“We've a lot to do. Remember how long it took us to find the first island? And there are three more,” he croaked.
As we logged in, we saw John's new avatar standing on the deck. I had to restart he said, and we groaned good-naturedly in sympathy. This death set him back dozens of hours in experience, skills, and equipment. Sven crossed the deck and offered John the Cursed Coin.
“Here, have the coin back.”
“Oh no, I couldn't. I had my shot and blew it,” John laughed.
“I insist. I don't want it. If you don't want it, I'll throw it overboard.”
“If you insist, I'll take it.”
The game interface wouldn't let Sven pass it to John. When they realized there was no solution John asked, “Are you really going to toss it into the sea?”
We heard Sven sigh, “No, but I wonder how you were able to pass it to me.”
We were a full crew still, little worse for John's dip in the Deep. But, from that day our curse, or John's death, transformed the ship. Sven discovered the initial infection while repairing the hull. Along the waterline, on the starboard side, a rot appeared, an oozing, shadowy mucus that radiated from a sore. It didn't seem detrimental, in fact the ship skimmed across the surface, faster than before. But it cast a pall that tinted and tainted the air.
We also began to hear the wailing. Ephemeral ghosts stalked the ship. They moaned, but they also worked in the rigging, and shuffled about, maintaining the deck.
With our new visage, other ships avoided ours, as if fearing contamination.
The exception was a brave (or suicidal) crew that sought to commandeer our ship. We watched them from a distance as we searched for our next buried clue. John, Sven, and I had cask with the clue in the dingy when they swooped like an osprey seeking fish.
“Here they come,” said Jacek from the wheel. “That same crew that's been tailing us all day. They've got all their sails up, and are going to pull in right next to us to unleash a broadside. They're risking significant retaliatory damage to their ship and sails. They must really want us.”
“They're inspired by the challenge,” said John as he rowed. “Who can claim to have defeated a cursed ship? We must defend the honor of our quest. We'll defeat them.”
He spoke so calmly in that wretched tone of his, that we resolved to win, no matter the cost. Why, I ask myself in hindsight, did we stake our honor on such an abomination? How were we misled?
Clambering onto the deck we prepared for battle, but too late. The initial broadside blew holes in our hull, but some shot seemed to pass through as if our ship was unsubstantial, rendering no damage. Our return fire was more devastating with John's marksmanship. Not only did it tear their rigging, it set off a powder keg in their hold.
In their dilapidated state they swept past us, carried on momentum.
“We must sink them,” cried John, and without questioning we prepared the ship to follow.
“They might turn back toward us,” I said, but as the words entered my mic, I could see on the screen they were preparing to flee. In the rigging three of them worked desperately to repair the rips. Jacek had us racing toward them in moments. Their advantage in distance and momentum diminished as a storm blew up behind us, filling our sails. I glanced behind, and yelled.
“It's here!”
“Of course it is,” said John calmly, “It despises those who seek to thwart its quest. By attacking us, they are more cursed then we. It brooks no interference.”
On the horizon I saw other ships fleeing, their captains shaking in terror, ready to relate the fate of those who attack the cursed, to their friends on Reddit later.
The wall of water closed on our keel, as we passed alongside our victims. Their shot shook our ship, but the sound was muted by the wailing from our ghostly company.
“Follow me Sven,” said John as he leapt across the narrow body of water separating the two wood islands. “We must make a sacrifice to appease the Deep. You two, stay aboard and man the ship.”
Watching from our deck, I aimed with my mouse and fired shots at the enemy. John fought like a man possessed, with Sven beside him. I watched as they ducked into the hold of the ship.
“Watch out,” yelled Jacek as the Kracken burst between the two ships, clasping them in a crushing grip. The timbers groaned, and I slashed at its blubbery tentacles.
An explosion rocked the opposing vessel, and the players, with no hope in the sea but less on board a sinking, burning ship, leapt into the cold waters. I heard them crying for mercy, and then horror as sticky, stinking protuberances pulled them under into the Deep.
Onto the smoking, burning, broken deck ran John, Sven a step behind.
“Jump,” I yelled.
And John made an impossible flying leap, grasping the railing of our deck to halt his fall. Sven hesitated, maybe gauging the distance, but as he prepared to run, the ship buckled, crumpled like an empty soda can between a fist, and he collapsed into the spray with the wreckage.
“Sven,” we yelled.
We had one last glimpse of him, clinging to the wreckage, a wine colored obscenity twirling gracefully around his torso, before he was pulled under saying, “Don't...”
“Stop staring, and get us out of here Jacek,” yelled John.
Again, whether satisfied or satiated, the monster allowed our escape. Under a clearer sky we stood, three again, on the deck.
“Should we talk to Sven, then?”
“I supposed. I wonder if we'll complete this quest before we all die.”
Quitting the application we joined our former companion on Discord.
“Hey guys,” Sven groaned.
