A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favs and follows so far, guys.

Well, the good news is that I've got a way off the island. Of course, the bad news is that it's with a bunch of pirates. I try to disguise my nervousness as I walk aboard the Raven. It seems like a nice enough ship, but I'm sure it wasn't acquired legally.

"Yer seriously in luck with yer timing, lad." Garm, the pirate who "recruited" me, lays an arm over my shoulder as we walk. I suppress the urge to wrinkle my nose; I don't exactly smell like roses, either. "The Raven's been fallin' to shit with these half-assed swabbies we keep pickin' up. Cap'n don't take shit though, no sir, so o'erboard they go, yes sir."

I think Garm considers himself a bit of a scholar, with his yes sir-ing. He probably is, relatively speaking.

Garm catches my expression and his grip tightens. "Ah, don't worry, lad! The fuckin' swabbies are shit 'cuz we pick 'em up from Naga-knows-where. Buncha brats, all of 'em. Ain't ever we get people who's come on their own, no sir, not to be a fuckin' swabbie. Ya know Roll?" Garm looks around the ship. There's not too many people aboard right now, but he lowers his voice anyway. "He's our fuckin' quartermaster, but I've heard he was a cabin boy for years and years, back in the day. Yes sir."

I have to actively try to stay upright as Garm pounds me on the back. I think he meant it as a re-assuring pat, but I'm probably going to feel that tomorrow.

"Cap'n should be around soon," Garm continues. "Just tell 'im whatcha told me, and you'll be in, yes sir."

I give an affirmative grunt. "Yeah, thanks Garm. What time we gonna be leavin'?"

"Eh, cap'n told the boys to all be here in 'bout an hour," he answers vaguely. "So couple o' hours, at least."

"What d'ya wanna do 'til then?" I ask.

"Oi!" comes in another voice. A reedy-looking man walks aboard and points at me. "Who's that with ya there, Garm?"

"We'll get ya to meet the lads, that's what we'll do," Garm says to me, thumping me on the back. He raises his voice to include the newcomer. "Oi yourself, Scrawny! This here's our latest swabbie, yes sir."

"That right?" Scrawny gives me a quick look-over and shrugs. "Eh, looks better than the last boys we picked up. Remember them fuckin' Valmese brats?"

Garm laughs. "Fuckin' wimps, all of 'em."

I have a strange feeling that I'm missing something, but I can't place my finger on it. I put it out of my head and give an acknowledging grunt to Scrawny.

"Name's Mark," I say with a nod. I'm not going to give these guys my character name of Ess'ai. I'm not sure if they could do anything with it, but there's no harm in being paranoid, right?

Man, I've been here for a day and I already have 2 fake names. Excellent.

"Yer name's swabbie 'til Cap'n says otherwise," Scrawny says back. He doesn't speak rudely, but it doesn't sound friendly, either.

I shrug. Fair enough.

Scrawny seems to put me out of mind and gestures back to the pier. "Saw the Cap'n comin' up just a bit behind me," he says to Garm.

Garm raises an eyebrow. "Already? Ah, there he is!"

All men on deck raise their voices in acknowledgement when a new man boards the ship, so I assume he's the captain. He looks intimidating enough, with tanned skin, a bald head, and a face riddled with scars.

"Settle down, ye louts," he roars, and everyone quiets down. I swallow as he makes his way straight over to us, stopping right in front of me.

"Who're you?" he asks bluntly.

Garm puffs his chest out. "Found 'im myself, cap'n. Wants to join up with us, even as a swabbie, yes sir!"

The captain scowls. "Ain't asking you, Garm. What's your name, lad?"

I haven't done anything wrong, but my heart is pumping hard anyway. "Mark, sir," I answer.

The captain grunts. "Come with me. Garm, go find Roll and send 'im over to my cabin. He's somewhere on the pier now."

"Aye, cap'n," Garm gives me another bone-shattering pat on the back before he leaves.

I follow the captain in silence up a set of stairs and enter his cabin. It's smaller than I thought it'd be. The captain tosses a bag onto the ground and then sits down on a chair behind a rough desk. There's nowhere for me to sit, so I remain standing.

"Garm picked you up, eh?" he says eventually.

"Yes, sir," I say.

He snorts. "Aye, cap'n," he corrects me. "Leave the yes sir-ing to Garm."

"Aye, cap'n."

"Ever been on a ship before, lad?"

"N-nay, cap'n," I answer, remembering the opposite for aye.

"So why the fuck d'ya want to be a swabbie, then?" he asks bluntly.

I take a breath and review my answer. I was able to give a longer, better answer to Garm, but it's because he was surprisingly talkative. The captain strikes me as a man of efficiency and brutal straight-forwardness, so I'll have to summarize my answer if I want to appeal to his nature.

"I can work hard and learn fast," I answer succinctly. "But there's no chances to do anything on this island. Least I can learn by watching as a swabbie."

The captain looks me in the eyes. "Ya know how to fight?"

