Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

As he left the Halls of Inner Light in the moment, regardless of the reasoning, a deep belief within him spoke a thousand seeds of reassurance.

This is your path, you were meant to walk it. If no one else has a spark of faith left in you, still do not concede. Her life depends upon you being true to your word. She has no one else to turn to, no one else she trusts. If the whole world mistook your honor for something else, let them misjudge. Believe in her and stand for that belief. Even if you come out looking like a fool, you never failed your oath to her.

He let a broken sigh past his lips when he realized, this was -everything- he wanted someone to be willing to do for him. To love him enough to put their every effort in standing behind him. He closed his eyes briefly to drown out the stinging that overwhelmed them. Walking down cobble he'd known for the better part of the last eight years. Past shop windows, past the auctioneer. Past every street name he knew, and every face he found familiar. Were the whole town never to understand, it could not change his determination. He'd never felt more a stranger in his own home that he did now. He stopped as a heavy gust kicked up the dust, a chilling wind blowing his hat from his head as he closed his eyes once more.

A voice from a time some fifteen years before falling like gentle footsteps in his mind, "remember, my heart, from the book we read. Always stand for something you believe in. Let your roots of conviction grow deep so that no wind may steal your resolve" He had leaned in and held her, watching the weak remnants of a woman who'd kissed him to sleep nearly a thousand times, while he attempted to be brave. The last echoed existence of a boy age nine, thrust into adulthood by the strength leaving his mother's frail body. Her hand against his cheek, those doe brown eyes taking in her son one last time, "so handsome... James" He presses his face against her cheek and ear "I love you, mom". She kissed his forehead, "I love you, my sweet knight. fear no tears, for even brave men cry" Her hand slip from his face, her head lulled to the side and she ceased to be. He remained there long after her lungs failed to take air, face buried against her hair, shoulders shaking as he cried inaudibly.


He raked his arm across his eyes and picked up his hat from the cobble before it drifted to far. He would ride out this storm or drown trying, this was bigger than him, bigger than the temple. This was the very testament of who Aidan Thatcher was. If he lost everyone, everything around him for his beliefs, for his oaths, for choosing this path.... then perhaps no one really knew him as he'd hoped. Shandril had sworn to stand behind him, come what may, and there was warmth in that knowledge. He imagined others would as well... Urth, Betha, he'd hope of all people, Juniper. She was the one who said it best in her own worlds, "Aidan is the type of man who leaves the world a better place than he found it". He wished others had seen that was all he ever wanted. However for the first time in years, he found himself truly afraid. He'd felt so few things after Emma's death, besides bitterness and anger. He had come to love again, to trust again, to belief in happiness and a place, a purpose... once more.

But the chips were down, and the hand was play or fold and somewhere inside his trust, his happiness, even his place in this world started to flicker in uncertainty like a candle guttering out. He didn't know who to trust, where to turn. This storm he'd not ride out whole, something deep within him spoke of a change that would come at the end of this storm. The real test was who'd still want him in their life when it was over. Who'd still see his reasoning as insanity or carelessness, and who would see the better man in him trying to shine through on what he deemed, good intentions. He did not go home, had not seen his girl, had not seen anyone else. He walked to the well, picked up three stones and dropped one after the other in. Then lay down beside it, curled up with his cloak to wait the night and a response.

Some people assumed he was in love with Samara. Nothing he could do would convince them of it otherwise. Were Juniper to question his affections as well, he'd want to roll over and die, she'd been unsure of it once with the way he'd defended the Dragon girl. He didn't think he could handle that look in her eyes a second time and if her words confessed that thought, he'd admit defeat and lie, tell some fabricated story about how she was everything Aidan James Thatcher wanted in a woman. If even the love of his life couldn't tell otherwise, he'd have no reason left to fight the rumor. "Juniper Thatcher", he murmured through a hoarse strain of emotions, his fingers brushed against the stone of the well next to him, he closed his eyes and before long was sleeping soundly.

She was there in his dreams. There in that beautiful gown once more like at the gala when they danced. But something else, something new. It was white, and her face radiated with the glow of a bright dawn. She smiled from ear to ear and tears streamed her cheeks. His bride, his beautiful Gond girl. Even in all his imaginings she could not be more perfect. He walked towards her, and she backed away. He stepped again and she increased the distance once more. His heart skipped, and as she turn to run it sank. He gave chase, "I love you, Juniper... no.. please wait!!!!" His pace ever slower than hers, like he was running in place and the world was crashing down around him, literally. Buildings were crumbling, people were turning to ash on the streets as they passed. He cried out for her, reached out for her, "please Dove! Love me... It's me.... I love you with all that I am... don't abandon me!" He caught her arm under an archway and oddly her cloths changed almost instantly, the wedding gown was no more. She looked up into his eyes questioningly, like she had no clue who he was. He'd show her! He lifted her to her tip tops, hand against her cheek, fingers along her jawline, thumb tugging at the corner of her mouth and his lips explored hers with a renewed hope. Hand slide down to cup her hips in his hands as he deepened the kiss.

It was then he felt her push against his stomach, prying him off. "let me go you creep!!!" she'd screamed, and the world of his dream slipped into whirling darkness.
"fear no tears, for even brave men cry", the words hit him, and cry he did, a deep guttural sob of misery. Even shattered from his dream he could not escape the feeling of loss. his shoulders shuttered, curled up he let go of hope. When daylight came, the world would know a different Aidan Thatcher.... a guarded, Lonewolf.

Another work completed with Aidan's signature changes to design, he didn’t build this alone, nor would he be pleased taking all the credit, regardless of his background as a renowned Shipwright. This was a group venture that could not have been completed without every hand at work. He may be a man well versed in many ships that traveled the coast and even from the inner seas, he'd gained knowledge. He'd learned from drafts, literature, and hands-on crafting, even tips and pointers from other shipwrights in his past. This, of course, besides the fact that his father and his father's father had run a dockyard in Athkatla. But in the end, it's the men and women you work beside in teamwork to see a task through that makes the difference.



Aidan's youth was understanding everything that made a ship work. Because when your family took on a trade, tradition tends to keep that trade as something your family is known for. But none of what he built would be accomplished alone; he had men in his commission who carved, who warped wood, fire hardened, pine heart sappers for pitch. This was never a one-man job. Were he to do this alone, the two-month construction might have taken two years.

Today was a special day for both he and his employed laborers. Ships came and went, but a piece of Aidan went to sea with each ship he designed; it wasn’t lost to him that the others felt that, too. Today was the day when a ship's true seaworthiness was determined. Not its maiden voyage, but a test sail to be sure that even under extreme conditions, the ship had the strength it would need, even if they weren't waiting for a storm to attempt it in.

The ship's true maiden voyage would come at a later date, with prayers in the name of Valkur, or the future crew paying coin to the clergy of Umberlee to have blessings performed to prevent the ship from being destroyed by her wrath. Aidan didn't believe in the ideals of serving a god out of fear. Even if he had a few brushes with death he could attribute to her anger. So he tended to step away after the beginning of the ceremony and after hearing the men who worked for the shipwright, credited for their work, not just his.

This day, he spoke with the chosen crew, those House Portyr would select for this ship, and while he would not hold the position of captain, Aidan would be giving the orders in his capacity for this first venture out of the port, into the river, and finally the ocean itself. The captain, whether new or a veteran, would learn what Aidan knew about the ship as if each one had a personality of its own. This ship was a brig, even if most people requested the cheaper and less dependable carrack, the Portyr family was doing well enough for themselves, as far as Aidan could tell.

