Sweet-Toothed Savages

Episode 1

Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper

The Ringleader: Captain Rumguts Radke

Red Crest. Largest, and only, port city of Dunegrave, the Land of Sand and Sorrow. It is dusk, and the city squats sullenly on the delta at the mouth of the river formed by the confluence of the tributaries, Glory and Dominion.

The frequently blooming algae has turned the water in Delirium Bay a deep crimson. A dozen ships of varied size and design rode the sanguine waterline of the docks. The piers were, to a one, thoroughly ramshackle, for while Red Crest is a relatively new settlement, with many ships coming and going on a regular basis, things have a way of corrupting and eroding quicker than they should. A smart captain stays at Red Crest only as long as he has to.

In an alley behind the ignominiously named bayside pub, The Cock and Thistle, a small puff of amethyst-colored smoke appears and quickly dissipates to reveal a young man with the look of someone who has just been smacked across the face with a wet marmot.

He adjusts his glasses and pats himself down to make sure all his pieces are where they should be. He swings the strap of his videotape recorder over his head so the camera rests atop the satchel bulging at his hip.

“What the f—?” He is interrupted by the back door of the pub banging open and a figure stumbling out into the alley.

Steve, “Fudgey Steve” to his mates on the message board, steps back from the horrid figure before him. It sways from side to side, attempting to maintain balance with a bottle of a foul green color clutched in one grey, desiccated hand, and a tumbler of the same liquid smoking in the other.

“There ye be!” he belched through his long, black (and immaculately kept) beard. “I thought I might’ve dropped ye over the Wyldelands, and that would have been unfortunate.”

The figure wore an outfit of blue and gold, open at the chest to reveal little more inside than a pale spine yellowed as if with great age, a darkness that could swallow souls, and green sparkles that mimicked the toxic color of the liquid in the bottle in his hand. The tricorn hat on his head was worn backwards with the flat side facing forward, a skull and crossbones emblazoned on the front. An ornate, yet empty sheath for a sword lay hanging from his belt.

“What is happening? Where are we?” Steve blurted, digging into his jeans pocket for his inhaler. If he wasn’t seeing people in old-timey garb wandering down the muddy street, and coming in and out of the dilapidated buildings, Steve would have thought the town to be an abandoned ghost town.

He was half right.

The weaving figure gestured around him with an expansive sweep, sloshing half of his drink into the mud. “We, my dear mutton-head, are in the grand city of Red Crest, and as for what is happening?”

He took a long pull off the bottle, seemingly forgetting there was a glass in the other hand. “Well, did ye not say ye were an admirer of the Sweet-Toothed Savages and their vessel, The Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper? ‘Number belch number one fan,’ if ol’ Squiffy recalls.”

“Squiffy?” Steve asked of the strange man.

“Squiffy Planks,” the figure said, drawing out each syllable dramatically. “‘Squiffy’ to some, ‘Daddy’ to others, and ‘Not In the Face’ to quite a few.”

“But, back to your original queries, me old flummoxed lummox…” Squiffy takes a quick drink from his glass, seeming to remember it exists. “Per your unspoken wish, I have brought ye forth to Skalmarune so ye can observe the creatures ye seem to feel so fondly towards.” Squiffy gestured grandly towards the red waters of Delirium Bay.

Sitting at the furthest pier, the other ships giving half a dozen empty piers of distance, sat what could only be the Carn-EVIL. Steve knew it instantly from his complete set of Sweet-Toothed Savages Trading Cards.

A medium-sized clipper, the appearance of the Carn-EVIL was enough to make one want to vomit or cry for your mommy. Perhaps both. She had a narrower hull than many of the other ships docked at Red Crest. The craftsmanship was hard to discern due to the fact that she was covered in sticky brown and red bits that dripped from the rails to the waterline. Steve watched as one particularly large, meaty chunk slid into the water with a thick slosh he could hear from where he stood.

The limp black sails hanging from the masts were the only things that didn’t look like they needed repair. They were numerous, more than Steve could count. The mainsail bore a white, silver, and crimson design of a candy cane crossed with a meat cleaver dripping red from the edge. Attached to the prow was a figure that Steve couldn’t quite make out, but he could see that it had a mass of tentacles where a mouth should be. A shiver ran up his spine as he realized he didn’t recall a figurehead like that from his collections.

As Steve and Squiffy watched, a sound began to emanate from the ship. It was a piping sound that carried across the waves and struck Steve in his chest like the cry of a mother mourning her dead child.

In response to the horrid noise, the deck of the Carn-EVIL came alive with activity. Figures appeared, akin to specters from beyond the veil of death, and began shuffling around the ship preparing it for departure. Steve couldn’t quite make out exactly what they were doing, but it clearly involved a fair amount of twisted cackling.

A bulky figure came to the head of the gangway. With a booming laugh, the figure bellowed, “Time to set sail, ye worthless dogs!”

Squiffy placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder to get his attention, and then nodded with a wink towards the dock.

A small ketch appeared, rising from the bloody water, its two masts and three sails dripping water that disappeared before it hit the deck.

