as well use your voice instead.

"Halt! What are you doing?"

She pauses to look at you. Her expression is strangely blank. It's almost as if she doesn't care whether she escapes or not.

"All is already decided," she says. There's a slight echo to her voice.

Oddly, she doesn't seem to move again after saying that. She just clings to the wall, staring at nothing. But the hole's still there, and you can't exactly be sure something won't come out of it. So you feel like if you're going to make a move, it would be best to make it quickly.

Ask if she's a mermaid

>"Who has decided?" you ask

"Decided by who, exactly?" you demand.

You're not really sure what you hope to accomplish. But your instincts are telling you this is the time to assert authority, something you've had plenty of practice at.

"Goan has condemned your vessel. There is no escape. You cannot challenge the wrath of a god."

"Goan's no god I've ever heard of, and my mother was a minister," you shoot back. "Now get down from there and tell me what in the hells is going on here."

For a moment - just a moment - it looks like she might be trying to climb down. But suddenly, you hear a booming voice, and it seems to be coming from the hole.

"Viel! What is the delay? You've spent too long on land, your gills have grown weak. They won't hold out long enough to let you leave that ship safely. Return at once!"

Gills? Is she a mermaid?

Well, you don't have a lot of time to think about that. She's looking up, and you think she's starting to move. You managed to get a bit closer while she was distracted, but you don't think it's quite close enough to grab her.

So what do you do?

Tell her to tell her boss that the authorities on this side wish to have a meeting of minds with her superiors or their duly appointed delegates.

If she stands still long enough to hear you out, nab her!

Speaking with authority seemed to work before, so maybe it's time to try it again. With an order she might even take an interest in.

"There's no need for this! I don't know what your superiors want, but we're willing to hear them out on it. There's no need to sink us, at least not before talking."

She seems to pause at this.

"All we want is an end to your miserable lives."

You had a hunch that was it. But you did get the delay you wanted, so you may as well keep going.

"Can't give you that, admittedly. But if you just want us out of your waters, well, we'd rather not do that. Perhaps we'd be swayed if you shared your reasons with us, though. Or we could compensate you for safe passage."

"There will be no bargaining with humans," comes the reply.

Figures. Luckily, you've closed the gap as much as you need. You leap upwards and grab her. She shrieks loudly as you pull her off the wall, and you struggle to hold your ground. Too bad this mask doesn't come with earplugs.

At least someone's bound to notice the screaming. But your ears won't forgive you if you don't do something about it fast.

Might have to apply your combat skills to the situation and knock this creature out before her friends come out of that portal to save her.

You're not a violent man, as a rule. Not since you left the navy behind.

But you consider yourself a practical man, and at times like this, there are few practical solutions. Sometimes you just have to hit a screaming lady in the back of the head, because that's one of the only things you can do with what you have available.

Of course, you do it as gently as possible. You need her to wake up before you can question her.

Unfortunately, as she falls to the ground she lands on your legs, and she's heavier than she looks. You worry, for a moment, that someone will emerge from the strange gateway to help her.

But instead, it vanishes. Suppose they don't think she's worth the trouble now.

It takes a few minutes before the crew arrives, and the first thing you do is have them test you for lucidity. Everything suggests you're clear. The dead chicken was real, and so are Ms. Becky - or perhaps Ms. Viel's - hands and feet.

But there's still a lot of unanswered questions, and she's the only source you can see for resolving any of them.

Well, the knight in the strange uniform might know some things, too.

---

Your name is Corvus, and you feel lost.

The last thing you remember was being on a flying ship. But now you seem to be on one in the water. You're sure the damn gateways are to blame somehow, but you haven't figured out the details yet.

You've also managed to lose your breather mask, and the local medic informs you that you've been hit by a dose of glaxin gas, and apparently they're struggling to treat all the victims of it right now. He warns you that, depending on how long you were exposed, you might experience hallucinations, says it's a side effect that some of the other victims seem to have run into.

Which is weird to you. Back in your early days at the Guild, there was a big fuss over glaxin gas. There was a major treaty signed banning its use, and even the Guild wasn't willing to take chances dealing in it any more. The hallucinogenic effects were a big part of the talk surrounding it. But to hear this medic, you'd think that was a new discovery. And when you ask how long the ship's been at sail, he says six months. That treaty was a lot longer than six months ago.

The medic also says that the captain's probably going to send someone to question you sooner or later, but he'll try to delay that until you've recovered somewhat. You're still finding your bearings, so you appreciate that.

He asks if you have any questions before he goes off to check on another patient.

How are the greblings?

Your thoughts are still pretty jumbled, between the gas and the blow to the head.