The routine was normal, seen a thousand times or more, as the tether ropes were untied from the dock, and what crew stood upon it would climb the rope ladder to stand on the deck. This particular brig sat shallow in the water, so the effort of the long poles pushing against the dock to put some distance between it and the ship was minimized. Aidan stood on the stairs just below the bridge and let the helmsman and navigator pass him, slightly turning his shoulder aside. He waited for all the crew to be at their standard station. "She's got two knots on most brigs," He seemed to say to no one at all. "Careful with the sheets, lads! We're not carrying spare or cargo, this is an out-and-in trip." He lifted his voice. His words were not stern, though he knew how to be, were it necessary.



"Raise the anchor, then get the jib up. Parson and Cadrid were it?" The two men looked at him, and he knew he had at least got one of the names right. Before they could correct him or speak out, he gave them orders, "Up the nets, I want the lower skirt down but loose in the stays. treat her like a lady." There was a chuckle coming from the captain who stood next to Aidan now, the man was younger than him. "This is your first detail?", Aidan asked, turning his attention to the man. It took a moment before the response, "My second, sir. Just handed off the Jenny Len to a seasoned captain." Aidan couldn't help but chuckle; he knew who the likely candidate was.

He pulled his attention away to check port and starboard for any obstacles, though he knew it was the job of the crew's navigator. It never hurt to have the extra set of eyes; besides, it was a captain’s job. His gaze wandered over the crew that was doing as they were supposed to. He ordered two more men to check the tack on deck to make sure it was in good standing order. The ship had been out in the rain for a couple of days. Aidan's voice stepped in at a random moment to the captain, "The Jenny has a thick hull, captain, but she's slow, she takes more men to keep her on course, and with a full cargo, she doesn't have the weight dispersity of our ship here. You traded up and didn't even know it. This ship may likely outrun pirates; the other could not. But then, you have fewer crew, so it's important you find clever ways to shake them from your tail. a fight man to man without a veteran crew could come at peril."

As if that settled the man's nerves, first he's told he has the better ship, and then told that if they had to fight, it might not turn out well. He was about to call after, as Aidan took to walking the main deck. However, Aidan turned back with his playful smile, "You're down four men, hardly much to fret. This ship can sail with half that crew, the Jenny can not". The captain gave a nervous laugh, unsure if he believed Aidan. Yet, Aidan had that natural charisma and good nature. He’d been known for his reputation as a fair and honest man, even with a knack for levity. Though eased, it didn’t stop the captain from silently counting the men himself with a sigh of relief. he listened on as Aidan called out, "Anchor is up, gents get that main sheet lower. Helmsman, slightly to starboard! Deckhands, to the rigging and make sure the main stays are secured!! You there!", he said as he pointed to a man he wasn't entirely familiar with, even though he'd seen him a few times on random crews. "I need you on the forecastle, make sure the lines on the bowsprit aren't crossed or loose! We need that jib in working order."

As acting captain for the time, he was followed by the true captain. Aidan worked to uncover a sled the captain had never seen on a ship. Like a mining cart with sleds in metal tracks instead of wheels, not allowing it to move back or forward but with the chains attached to it and two alternate windlasses either side, much like the anchors, only attached to metal that the captain was sure went below deck and was held firm by the hall's integrity. Aidan finished removing the cloth from over it. It wasn't some grand invention you might see in the temple or museum of Gond, but it certainly didn't take Aidan alone to do it. Aidan had no experience with metal other than the usual parts one might order and place upon the ship.

"Captain, maintain an eye on the port. We definitely don't want to collide." The captain immediately tore his eyes away from whatever Aidan had adapted to the ship. Aidan continued, "You'll find the crew quarters a bit more snug than on other ships. Even the captain's quarters are a bit lacking. I had to shift them to keep the storage size similar to other brigs. Sacrifices for improvements. I, nonetheless, believe you will find the arrangement comfortable enough.”

Returned to the attention of the ship, Aidan was happy to see it leaving port and onto the open waters. It didn't even take terribly long for the ship to make the sea. The helmsman had made mention of the smooth steering. Aidan was pleased to hear it as he shouted out, "Alright, lads, six of you topside, we need the sheets of the main and the mizzen in full! Do try not to fall. Secured ropes or not, I don't want to be explaining to anyone's mother why a big lady beat their son up!" He rapped the railing with his knuckles, and there was laughter already from the crew climbing. He watched as each sail was untied and lowered to the spar beneath.

Aidan was pleased with the well-placed timing of the deck crew as they tied off and pegged the tethers for each sail, "It's almost as if they know what they're doing," he mused to the captain who in turn gave a chuckle. However, he was right; the crew knew their tasks. Aidan held up a feather on a string and made sure the wind was coming from the right direction, even when you could not feel it on your face. When each man had lowered himself from the nets, Aidan barked out, "Spar shift due west by north." He took over for the navigator in saying it. The man was a bit slow to give out the calls. There were mutters as the men untied their handiwork, letting one side of the ship's lines slack, and the other side drawn in to turn the sail, catching the wind. It corrected the direction the ship would turn, along with the helmsman and the rudder.



But the navigator learned immediately and shouted, "Chip log and knottage!" A crew member raced to the back of the ship, tugging rope with knots tied at equal distances, from a chest. Attached to the end of the rope was a polished and carved wooden board. He lowered the wooden board as the wind kicked up and the ship's sails were pressed with wind. He let the wood touch the water from the back of the ship till the first knot was in his hand and the water was giving a slight pull. Flipping an hourglass attached to the stern of the ship, he began feeding the rope as time went on till the sand was gone in the hourglass. He stopped and counted each knot that had touched water before shouting out, "Fourteen knots!!!" and hauled the rope back up. The lad had to duck as the boom sail swung overhead, and the Navigator tied it off. Aidan had been standing there enjoying the cool breeze on the back of his neck, the way it danced and weaved through his hair. Eyes closed as he heard the gulls, smelled the divine scent of the open sea.

The Helmsman grinned, the captain's brows raised as he offered, "Not quite two knots, but I suspect it can get there." Aidan could do nothing but nod. He looked at the man with a serious expression, "Don't leave the sails full in gusts of storm, don't drop anchor, drift unless you see land too close. With those sails down, you might see speeds a sailor shouldn't have to. Your objective then is only to keep her out of the shallows. Tuck her sails if you have the men brave enough to risk it. She's good at a few things. The hall sits shallow in the water, so you should be able to avoid damage from the reefs. Other ships would do well to avoid. That, however, is a last measure, and not in a storm." The captain nodded to the offered wisdom.

The ship was catching the wind properly now, and the crew, not Aidan, found the right position of the weather gauge to hold a course. Aidan shouted, "Boy!" to the lad who was still up on the forecastle with the bowsprit. "Check below for leaks and come back after you've checked the bilge. Make haste now!" It took little other convincing for the youth to run to his destination. "If the ships held out water!" he offered over the clash of waves hitting the bow, "we will perform our maneuvers to return to port. I'm going to need two of you on the center windlasses. They're easier to turn than the anchors and lock in place with quarter rotation." He got his volunteers. "You'll have to work together, both turning the spindles to the leeward, try." They did so and watched the heavy-weighted sled move to port. Each turn clicked as the placeholder locked. There was a lever to release if you needed to turn it the other way. He showed them this. When the boy had come back topside, he informed Aidan there were no leaks.

"Hard to port!!!", Aidan screamed out. "Oh, hold on to something!" He laughed with a giddy excitement as the ship turned. He waited a few moments as the ship tilted to 20 degrees. Some men were still looking for something to hold fast to, even a few tied themselves off to sailor tethers. Looking at the built-in angle gauge just below the helm, visible to the men who would stand at the sled. Aidan had walked up to them and made sure they were aware of the gauge. "Alright, you two crank it till you see forty," He pointed to the gauge. They followed his orders, while the ship had kept its speed before losing the winds of the weather gauge, the ship had already gained its momentum and tipped up on its side as if it were coming down a wave sideways in a storm. Only this was in calm waters. "Never take it past forty degrees. It gives you ten to spare, allotting plenty to factor for wind," The crewmen were busy marveling at the speed at which the ship took its turn to face the direction it had just come from. There had been plenty of changes and techniques used with ships, but this was at least new to this crew. The captain laughed, "You weren't kidding when you said I traded up."