Steve blinked and turned to Squiffy. “I don’t know how to sail!” he whined.

“Don’t you worry your empty little head, me old fop-doodle. The ‘Shirley’ sails herself. I’ve told her to follow behind the Carn-EVIL wherever the winds blow her.”

Steve’s excitement at getting to observe his heroes prevented him from uttering little more than a grunt as he checked his satchel for extra tapes before sprinting towards the Shirley.

“ONE YEAR!” Squiffy called out after Steve. “MEET ME HERE IN ONE YEAR IF YE BE WANTIN’ TO GO HOME!”

Squiffy’s eyes, completely white and lacking irises, were incapable of tears, but he swiped his cheek regardless and gave a sniff. “Glad to be of help.” He tossed the last of his drink, tumbler and all, into his mouth and crunched down on the glass before giving a final belch.

With a pat to his empty sheath, Squiffy disappeared in a puff of amethyst smoke.

 

Episode 2

Steve, “Fudgey Steve” to his minions on the message board, sat by himself at a table outside one of the dockside establishments of Port Linhud. A mostly finished dish of spicy frog’s legs had been pushed away, and he was sipping on the dark rum made locally from the sugarcane grown deep in the interior of the jungle land known as Serpentis.

 

The Carn-EVIL had made a straight line from Red Crest to Port Linhud, crossing the Void Sea in a matter of a a half dozen days. The food he found in a makeshift cooler nestled in the back of the magical ketch Squiffy Planks had given him had kept him alive, but he was so over fast-food burgers and mall Chinese food. The frog’s legs had been a nice change.

 

Steve’s ship and the clipper owned by the Sweet-Tooth Savages had docked maybe two hours previous, and Steve had chosen this spot mostly for the view it afforded him of the large open area just behind the warehouses and bars where the Savages and their roustabouts were busily setting up their venue for the night’s entertainment. 

 

In the center of it all, the Ringleader of the show, and Captain of the Carn-EVIL, Rumguts Radke stalked like angered moose barking orders and using his cleaver to point. The Captain was coated with buttered rum from which he took his name, and the cleaver flung the ash of pumpkin s’mores whenever he gestured. 

 

Steve had filed the first half hour of the set-up, but realized he was burning tape before he turned the camera off. However, he reached for it once more when a figure dressed in a military uniform came storming down the cobblestone street to confront Rumguts.

 

As the officer came close, Rumguts opened his arms wide in a welcoming gesture and gave a huge grin from behind his rum-soaked beard. Steve couldn’t make out what was said, but the officer was quite angry. Gesturing at the tents and booths being erected in the middle of Linhud.

 

Steve hit record and zoomed in just in time to see the Rumguts widen his smile to horrific proportions. The corners of his mouth rising higher and higher, further than any normal person’s mouth should stretch. The darkened teeth in the pirate captain’s mouth seemed to have been filed to points. Rumguts said something to the angry officer and threw an arm around the man’s shoulders. Steve could see the man’s uniform darken as the buttered rum soaked into it.

 

Rumguts Radke steered the officer away from the cacophony of the growing carnival. Radke gestured with his cleaver to a skeleton in ragged clothing that was finishing setting up the pipe organ. With a clack of its teeth, the skeleton sat down and began to play.

 

The noise that shrieked forth could only be called “music” by the most generous, or deaf, of listeners. The sound was akin to someone taking a weedwhacker to a herd of cats while attempting to play the accordion one-handed. Steve could feel a headache coming on.

 

Bringing the camera back the pirate and the local officer, it almost seemed as if Rumguts stared straight at his soul through the camera lens, and winked. Rumguts winked at Steve and nodded his head slightly as if to say, “Come follow.”

 

Steve suddenly realized he had no money on him. Certainly none of the local currency. Rummaging in his satchel, he brought out his Tamagotchi and heaved a sigh. He’d had this one for a long time, but he would feel even worse leaving nothing. He tossed the little electronic pet onto the table and took a last swig of the rum before taking off to follow the two men.

 

He was afraid at first, he had lost them, but then he noticed a faint trail of rum droplets leading into an alley a little way down from where he had been sitting. He felt a shiver go down his spine. The Sweet-Tooth Savages were vicious killers in addition to being amazing performers, but Steve was their biggest fan, and Captain Rumguts Radke h8imself had invited him to come along. He would never be able to read the Comic Sans font of the message board again without shame if he let this opportunity slip past him.

 

Steve heard talking as he approached the back corner of the building and stopped to steel his nerves. Checking that the light was on and the lens cap was off, Steve took a step around the corner.

 

Rumguts caught the movement and looked away from the officer. “It’s about damn time ye got here! I was getting bored with this little chicken here.”

 

A cold chill ran through Steve but he kept filing.

 

Rumguts’ smile turned wicked and he waggled his tongue at the officer and as fast as a the serpents this land was known for, Rumguts reached out and gripped the other man’s throat , lifting him off of the ground and slamming him back into the bamboo and iron wall that separated Port Linhud from the horrors that lie in the jungle beyond. With no effort whatsoever, Rumguts lifted the officer off of his feet a good six inches above the ground.