You start asking "how are the others" before realizing that you don't know if you arrived alone. You pause a moment and then pop out "greblings?" before you gather yourself.

"How are the greblings?" the medic asks. "What do you mean? We've only got a few on board, and none of them have been exposed to the gas so far."

"Sorry," you mutter. "Thinking of something else."

At least this isn't a slave ship, then. But that makes you wonder: what sort of ship is this?

The question slips out suddenly. You weren't really expecting to ask it right then.

"We're on a journey to the other continent. We hope to establish a regular trading route. I have to say, I'm skeptical, though. We're barely a third of the way there and already had quite a few close calls. And I can't imagine every ship coming through here is going to be able to pay for a wizard."

He mentions it so casually. As if wizards were easy to find, just hard to afford. It's been years since that was the main problem with hiring a wizard.

But then it occurs to you that a wizard might be just the sort of person you should talk to.

"Have you got a wizard, then?" you ask.

"We do. He's not the friendliest fellow, but he takes his job seriously. I understand he's busy with something now."

Hmm. And given that they have no idea who you are, it'll probably be tough getting to talk with him. You'll have to save that for after the questioning, you suppose.

The medic seems helpful. Maybe a little too open with information, even. You wonder if you should ask more questions, or just let him get on with his work and prepare yourself for your own questioning.

What year is this?

And this isn't one of those, ah, flying ships by any chance, is it?

You've been getting a funny feeling. It's little things that keep bugging you.

Sure, maybe this guy's new and hasn't read up much on glaxin gas. Maybe he's adjusted so much to having a wizard on board that he doesn't think it's weird.

But he's also a medic. And you may not know much about medicine, but you do know Doc was always complaining about outdated equipment. And there's a few things you can see here that you recognize from her office.

It's one thing for the Marshguards to be years behind the curve, mind. You're a bunch of exiles and you can't afford to be taking gift horses in the mouth. But a ship that's going across the ocean ought to have a lot of money behind it, and on a long voyage, proper medical care is critical.

So, maybe you'll look like a fool. If you do, so what? It's not like that hasn't happened to you a thousand times before.

"Six months," you mutter. "And that's just for a third of the journey."

"Is something the matter?" the medic asks.

"I've lost all track of time. I'm not even sure what year it is any more."

"It's the eighth of Green, 392," the medic says calmly. "PA, if you need that specified."

You think he means it as a joke. Post Aedra is a term mostly used by scholars. Although, maybe the gods find it a useful distinction. Then again, why would they bother with a system made by mortals?

But the meaning is clear enough. You've somehow gone seventeen years into the past, to the day even. Either that or you've taken on a lot of glaxin.

The walls are also strikingly familiar. They look a lot like the walls on the airship you left. But it couldn't be...

Well. You can joke back. And maybe learn a thing or two in the process.

"And it'll be almost 395 by the time you get back," you chuckle. "Too bad the ship can't fly, eh? Or is that what the wizard's here for?"

The medic seems to pause for a moment before answering.

"I don't actually know if he can do that. Anyhow, you seem to be recovering, and I've got other patients to take care of. I'll ask Mr. Resk to let you have some rest before he comes in to question you, but I don't expect him to hold off for more than ten or fifteen minutes."

"That's fine," you say. You watch him walk off.

You suppose you'd best prepare yourself for the questioning as best you can.

Think about what you know from seventeen years ago... Do you remember learning anything about transcontinental trade?

Seventeen years ago. You were well into your involuntary career with the Guild back then.

And if there's one thing you know, it's that any trade route with the other continent would have gotten their attention sooner or later. There'd surely be something they could sell that couldn't be found elsewhere. If this ship made it across, and returned, the Guild would have stopped at nothing to control its cargo.

And you never heard even the slightest whiff of rumor about something like this. Considering the Guild didn't have a lot of members who could keep their traps shut, that tells you one of two things.

Option one, this voyage is an extremely well-kept secret, so important that even the Guild either couldn't get in on it or thought it would be bad for business to get out.

Option two, they're not going to make it back.

It's kind of funny, now that you think about it. Whichever way it plays out, nobody's going to know you were here. So maybe you don't have to worry about being exposed.

You're still going to play it carefully, though. You sit tight and wait.

But you also listen.

"I thought Mr. Resk was going to do the questioning," says a voice you recognize as the medic's.

"He's got a lot going on right now. He asked me to take care of the basics."

"I see," says the medic's voice. "Well, I ask that you be gentle. We don't know anything about who he is, but remember he's been injured."

"Don't worry. Won't lay a finger on him."

Your questioner comes in. She's a rather thin lady, but gives off a distinct impression of someone you don't want to cross. Reminds you a little of Doc, actually.