Aidan simply gave a nod and a humbled but worried smile, "Keep it centered in a storm. It acts as a second ballast centering weight to the top side of the vessel, even though there's plenty of weight in the ballast below. The rocks in both places will keep her going straight. If this is off point, you risk capsizing." The captain gave a nod, "I won't fail my post. Nor these men." He even seemed to explain the situation to each of his crew as they made the voyage back into port, sails lowering, ship settling. Aidan was certain the man would do the job well, and more certain the ship accomplished what the ship laborers had hoped.

There was a slight tap against the dock as crew members grabbed their gangplank. Aidan took it in a moment with a quizzical, "Captain, you ever heard the term 'walk the plank'?" The Captain gave Aidan an odd look, "You mean getting off the ship?" Aidan shook his head no. "Apparently, it's supposed to be some punishment for people who a crew wants to kill. Something about walking out on a plank over the open sea and just falling in. If a ship showed a sailor that mercy, why wouldn't they just shove them overboard? Even the naval fleets give lashings, or in the case of traitors, they drag them under the keel to make sure there wasn't anything but pain and death." He could see the confusion in the other man's eyes, "Sorry, a rather morbid topic. It just perplexes me that people talk about this in uneducated places, like it's a form of punishment. If you ever find yourself told to walk a plank at sea.... giggle and tell them it tickles." That cheeky, iconic Aidan grin, followed.

Aidan shook the captain's hand and got the name "Peter Oakland". He would be sure to speak to House Portyr on his behalf, with a high recommendation.
He looked as the plank was lowered to the docks, and the crew tied the ship off. Aidan shook the hands of the crewmen, “Great work”, he looked around, and finally started to walk off. Words followed him; he rarely heard these most days, "Thank you." It was repeated by a few others. The sentiment was not lost on him: "Thank my workers when you get the chance, and the smith here in the docks."

Aidan was bound for home, and someone who brought him back from his addiction to the sea. He realized how much he missed the winds and the salt water, but the dock life was his, at least most of the time. His only travels came to pass when a ship needed dry-docking and repairs abroad. Then, those rare occasions when a ship was put to the test and Aidan would be sent home to fill out the proper papers. It was his place to be here. Then there was that hint of how much he’d miss her if he had to be gone at any length. He was happy with not leaving his Wisp somewhere waiting for him forever, even if he'd die of old age before she'd ever show a wrinkle. He cursed her for it under his breath with a smile. She was becoming both a cure for the melancholy as much as an obsession.

He'd taken the morning before work to show her the ship. She'd been telling him for a bit now that eventually she wanted to stand on the deck of one of his constructions and learn what the different tasks a sailor might have to do. However, she was rather insistent that the ship stay docked. So it would be. She gave him that look while walking beside him, the look he always correlated with one thing. He cleared his throat, "Love, it's hardly grown. You don't need to skin me again." He wore a warm smile and caught the way she almost seemed confused by his words. They bantered plenty; it was part of a relationship that formed over a decade. Often, the banter was about his shave, and he'd get that same look, but he couldn't figure out why she was confused. Her gaze followed the docks of the port. He was so delayed, but it came to him. She had always looked at him in such a way, but she'd admitted sometimes it wasn't about trimming his stubble when it came in too thick.

This was feelings, he realized, the whole time, and he'd missed it. She'd often missed how he favored his remarks towards her in the presence of company. He did it, the one thing a man never does, upon pain of death even, "I'm sorry." There, he got over the pain of the moment. There was sincerity, even a warm smile from her. "I suppose there are still things we need to learn," he offered. "Yes, and today it's about ships," she replied as her arm slipped through his. He chuckled. She was normally one for snide or sarcastic remarks, much like his own. He'd grown older, matured. Those days of being completely destroyed by a failed relationship didn't hang over his head. There, however, was something different in what he and Wisp had, that being their long knowledge of one another and their shared hobby of being the bug in Sirion's salad. They both loved that chance to pick at him, knowing he would do so right back. Besides each other, Sirion was the one person they always felt a family-like connection to. Aidan was certain his jokes would have died away long ago if he knew Sirion took any of it to heart. But that was the bench elf, his own special race, characterized by the trait of laziness and answering questions with more questions.

Aidan made a slow turn, guiding her over minecart rails and several paces forward to a building. It was equipped with a small forge outside, a fire pit, and a large stack of lumber to one side. Aidan tugged open the general-sized port side dry dock. Inside were men already at work preparing lumber. A few looked up, some returning to work. Past the lot was a slipway where ships were rolled down the stone embankment on logs and into the water. When completed, the pulleys and ropes were still hanging from the last ship that was put to bed. Aidan was still waiting to hear the name that House Portyr chose for it.
"Aye blast ye, bringing a proper woman in here with the wolves, Addy, you know our rules." It was all Aidan could do to compose himself and offered in a deep, authoritative tone, a bit of husk behind his words, "I know the rules, Hogge, you forget that I wrote them." But the other man looked at Aidan, and a wide grin crossed his face. He was a large, burly man with a full beard, a few piercings, and a head taller than the rest of the men. To be fair, Aidan was nearly the shortest. The crew all stopped their work. The place fell quiet when the last mallet struck to tap two pieces of lumber together.



By the way Wisp looked at Hogge, Aidan could already tell her thoughts. Hogge knew immediately, "Oh gods be damned." There were a few of Aidan's workforce who were grumbling at Hogge's curse on the gods. He didn't stop there, "The barber, Addy? You brought her here. I swear, we've had our talks, but she comes near my beard, you can get a new foreman." There were chuckles from the others; they all knew Hogge's loved working with Aidan and the Shipyard. But Aidan's attention left Hogge just long enough to look at someone else. He saw the youthful man giving a warm smile. Aidan was glad he fit in among the others, more, that they took his word and treated him well. Aidan made it his purpose to see that this particular man was learning the trade. It couldn't be said if it was a promising work ethic, raw talent, or what. The others were never truly sure.

Meric called from among the workers, "You should stick around, Aidan. Hogge and Packet are going to slug it out. We've got bets running on it, and you're welcome to add to the pot." Aidan hated to spoil their fun; this was a time-honored tradition, but he knew he had to. "Lads, we're working for House Portyr. The business belongs to them even if we're all kept on in the agreement. If you start a brawl and it takes to the streets, you'll have both their attention and the guards." Hogge gave a hard huff, "Aidan, when I won, Packet would owe everyone food tomorrow. We all know his wife's cooking. Hell's chorus, if it'd be my wife's own cooking we'd all be breaking teeth." Aidan gave a smirk, "Suppose it's good she's left you and the dogs behind. Not that you want to be alone without a lass, but something tells me you've taken more of a shine to the dogs." The laughs overtook the others. Aidan kept a cool composure as he eyed his friend.

Hogge pointed a finger at Aidan and shook it, "I'd have won, yuh bastard. I'd have won." Packet, who wasn't quite as tall as Hogge, had his own well-built physique. The company's splitter and planner was great at his trade. He only gave Aidan a knowing smile. Wisp wasn't any woman to shy away from some foul talk, she took the time to study the faces, as well as the names. She'd know this crew for when she might make visits looking for Aidan. She'd always claimed she was his shadow, plenty of times he wasn't aware, but the truth was... she was always looking out for his best interest. If anyone were to stab him in the back he was more than certain she'd be the last person to do it. Aidan would introduce her to the rest of the workforce, twenty-four in all, and he rested his hand on the young man's shoulder. "This is Tomlan, I'm training him as a Shipwright's apprentice. I'm hoping in time he will find the very work for himself; if not, he's always going to be welcome here."



