022 Hank's Eleven
2961 SYoF, the Destiny, Officers Lounge. Blackrock Space.
“Well, what’s this all about then?” Smoke asked, his drawl touched with curiosity.
“I believe we have an opportunity to, as Captain Bess put it, Pirate the Hardest.” To any observer, Hanks selective telepathic response would have made an odd scene on any day, but this of course, was the Destiny, and odd was becoming standard fare.
An observer, if there were one, would have to be outside the windows of the officers lounge of the Octopus ship, and likely need to be skilled at lip reading. As the Helm of the ship was also bound to Hank as the alhoons phylactery, the magical anchor of the undead mind flayers host body, the illithilich was able to extend its psychic protections to the confines of the ship, preventing any magical or psychic surveillance of the crew. This protection even prevented sound escaping, but as the soul of Hank itself was a Starchild, its very nature as a being of light prevented a complete cloaking process.
And so, what such an observer would see would be the officers of The Lightwood Company, a distinct gap where Hank’s mental image hovered in the minds of those inside the ship, and several crew members assembled by the alhoon and well suited to the task it had planned.
“Well, we’re definitely hitting harder as Smoke upgrades those cannons to his breech loaders, but I don’t think any of us are comfortable with crossing over into true piracy.” Noted Leopold, the tall Shi sorceror sitting at one of the green felted tables.
“Speak for yourself, I hold no such moral objections.” Noted Tlad Xolbrys, the drow wizard casually sipping from a glass of bright red wine, the colour almost a match to his own eyes. The Lightwood officers shared concerned glances, Tlad had been welcomed to the group with the understanding he would behave appropriately, and true to his word he had, but he did seem to enjoy reminding them he would prefer not to. His short frame reclined in one of the largest, most comfortable chairs in the room, despite not being an officer and several larger individuals clearly standing uncomfortably.
“We’re quite aware of your… preferences, wizard.” Aurora didn’t hide her disdain for the drow, her divine senses making her skin crawl every time he was present.
“Oh of course my dear Lady Knight, how forgetful of me, goosebumps flaring are they?” He quipped back, turning his head to regard her with a smirk and raised eyebrow.
“Oh I’ll flare your goo-” the paladin began, reaching for her sword, but was interrupted by the other wizard present, the sea elf Izzurba.
“Perhaps,” he began, raising a hand in the gesture the crew had come to know as save it for later, “this might not be the best location for such an incendiary discussion?” The conjurer looked pointedly at the various items of value, many explosively flammable, behind the bar of the lounge.
Aurora glared at the drow, but remained silent. The latter sipped further of his wine, eyes sliding back to the handful of papers floating in the air before him.
“Yes I’d hate to burn this newspaper, if it could be called that, before I got to the funny pages.” He quipped. Aurora bit back her rage.
“Thank you Tlad. Please, Hank, go on.” Izzurba gestured qhere the alhoons image appeared, projected as it was in their minds.
“Thank you. As you all know, I am bound to the immediate proximity of this vessel, and Blackrock Station is strangely immune to my psychic senses. I cannot see within the station, just as I lose my mental link to most of you while you are inside, but I can surveil the minds in the immediate vicinity, and it has revealed some information that I believe you will all appreciate as an opportunity. Primarily, you have Smoke to thank for this, as it was his lead on The Empty Skull that brought several threads together.”
As it projected the words to their minds, Hank maintained its psychic projection, those officers in the crew and several of their trusted allies seeing the ghostly alhoon floating in space, while Tlad and others saw a tall but otherwise unremarkable and androgynous humanoid with black skin standing as it spoke.
“Ya’ll are welcome, though we may live to turn that to a regret” the cowboy drawled, tipping his hat before crossing his arms and leaning back with elbows against the bar.
“Um, that’s Pirate McSquidface’s ship right?” Asked Caitlin, sitting on the arm of the other comfortable chair, nimbly balanced despite the light touches of the tiefling, Klea, on her lower back from where she was sprawled as suggestively as possible. Everyone knew the two had becoke close, if not exclusively, in recent weeks. It was a big ship, but not THAT big.
Hanks images raised a curious tentacle and eyebrow, alhoon and humanoid respectively.