"They call me Swallow," she says. "As in the bird, nothin' to do with how I eat. I've got a few questions for you. Don't worry, not gonna really grill you, we pretty much just want to know who in the hells you are."

"Sure," you say. It comes out a bit weak.

"So. What's your name, just what uniform is that, and how in blazes did you get on our ship?"

Well, you know the answers to two of those questions, but you only have a vague guess as to the third. And you're not entirely sure how open you should be about the answers you do know.

How do you respond?

Name, rank, and honesty: you remember taking a slicer to the head, but that was a long way from here.

Admit your suspicion of the involvement of magic and/or the gods.

You decide to be as honest as you can. It's not as if they can ask the Marshguards about you. You're still unsure about revealing you're from the future, but they're also unlikely to ask.

"My name is Corvus, I'm a squad leader with the Marshguards, and I have no idea. I took a slicer to the head and then I was here." You give an awkward shrug. "Might be magic involved. Or maybe the gods decided to mess with me. Can't say for sure what happened."

Swallow looks more than a little skeptical.

"That name just means 'Crow', I've never heard of the Marshguards, and Donnie just checked on you and didn't find any signs of a head injury."

Well, this is off to a wonderful start. Maybe you should just tell her you're from the future after all, it's not like you have much credibility left to hurt.

You briefly consider mentioning the Rider of the Swamp. But it's only about three years after the Kandrian revolution. Rider's not likely to be the legend he is in your day yet.

But hang on. You know someone who ought to be, don't you.

"You may not have heard of the Marshguards, but surely you've heard of the infamous outlaw Silver."

She looks a bit more intrigued. Or, more of amused, really.

"The one who stole a fortune and then vanished five years ago? Yeah. What? You going to tell me he's your father or something?"

"No. Just my commanding officer. That's who the Marshguards are, a band of exiles and outcasts, with no place to go but the swamp. Silver's among them. And we give ourselves new names when we arrive, that's why I'm Corvus."

"Right," Swallow says, clearly unconvinced. "So you tell me that you know the answer to one of the great mysteries of our age, and you expect me to think this makes your story more credible. You got any proof of any of this?"

Hells, with how this is going, you might be in better shape if you'd clammed up. What now?

No, you have no proof. Unless... Could the wizard check you for unusual ether exposure?

It does seem odd that your head injury healed. Did any of your old scars disappear?

The thing that's strangest about what she said is that you don't have a head injury. Admittedly, your head doesn't hurt, but you definitely felt it when that slicer hit you.

Makes you wonder about something else. You roll up your sleeve. You've had a scar just under your elbow for a few years.

And it's gone. Not a trace of it.

"The hells," you mutter quietly. Then you look back at Swallow.

"We aren't big on carrying identification around in the Marshguards, so I can't offer any direct proof. But your wizard can probably figure out if I've had a spell cast on me. That's the best I've got."

"Wouldn't prove you weren't brought here willingly by magic," she points out.

"I thought you were just here to find out who the hell I was," you say, a little frustrated. "Well, I've told you. And I don't see how someone who goes by Swallow has any room to pick on me for being named after a bird."

"It's a nickname for me."

"Well, it is for me too. It's just that where I come from, there's no difference between a nickname and a real one."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Swallow says. She shows a hint of a smirk. "Why don't you tell me where that nickname comes from, then? And why make it all fancy instead of just calling yourself Crow?"

Well, that's easy enough. It's because you were a courier...

Wait a minute. You're seventeen years in the past. You're pretty sure messenger crows aren't in widespread use yet. How are you going to explain this without making her even more suspicious of your story?

Crowbars have an entirely different connotation than crow birds, so corvus was as meaningful but less ambiguous.

"Because we've got the sort of people in the Marshguards whose first thought when they hear 'crow' is 'crowbar'. So I went with Corvus to avoid that whole conversation happening over and over." You pause briefly, and decide to go for honesty. Just leave out the full context for now. "As for why crow, well, I used to be a courier, and around when I arrived, they were setting up a system of messenger crows. So I went with that."

"Messenger crows! Are you just playing with my head now?" she asks. "And if the Marshguards are as rough-and-tumble as you're implying, what's a courier doing there?"

"That has a lot to do with what I was delivering," you say vaguely. "Not that it matters any more."

Well, it kind of does, since your past self must be running around doing some of the dirty business you got away from. Of course, that past self is miles away.

Swallow looks annoyed, but puts away her notebook.

"Well. It's probably a load of fish eggs, but I guess that's all the answers I'm getting out of you right now. We'll see what Mr. Resk thinks when he's got time to attend to you properly."

And with that, she leaves. You're stuck here alone.

Now what?