Hogge called out, "Almost thought he favored the men instead of ladies this whole time. It's a good thing you came along, Wisp, or he might have proposed to Samtis." Laughs were about to start when they were cut off. A scrawny, wiry man hopped up on a table and stepped up behind Hogge, "Look ye, pork bellied procrastinator. We both know yer in love with 'im." Samtis looked like he'd be outmatched by any man there. Yet, you could see that none of them questioned Sam's comment. A man known for his brawls, a talented fighter in his past with a quick hand, quicker wit. He'd fake out an enemy with a slight twitch of his body and come in at the other side of a thrown punch. He was fast like a strike from a venomous snake, and there weren't a lot of bar brawls he couldn't end that the other men started. Aidan found it comical, the smallest man of the group, other than Tomlan, smart and strong in a pinch, and always looking out for the others. But for all that, he was the kindest of the lot. Like a life of fighting for coin taught him one lesson, there wasn't a fighter in all of Toril who could never lose. Sam was wise enough to know that. He wasn't some monk or a rogue; he was just a man who always knew the odds.



Hogge turned and looked at him, "Ahh, you know I was playing." He messed up the other man's hair. Samtis just laughed as it happened to him, but he moved around Hogge. He was the first, "Miss Wisp, it's a pleasure to have you meet us. Your man is a bit more loose with restrictions than other shipyards, but we all think it's what makes us so talented. A place of employment where we're treated like part owners. Each with our own talents. I'm the carver, I put details into ship trim and make the figureheads." Aidan got that lopsided grin he'd always get when things were going well. Wisp went around to handshakes and mentioned she'd be visiting from time to time, even suggested getting Aidan's sister to cook a few dishes. Food kind of slipped away in the conversation as a few men looked puzzled, Packet most, "Damnit man, you had a sister here this whole time and never told any of us?" Aidan shook his head, "Sorry, lads, didn't want any of you filthy lot for a brother-in-law." He got a shoulder shove, some chuckles, a cough, and even some snickers.

The couple spent the rest of the time talking with the guys about old times and new. She got a chance to learn a bit about each of them. When it was over and Aidan asked them to get back to work, he'd be in tomorrow, the two took their leave to tour the boat. Of course, at some point in the day, he knew Wisp would bring up "Addy," and he wasn't wrong. She'd hold it over his head for a while.


Later that night, Aidan sat at his writing desk while Wisp took her reveries. He began to scrawl out a note as he looked at the stand on his desk that held a sketch of someone called "Beth" with sincere words attached. At the bottom of the sketch, from the well learned artsman, were his initials. The woman was shown in a light that perhaps shouldn't have fallen on a young lady dressed in rags as she was.

Not every storm is replaced with a bright day, nor every shower leaves a rainbow. The men weren't sure when this one would last. Dark and heavy, the rain poured down outside, and the Shipwright crew was busy with something other than building. The lumber was under dry storage after some of it was found in the rain that morning. So instead, they'd brought in pineheart for tar. This wasn't for patching cracks or putting a soft sheen on the side of a ship. This was about another form of tar. One that is used so often during sailing. Aidan worked on preparing the place, shoving the large shop doors open even as the wind tried to blow them closed. He and Meric tied each door hoop to the side of the shiphouse in order to keep the yard open and the air moving through.

It wasn't quite the healthiest place to be making what they would be. Most of the men probably wouldn't be invested as much as they should be. He already had to get on Packet and Hogge when he caught them casting line down the dry dock into the water. Today would be a day for fishing. Were that not bad enough, he could hear Samtis upstairs with Demeric. Aidan looked up and watched them for a moment. He wasn't a man of great patience today; he always had a hard time when the shipyard wasn't being used for its full purpose. Samtis reached into a burlap pouch, aimed and tossed an object towards Demeric, who caught it in his mouth and chewed. Both men threw their hands up in victory, their laughs were working some to take the edge off Aidan, but this playtime would have to wait for another day. Demeric looked down and saw Aidan. He froze, except his lips moved as he talked to Samtis, "It's your fault, pup."

Aidan, of course, couldn't hear what was said, but he took a deep breath and tried to keep from smiling as he talked, "Listen, we all know our job and, aye, it won't be fun but it's better than you two lovebirds up there tossing each other nuts. Demeric, you've been with us a while. Where does that brand of nut come from? No wait, I'll answer, Calimshan, comes in a crate, held in the lower storage, right above the bilge, you know what comes up from the bilge just to eat, and instead finds itself releasing its bodily toxin? mmm rats.... right on the halavan nuts you're chomping on now." That got his attention. Demeric gave a glare to Samtis, who blinked, looked at the bag, and ate a few with a cocky grin before tying it to his belt and climbing down a rope instead of taking the stairs like Demeric did.

Today, the crew, begrudgingly, gathered around a large vat. Each had put on gloves made of sturdy leather. They'd been burning fires since the night prior to prepare for pitch of one sort or another, and it wasn't going to waste even if it wasn't for the boards. Bucket after bucket was poured in. A few of the men walked back and forth through the shop, setting up hanger posts. Along with the pitch still in its heat, they added boiled linseed oil to make sure the substance would still be thin enough that it would soak through, and turpentine made from tapped pine tree sap. After an hour of mixing this under even heat, it was time.

Among the crew who were just shy of thirty this day, Tamlon set aside while he was recovering from a hangover, and a few were away for various reasons, the rest gathered rope. Soon, the floor was piled with the hemp strands of craftsman abroad. One by one, each rope was put through the vat, curled down along the inside in a circle, and the man who held the end on a metal hook would dip it and then pull it clear. Each man would gather it and spread it out, running it down the line of hangers they made. The object was to see that each of these ropes was tarred properly.



When sailing, ropes were always tarred. It stiffened and strengthened this very essential part of a sailor's life. It made knots tied stronger and hold together from the sticky residue, it made it easier to pass through hands and hold without losing grip, and most importantly, it lengthened its shelf-life. Because water, especially salt water, was ropes bitter enemy. It wouldn't be uncommon to see ships preparing ropes even at sea, though the process was more dangerous; sometimes you had to do these things to make sure your journey brought you to your destination. What is shipping if not a journey?
The group talked about life, told stories, and sang songs to keep in time with the efforts. Anything to make it feel less like work and more like a gathering of friends. No one liked working the ropewalk as it was known. In total, over eighty new ropes were ready for ships going out or coming in.

Unfortunately for Aidan, while the rest of the men stayed behind when it was done, just to watch ropes dry, it was his job to go inform House Portyr of the progress so that they could ration out the ropes.

He took his walk most evenings this time he'd been thinking on the past. His mind milled over events from two years ago as he made his way down steps, cobble streets, and into the harbor docks.

Looking back to that night: A late night, perhaps later than most, in which the man of the docks would return home. He couldn't pry himself away from the docks, however. His stroll along the waterfront was one he rather cherished. Only equaled by that of a sandy beach or the deck of a ship. This was when his thoughts best came to light. When no one was calling his name, asking him questions, paying respects, or having idle conversation. Under the light of Selune, though he never worshiped her, Aidan found tranquility listening to the light splash of water. It didn't take up the whole capacity of his attention; he was still able to pass his time deep in mind. He looked over each ship in passing, imagining what they brought to market based on where the ship had come from. Each ship with its banner left atop the main mast to ensure the port authority knew which nation they had arrived from. Something that an average visitor of the docks might ignore, and yet was so important to business-minded and Watch alike.

Aidan would even sometimes walk by them and talk to the Harbor Master in the light of day. He would make it his business, when the man was of a free spirit, to talk, to garnish information important mostly to House Portyr alone. If the Harbor Master spoke of other ships, who was Aidan to stop him from his conversation interest? He didn't take too much of the man's time, knowing that more important business was to be conducted. Managing the operations of the Gray Harbor wasn't a small task, being in charge of all records. The position required you to make note of each ship (by name) that ported, where it came from, and where it would head next. The Master was tasked with listing all cargo hauled to and from the ship, as well as having his men inspect the cargo to avoid smugglers and unwanted contraband. He oversaw the handoff of tariffs, taxes on imports, and ensured the coin made it into the safe hands of the Watch.