“Oh, um, sorry. The thin guy?” Caitlin said abashed.
“H'catha Slim” drawled Smoke, hand reflexively twitching towards his sidearm.
“Yeah. Thin guy. That’s him. Him?” She asked the room.
‘He certainly projects a generally masculine persona, we can check pronouns nice time we see him dear.” Klea responded, biting her lower lip.
“And I’m guessing that we’re gunna, right Hank?” Smoke course corrected.
“Yes, some of you will if what I have in mind goes to plan. If it doesn’t, there may be a confrontation, but outside Blackrock Station I may be able to assist the crew against the illithidkin.”
“First, allow me to show you all the location of the plan: Warrensfield Shipyard.” An image sprang into the minds of those present, in the centre of the room. A large, strongly constructed wooden space station, Warrwnsfield Shipyard was a cube just slightly shorter in height than it was length anf breadth. The image rotated, evidencing mechanical booms and cranes off the four sides of the station, with each face having a pair of large doors across the mid section, along the stations gravity well.
Hank continued, “Warrensfield is a penal yard, using indentured servants as the raw muscle to construct and refit spacefaring vessels. Named for the halfling family that owns it, and its main resource Warrensfield Penitentiary, it is a remarkably designed station, almost as much a machine as it is a port of berth, and protected by magics in similar vein, although unrelated, to that of the Tomb of the Nine Gods. It is as safe a port as any for refitting a pirate vessel like The Empty Skull.”
“So, this will be easy then?” This from Leopold, one of the two feline Shi. One of the aforementioned larger crew members present, his tail casually swiped to rustle Tlads hovering newspaper.
“No,” replied Hank, “but I believe it to be withon our collected capabilities to ‘pull it off’, as the sayong goes”.
Leopold gestured, tail curlimg curiously “pull what off exactly?”
“Stealing the Giant Bombard Cannon from The Empty Skull” Hank replied flatly.
Glances shot around the room, the silence broken by the rustle of Tlads papers as he commemted “Oh, look, there’s the funny pages now.”
“Oo, what steal?” offered Filthbucket, popping out from behind Tlads chair. In the diminutive kobolds hand was the drows wine glass, which he sniffed before pouring out into a pot plant. The wizards hand still sat palm up as if it were cradling the glass, and the kobold stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and balanced on one foot as he daintily returned the empy vessel to its place.
“A gun.” Offered the cowboy, “a real, real big gun.”
“Ooh. Big boom boom?” Filthbuxket queried, rubbing his tiny clawed hands together.
“Darn right furball, just about the biggest boom I reckon we could nail to this here ship. But Hank, ain’t the ‘skull one of them living cere-whatever ships? Won’t it be all fleshy and grown into?” Smoke wove his fingers together and wiggled them, as example.
“Yes, it will, which is precisely why we will need Izzurba and Tlad’s magic, along with my psuchometabolic skills, to steal it. It’s also why, if we are successful, we will be able to connect it directly to the helm.”
Izzurba raised an eyebrow and tiled his head, while Tlads newspaper folded itself away and floated to a nearby table. “Go on.” He said, bringing a surprisingly empty glass to his lips. Izzurba made a gesture, a cantrip topping up the glass. “Thankyou. A fine vintage.” The drow sniffed the wine and sipped it cooly.
“Let me start at the beginning. The Destiny will make port at Warrensfield, ostensibly to offload cargo, but also to take stock of the services present - naturally, a gunsmith like Smoke and our other officers would be interested in what the shipyard has to offer.”
As Hank spoke, the slowly rotating image of Warrensfield was joined by an image of the Destiny, sliding into a now open dock.
“While aboard the station, it is likely that H’Catha Slim and his officers, Righty and Lefty, will become aware the Lightwood officers are present. Smoke will bait the mind flayer, safely as there is a no-peace no-service policy aboard the station, and set up a distraction. It seems that, like many of the Dread Pirate Captains, H’Catha Slim is a gambler, and Smoke you will put your new found Ship, Captain, Crew skills to the test keeping him and his officers distracted.”
“Well, I ‘preciate your confidence in me Hank ‘ol chum, but I’m gunna lose a lot o’ money migbty quick if I rustle three telepathic Mind Flayers into a game ‘o bones” Smoke replied.
