Forgotten Freeesom:Journal of a Redshirt
Call me Ishmael,
I, being a clerk in a small accounting firm in Fairhaven, decided that my talents didn't lie there anymore. I craved the adventure and romance of living the life of an outlaw. Sailing through the sky, raiding the cloud galleons, throwing caution to the winds and loving it. It sung to my heart sweet melodies of quintessence.
I heard by chance that a small airship was hiring deck hands. It was a name I had heard in passing as a pirate vessel, and thus I hurried over to the sky dock. The ship was, well, more like a small floating island than anything I'd ever seen sailing the stars. It seemed like there may have been an airship beneath all the haphazard piles of new construction at one point. It was roughly spherical in nature and had a humongously spiked keel. If I wasn't so shocked, I'd have laughed.
I spoke to the man I assumed was captain, Jarlot was his name. He was worse for the drink at the time, and seemed to confuse me for an aquaintance of his named "Sephiroth". He attempted to take a swing at me with a sword so ridiculously large that it could have replaced Our good queen Aurala's Dining room table! Fortunatly, the alcohol he had imbibed managed to blur his vision and he hit a pole instead. The pole was thoroughly destroyed.
After that a disturbingly cheerful girl came up to me and led me away from the drunkard captain, apologizing for his conduct and asking me what buisness I had with this fine vessel. I explained to her my ardent lust for adventure and desire to hire on as a cabin hand. She looked faint and suggested that I look elsewhere, but I stood firm. It should also be noted that no other ships in port were interested in me.
I was ushered to a small office, which what it lacked in decor was made up in the strangeness of the occupant. He was sort of transparent, and appeared to made of chaos itself. His eyes spoke of worlds beyond human comprehension. He introduced himself as Kanatash, and proceeded to ask me about my relations with animals, my parents, Jaela Daran, and many more. Then he asked me my opinion of "lemony freshness"; I was befuddled.
When the interview had finished, he told me to find myself a piece of floor to sleep on. In doing this, I lost my valuables to a strange half-orc named "Doog" or "Dooj"; He answers to both. He threatened me with an intimidating chain, with very prominant spikes, often spattered with gore. In the end, I found a place near a corner (a rare find) and managed to scrounge some rags to sleep in.
That is the story of my hiring on as a redshirt on the Forgotten Freedom.
---
Fair Reader, I have reason to believe that I have had both my most fortunate moment in my life, and my most unfortunate, in the space of several hours. Volrath, the librarian and apparently far older than his boyish visage of 13, had taken it into his mind that I should be shown around the ship. Nice fellow, wouldn't say a word against him. The place he decided to start me off in was the library. Normally I love libraries, but this one had geometry that never measured up to eberronian standards. This Non-Euclidian, monstrous mausoleum of lexicon had shelves haphazardly placed, in no relation to gravity!
Volrath, as he walked me through the aisles, kindly explained that there were three classes aboard this ship, the "ubers", the most powerful crewmen with the least morals, the "scum", the crewmen with either more morals or no power, and the "redshirts". He himself was of the uber class (or so he claimed) , and I was a lowly redshirt. Redshirts main duties included doing what they were told and dying in the line of duty from what I understood of his speech.
At that moment, he decided that perhaps he couldn't do this, because of a bet, for a rather large sum of money. He left me in a safe dimension, without food or water. I was scared when around lunchtime I realized this. And then the shockwaves began (I learned later that a crewman, the Deicide, had destroyed the better part of a plane). This somehow shot me out of the library, while still in the dimension and through Kanatash who was walking into the library. He was bored, and threw me over the edge of the Forgotten Freedom for my impertinence.
Luckily, the Forgotten Freedom had been enlarged extremely recently, and I rammed through the wall, into a woman's boudoir. Silence, the room's occupant, took the whole issue quite calmly, and frankly, far more leniently than I expected at that point. She explained that she once worked her way throught the ranks to becoming one of the "scum". She looked favorably on my efforts, and despite her awkward syntax, was a very well-spoken young lady. She also told me that I had "like, a chance in hundred billion" of surviving to be among the "scum" class. I thanked her for her honesty, her kind words, and forthrightness, and walked out the hole in her wall in daze. I wonder if all of her piercings hurt?
It seems the redshirts are kept in line by three people. A half orc with a Xen'drixian accent, Klaz Dingbo, seems to act as a dictator over the downtrodden slaves that make up the redshirts. He holds sway with his mysterious "Jaela Picture" (I've no idea what this is a codename for). His right-hand man is a drow, Vrin the pirate drow who follows Herr Dingbo with a strange black box. Their favorite trick is to walk up to someone and spend several minutes talking about their distinctive features, and then punch them. The third is Doog, or Dooj, the half-orc who robbed me on my first day.