To be honest the very few jobs he didn't see to himself was inspection of ship damage, anything out of the ordinary in the ships design, get a record of whether the ship was or was not attacked by pirates, to be sure the roster of men a captain brought with him was accurately counted, and lastly checking the crew for ailment. These jobs were often the subject of other city officials. The city had to be sure that ships that came to port weren't stolen and pirates weren't using them as a way to make a bit of coin off the cargo. They had to be sure that they weren't working with stored areas below deck that were inaccessible by door in case military forces or other rabble were using this as a means to bring in force. Last off, and probably more concerning, was ailment. Yes, clergy could just help a city with a few ill, but a plague outbreak would cause more damage than clergy alone could prevent. So catching it at the port was paramount. In the day, it was unlikely that a port would avoid having ships checked for all of these things by men and women of different stations.

The day, however, wasn't the only concern; the city had its towers and watched over the port waters by night as well. For security and administrative purposes, ships that had not come to port before dusk would have to wait the night outside the port, either along the river or out at sea. So it would not be hard to say that while the streets of the lower districts were a hustle of crowds, crates moving about to different companies, and a place where the exotic nature of countries from abroad could linger. By night, most often curfews were set, at least in the Upper City. They would evict the non-residents and common folk from the districts, and only those with patriar's invitation or a Watch Token could grant you access. Without at least the first, the Helm and Cloak, the Lewd Lyre, and the Three Old Keg would see little evening activity. You, of course, could sometimes find those who slipped the Watch's notice, as long as they stayed at the taverns till dawn.

In the lower districts, where Aidan was known to walk, the night brought fewer enforcers, though there was a small batch. Curfews still mattered, but were more loosely handled. It wasn't uncommon to see gambling in an alley, or two people enjoying the shadows where they were afforded so little privacy for their moments of short-lived passion. The docks were patrolled as well, though Aidan would tip his hat to the Watch, and were they to ask him to go home, he most certainly would. The night was a place where masked individuals often roamed, and the Watch would have their hands full. They couldn't monitor all matters of business. Aidan found himself stepping over minecart tracks, traveling between crates, dropping a few coins to a man down on his luck.

Tonight was going to be different amidst the lower city's normal grey fog and slippery wet cobblestone walkways. It wasn't the weather, nor the smell of the sewage below the city rising through the grates. It was a sound, not that of the river pooling in the dark waters and lapsing against wooden and stone pillars, no, this was the light weight of footsteps. Aidan was certain it wasn't the Guild; he believed their operatives were better at a task than this. It was only one set of feet, he could hear them step off to the side time and again, likely slipping behind crates to avoid detection as they drew ever closer to his slow steps. At first, he thought of Wisp, but even if her talents weren't as strong as he believed the Guild to be, they were not this terrible.

The last time he remembered being followed closely resulted in several stab wounds to the back that left him bleeding in the alley near the Elfsong. He'd gotten wiser with his age and walked the city armed. At least this time, there was only one being to worry about. He slowed as he walked into the shadow of the stone underpass near Umberlee's Temple. He carefully pulled his sword almost free of the sheath in front of him to hide the glint the next time he heard the steps move behind crates. His leather glove held the blade tightly in his left hand, far enough down that he had a couple of feet to work with.

It was a moment later, the shadow of the bridge almost ending, when he felt a tug at his coin purse. Aidan crouched at the same time he spun around and dragged the pummel of his sword across the dirt-covered cobble. When his sword had tapped against something, he pulled on the blade to bring it towards him and off to the side. The cross-hilt caught and ripped the person off their foot, which caused them to fall back. Aidan made no hesitation as he moved over the target and used his right hand to hold his hilt now, sword point down on the person's chest. He spoke a quiet incantation, and a soft green glow surrounded him.

Before him on the ground was a woman, thin and no doubt wiry. She didn't bother moving with the blade there. His coin purse in her hand. "Settle it, off to the side." He told himself the proper thing to do wasn't to hold a sword to a woman. He had a pretty strict personal code about being a gentleman, but in this case, he just repositioned the blade somewhere that wouldn't be so personal, down on her rib cage. She did as she was told, and he could see the fear in her eyes. She murmured, "I'm sorry", "please, I'm sorry." To Aidan, it wasn't fear alone; there was sincerity in it.

He stepped back just a bit, pulling the blade away. "Stand up, don't touch the coin pouch", he warned. She did as told once again and looked like she wanted to run. He held her up with his words, "I don't forget a face. I've seen yours rather clearly." She lifted her chin, a bit of pride in her, maybe defiance, "You kept your money, let me be." How odd to him, she spoke with education, and yet tried to steal from him. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Why are you robbing a stranger in the middle of the night?" A shrug was all she gave in return; her arm was wrapped about herself, the other with a fingernail in her mouth. He nodded, "figured that was the response I'd get. I'm turning you in." Immediate panic struck her, "No, please don't do that!" She'd only realized too late how loud she'd been; she could see a Watchman strolling the dock some distance off, and this wasn't going to be good.

She lowered her tone, "I needed the coin. The people won't give me work. At least not respectable work. I..." She paused. Before he could say anything, she picked up the bag and held it out to him, "I should have never resorted to this, I nee.." She stopped herself and took in a shuddered breath. He watched a moment and slipped his sword away, taking the pouch and tying it back where it belonged. "You need what? Look, I'm giving you a chance. I won't turn you in, but you've got to be straight with me. I did my share of time acting, I can see this concern isn't a practiced bar to strike at someone's heartstrings. Trust me enough to explain it?"

She thought a moment, and as the guard got closer, she tensed up. Aidan tipped his hat to the Watchman. "Shouldn't be out, you're past curfew," came the words in a low, nasally tone. "We were just about to head off, yet I dropped my ring. The two of us are looking for it." The Watchman mumbled and walked off. He wasn't going to waste the time to consider the situation with Aidan glowing a slight green light over the ground. When he was gone, the two looked back at each other. She nodded, "My father, he went to meet his god not long back. But we're already running out of coin, we're about to lose our lodging, and I've been trying to find work." He mumbled, "So you thought that your only option would be to rob people? You're also rather terrible at it."

She shook her head, "I know, I know, I shouldn't have tried to take the coin. I'm not like that... I'm not, I just got desperate." Aidan sat down on a crate, and he looked over to another. Without hesitation, she sat. "You could have run; I might never have found you. Regardless of my threat about remembering your face." He leaned forward, arms across his knees as he looked at his gloved hand and how the blade cut in a small bit, but it was not to the flesh, "I can't count the number of times a woman has come up to me and called me by name and asked if I remembered them with some pleased smile on their face. Most of the time I have to smile, say yes, and pretend I know them." She gave a quizzical look, "so you're a rake, one of those men who just use women and move on?"

He chuckled a bit, "No... I'm a man who has often considered himself a poor judge of character. I believe wholly in long-term relationships. I'm courting a woman now whom I've known for many years. Past relationships failed for assorted reasons, certainly some being my fault. But it was never my wish to fail at it so often. On a different subject, since this shouldn't be about me, what is your name?" She looked off towards the East Gate, "Gwyn. If it were just me, I'd leave this place and find somewhere I'd be happy. But since our father died, and our mother had run off with another when I was young, I have a younger sister and brother to look out for. It's why I was trying to take your coin. Not a lot of people with that big of a pouch on them. I figured you'd find more somewhere."