“You will not be alone, and nor will it be just you at the table. Klyde Warrwnsfield, the general manager of the shipyard, is said to be a keen if somewhat terrible gambler, and with deep pockets. If you can bait the officers of the Empty Skull into a game of dice within his earshot, my research suggests he will host the event in his officer’s lounge, and join the game. His pockets run deep, and I believe we can weaken his restraint at the table with Tlads’ help.”
“Hmm.” Tlad considered. “I could whip up a small potion, if someone can get a few drops of it into his drink it will make him bet his underwear if it comes down to it.”
“Thank you Tlad, I was aware this was within your capability, however halfling underwear will not be the objective of the mission - merely keeping the officers of the Empty Skull distracted.”
“I’ve heard a little about them,” this from Klea, who was continuing to enjoy bothering Caitlin “they’re both mental clones of his, and fiercely protective, won’t at least one of them sit out to keep an eye on things?”
“Yes”, ceded Hank, “However you and Aurora will use your highly developed persuasion skills to spread a rumour rhat there will be an attempt on H’Catha Slim’s life at the event, so they will be on watch to protect him.”
Klea glanced at Aurora, eyeing the stunning paladin up and down with a highly suggestive look causing her to blush, “Oh I’m sure we could get our lips to work”. The tiefling winked at her.
“Ok, so Smoke, Klea and I are on the setup Smoke’s on the dice and someone needs to be there to have his back and drop whatever evil shit redeyes here is going to whip up into the halflings ale, but that still leaves it two to one and not in our favour - do we want someone else there for the distraction?”
“Yes Aurora, I believe Caitlyn’s wholeness of mind, and Leopolds genuine innocence, will both support Smoke well in this endeavour. One or both of them should be able to dose Klyde Warrensfield, and interfere with the illithidkin if they should try to leave. And you will be there as well, of course.”
“Me? You want me to run distraction on the mind reading gamblers and brain eaters?”
“No, I believe you would best be positioned at the table, with Smoke, given some other information about Klyde Warrensfield I have found.”
“Which is?”
“He prefers women of taller races.”
“Oh. Um. Iguess I can show a little skin and roll some dice?” Aurora said.
Pinching Caitlyn in a sensitive spot before hopping up to saunter over to Aurora, Klea added “Oh, sweetie, I’ve got the perfect outfit for you, I’ll come by yoir quarters later. You’ll look ravishing in it. And out.” The tiefling winked.
Aurora coughed quietly into her fist, red spreading on her cheeks, before continuing “Ok so Smoke, Caitlyn, Leopold, my tits, and I are on interference and dice, whats everyone else doing?”
“I believe Klyde is more partial to legs, but indeed your breasts will be present” Hank reaponded, before continuing. “Bolgar is of the clergy of Heimdall, one of the Asgardian pantheon known for his love of spacefaring vessels.”
The mentioned warrior nodded, offering “Nothing fancy though, I’m much more skilled at the combat side of things, but I’m interested to see where this is headed.”
“Indeed, but you sell yourself short, your blessings have proven of great worth to the Destiny, and the effect of your magical horn is already scuttle among the lizardfolk tribes and dockers at Blackrock, and word spreads dast in those groups.”
Bolgar considered this, and offered a nod, leading Hank to continue. “Guardian w8ll sneak himself and Bolgar into the docking bay where the Empty Skull is berthed, and present to the ship as you indeed are - a holy priest of Heimdall, and his companion warforged guard. You cannot reach the ship without being seen, as dockies and shipyard attends will be present, but you can present to the foreman to offer Heimdalls blessing upon the hull of the Empty Skull.”
“As you are already inside the dock, the foreman will believe you have passed the check point, and have permission to do so - providing you act convincingly enough. Once you have convinced him, you will approach the ship and bless it with the time honoured tradition of breaking a bottle of spirits against the hull.”
“Okay, what’s the catch?” Bolgar queried.
“The first bottle will not break, as it will not really be a bottle at all. The second bottle, howevef, will break, you will bless the ship in the name of your patron, and leave.”