 

“Now, ye listen here, ye sorry excuse for a boot-licking peacock. The Sweet-Tooth Savages are gonna perform in yer fair city this eve, and ye’ll not say a word about it.”

 

The officer began to stammer a response, but Rumguts shushed him by placing the cleaver against the man’s lips, covering them in ash. “That weren’t a discussion. I simply be stating a fact for ye.”

 

Without warning, Rumguts released his hold on the officer’s neck and lighting-quick, he jabbed two fingers, dripping with rum into the man’s mouth. Steve watched as the officer’s gaze became hazy and his eyelids became hooded. Whatever the source of that buttered rum was, Steve was certain it was of a higher proof than he had ever run across.

 

Removing the fingers, Rumguts reached down and seized a limp hand, gripping the forefinger tightly and giving it a sharp twist. The sound of bones and ligaments popping echoed like a firecracker throughout the alley. With a yank, the pirate removed the fingers from the bleeding hand and plopped them into his mouth. Licking his fingers in ecstasy.

 

Rumguts methodically twisted and pulled pieces from the officer as the man swayed back and forth and could do little more than whimper at each desecration. 

 

The frog meat in Steve’s stomach threatened to crawl back up Steve’s throat, but he gave a hard swallow and kept filming. Rumguts made each swipe of his cleaver with precision, the wet sound of lacerated flesh accompanying each morsel Rumguts carved for his meal.

 

The squelching sound of a wet corpse hitting the ground woke Steve from his reverie. He glanced up from the camera to meet the gaze of Captain Rumguts Radke. Blood and chunks of viscera dripped from the captain’s mouth and down his jacket. He pounded his chest with a fisted hand twice before erupting with a massive soggy belch of satisfaction.

 

“Savage Cutts” the pirate said.

 

Steve shook his head as if to clear it of cobwebs. “Huh?” he said with as much eloquence as he could muster.

 

“That recording ye have there. I guess ye plan on making more of them?” Rumguts asked.

 

Steve paused. The horrifying reality of his situation starting to come into focus. “Uh, yeah. Cutts. Two ‘T’s, right?” he stammered. “That…uh…that sounds great. I can use that.”

 

Captain Rumguts Radker dug into his blood and rum saturated jacket and pulled out a shiny golden piece of paper. “This here will get ye in anywhere we perform, and it’ll keep the crew from turning you into a stew.”

 

Steve reached out and took the golden ticket as Rumguts passed by, heading back to the tents and booths. He had an evening of entertainment to host afterall.

 

Episode 3

Cotton Candy Randy 

The Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper weighed anchor from Port Linhud in the wee hours of the morning, long before the locals could become fully aware of the horrors visited upon them while the population enjoyed themselves with rides and treats. 

 

The SweetTooth Savages had slaughtered, and mostly devoured, at least a dozen inhabitants of the port city. He managed to get most of them on tape, which would be a good start to his planned series, “Savage Cutts.” A start, but nowhere near enough.

 

When the Carn-EVIL Candy Clipper set sail to the West, Steve (“Fudgey Steve” to his lackeys on the message board) was seated in the self-guided ketch he had been gifted by Squiffy Planks. The first few days were smooth enough, but as they approached the Northern edge of the Grand Straits, the Candy Clipper picked up speed, pulling the ketch along in its wake. Steve had to hold onto the rough wooden planks as the ketch’s prow lifted out of the water with the momentum. His stomach roiled worse than when he saw Capt. Rumguts Radke slurping down human flesh in a dim back-alley. At some point, somehow, Steve fell asleep.

Steve woke to the sun warm on his face. By the towering cliff walls just a few dozen yards from the shore, and the half dozen wooden platforms rising and lowering along them, Steve knew they were at the Garnathian port city of Highcliff. Situated atop its namesake, Highcliff utilized the rope, pulley, and mule-powered platforms to allow the transport of people and goods to and from the city itself. By simply pulling all the platforms to the top of the cliff, the city became impenetrable.

It was midday before the Candy Clipper was allowed to dock and the crew to unload and disembark from the sticky, dripping vessel. Steve followed shortly thereafter. 

From the top of the blue granite cliffs, Steve could just make out the island of Libertalia to the South, on the other side of Skinner Bay. It was no accident that Captain Radke hadn’t chosen Libertalia as his next port of call. The pirate haven was perhaps not the roughest or bloodiest that Skalmarune had to offer, but it was filled to overflowing with men and women with fewer morals than an excitable alley cat. As vicious as they were, even the SweetTooth Savages would be hard pressed to practice their sadistic hobbies undetected.

Highcliff, on the other hand,was a melting pot of every type of people looking to strike further into the plains and mountains of Garnath in search of the plentiful resources that they just knew were waiting for them and them alone.

Steve dusted off a seat on the wooden plank porch of a saloon and did some people-watching as the rides and attractions began to take shape in the town square.

The Amarokians were the most plentiful, blending into the surrounding naturally. Women in bustle skirts, men in leather vests and spurs, most with a sidearm brandished on one or both hips. Amarok and its people had always given Steve a “wild west” feel.