On another note, I do believe that Kanatash is experimenting with new torture techniques. Cries of "AAAHH! NO! THE PINE-SCENTED GOODNESS! ANYTHING BUT THAT! YAAAARGH!" and "AIIIYIIIIIEEEEE, THE BANANA BONANZA! NOT THE BANANA BONANZA!" have been heard rather frequently. Hmmm, I do believe that there is slightly more floorspace tonight... I wonder why?
---
Apparently, the good captain Jarlot has gone insane. I am told by the rest of the redshirts that this isn't an entirely uncommon occurance. Last week he was fighting off multiple personalities, claiming to be a bat shifter, someone named "Chuck Norris", and someone named "Mr.T". And before that he made one million Jaela Daran Clones and somehow managed to make them "ninja". I wonder what that means?
However, one thing I'm finding out onboard this ship is that knowing too much is rather deadly. I came to this realization when I had the misfourtune of walking in on one of Kanatash's torturing experiments. I shall not go into detail, but he was extremely interested in some of the properties of limes.
This time, he is ranting and claiming to be something called Shadow. Aerith, the joyful young woman who greeted my inquiries, seemed somewhat depressed. I gather that this time Jarlot has killed Marish, who I only saw once, and Andrea, whom I never had the pleasure of meeting. Apparently this is also a common occurance. Doog, or Dooj, is apparently on his 25th or 26th body. He can't recall. So it seems likely that both the dead parties will be up and around in a few days.
One bastion of sanity is the Keel. John was awakened when Ketler, the ship's artificier (whom I never had the honor to meet), got extremely inebriated and started fooling around with a wand of awaken. The result is John, the awakened dire keel. Apparently he is supposed to be the item that makes the keel-hauling actually painful. He has ten-foot adamantine spikes that are nailed to him, that are enhanced against all humanoids, and he can cast a variety of spells, most notably the legendary Bigby's Crushing Tactical Nuke. Despite his reason for existence he has found peace and inner strength. It is hard to describe the feeling of rightness one gets when he speaks to help people. He has an almost deific quality, of the limitless perfection. The rest of the redshirts tell me it's a phase every redshirt goes through, listening to the keel out of their own free will.
I have finally completed a satisfactory defense system around my corner. It uses rope trick to transport the interlopers into a small extra-dimensional pocket, and then fires three fireballs simultaneously into the pocket, immolating any of the redshirts and possibly some of the scum who were foolish enough to try to enter my abode without my permission. If anyone can break that defence, frankly, I'm already dead anyway. The good news is I can begin to think about furnishing my domain!
This led me to some of the scum's rooms. I was surprised and bemused at finding a stuffed bear sawing wood. I surmised that it was some kind of golem or similar construct. I was fortunate in Klaz's inadvertant comment about this sentient. It appears that anyone who has slighted it in the past has found an abnormal amount of splinters run their way. I was eavesdropping, so the comment wasn't directed towords me. I heeded it's warning anyway. Unfortunately, it appeared to be in a bad mood and offered me the option of leaving or dying a slow, splintery death. I opted for the former.
Apparently one of the scum has noticed that I exist. A young man named Devon has asked if he could read me his poetry on the morrow. I, being a connesseur of poetry, heartily agreed. I do hope it is good. As a side note. It appears that Jarlot is coming my way. I think I must run now- --- Things have begun to wind down after the excitement of yesterday. Volrath, Doog (or Dooj), and many of the redshirts are missing or dead. On the upside, I have found the Bar! I am unsure of the name, as is everyone, and apparently there is a contest to see who can come up with the best name. I put my vote in for the "River Styx", because odds are, if you drink any one of the more powerful drinks, you will die of alcohol poisoning.
A strange girl has joined the crew, calling herself Sakura. She claims to be the captain's daughter. He doesn't deny it, but I think it highly unlikely that something so beautiful could come from him. Although I must say, it is possible that she is Aerith's daughter. Sakura seems to have the same irreprehesible jubilence and she has the most irregular aura I've ever seen. It's... So captivating. My heart is in tatters when I am away from her light and yet, instantly it mends when I catch but the smallest glimpse of her, the wisp of her perfume.
Jarlot's comment, slurred by the influence of heavy drink, was that children were like weapons. He continued on at some length as to how you could forge them all you wanted, but what happened after they left the anvil was all someone else's fault. This leads me to believe that the captain's base state is that of raving drunk.
Aside from that incident, Jarlot has had a wave of sanity, which I hope lasts. Generally, the saner he is the calmer the crew is. Also, many of the Uber class are off dealing with their own issues, so many of the lesser crew can actually take a rest. In fact, only thirty-four redshirts have died in the last twenty-four hours, that I am aware of. It's nearly a thirty percent drop!