“If its not really a bottle, what will it be?” Asked Guardian.
“Not what, whom. It will be Filthbucket.”
His name mentioned, the hairy kobold made a noise that sounded like “urp, me” from behind Smoke, where he stood on the bar, fingers about to lift the gunslingers pride and joy from its holster. The cowboy rolled his eyes and reached doqn to clip the safety strap back over the gun, to a disappointed noise from tge rogue.
His immediate distraction aside, the small creature tilted his head and scratch his foot with his ear, lips smacking together as his brain struggled to catch back up with the conversation. “But, me not look like bottle, me look like kpbold! Real kobold too, not silly scaly aannabe koboldses.”
“Yes, quite, but you will be disguised by Hankfluid.” ptoclaimed the alhoon
“Danktulip?” Filthbucket questioned at the same time that Izzurba raised an eyebrow and repeated “Hankfluid”, and the others present said “awhat fluid?” In unison.
“Hankfluid, my staff that I gave to Izzurba in Chult.”
The mentioned wizard evidenced the staff by holding out his right hand as if he were holding something. Slowly the skin up his sleeve shimmered sarker, and a fluid like substance ran down it to coalesce at his hand, before stretching up and down to form itself into a long, staff like shape. The tip of the staff was six shiny metal tentacles, which grew together as one at the lower end.
“But it’s bound to me, isn’t it?” The conjurer queried.
“Yes, it is, and we will return to that connection momentarily, as that is another key to the plan. The physicality of Hankfluid, however, is somewhat amorphous as you just saw, and the metaphysical properties of its psychic and magical power is connected to my power, has now become connected to your power, and can borrow some power from its current host.”
“So I’m… giving it to Filthbucket?” The sea elf asked, some concern to his voice. Several others regarded the kobold, still scratching his ear with his back foot, dubiously.
“Not giving, no, but I will show you how to direct it upon him, and command it to conceal him, like this.” Hanks eyes closed - for effect only, given its presence was a projection - and the staff in Izzurbas hand began to quiver and return to its liquid state. It slid back up his arm into his robe, travelled down his leg, wriggled its way across the floor, and scaled the bar by prpjecting parts of itself at a time and oozing up the wooden construction. It pooled on the bar next to the kobold, who regarded it with abject terror, one foot stuck in his own ear.
“Smoke,” Hank asked, “One of our largest, finest bottles please.”
Nodding, the cowboy moved around behinf the bar and pulled out a heavy bottle of liquid, made of dark glass and with a label written in an unknown language. He placed the bottle on the bar, on the other side of Filthbucket, who continued to stare at the slowly rippling black ooze with evident fear.
“Now, Filthbucket, this will feel odd, but not entirely unpleasant.” Hank noted.
The kobold pulled his foot out of his ear and started to say something, turning to Hnks projection, but was stopped by the Hankfluid bursting upon him, enveloping him entirely, and then shrinking down to an identical copy of the bottle placed by Smoke.
“Somehow, the room suddely feels cleaner” noted Tlad, receiving a glare from Aurora that turned into resigned agreeance.
Bolgar moved to the bottle that was Filthbucket and picked it up in one hand, picking up the original in the other. “Nice trick, they look identical. Magic won’t detect it?” He passed the bottles to Izzurba for review.
“No, Hankfluid is a psychoactive skin, more akin to a psychic creature that lives in symbiosis with a host. For short periods of time it can leave its host to wear another individual, and its properties are altered to suit their mindscape resonance.”
Several crew exchanged concerned looks. “Don’t you mean ‘be worn by’ another individual?” Izzurba asked.
“No, as it is a quasi-symbiosis, and extends partly into the mindscape, a better description is Hankfluid wears them.” The alhoon explained.
“Ok so anyway, once I’ve thrown the bottle that’s really a two foot and change fuzzy mess at the ship, I’m guessing it turns back into Filthbucket our little rogue?” Asked Bolgar
“eventually, but not yet. The Hankfluid will continue to wear him at this point as required. Filthbucket-” at this Hank clearly sent some mental command to the Hankfluid causing it to reform the named creature, and ooze it’s way back to Izzurba (who viewed it with a new understanding), “-will bob around in the gravity plane of the shipyard, where the Empty Skull resides, until he brushes against one of the feeding fronds of the Nautiloid.”