There were also Cascadians in their plaid shirts, full beards, and ever-present axe on the shoulder; a handful of the Eagle Tribe from the far North with their braided blond beards and permanent scowls; there were even two or three Dwarves, or “Hoard-Kin” as some of them preferred to be called.

Time passed quickly, and soon the town square was filled with laughing, happy screeches from the rides, and the calliope playing, “Bring Me the Head of the Preacher Man” in its original E minor key.

A flash of light caught Steve’s attention, and he saw that Captain Radke was using the flat of his clear to reflect torchlight into his face. Once Steve met the Captain’s eyes, Radke motioned with his head towards the part of the midway where various carnival sweets and snacks were sold. He pulled out his camera, removed the lens cap and started recording. The camera lens locked onto Randy, the clown with the wild hair that sold spun sugar to the kids and adults alike.

Randy had one of his hands behind the counter of the stall, but the visible hand held a large puff of cotton candy balancing precariously atop a rolled paper cone. He lifted his chin towards the young boy impatiently holding out coin for his treat, as if to say, “watch this.”

The child placed the coin down and reached for the sugary bundle Randy offered. Once the little hand touched the paper cone, it was obvious something was amiss. Randy still had a hold of a part of the cone, but as the child’s hand pulled away, strands of sticky sweetness stretched between Randy and his prey. The little feet tried to dig into the dirt beneath his feet, but it wasn’t enough. With a cackle Steve could hear from his perch, Randy gave a sharp pull, and his diminutive customer came flying over the low wall of the stand, disappearing inside. Randy dove down after, hidden from onlookers.

Steve zoomed in, catching focus just a sticky hand holding a stubby cleaver was raised up for a moment before slashing downwards. A red spurt of liquid, like cherry syrup sprung upwards before falling back down. Twice more, the cleaver raised and slammed down. Sticky crimson appearing at each occasion.

With the flashing lights, the shrieks of joy from the rides, and the screaming of the calliope, it seemed that no one took notice of the horror occurring inside the cotton candy stall.

Minutes ticked by before Randy stood up in full view once more. There were fresh red splotches on his apron and a scarlet stain on his lips, but again…cherry syrup.

As the night wore on, Steve watched as half a dozen more customers fell prey to the same trick. Stuck to the cotton candy, and pulled behind the counter to feed the unnatural appetite of Cotton Candy Randy.

An urge took over Steve. One he couldn’t ignore. He stood from his seat on the planks, stashed the camera away for now, and walked down into the chaos of the carnival. His attention focused on Randy and the spun sugar stall, but he was vaguely aware of the piano string tension that pervaded the locals of Highcliff. They seemed to be feeling a subconscious prick that something was amiss. 

 “If they only knew,” he chuckled low under his breath.

As Steve approached the stall, Randy’s smile grew wide, and he offered out the same ball of cotton candy he had been using as a lure all evening. Steve reached into his satchel and pulled out the golden ticket Radke had given him. A brief look of disappointment crossed the clown’s face, before he brightened once more and gestured for Steve to step closer and look behind the stall’s low wall.

Randy bent and threw back a pile of tarp to reveal piles of bones, carefully organized by type. The large man seemed either incapable of speaking or perhaps just not inclined to use words. Instead, he bent and pulled up what had been a small femur. Randy had apparently been carving something out of it in between customers/victims.

Steve couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, until Randy pulled a beautifully carved bone dagger from his boot and showed it to Steve.

“Ah,” Steve said. “You’re making another knife.’

Randy shook his head, gesturing between the unfinished leg bone carving and Steve himself.

“For me?” he asked.

Randy nodded vigorously, a broad smile showing his red-stained teeth.

“That…ahem. That would be lovely, Randy. Thank you.” Steve managed to get out.

“What are you gonna do with the rest of the bones?” he asked.

With a dismissive shrug, Randy tossed the tarp back over his bone collection and turned to his left where a teenager was thrusting a coin at Randy rudely. Steve took that as his clue to leave.

Seconds later, there was a shriek that perfectly harmonized with the calliope as Randy added to his collection.

 

Episode 4

Frostbite Frankie 

Steve (Fudgey Steve to those that bent the knee on the message boards), sat in the driver’s box of a showman’s wagon. Next to him, the driver. A man called Stink. Within minutes of joining him on the wooden bench of the driver’s box, Steve knew exactly where the name came from. There was remarkably complex stench of filth coming off the man in waves. Luckily Steve had half a tin of peppermints in his satchel that helped take the edge off. Almost.

Three days. For three days, Steve had sat on this ass-bruising wooden bench as the troupe headed north, deeper into Garnath. 72 hours ago, Steve had been ready to hop back into the enchanted ketch he had gotten from Squiffy Planks, and head off to their next port. When Captain Rumguts Radke started giving orders to bring the wagons and mules up from the hold of the Carn-EVIL Clipper, it was obvious the Ringleader had other plans. A rum-drenched arm around his shoulders, Steve was led to this wagon and introduced to the driver as “Not food, and an OK guy” to Stink. Next thing he knew he was riding shotgun on a garishly painted showman’s wagon filled with various performers of the carnival.

