Mmm! Existence. Sweet, sweet existence. My lungs work of their own accord. Amazing. Chest rises as air comes in and so too does the stench of life. Mmm, and my nose wrinkles. The smell of death too. Wonderful!

I'm not sure how long I lay there on the floor (floor? It's wood, granular, scratchy.. in a pleasant way? No, unpleasant. No.. both. Fascinating!) And how odd to be bound by time. I try counting the seconds for a while. 1.. 2.. 3..

..798.. 799.. 800.. 

I enjoy being. My attention begins to shift. There is so much around me, although currently my vision is limited to a small square. Perhaps I shall move? Yes, let's see, there's the impulse toward motion and oh yes! Muscles are going, and here I am, and ohhh. My mouth lets out a groan. I watch as I stretch my limbs and it feels so good. Yes. Life. I am loving it. 

As I sit up, I notice the object on the ground. A very thick, very black book. It reminds me of a black hole, sucking in all attention. Curious. Do I want to touch the book? Does the book want me to touch it? I have the sense that it's appealing, but.. how do I know that? What does appealing even mean?

Suddenly the rotting wood of the door shivers with a bang -- then another.

"Open up!", yells a raspy voice.

A softer voice follows in its shadow: "Why are you wasting your breath? They'll get hungry eventually."

"I'm not letting some sleazy mender roaches make any decisions on my ship", the raspy voice barks back.

"Your da's shi...", the soft words end in a loud crack and a long groan.

You hear someone taking a deep breath followed by the notes of a lullaby but the words of something else entirely different:

"roachie, roachie, come on out. I won't kill you lest you shout"

Yes, yes, sure there is noise and banging. Quite interesting, I agree. But that book. It's not that I'm going to touch it. It's more like, I'm going to bring my hand toward it, with the intention of touching it, and I'll see what that's like. Maybe I'll feel excited and then grab it, or maybe I will feel a sense of doom and stop? But I really need to know, and no songs about roaches (charming as they may be) will stop me. 

As you touch the rough leather cover you reflexively brace yourself for the warm glow of attunement but nothing happens ... This is one of your most powerful artifacts, the Book of Vile Darkness, the source of much of your power, allowing you to throw around more of your weight than your historically anemic congregation would justify.

However, it seems attunements don't survive reincarnations. You'll have to spend 80 hours studying the tome before you'll be able to decipher any of the rituals and dread magics it contains.

As you lift the heavy artifact, it leaves behind a slight indentation in the wood right at the center of the bloody pentagram. You recognize the corroding effect the book has on anything left in contact with it for long. The effect isn't like an acid burn. It's more like the laziest carpenter in the world remembered to sandpaper a particular spot for two breaths every hour. That said, you know that with enough patience or neglect it will eventually wear through anything.

In the mean time, Mr. Murderous Serenade has resorted to applying more force to the door. You notice the old timbers flexing reluctantly outward with each impact.

Ahh! My beauty. My baby. I hold the book in my arms, pressing it to my chest, in the approximation of a hug. I can feel that faintest hint of corrosion. It's almost like.. what's it like.. it's like a friendly little cat giving me a gentle, painful lick. I take a deep breath, enjoying the small pleasures of living, before turning my head toward the door.

Now. What to do with this? My eyes narrow and my brow furrows. I think.. I think I don't like Mr. Murderous Serenade? He can carry a tune, which I appreciate, but there's this urge in me. Like I want to hurt him. Like I want to make him pay for what he's done. Oh yes. That's it. Fascinating. Let's get to it.

I move to the door, stepping just to the side of it. I ready my very, very heavy book. I'm pretty sure that if I open the door, hide behind it, and whack him in the head as he steps through, I'll be able to at least live to regret it. Right.. right? 

Hard to tell!

As you position yourself behind the rhythmically beating door, one question remains: How will you actually open it?

Well, uh hmm. It's a door, so perhaps there's a latch or a lever? The aim is to open it quick, wait til he comes in and - WHAM. 

There is a metal door handle above an empty key hole.

I stare intently at the door handle. Quite tempting to peek my eye through the keyhole, but let's not do that.

Presumably it's locked? It sure would be embarrassing to yank on that handle and rattle the door and ENTIRELY ruin the surprise.

Oh geez. Does this door even open inward? I sure have been assuming that. 

This door definitely opens inward, you realize as you watch the timbers rush toward your face with a loud crack. 

Quick! You have a fraction of a breath to draw on any reflexes you think you might have...

A sharp, high-pitched noise, somewhere between an "ah!" and an "eep!" comes out of my mouth. This body is oddly responsive. Not just in its noises, but I seem to somehow gracefully step back and automatically drop the book, bringing my hands up, and there's a familiar energy surging through me and - 

The door bangs against the wall with a thud, the displaced air blasting into your face. A muscled, scruffy looking man in a tattered tunic and once-white cotton pants rolls across the floor past you, and jumps up like a cat as he lands right in the center of the bloody pentagram. His movements are almost too quick for you to track as he takes stock of the situation and whirls around. He is facing you, his legs spread in a battle stance.