Hearing it a second time, in a slightly different form reinforced what we had forgotten. Something was wrong with John's voice, had been distorted since death by the Kracken.
“That's it, I'm done with this shit,” Jacek said immediately.
“What's wrong,” croaked John.
“You guys are freaking me out.
“What were you trying to tell us Sven, when you cried out, 'Don't...' ?” I asked, interrupting their conversation.
“I wanted to tell you, “Don't give up, just because I died,” he said in that sour, deep voice that was his, but wasn't.
“I tell you, I'm uninstalling tonight,” said Jacek.
“Please don't,” I said.
“Why do you want to keep playing? This is messed up.”
“I have to see this through.”
“Ok. I'm going to uninstall, wipe the game, and reinstall. I'll play, but I don't want one of those cursed coins in my inventory,” Jacek replied.
“When should we play again?” In a couple of nights?” I asked.
“I'm free tomorrow,” said Sven, “We should keep the search going, not give up hope.”
“Good night.”
But I didn't quit immediately. Realizing we hadn't looked in the box from the beach, I logged back in. There was only one item, a paper. When I clicked it, it displayed a parchment with the next clue. But when I looked again I saw a second paper wrapped around something. Clicking the new note I read, “A secret. For the quest.” Something about the note, and icon of the object which fell out of the paper, worried me. They looked as if someone had altered the game, inserting malicious code. They used a different font, as if to attract attention on purpose. And the object, which I now saw was a locket, didn't have the same quality look as the rest of the game. It looked like a low resolution version of a locket. But after hesitating for a moment, I added it to my personal inventory.
...
“It didn't work,” Jacek informed us the next night. “My character is still there, it still has the coin, and I can't create a new one. But I'll keep playing.”
That night wasn't better than the last. John's in-game death hadn't shaken us like Sven's did. There wasn't any new effects, but the transformation of the ship was complete. A terrifying vessel, constructed out of the black bile and the dark wine skin of the monstrosity, it seemed made of storm and sludge, bound together. What troubled me was the silence. It was difficult to hear over the moaning of our ghostly crew, but it was there. John's death hadn't hindered our conversation, because we remained a crew of three, but Sven's death accentuated the quiet. They barely spoke. Jacek and I found it difficult to speak into their deathly silence. We stood together on the deck, our avatar's eyes staring at the sea, flickering occasionally in anxiety to each other, and then turning away in awkwardness. Our two friends moved silently about the ship, but fulfilled their tasks with a precision they hadn't managed in life. Which made no sense, because their new characters were lower level, and didn't have the skills of their pre-demise brethren.
After another four days of labor we knew the location of the third island. John had pressured us to meet every night and it paid off.
“I'm going to call it a night,” said Jacek, his yawn audible across the internet.
“But it's only 10pm,” said Sven in his unearthly groan.
“Yeah, but I've got stuff to do early tomorrow. After I'm done, do you want to meet for lunch?”
“Busy,” grunted Sven.
“John?”
“I've got a work thing, all day,” John muttered.
“It's just that I haven't seen...” said Jacek, but then he sighed. “Never mind.”
“Good night.”
Before I logged off I received a private message from Jacek.
“Talk now?”
“Sure, what?”
“I don't want to play tomorrow. I don't want to play ever again.”
“You think one of our characters is going to die tomorrow? We've put in a lot of effort. But it can't be an automatic death. That wouldn't be fair. It's only a three person quest with four islands. It can't automatically kill someone each island. It would be impossible.”
“That's not the problem, and you know it,” said Jacek. “It's John and Sven. They are acting strangely.”
“Well, you know them better than I do, but I think I know what it is. John had an idea to play up his death, and Sven decided to join in. It's that simple.”
“For a full month? And I haven't seen them either.”
“Do you see them every month?”
“Not always.”
“Then no problem. Look, if you don't want to play that's fine. If you do, stay in the ship. Both of their in-game deaths occurred off the boat.”
“If you are going to keep playing... I will too.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The reader will anticipate the event, though the details are irrelevant. After claiming the clue from inside a blighted and corrupted tree on Crawling Island, John, Sven, and I returned to discover Jacek's body pierced by the cruel shining swords of our demon crew.
They turned to us as we clambered aboard. “He wavered in his commitment,” they said as soon as we saw the body. Their opaque glassy eyes seemed to stare hungrily into my soul through the screen. As one they lifted their arms and pointed at my avatar. “You have never doubted. You are the captain of this vessel now.”
I slammed the quit button.
“Hey, what's up,” said Sven a moment later on Discord.
“Yeah, you're not having doubts, are you?” asked John.
“No,” said Jacek in a horrible wheeze, “He's just shocked by my death, when he said everything would be ok.”
“I am shocked,” I replied. “But why are you talking like that?”
“It's like you said last night,” he replied, “Isn't that enough to ruin the mystery of it?”
“No,” I said, “It isn't.”
“Tomorrow night then,” said one of those awful voices as I disconnected.
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