The train consisted of 13 wagons stuffed full of everything the SweetTooth Savages might need for a full performance. Earlier in the morning, the had paused outside of a settlement called “Harmony” before the Captain waved them on from his mule rising at the front of the train. “Not enough people,” he had shouted as he thrust his rum-dripped cleaver forward to motion a continuing forward. A half dozen religious statues were erected outside of the settlement, and for a moment Steve wondered if that had had anything to do with Radke’s decision.

Just past midday, the troupe passed a large sign reading, “NOW ENTERIN THE DEVIL’S ANUS. TURN BACK NOW, FOR THERE’S NO WIPIN YERSELF CLEAN ONCE YE ENTER.”

Steve rounded on Stink. “Devil’s Anus? Really? We pass by Ghostflats AND Darkwood to only stop at the freakin’ Devil’s Anus?”

Stink simply shrugged and snapped the reins on the mules pulling the wagon. “T’aint none of my business where we set up.”

The wind shifted, and Steve had to blink away tears as Stink’s miasma nearly made him pass out. Gulping down bile, Steve managed to croak, “Whose turn is it?”

“Hunh? Whatcha mean, boy”

“You know, who gets the first go at the locals before the rest of the troupe gets to have fun?” Steve said. “The Captain had his at Port Linhud, Cotton Candy Randy was next at Highcliff. Who gets off the leash at the Devil’s Anus?”

Another shrug. A snort followed by Stink projecting something green and yellow from between his cracked lips. “Don’t rightly know. Don’t rightly care. I lead this wagon is alls I know.”

Hours later, after Steve found out the Devil’s Anus was the name for the territory itself. Named after the sulphur deposits that accompanied the coal being mined, Steve sat in the mining camp of Thornchapel, sipping a truly nasty whiskey and wiping sweat from his brow. The roustabouts had finished setting up. The calliope began to screech the intro to “Screaming for Emmalene”, signaling the opening of the carnival. Torches flared to life along the Midway, and the vendors began barking for attention.

He didn’t need Radke to cue him in this time. A large puff of what looked like steam caught his attention. The ice blue eyes of Frostbite Frankie met his, and the snow-cone vendor gave him a smile and a nod.

Unlike Randy, Frankie took his time before starting in on the fun. He spent the first half-hour handing out red-dripping snow-cones to the coalminers and their families. Finally, a youth of no more than 16 years approached the stall. He was a miner himself. You could tell from the black stains on his clothing, but he had made the attempt to clean up a bit. His face and hands were free of the soot.

Steve watched through the zoomed-in camera lens as Frankie’s eyes locked on those hands, and a bit of drool leaked from the clown’s mouth, froze, and dropped to the ground. Frankie leaned forward and whispered something to the young miner, who at first seemed apprehensive, but seemed to come around to whatever Frankie was saying.

A brief hand motion from Frankie in the shape of a curvy hourglass seemed to win the debate in the young man’s mind. He smiled and followed Frankie back towards where the troupe’s wagons were waiting.

It was too hot to walk around, so Steve simply adjusted the zoom, pointed the lens at one of the wagons and waited. Moments later, Frankie exited alone, holding something low against his leg to keep it from view. A quick adjustment and Steve was able to see a pair of hands, fingers splayed and frozen solid. Drops of melt falling into the dust. 

Upon returning to his stall, Steve watched as Frankie stowed one of the frozen hands inside his shirt, likely to keep it cool against his frozen skin until he got around to it. The remaining hand was then dipped, one finger at a time, into the various brightly-colored syrups behind the counter of the stall. Producing a rainbow-hued hand of glory, but frozen instead of the traditional wax and wick.

With a crunch Steve could almost hear from his seat, Frankie chomped down on the bright green thumb and began to crunch and chew his way through the fingers until he was holding little more than a frozen palm that he tossed in a bucket behind him. The Iceman’s face was smeared with the colors of the syrups along with a slightly deeper red.

Frankie wiped the color off of his face, taking a portion of the white cake makeup with it, and watched the crowd for the next unaccompanied customer with clean hands.

After the third victim was led to the wagons, Steve saw the trio of belly-dancers emerge looking sated. Shortly after they departed to their stage near the sideshow, a handful of roustabouts let themselves into the wagon. It wasn’t long before Frostbite Frankie led his next “customer” to the wagon. It seemed that he was only interested in the hands, and was more than willing to spread the wealth.

Close to midnight, as the rides shut down, the ride-jocks from The Kraken replaced the roustabouts in the back of Frankie’s wagon, but aside from that, there was little change in the strategy. All told, Frankie and those he shared with claimed around a dozen lives (and twenty-four tasty, tasty hands).

Once the midway torches were quenched, the roustabouts began tear-down while the performers went forth into the dusty, sulphur-smelling, ramshackle mining town to claim their ration.

Hours before dawn, thirteen wagons began making their way back towards Highcliff, the Carn-EVIL Clipper, and ultimately their next performance/feast.