It's clear this guy is high on adrenaline - his face is flushed, his muscles are taut, and his movements are overly sleek.

He pauses a moment, then spits theatrically to the side.

"I don't know what insanity you roaches are up to this time, but father is going to looooove hearing about it.", he says as he waggles his eyebrows at you, "wanna fight me, roachie?"

He seems very amused at the prospect.

"I'd rather fuck you" the words tumble out of my mouth, surprising me but also it's notably true. The flush in his skin, the sleek movements, I find myself panting and perhaps it's just adrenaline but.. 

His eyes widen.

'you dirty fuck,' he hisses. 'I'll beat you raw like the perv downstairs."

He lunges forward and wraps his hand around your throat.

"But first you'll have to tell da with you did to your buddies here", he growls, as he slowly lifts you on to your toes.

Aww no, my new body is clear on this one. We're not interested in being beaten today. But if Mr. Sleek and Angry wants violence, we'll give him violence. He may have me by the neck, but my hands are free and they're still brimming with energy. BLAST. 

He shivers and grits his teeth as the blast hits him, his eyes widening from the rush.

'oooh, that tickled... I didn't know roaches had magic?', he growls.

Next thing his face rushes at you and everything thuds to black. 

You come to in a pleasant seating position, with arms nicely stretched behind you and your neck loosened up from warm up rolls.

Except your hands are tied behind your back and your ankles are stuck to the legs of the chair. 

A nice fluffy chair. 

In a stately room, with a beautiful chandelier and dark wood book cases and facing a heavy desk with behind it a heavy beard with behind it surprisingly kindly eyes.

'Ah, you are awake', the kindly man says, a paragon of captainness.

Sensation! So Much Experience! Do I attend to my body? What a mix of pleasure and discomfort. Or the office? The richness is beautiful, I wonder what the book case smells like. Or this captain? He seems.. strong, in a way that has my low belly stir. Wait, how long have I been orienting? Oh, only about 39 seconds, that's not too bad. Now to social -

"I am, indeed. Thank you for having me here. This is a much lovelier room than the last."

He smiles warmly.

"Yes ... not least after your efforts redecorating one of the cells. I'd love to learn more about that, but first your name please. I don't remember us having any cargo with magical powers ..."

As he speaks, he opens a ledger in front of him, presumably near the index. He looks at you questioningly.

Oh. Ah. Huh. What. Cargo? Warmth? What is this.. it's like, this guy is being nice.. but there's an undercurrent of a bad feeling.. dissonance? 🦋

"Ah, if you don't mind, could I ask you a question first? How would you describe your religious orientation?"

His eyes widen a little and a crease forms on his forehead.

"huh... you remind me a little of my dear Esmeralda. A man of principles, are you? Well of course, you menders did always say you wanted to heal the world... Still mighty sorry about that confusion you got tangled up in. But that is the way of the world really, isn't it?", he pauses then and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I know you've had a rough time. If you want a chance to pray to one of your gods before we arrive, I'll see what I can do. For the time being, we really need to stay focused on solving your little mystery and getting the ship back in order before we reach port. Can I count on your cooperation?"

My head cocks to the side. Fascinating. I feel friendly. I even understand the word cooperation, and yet it's as if that word means nothing to me. 

"I think you misunderstand me, good sir, although I appreciate your consideration. It's more a question like.. what's real? What matters? What is anything at all? Would you know divinity if it were in your presence? If so, how? If there were something to which you held conviction, would you rise to the test? Or would it pass by your unseeing eye? I understand you have a ship to attend to, but do you see what matters?"

What even are the words coming out my mouth? There's a weight and a conviction with each one, a near-rising fervor. 

A shiver passes through him, but he keeps his face carefully blank.

"Pardon my cynicism, but what matters is gold. Solid coin. It puts food in your belly and allows one man to rise above another. Gods can squabble among themselves. I know nothing of those matters. Most of us don't have magic. Most of us are just trying to find our way and be a little bit more comfortable as we do. Coin does that. Not gods, not magic ... coin. ", a sparkle enters his eyes.

"And thus, I implore you to cooperate. I'm working on a very lucrative transaction. It may seem to your detriment, but honestly, you and your folk have had unparalleled accommodations for people of your current station. I can ... try to find you a better place too maybe, if you like? If I tell them you are an unusually cooperative slave? I can see you have something ... special about you .... Can't put my finger on it."

I listen. This is a man with a weight on his shoulders. I feel the quality of responsibility. The distaste of how things are, but the hard grip that faces reality regardless.

"I like you." I say to this man. My voice and my gaze steady. "I hear you." Each word in its own time. "You want what's good for you and yours. I understand." A deep breath. "I will not stop you. Everyone has the right to make their mistakes, and I can see a path forward for me even through yours." My shoulders give the barest little shrug. 

"I could take you with me though. You want coin? I can get that. You want food? You want to rise above others? It's as easy as breathing, good sir. Tell me your name so that we may lay the foundation for the best decision of your life."