At this, the rogue (who had been twisting a little finger in his ear, concerned some Hankfluid remained), exclaimed “Feeding? Food? Me not food, Hanky!”
“Indeed, you are not food - or at least, in the concealed form inside the Hankfluid you will not be, but the Nautiloid will be in a state of psychicly induced slumber for the fitting of the cannon, and it’s feeding fronds will act as its autonomic system defaults to which is to collect small objects in the gravity plan to injest.”
Filthbucket gulped audibly.
“Yes, quite. Once inside the nautiloids digestive system, however, the Hankfluid will secrete a psychic command to be deposited safely where it can release Filthbucket, and he can find the internal weapon bay the Giant Bombard Cannon is being installed to.”
“And blow up? Big boom go boom?” The kobold asked, suddenly enthused once more.
“At a guess,” responded Izzurba, turning to Hamk, “this is where I come in?”
Hank nodded. “Yes. In the Tomb of the Nine Gods the Hankfluid connection allowed us to breach the magical defences of all but Acereraks most powerful wards, allowing either you to open a portal out, or I to open a portal in. As the Hankfluid has now worn you sufficiently, we will both be able to combine our energy to breach the defenses of Warrensfield, and open a temporary portal to Filthbuckets location.”
“And then we’re in.” Izzurba said.
“Yes. You, Tlad, and Tundra will enter the weapon bay. Filthbuckets small and nimble hands will help you access the finer parts of the cannon and disassemble the mechanism. Combining your powers of conjuration and Tlads powers of transmutation, you will extricate the magical and biological parts, and replace them and the mechanical parts with temporary forgeries that will pass inspection. Tundra will do the heavy lifting, and she and Filthbucket will simply walk the majority of the parts out of the bay and back here to the Destiny via the portal.”
“And meamwhile, we just keep Slim, his Left hand, and his Right hand, occupied at Klyde’s?” Asked Smoke.
“Yes, all without making it obvious that you are doing so, of course. Should H’Catha Slim or his officers become suspicious, they may leave to check on the Nautiloid, and there is a chance that his mental connection to the ceremprph vessel is similar to his connection with his officers - I suspect it contains another mental clone of his own mind.”
“Alright, I’m game, I don’t know if I could beat Slim to the draw, but I’ll happily take his money while we steal his big gun out from under him.” Smoke affirmed, flipping his good luck coin with and catching it with one hand.
“Sure, I can lose money and flirt with someone.” Asserted Aurora.
“Sounds like fun.” Offered Cailtlyn, “Punching is more my style, but messing with people is always fun, maybe even more so if they’re mind flayer clones?”
“I’m not the biggest fan of being separated from Tundra, but she’s the strongest person on the ship, and I don’t think I’d be adding much at her end, so sure, I can help with Klyde and the illithids.” Leopold agreed.
“Yeah, if I can’t hit stuff I can at least show off my muscles” the other twin, Tundra, confirmed.
“Mm, likey sneaky, likey stealy” Filthbucket added, wringing his hands greedily, “maybe find other shinies on board?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, there could be others about the Nautiloid, play it safe and we’ve got it. I’m in.” Guardian resolved.
Bolgar considered momentarily, “well, I think Heimdall would be fine with me blessing a mind flayer vessel? What the hell lets give it a go.” gave the half-orc
“Oh I’m definitely in, I get to play with four life sozed dolls and make them all fancy? You bet.” Klea said enthusiastically.
“I concur, The Empty Skull sits at the top of the standings within Blackjammers challenge, and is a fierce threat the challenge not withstanding. H’Catha Slim all but threatened to take our ship, and having the bigger gun will even the field should he try. I’m curious about this combination of magics too, as much as I am not Tlad’s biggest fan, I will cede he has a great deal of talent.” This from Izzurba, leaving just one of the eleven individuals Hank had assembled to reapond.
All eyes settled on the drow, who shruggex, and offered a wide grin. “What can I say? Hank, you son of a bitch, I’m in.”
The lone observer, a rainbow coloured parrot sitting on the mast outside the window, continued to clean his feathers.
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