Aidan, of course, was seeing the reason, but something inside him lurched; he felt a deja vu of sorts regarding his past. Elizabeth had been in the very same situation. No parents, looking after Tomlan alone. She stole a cow and a pig to try and sell. Aidan just happened to be in the outer city both times she attempted the stunt. She was doing it so the sewer thieves would feed her brother; they even cut some of her toes off when she failed them. He was about to speak, but his throat was hoarse; he cleared it a moment and continued, "Listen, if you want a chance, I am a shipwright by trade, the name is Aidan Thatcher. You come by Thatcher Shipwright Co at the eighth candlemark daily, learn part of the craft, and I will assure you constant pay. But I'm giving you this one chance. If I find you're up to no good, talking with the wrong crowds, using the coin for purposes other than taking care of your siblings, or a few other reasons, I will be watching out for... the job offer will no longer remain."

She looked confused, then excited, and then gave an odd expression, "I don't spend time around others, I don't keep people close, and I certainly don't keep with the wrong crowds. But uh, I don't have any more candles, I also would like to bring some food home." Aidan searched her eyes, not out of intrigue or affection, but for the truth. When he was satisfied she wasn't good enough at disguising truth from lies, he gave her a handful of coins. "Pocket it, go buy what you need from the Sun and Stars. They know me there, tell them I sent you and they will sell you food and likely candles if they have spare. I don't think you will find much else open this time of night. I expect to see you tomorrow, or there won't be any more coins."

She gave an earnest and pleased nod. Worried her lip, and looked at him like she wasn't sure he was serious about all this. However, she had the coin in hand to prove that this went from a botched robbery to a man just offering her coin. She saw kindness. With that, she slid the coin away and walked off. She looked back a few times, and before long, the grainy grey mists swallowed her.

In the daylight of the next day, she did exactly as asked; she showed up.

Clinker and Carvel


What separates a Clinker-built ship and a Carvel style? It's an everyday vision in the life of the docks and yet most probably never question the purpose of each. The true nature of each structural style of ship depends on its purpose in use. Both styles of construction had strengths, weaknesses, advantages, and flaws



The clinker-built was best used in close shore travels along the coast, for rough waters like river rapids, for common fishing vessels, and sometimes in pursuit of more odious endeavors like carrying a crew to attack a coastal town of hamlet. The reason for clinker over carvel in this situation is that clinker strakes, the wood boards that run along the outside of the ship and form its hull, were built overlapping. This gave the ship a stronger wall, which might prevent real damage from crashing into a rock outcrop or dragging over shallows. Even more importantly, battle-hardened wood against crossbows and, in some cases of a glancing shot from ballista fire in the case of being attacked.



The carvel-built is known for use in larger vessels, those carrying trade goods, or soldiers to sea. They were never really a ship meant for close shore visits in shallow waters, the first purpose of rowboats on a ship. Carvel, at least large ships, always needed deeper ports because of their size. Though some carvels like schooners, as an example, are good at skirting close to inlets, shores, and even some stretches of river. It was less likely to be found where clinkers roamed. The carvel-built was the ship of choice when it came to merchant companies, naval warfare, and long voyages as it accommodated more room for storage. The Carvel is noted by looking at the hull of the ship; these vessels were built by the use of one board sitting just above the one below it, with no lapping over of boards. So, the walls might be thin from not having a double layer of wood. It was faster in water and could easily outrun or maneuver clinker-built, which, by dynamics, did not flow as well in ocean currents, had large enough sails, or required many oarsmen.



Aidan himself, though having built both styles of ships, rather hated repairing clinker-built, more he was a naval man in his youth, and with that came a love for the carvel that supported naval warfare. Where he could do a decent enough job with either, he excelled in carvel. He'd actually spent some time in Ulgoth's Beard years back helping the fishers rebuild their boats. He put on a smile, helped them to learn the art, and wanted them to be proficient in repairing their ships. The Last Anchor, having once been his tavern, he got to know the locals enough to want to help them. Regardless of his dislike for clinkers. People would tell you that the great things about being a shipwright were the pay, the knowledge of how to fix a ship even at sea, and its strengths. Below the surface, what is rarely seen is that one of the greatest knowledge of a shipwright is an extensive study of the weaknesses as well as the strengths of each model of ship, not just whether they were clinker or carvel.

So why the distaste for clinker construction? There comes a flaw with clinkers, especially those that aren't well cared for. Both carvel and clinker needed to be maintained regularly, but the reason for his dislike of repairing clinkers is that if you have damage to a hull that was somewhere further down the side of the ship or boat, you would have to remove the sidewall from the top all the way down to the location of the repair. Where with carvel it required only the removal of the boards that were questionable. Sure, some shipwrights or desperate boatswains and carpenters would try to unrivet just above and below the damaged board, and replace it, but the task was hard and sometimes resulted in faulty reconstruction. When it came to ships, faulty likely resulted in taking on water.

The Castigation

Aidan found himself working with a majority of his crew. Today, it was a ship that had been attacked by pirates. The crew luckily got back safely, but the ship, however, looked like it had seen better days. Strakes to be replaced, supports for some of the ribs, sanding, filling, and recoating in pitch. The top deck of the ship had railings, netting, and a portion of the helm that needed care. The most important concern for a captain would be the masts, which both mizzen and main were thankfully untouched.

Aidan had a hammer and a wedge. Knocking with each blow struck, pounding down a board that was a replacement. He saw the movement from the corner of his eye and looked over. Standing in the entry, with her lower lip trembling. Yet she refused to allow a tear to her face. Too much time working around the guys had hardened her, made her able to take a verbal hit and toss it back, trading word for word like two men taking jabs. However, it wasn't lost on a man who had plenty of time around romantic partners and female friends alike. He stepped away from his work and walked outside. She was sure to follow.



Gwyn looked up at him, "I wasn't going to be late. I wasn't. I didn't mean to..." He lifted a hand and slowly lowered it. "Calm a bit, what's going on?" Even after two years of working for him, she still couldn't understand his care for others, for her, even. He'd weathered some cruelty, seen his share of scum, and still looked at the regular folk like none of them would stab him in the back, even after she'd learned it literally happened to him. She feared for just the smallest moment he might be upset she was late. The thing is, Gwyn was always the worker who was first to be found on the site working on her tradecraft. She didn't take that into account, just as much as forgetting who she was talking to. There was a loyalty there; it ran both ways, and she should have remembered that.

"I was traveling the port-walk and I'd come across a ship. Something seemed off near the waterline, so I got closer to check it out. Shipworms, Aidan, the ship had an infestation in the lower planks. I tried to speak to someone and let them know. I should have imagined they already did. When the captain and one of his goons walked up and told me to get off the dock, I went out of my way to explain the dangers of sailing it. The big man grabbed me by the arm and shoved me past them, back towards the cobble. I fell. But they told me to shut my mouth and know my place."

Aidan gave an irritated look, "No one owns the public docks, their gangplank, sure. But if you came here from home, all of those are public lanes."
He could see the blood stain on her sleeve. He carefully lifted her hand and looked, seeing that her wrist was scraped up. His sigh was deep. "You should probably head home. We can cover for you today." She instantly cut in, "No... I want to work. I can do it, Aidan." He plastered on a smile, hiding his mask of anger for this captain and his man. "You realize, Gwyn, you owe no one. You are the woman you are because you picked yourself up and pulled your share of the rope." She couldn't look up at him as she shook her head, "Nay, you gave me the chance, I owe you." He smirked, "We owe each other, then. No one in this company can lay the shredding and caulk well, but you and I. I can't spend all my time doing it. So do me a favor, carry on for me. I've got a ship to go check out, and a name to get." She nodded, and he could see the relief. Gwyn was just happy that she wasn't in trouble and more, that the matter would be settled by a man she trusted.