 

Episode 5

DJ kErNELz 

Steve, “Fudgey Steve” to the peasants on the message board, had accepted Captain Rumguts Radke’s offer of riding aboard the Carn-EVIL Clipper. It seemed Squiffy Planks’ Ketch was content to follow the Clipper regardless of whether Steve was at the helm or not. 

For the first few days, Steve was in a daze. Here he was, no longer following his idols from a distance, with only the occasional interaction. He was actually aboard the Carn-EVIL Clipper itself! Sure, the deck (and almost everything else) was covered in a thick, goopy slime. Naturally, there were odors that occasionally made Steve taste bile when he encountered them, but here he was: Steve mingling with the SweetTooth Savages as if he were one of them.

Initially, he stayed with those he had had dealt with previously: Cotton Candy Randy, and Frostbite Frankie. Captain Radke seemed busy most of the time, and Steve didn’t want to impose on the hospitality. After the first few days, he began to wander further afield. He chatted with the roustabouts, learning how they went about setting up and tearing down the Carnival. From them he learned that at their next stop, the SweetTooth Savages would have them setting up the rides for the first time in a while. Neither Port Linhud in Serpentis, nor Highcliff had had the space needed to set them up. Now, with the troupe heading to Stormgrave, the capitol city of Scorrah, there would be enough space to set up the full carnival for the first time on this tour.

Wheel of Sacrifice, The Decapitator, Tornado of Souls, Vertebreaker. Steve could not wait until he could see them in action!

Day Fifteen.

Steve was wakened from sleep on the relatively gunk-free area on the deck near the door to the Captain’s Quarters he had found to sleep. At first, he was confused as he fought to come awake, but the excited chatter and movement around him forced him to come alert quickly. At first, he couldn’t tell what was happening, but he started hearing snippets of orders and conversations.

“Ori saw it coming!”

“Looks like a big one!”

“Where does it look to be hailing from?”

“Scorrah, with the royal colors!”

Steve rubbed the last of sleep from his eyes and made his way to the portside railing. Off in the distance, a 5-masted ship was turning away from the Carn-EVIL Clipper in a vain hope of losing the pirates and their obscene hobbies.

Eventually, the Clipper drew close enough to catch the painted name on the side of the vessel, “Konigsdottir.” Holy SH*T! This was the Kings daughter, personal vessel of Princess Waenn.

Captain Rumguts Radke cupped his hands around his mouth. “Look sharp, you no-good scum! We’ve a fat bounty within our reach! Let’s go get her!” The Captain then began rapidly moving from place to place on the deck of the Clipper, making sure everyone was ready to do their part.

Somehow, when Steve wasn’t looking, the calliope had manifested on the deck. The skeleton player cracked his knucklebones loudly and began to play a lively carnivalesque tune. The pace of the music grew faster and faster as the Carn-EVIL overtook the Konigsdottir. Men flew about the deck, grabbing weapons and ropes with grappling hooks attached to one end. The hooks were tossed onto the other vessel, and when pulled taught by the roustabouts of the Carn-EVIL, began to pull the Scorran vessel closer to the Clipper. The Captain swung his head around as if he were looking for something.

“DJ,” he bellowed when his eyes lit upon the lanky man leaning over and whispering into the skeleton calliope player’s earhole. “Get your narrow ass over and lead this boarding party! Now!”

DJ patted the skeleton on a boney shoulder and trotted over to the starboard railing. “Don’t worry, Cap. I just needed to get some proper swashbuckling music primed.”

He pulled down his shades and gave the Captain a smirk and a wink. Then, pulling his matching pistols from the holsters at his waist, DJ kErNELz gave them a thoughtless twirl and leapt over to the other ship. “C’mon, boys! You get the bonemen, I’ll handle the rest!”

The calliope let loose with a creepy yet majestic choral vocalization for about 30 seconds before the drums and bass kicked in. “This Corrosion” blasted loudly from an instrument that was only built to make creepy organ-like sounds. 

Steve watched, mouth agape, as DJ kErNELz bounced around the deck of the Konigsdottir like some twisted, clown-faced offspring of a master pf parkour and an Olympic gymnast. The whole time, his guns roared, issuing clouds of sulfurous charcoal and lead death. Each and every bullet that burst from DJ’s guns took the life of a sailor or soldier clad in the green and gold of Scorrah. Steve made himself a promise to check out the trick-shot tent next time the SweetTooth Savages set up to perform. The man was unnaturally skilled.

The roustabouts must’ve known what they were going to be up against, because they had left their blades in their scabbards and were wielding blunt clubs against the surge of animated skeletons that vomited forth from belowdecks. Steve watched a few roustabouts fall to the undead warriors, but soon enough, the deck of the Konigsdottir was littered with fragments of broken bone soaking in the blood and brains of the mortals that DJ kErNELz had dispatched.

In less than 10 minutes, the fight was over, and only men from the Carn-EVIL remained standing.

“DJ!” The Captain bellowed. “Bring her over as untouched as possible. Every bruise is gold left on the table!”

With a casual salute with the barrel of one of his smoking pistols, DJ nodded and kicked in the door to the quarters of the Captain of the Scorran ship. A moment later, two gunshots rang out hollowly from within the cabin.