Ah, but I can never take my mind off of sweet Sakura for long. I have descretely asked around for anyone skilled in the arts of love, and was pointed towords a young man named Devon, with much sniggering. He suggested poetry, and began to read some of his. I can see why someone could like it, but I can also see why it would cause a fox to chew through it's own heart in an effort escape the sonic torture. I managed to get away with minimal injury to my eardrums. I had to visit to Mickey, the ship's doctor, who simply hands out alcohol. I'd always figured that was what made people go to him, but upon further inspection it appears to have some curative properties. My ears are healing nicely now, but I suppose one must suffer for love.
I asked Mickey what he used in his potions; his reply was "Scrat". I was bemused and felt it necessary to inquire as what "scrat" was. His reply was to shrug his shoulders and say that it is Norbaz's specialty. Upon further investigation, I discovered that "Scrat" is what you get when you distill rats for eight-to-ten years. Apparently, the crew are not the most decerning customers where alcohol is concerned.
The other good news is that I have made my first friend amongst the other redshirts. He is a young lad, eager for adventure and full of ginger! His name is Thomas Pun, and was actually educated at Arcanix, my alma mater! His is immensely well spoken and has some very interesting ideas about the nature of magic. While he looks rather dark and brooding at first, once he starts talking he becomes far more animated, with occasional spittle making him look rather rabid.
Alas! I cannot get Sakura out of my head! Perhaps unrequited love is nobler?
---
I am honestly amazed that the captain even knows my name. I do believe that it is quite impressive that he even knows one of his redshirts, by name. Perhaps in the future he'll be more careful with them, and not let them be USED AS CHESS PIECES BY VOLRATH AND KANATASH!
I had the "honor" of being the queen for Volrath. I was dressed in garters and a dancing girl outfit for this most magnanimous occasion.By some black mercy, I was lucky enough to be among the winners in this round.Still, that unspeakable horror transformed me into a thing beyond description! During the frenzy that followed I, by some ironic stroke of luck, kept my sanity and managed to slip away during the bloody ritual. I think both Volrath and Kanatash were too busy with Satnak to notice a seven tentacled pseudopod squelching its way belowdecks.
Sakura must never see me again, at least until I am human. I shall never have the pleasure of looking upon her face, smiling, with that most amazing glint of beauty in her eye. Alas, it is too much for me, I must never mention her again untill I am cured of this affliction. For I have no mouth, but I must scream!
Perhaps the library will hold some hope for my digusting ectoplasm that heaves and billows, quaking as though it were far more gelatinous than it actually is.
There are whispers of a redshirt purge. These are clearly dark times. I must hide in the shadows for the time being, and hope for sweet release.
---
The crew is gearing up for battle. I suppose the redshirt purge will begin soon. While I still have what passes for breath in my body, I should confess my love of Sakura once and for all. My tentacle in which I hold this dragonhawk quill shakes, as though with palsy. I suppose that this may be my last will and testament as well, for the lawyer on board. Volrath's name deserves one more curse, for putting this transformation on me.
I have talked with John, to try to ease my mind. He laughed when I mentioned the redshirt purge, and said that it had nothing to do with us. According to John, Sa'vor gave an inspiring monologue to the crew to help them fight an unknown foe. But I know the truth! Volrath and his horrors are out to finish the job they started with their chess game! I have seen no "unknown enemies" that are trying to destroy the Forgotten Freedom II, despite my myriad eyestalks! They are trying to kill us down-trodden Redshirts, with this flimsy story which the keel tried to support with the pathetic "they haven't arrived yet" to cover their actions from our eyes!
This leaves me no option. I shall hide within Volrath's horde, waiting for the fighting to be over. I shall mourn the redshirts who died in the massacre to be, and when the time comes, make the villains who perpetrated this pay for each and every single drop of blood they took...
---
Later in the Lab, Volrath and Kanatash are examining the remains of the C’tan that have died in the battle so far.
Volrath : Hey Uncle!
Kanatash : Mmmm?
Volrath : Look what I found in the big metallo-snakey thing’s guts! * hoists up a slightly dissolved book*
Kanatash : Maybe it was a Bibliovore?
Volrath : Nah... I found evidence that it was a true omnivore. I mean it ate one of my abberations, which ended up killing it, but still...
Kanatash : So, what book is it?
Volrath : I don’t know. The cover is illegible thanks to the gastric acid, and I haven’t opened it yet because it might be trapped.
Kanatash : Showing good, healthy paranoia. Disenchant it and find out.
Volrath : *Mord’s Dysjunction*
Volrath flips to the end and stops for a second and laughs
Volrath : HeehehehhahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Uncle, you simply must read this!
This is the last will and testament of Ishmael, the redshirt. As I sit here, my tentacles are slowly melting into the stomach acids of this dying beast, broken, writing that someone may one day know the circumstances of my death.