Aidan whistled as he looked into the shipyard. Heads rose, and he searched among them. He lifted his chin to Samtis and Hogge. Both men put aside their work. Aidan gave a half-grin to Gwyn, "You're in charge till I get back, well, I suppose I should say you and Tomlan. Make sure he knows." She smirked and walked in. Tomlan and Gwyn got along well most days, though other days they were like squabbling adult siblings; there was mutual respect regardless. When she'd walked out of earshot, Aidan explained it all to both the crew.

The three men walked beyond their shipyard and a few others, saying hello on a first-name basis with many of the dockers, tradesmen, and merchants. Aidan looked among the ships when they were beyond House Portyr grounds, his eyes moving from ship to flags upon the topsail. He was mumbling a bit. Hogge was oblivious, waving off at some woman he'd liked the look of, but Samtis was tuned in. The man was calm and collected. He heard Aidan listing off the locations of where the ships were from, eventually stopping when they came to a ship of Calimshite origin.



"You sure this is the right one, boss?" Hogge asked as he scanned about for the men he'd heard were here. Aidan murmured to the two, "The ship has to be coastal, you're not going to find shipworm as likely up the river. They certainly could be from Baldur's Gate, but the waters are cooler this far north, and even more so heading up towards Waterdeep. We're looking for a ship that sails to tropical places like Chult, but far enough north to the south of Amn. More importantly, a ship that isn't often found this far north. I've not seen this company before. Not even during my time as a naval officer or a merchantman." His gaze rose to the company banner that flew just below the flag of Calimport.

They walked out onto the docks, with ships on either side using the landing as a means to unload or take on cargo. He crouched down and looked at the hull, and it was true enough, the wood wore the holes of the nasty worms that were relative to clams or mussels, only they wore no shell and ate at wood for dwelling and food. He stood up just in time to be met by five men. Only two of them were the tanned tone of those more common in Calimport. Aidan sized each man up, though he was not looking for a fight, he certainly would get the blunt end of the beating.




"I'm here to speak with the captain. If I might have a few words," his cordial tone underlined with a bit of urgency. Though his expression and the two men he brought with him were anything but friendly at the moment. The gruff man to the back spoke up, "Yeah, well, Captain Lorrison isn't around. You boys will have to come back when you've grown a bit. We require real deckhands, not lads who want to play at a helm." Aidan clenched his jaw, trying to maintain the composure a man of his privilege might. "Yes, I suppose that makes you the real man here, hmm? The sort that shoves a smaller woman aside because he fancies himself strong?"

The man laughed it off, "You know that strumpet, do you? She was looking for coin, and I wasn't interested in a good time." Hogge' tapped Aidan mid-back for the go-ahead. There wasn't any Watch on this stretch of the dock, and people were busy. Aidan was glad for it, he set aside his reputation for the moment, "You're a terrible piece of shite who I wouldn't dignify the time to scrape off my boot, I'd buy a new set to save me the stench that goes wherever you're found. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if you sired a litter of goblins."



That was the insult. Aidan had his word, and the man had his cause to pick the fight. He came towards Aidan when Samtis slipped around between the men. The brute took a wide swing that could have connected with Sam's jaw if Sam hadn't bobbed his head to the side, then came back with his full arm straight and coming over top of the thug's thick arm. Samtis' left fist crashed against the man's throat, he bobbed back down immediately and struck him up under the left side ribs. The wind knocked from the sailor, and he clutched at his throat. The tough guy stumbled to the side and used the post of the pier to keep him standing as he wheezed. But it was hardly a flash of a second and Samtis stood in front of the second man, nearly nose to nose.

This man hesitated, didn't swing, and looked nervous as hell after witnessing that. He'd certainly thought he'd have to help his friend take on the burly fellow behind Aidan, but he wasn't expecting what this man was capable of. He spoke up, "Look. I don't want trouble. If you're looking for the captain, he's dropping off a shipment of alcohol." Aidan shook his head, "I don't necessarily need to go speak with him. Thank you for at least allowing me a chance to speak to someone of...", he looked at the giant, who was still trying to find out if he was going to live through the pain he was feeling. "To speak to someone regarding an attack on my craftswoman. She was here to inform your captain of his shipworm damage. But now that I have his name, I will write him directly, and he'll have his message before leaving port."

The man, whom Samtis had stepped back from, even turned his back on, just nodded his head. Sam was still jumped up on adrenaline and an itch for more fighting, was making his way back towards Aidan. The larger man finally got a chance in a croak to tell Aidan, "You'll be celled for this." Before Aidan could even talk to tell him all he did was insult the man, Samtis put his foot down on the back of the man's boot and knocked the big fellow's arm from the post. He fell headlong into the water. Sam murmured, "Guy needs to watch his step. docks get slick"

The man who was willing to speak to Aidan asked, "What am I supposed to tell our boss about this?" He motioned to the man in the water who was swimming to get back out. Aidan looked at the other guy, "Tell him he tried to fight a boy who just wanted to play with a helm." The three men walked off. It would be their word against the others, but that wasn't enough. Aidan had touched no one, and Samtis was only protecting his employer from an attack on open docks. When the men got back to the shipyard, Samtis was in great spirits. He was doing his work well, something that oddly happened when he had a drink, a fight, or some time with his sweetheart alone. Aidan was just glad to see him do his job. Sam was a good carver, specializing in figureheads and trim, but given the chance, he'd talk more than work. Aidan saw him like a brother because if any of the men were going to stand up for Aidan, Samtis would be the first among them.

Caulk and Fiber


An under-considered part of a ship's construction and repairs was the act of filling the gaps. Whether your ship was clinker or carvel, one of the more important additions to the hull was stuffing between seams. Where boards came together, or overlapped, it was important to work with material to clog those spaces to prevent leaks. The well-established practice of using hemp fiber and pine pitch to do the work could be found in any shipyard. Though sometimes for smaller gaps or spaces, wool might be used instead. Once hot pitch and enough hemp chaff/strands were mixed and soaked together, it would be the job of the shipwright or a specialist within the shipyard, known as the Caulker, would see to this step of the building and repairing process. At Thatcher Shipwright & Company, three people were capable of this part of the work. Either Aidan himself, Tomlan, or the true professional of that line of craft, Gwyn, would do this work. Sometimes a couple of them worked together to put it in place.

The work consisted of a mallet, iron wedges with a flat top at the end of the handle to tap against. First step would be to use an iron to slather the fibers and pitch, then use the tool to gather it to the slits between boards. Followed by pushing as much in as able. In time, the worker would start the second process, gently tapping with the mallet to stuff the mix closer together, adding more from the heated pot to continue the process. The ultimate goal was to pack it in hard enough that no more could fit between. They would leave it time to dry and harden. Then follow the process up by raking pure pitch in, to make sure it was soaked thoroughly in any spot that might have an air gap. The last task regarding this process would be brushing pitch over the hull along those areas, both on the inside and outside of the ship's walls. All this prior to the whole lower half of the ship being tarred or fully pitched, depending on the ship's intended purpose.

Aidan was fortunate enough to have a good student in a Shipwright, like Tomlan. Most men learned this craft not in a college, but in a family business. Tomlan got a bit of both worlds with Aidan having training from both the war college and his family shipyard in Athkatla (now long sold off). Aidan had no intention of turning over his shipyard unless something more rewarding came to him. But if that day should come, he knew Tomlan was well aware of how to keep this place running. Even if Aidan ended up a silent partner. Tomlan was good with the men, no less. They respected, listened, and worked on his cue. The whole group would certainly stick through this together.

All that said, Gwyn was able to seal a ship like no one in his company and likely a point of jealousy for some other shipwrights. So when it came to the title of caulker, she was it. She was better than Aidan at it, and it came so naturally to her. Like some hidden knowledge brought to light, she went from learning it to teaching it. Two years, just two years, and she was a marvel with pitch. She'd chop hemp and fiber to a useful size and knew when to mix it at the right time. He realized a while back that almost being robbed turned into one of the greatest things that happened to his shipyard. She wasn't the key to success; the place would be successful even if she took to the road. However, he knew she wanted to stay near, that her life was here.