Moments later, a teenage girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes of the Scorran Royalty emerged from the Captain’s cabin, followed closely by DJ kErNELz who held the barrel of one pistol to her back.

The trick-shot master bowed low, the chili pepper pendant around his neck scraping the deck. “Captain Rumguts Radke, Commander and Surrogate Father Figure to the SweetTooth Savages, may I present Her Highness Princess Waenn, second in line to throne of Scorrah.”

Steve felt Rumguts tighten at the sarcastic introduction given him by DJ, but bit his tongue.

“It is a pleasure and a f***ing honor to have the ‘Konigsdottir’ herself aboard my vessel. It will be an even greater honor once we have a word with ye father, the King about the price he be willing to pay for your return. Unmarked and unsullied, of course.”

The roustabouts swarmed all over the Scorran vessel, grabbing not nailed down that might be of any sort of value whatsoever. DJ escorted the Princess aboard the Carn-EVIL with a gentleness that he still managed to seem sarcastic.

Steve had to give Princess Waenn credit. She took an extended glance at the hem of her dress and her shoes, both covered and likely destroyed by the blood and brains from her ship mixed with the sticky…whatever it was…that covered the Carn-EVIL. “I trust I will be given…sniff…quartering appropriate to a princess, Captain?”

Rumguts chuckled, flipped a wad of sticky syrupy rum to the deck and nodded. “Oh, aye. We’ll set ye up in some fancy pristine quarters…your Highness.”

As Princess Waenn allowed herself to be led away towards the Captains quarters, she glanced over her shoulder at Steve. Obviously out of place amongst these clown-faced madmen. A curious look on her delicate face.

 

 

CHAPTER 5.5 PART ONE: PRINCESS WAENN

 

Waenn paced back and forth across the floor of the Captain’s Cabin silently fuming.

How Dare they?!? She thought. I am the first born of King Svein Tjugeskjegg, heir to the throne of Scorrah!

She stopped in the middle of the cabin, reached down, and ripped off the muck-and-blood covered bottom three inches of her dress. Then, with a few judicial rips and folds and tucks, she fashioned her dress into a sort of flowing pantaloons. Tight at the ankles and crotch, allowing more freedom of movement if needed. She may be a Princess, but she had started watching martial practice at a young age from her tower apartments. She had no illusions of being a great fighter, but she figured she knew enough to give an attacker a nasty surprise.

She scanned her environs and sniffed. She was certain that this was the most “civilized” this certain ship had to offer, but it still fell beneath her normal standards. The undead servants were put through an acid bath before their resurrection ensuring that they would not generate a less-than-royal stench. The scent of dirty stockings, sweaty tunics, and stale ale in the captain’s cabin was almost enough to make her gag.

A ‘click’ behind her made Waenn turn quickly towards the door. She had been expecting one of the clown-faced brutes to enter with an intent to do unspeakable things, but instead a slight form entered, eyes downcast, slowly closing the door as if he were apologetic for bothering her.

It was the teen from the deck when she was brought aboard. His clothing…his demeanor. Everything about him screamed, I’m out of place.

 

Waenn planted her hands on her hips and gave the young man the look that made her father roll his eyes. “And who are you supposed to be?” She demanded through clenched teeth. He may not look like, or act like the gross pirates on the other side of the door…yet, but he obviously travelled with them of his own will. That was more than enough to make him circumspect.

“S-S-Steve, your Majes-, your Holin-, er…Princess.” He managed to finally get out. “My name is Steve. I just wanted to come check on you. Make sure you were alright.” He pushed the glasses up on his nose and actually scuffed the stained wood floor of the cabin with the toe of his boot.

The Heir Apparent of Scorrah hid a smile behind a faked cough. She hated to admit, but this “Steve” was actually a little cute. However, this was the absolute last place for her to let her guard down. She cleared her throat, and did her best to put on a haughty demeanor.

“I most certainly am not alright!” she bellowed at him. “What part of ‘kidnapped by murderous pirates who are rumored to eat people’ do you NOT get?”

Steve finally managed to lift his gaze to look at her. Waenn noticed his cheeks were a fiery red. “It’s just that, ahem, I’ve been given the task to, uh, sail to Scorrah ahead of the Carn-EV-, uh, this ship, and speak with your father, the king about a….well….a, um, ransom.”

Episode 5.5 Part Two: STEVE (Fudgey Steve to the bandwagoners on the bulletin board)

Steve (Fudgey Steve to the peons on the message board) gave the Princess of Scorrah a moment to digest what he had said. Unfortunately, from the look on her face, his words had hit her like a scorpion pepper. Briefly he wondered if they had scorpion peppers in Skalmarune. 

“WHAT?!?” the angelic princess exclaimed. “A RANSOM?!? Am I nothing more than a piece of offal to be sold at market?!?”

Steve wasn’t exactly certain what ‘offal’ was, but it didn’t sound pleasant.