I was lurking outside Sakura’s room, hoping for a glimpse of her, when the battle broke out. I know not why we fought, but I killed that I could survive. Our enemies were strange, metallic skeletons and god-like beings of immense power. They appeared to have some form of regeneration, because the skeletons tended to get back up after they were dead. The god-like ones were of all different shapes and abilities.
We survived the first wave, but were losing badly when the second came along; They just kept coming. I had all of my attack spells, oils, and potions. I even scrounged for a sword I could use. I did all I could, but there were too many of them. Then a strange soothing, liquid feeling fell over the remaining defenders, and the tides turned to balance. We got some new magic from those on the ship, as well. I assume it was Ketler who creating the lightning generator and blew apart a large part of the enemy force, as well as a large part of ours. Frankly, he’s the only one who’s stupid enough to try something like that. Ajihazi was supposed to be our field commander, but he had a philosophical discussion with his pink elephants, and Micheal was his second in command, but was so drunk that he was calling for Doog to help him with his fly. It was aparently stuck.
Only myself, the Phollies, and twenty of the other redshirts were left out of my comrades, discluding the leaders, though comrades is far too kind a word for these scum. I’d made a small place we could hide against the next wave. Let the Forgotten Freedom deal with its own messes. The redshirts have enough on their hands just surviving. I could even see the next wave, but then I heard singing, like angels, coming from accross the battlefield. My left intestine is beginning to smolder; I do not have long.
Sakura was singing and playing hopscotch among the fallen. It may not have been hopscotch, but that isn’t the point. The point was that the next wave had arrived. We defended the oblivious maiden from her doom, but alas it was all too weak. One of the god-beings, a gigantic metallic serpent was staring down at her, as one would stare at a pork pie.
I, not even thinking, jumped between them as the snake began to attempt to eat that perfect, divine child. Sakura was asking the abomination where the captain was.
I can recall her last words to me. She poked me and laughed. She said “It’s just like Jell-O! Hey, can I call you ‘Mister Jell-O-ee’? Please?” I turned one of my eyestalks toward her, and winked as the giant serpent closed it’s jaws around me. In a frantic attempt to survive, I jabbed my sword on the edge of the horror’s throat. The muscle action pulled me and my sword down , slitting the things neck into ribbons.
And now, I lie dissolving, a god’s last snack. Good bye fair reader, may the fates be kinder to you than they have been to me. Fare well cruel world! ~Ishmael
Volrath : Pretty funny, eh?
Kanatash is rolling on the ceiling with laughter. He finally comes down after a few minutes
Kanatash : I needed that. Wait, is the aberration's corpse still there?
Volrath : *checks* Yep. Why do you ask? I mean, it’s pretty dead and all.
Kanatash : Hmmm... could have sworn I felt a plot device waft in. Normally I can smell those a universe away.
Volrath : But... Uncle, plot devices happen to important people, like us. Are you feeling all right?
Kanatash : Yeah, you’re right; after all, it was only a redshirt.
The END
Epilogue:
Volrath : Ketler! What are you doing?!
Ketler: Wheeee... Thunder is fun...
Volrath: Are you drunk or something?
Ketler *looks afronted*: 'M not drun'; I'm stoned! Get it straight.
Volrath : Indeed. Now, what did you do to my experiments in MY LAB?
Ketler : See that tinfoil, the magnet and the shoe lace thats tacked up to the cieling? That connects to your lightning rod?
Volrath : Yep.
Ketler : That used to be attached to that abberation's corpse you had on that table. You know, the one that was half rotted? Hee hee... Whooo!
Ishmael Jr. walks accross the deck, hands in his pockets grumblng to himself. It was a cold, cold night, and Ishmael Jr. had a long list of things he had to do. Many of them involving various cleaning equipment.
Ishmael Jr : grumble Razzer-frazzen mops, stupid arsehole Klaz... Jaela's ***, what IS THAT SMELL?
He turns around, only to face the strangest sight he has ever seen, bare none. A decaying pseudopod, with maggots of various types seething in the remains of its intestines, is crawling tword him, dragging a book behind it in its one remaining tentacle. It leaves a slimy, bug ridden trail behind it. Part of wha could be its brain is vissible through the hole in it's skull. It was apparently burned by some horrid dissolvent as well. The stench it gives off is rather quite impressive.
Ishmael Jr.: Uh... What?
The abberation waves the book and makes a vague groaning noise. The book is pockmarked, as though it had a slight bath in acid. The title is ilegible.
Ishmael Jr.: What do you want? I'm trying to swab the bloody deck here, and you're a bally walking mess! So **** off!
The abberation makes a slurping noise, throws the book at Ishmael Jr. and promptly collapses. The tentacle flops around like a dying fish, writing "you were always good for..."