Aidan had a lot of hidden laughs and hidden smiles when the guys would run some lines on her. Jests and careless words said out of attraction, but she was smooth as polished steel, a blade that cut right through the bullshite and put a man in his place easily. To which more laughs would happen on both ends. She wasn't a woman looking for love or passion; she was a woman who was making a life for herself and her siblings. All the jests aside by the men, she was like a sister to the lot of them, even in this short time.

Aidan was letting her bring her brother about to learn a bit of the trade. Get an idea of where he was best fitted if he wanted a job. In a shipyard like his, you didn't get forced into a position because one just happened to be open, a position opened to you when your skill was honed in an area. He learned long ago, you become who you are meant to be, not who people want you to be. A fight and rail against your own abilities often led you to places that could bring so little success.

Aidan led, but Aidan could follow. A lot could be said for his work with ship repairs, but he was a natural and diplomatic leader; he would sing working songs till others would have joined in. He'd done it so often that now, most days, he wasn't the one starting the songs, but he'd hear one start, and the others followed. The music passed the time till work felt less like work. Hells, they were a community.

Remembering the Army Eternal

"As I sit here to write, I'm reminded of my days on the War Council for the Gate. Added to the list of those given authority by the Dukes to come up with a strategy to combat the undead legion that was coming ever closer to the gate. How Isabella had asked for permission to work with the Council. Though she was of Candlekeep, who always wished to remain neutral even in events such as these. But more, she was considered to have previous attachments to the Zhents. Perhaps someone will read this someday and wonder about the events.

I can remember them as if they were mere days ago. Sitting upstairs in the Pathfinder Hall with eight others, we discussed possible ways to shape this war that would likely destroy the Gate entirely. Around the table were the Darius Brothers (Luke and Fingal), Erza, Terri of the Phoenix Company, and the selected others. It was Flamerule of 1351. Exactly ten years ago to the month. We were looking at all ways to stop the undead from the north. The Army Eternal was said to be led by four lich-lords. An estimated million undead were slowly forming and sweeping through the lands. The Hellriders were sent out, Kraak Helzak warned, as it was the strongest bastion in the north. Kheldrivver loss of supplies and food. The Zhents stepping in to try to help with grain, people we could never trust, and certainly wouldn't be helping unless there was something to gain from it. Credit, in this case.

A group of adventurers, some led by the war council, were sent out to try and take out the heads of the army, the liches. I was warned by Erza that she wanted me to stay behind and help prepare the walls. to make sure we had military ready, archers on the walls. I remember questioning what good arrows would do against bone. people bracing in safer locations, some even in the sewers, because their homes were most likely to be overrun. As if the sewers themselves didn't provide entrances for the undead legion. I had training, engineering could have aided heavily, but I was told there would not be time to prepare more siege fortifications. No time to truly brace the walls, gather oil for the top, no time to bring oil and straw to the fields to actually help those arrows make a difference when whole areas were set to flame.

The war that came was worse than anything imaginable. I admit I had less fear over the Times of Trouble, which speaks volumes that could cover a wall of the library here. I think Erza was right, regardless of my abilities, my encouraging words, and cadence, my songs to strengthen. In those days, I wasn't built for a land battle. On the sea, I wouldn't have been a lethal instrument of war. Yelling out to the crew, giving orders, and bulwarking the trained navy. At sea, I felt nearly unstoppable between my knowledge of ships, how to impair one, prevent boarding, rally the men, and repair any damage that could cause us to have troubles sailing away.

But this, this was different, standing behind a wall and hearing the sound of bone grinding against bone, teeth gritting and snapping, the moans of some of them that were freshly awoken. The whistle of arrows sent below, with the backdrop of fingers clawing against the very walls of the palace district. They were smashing themselves into the walls. No will or desire to live, they were at the command of another, or others, for that matter. Before long, the whistling was coming back. Soldiers were falling. I was helping others drag the wounded away and setting up a location to look after the wounds. There weren't enough clergy in the gate to save them all. Imagine, the whole time you can hear the sound of an army of bone, metal, and wood.. bashing and pushing on the stone of the city wall, the one task you could do was ease the mind of the dying, praying that somehow the liches couldn't take control of them in return. Collecting and eventually delivering last letters to family and loved ones when this was going to be over. If....if there were homes or people to bring them to.

The city wall didn't hold. I didn't see it fall, but I was close enough to feel the thundering tremble it sent throughout the city. I could hear the undead coming in. Metal now contacting metal. It was like a nightmare you could not wake from. In time, the liches would be destroyed, the undead without control or leadership fell away, and the last of them sent to their graves by the clergy. I don't think I have ever witnessed Erza so drained. I had been her understudy, as a Sunite, though I think even then I knew it wasn't where I belonged. Which made it all the harder when Erza joined the Radiant Heart and put me in charge of the Halls of Inner Light. a position I held for only a short while before I passed on the torch.

In the days that followed the attack, the bodies were cleared, stone was cleared. The bone, metal, and wood that once rallied in anger against our very walls were taken out. My job became delivering the news to the loved ones of those who did not make it. To this day, those events haunt me more than any other thing I have witnessed. They will live with me for the rest of my life, the undead, made dead, and haunting still."


Memories of Aidan Thatcher - Flamerule 7, 1361

Balance of the Ballast

Most of the latest ship the yard had put its time into was nearing completion. Aidan stood back and let the others assume the job. His only function here today was to watch that each man and woman was performing the tasks as necessary. If he had a complaint, he didn't make it open, instead choosing to speak to the worker in low tones. He would drop in a smile, perhaps a laugh, all to allow them to keep their dignity. Besides, for him, it was a chance to continue to be someone they could turn to if they had questions.

The inner portion of the ship became the afternoon task, and Aidan, with others, were all in close quarters looking over the inside of the keel. They had built-in keelsons, lumber that wedged against the inside of the keel to keep water from rising up below the ship. Out from that, they had built a rectangular box along either side of the keel, two feet out from each side, and ended near the aft and stern of the ship. For this particular vessel, that was thirty-eight feet by two feet on each side of the ship's center. Each ship met with different demands for ballast. That weight lowered the point of gravity to the center and the lowest part of the ship.

Where the difference came in was the purpose and value of a ship. If the ship was meant to be for a House or the Duke's navy, ballasts were best laid with pig iron. Called such because the ingots took on the look of little piglets in some cases. They were basically flat on the bottom and mounded. They were a better form of ballast, not as likely to shift weight, and heavy. With that came a higher cost to have it done.



The next is a full floor ballast of stone, sometimes with logs put in and more stone poured over the logs to steady them in place.

Lastly was the most common form of ballast, which required building a frame and filling just the framed-in area with stone; you would build a deck right over it so that the stone could not shift very much. Some builds of this nature had ports, a lid you could lift off, and add stone or remove it to settle weight distribution.




In rare cases, slower ships would add more weight to the back end of the ballast so that the front end of the ship skidded over the water with the sails. Though the weight would not be greatly increased

The workers of Thatcher Shipwright Co. were making good use of their time today. Hogge, in his deep voice, began to bellow out the words to a bawdy song about a lass who visited a drunk ten times in different outfits to trick the man out of extra cold, Gwyn and some of the other ladies even sang along. Aidan could only shake his head and murmur the words to himself. He may have regretted ever introducing his giant companion to a few of the lyrics. Tomlan even got into it as he measured out stone to keep it below the planks. Being sure that they'd nail down a wooden surface over the weight without a rock impeding them.

The importance of the ballast always remains in one thing, keeping the boat upright by making sure the majority of the weight is even in the bottom. If a ship lists to one side or the other (to lean), then the ballast likely needs to be rebalanced. The weight there can be the difference between a ship capsizing in a storm or rough seas.