“NO, nonono,” he said, holding his hands in front of him as if to stop the anger brewing in Waenn’s belly. “Not…’offal’, something of great beauty and worth! Something to be treasured.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had said too much. “I mean…something…someONE of extremely valuable worth.”

The silence stretched like a piece of taffy before Princess Waenn finally spoke. “Extreme value? THAT I’ll accept.”

Seconds, minutes crept by as Steve nervously awaited the rest of her thought.

“Only because I don’t desire to see you lose your head. Don’t ask me why. I will give you a few small pieces of advice as to how to present this…offer, to my father.”

 

*A FEW HOURS LATER*

The ketch he had gotten from Squiffy Planks had been enchanted to follow the CARN-Evil Clipper, but after Ori O’Knows, the troupe’s resident seer and all-around magic guy had a look at it, he tied a wad of the Princess’s discarded hem to the prow of the little boat and used that to re-orient the ketch towards Scorrah. Ori handed Steve a piece of paper and a rather moist small pouch. The paper had the words for Steve to say to re-home the ketch on the CARN-Evil, and the pouch contained what could only be described as a gobbet of flesh covered in clown makeup. Steve shuddered and tried to avoid thinking where the flesh had come from.

Soon enough, Steve was sailing east across the large sea that separated the western and eastern continents of Skalmarune. It took four days to make the crossing, but there was enough jerky, hardtack, and watered down rum to sustain him.

At sunset of the fourth day, Steve laid eyes on the nation of Skalmarune, and more importantly, the capitol city of Stormgrave. The sinking sun set forth a burst of gold, green, and purple light illuminating the massive castle sitting atop the hill that overlooked the city. 

Within minutes, he was docked and being escorted by a pair of Scorran royal guards and a dozen skeletal warriors towards the castle. The guard refused to talk to him aside from grunted commands to “move” and “pick up the pace”. The undead soldiers remained silently noncommittal, but Steve was certain that would change in a heartbeat if he did anything dumb. Or rather dumber than what he was already doing.

Crowds of Scorran citizens lined the road leading up the hill to the palace. Apparently, his arrival had been expected somehow, and the people were not happy with him. Sour faces, harsh words, and thrown rotten vegetables greeted him as he passed with his escort.

What the f*ck was I thinking? Of COURSE the people loved their princess. How could they not? With her golden tresses and sapphire eyes. Those lips, and those….. Steve shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. He needed to stay focused.

He was immediately taken to the throne room, and with pressure on his shoulders from both human of the guards, he was forced to his knees. The throne room was visually overwhelming. The floor and walls were made of marble run through with golden veins that sparkled in the light of the sconces illuminating the room. However, Steve had little time to appreciate the sight, because the King of Scorrah cleared his throat like an angry lion before speaking.

“The spirits have given me an understanding that you represent the crew with very poor decision-Making skills who have kidnapped my daughter and scuttled her ship.” King Svein Tjugeskjegg gestured vaguely at the man and woman standing on other side of the throne and a step behind. Both were dressed in hooded robes as black as a starless night. The Necromancers, Steve thought. “Is this correct?” Svein’s voice was low and even, and Steve felt like he had been dropped into the aforementioned lion’s den, and the lion was very pissed off.

Steve barely managed to keep from pissing himself but maintained control of his bladder. Just barely. Showing open hands and moving slowly, he reached into his courier’s satchel and retrieved two folded pieces of paper. Remembering Waenn’s advice, he placed the letter written in her hand on top of the greasy, rum-stained one that Captain Radke had given him.

“Two letters, your Majesty,” Steve said, holding them aloft. “One from the Princess herself, who I assure you remains untouched and unharmed.” At least I hope she still is, Steve thought grimly. “And one from the Captain and Ringleader of the CARN-Evil Clipper and the SweetTooth Savages respectively.”

One of the guards snatched the letters from Steve’s hand and placed them in the King’s hand. Svein opened the topmost letter and scanned it quickly. His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced over the message at Steve. After a moment, he re-read the letter, and his brow furrowed deeply. He glanced up once more at Steve as if assessing him and finding him wanting.

Steve remembered something Waenn had stressed, and he dropped his gaze to the floor, showing obeisance. He heard a guttural “harrumph” and paper rustling and decided to keep his eyes on the floor. The obsidian floor sure was pretty. He would really hate to mess it up by spilling his blood and organs all over it.

“Madmen,” King Svein said softly, then again in a bellow. “They’re absolute MADMEN!”

Steve dared glance up from the floor. The king had shot out of his throne and was waving the stained missive from Captain Radke under the noses of first one then the second Necromancer.”

“MADMEN!!!”

The King rounded on Steve, and the young man felt his stomach fall all the way into his boots. He gulped.

Waving the letter under Steve’s nose, the King continued ranting,” All they want is one hundred gold and the,” he paused and re-read the letter. “The opportunity to perform in celebration of the safe return of Princess Waenn from the perils of the open sea.”

He turned to his Necromancers. “Send a crow to this ‘Captain Rumguts’ and tell him I accept his offer.”

The King leaned over Steve with a predatory grin. “And let him know that his messenger will be awaiting his arrival as a guest of the royal House of Tjugeskjegg.”