I've been expecting this question and I'm still a little conflicted on how to answer. If I say yes, I might eventually get a chance to get in some bow training while surrounded by meat-shields. It's a good training environment. But who will my bow be used against? If I have to attack innocent civilians…

Well, I don't think I'd be making the situation too much worse, honestly, but it's the morality of the issue. Fortunately, the Outrealmer class gives me a way out.

"Not really," I admit. "But I think I can use basic healing staves."

The captain looks a little interested. "Ya think?"

"My whole family could, back when they were still alive," I lie. "Ain't never had a chance to test it, but aye, I think I could do it with a bit of time."

The captain shakes his head. "Healing is good, but if ya can't fight, ya ain't never gonna be anythin' other than a cabin boy. A servant."

Damn, that's sounding like a no. I'm about to throw caution to the winds and say I think I'd be good with a bow, but the captain silences me with a glare. "You know how to read, lad?"

Oh, shit, I don't know if I can read the writing in this world. I blink, keeping my face neutral. "My ma taught me some letters," I answer vaguely.

Judging by the captain's scowl, he wanted a yes or no answer, but he pulls up a piece of yellowed paper. It looks a lot thicker and rougher than the paper I'd use at home, and it's irregularly shaped.

"Can you read this?" he asks gruffly.

I glance down. It's some kind of cursive writing, but I can decipher the words. It's an agreement, of sorts.

"Section 1: Rationing of foods, goods, and loot," I read aloud. "Aye, cap'n, I can read it."

The captain looks surprised. "Aye? Read it and learn it, then, lad, and sign at the bottom when yer done."

Is… is that a yes? I think it is! He's okay with me joining, then!

I skim the paper. No bringing women aboard, no candles below-deck, keeping weapons clean… shouldn't be a problem, though these punishments are rather harsh. It doesn't matter too much to me, because I'm planning on ditching these guys as soon as I get to Plegia.

I have to actively make sure I don't gulp when I read section 7. The captain is still watching me.

Section 7: Deserting. Punished by death. The writing here is vitriolic, so I guess these guys really, really dislike deserters. And that's exactly what I'm planning to do as soon as we land anywhere on the same continent as Ylisse.

Under the guise of reading carefully, I take another second to carefully consider my actions. Am I being an idiot?

These pirates are a fast way off the island. Sure, I could've hung around the island for longer and looked for an alternative route, but it would be a completely blind gamble. No, I still agree with the me of yesterday, who decided to join up with these pirates. If I missed my chance now, who knows when they'd be back? It's a fortunate coincidence, the fact that they're leaving so soon after I awaken on this island.

… Coincidence? Or narrative patterns? No, I shouldn't bother thinking about this now. If I hesitate, it makes me look suspicious. I've already committed to my strategy, and I need to see it through.

I eye the dip pen on the captain's desk, and when he nods at me, I grab it and brush it lightly in an adjacent inkwell before adding my fake name to a list of signatures at the bottom of the document. Most of the other signatures are messy scrawls, so I try to make sure my writing isn't overly neat.

"Oi, cap'n," a dark-skinned man walks into the cabin.

"Roll," the captain greets the man, and I realize that I'm looking at the quartermaster for this ship. Roll looks at me curiously.

"Welcome aboard. Now get ye gone, lad," the captain barks impatiently at me. "Find Garm, he'll put ye to work."

I nod and back out of the cabin, leaving the two to discuss their own matters.

Garm sets me to mopping below deck almost straight-away. There are two boys already working, who can't be older than 16. They don't look like they want to be here.

Most of the crew sleeps below deck, either on the ground or in a few hammocks that've been set up here. Still, it's not too late in the day, so it's not as packed as it could be. If I'm going to get cleaning done, now's the time.

It'd be a lot easier if I didn't have to deal with all the ribbing, though.

"Oi, new swabbie on deck?" a sailor pokes me. "Where'd we pick you up from, eh?"

I look him in the eyes. "Came on my own. Mind yer feet."

I mop around him, not showing any tension. People's treatment of you changes a lot depending on your bearing and reactions. I'm trying to be as low-key as I can without being a pushover.

The pirate guffaws. "Mind me feet, he says. Where d'ya get off tellin' me to mind my feet?"

There's really no good quick answer I can think of, but I'm sure silence is bad, too. It'll make me seem like a door-mat. I settle for a grunt and a "whatever", continuing on mopping past the sailor.

He puts an arm on my shoulder. "Oi, I asked you a question, swabbie!"

I push it off, pretending to be irritated. "Section 5, no fighting the crew when we're on the ship. Lemme do my work."

The sailor blinks, sounding surprised. "What's that? You signed? But yer a swabbie-"

I piece together what I missed before. He just asked where they "picked me up". Garm used similar terms. And when I look at the 2 boys that are cleaning along with me, it becomes kind of obvious.

Swabbies and cabin boys here are slaves. They were captured, probably when these pirates raid a town or something.

"Like I said, came on my own," I say, not looking at the man. "Don't wanna be a swabbie forever, but we've all gotta start somewhere."

I move on past him, but he seems interested now.

"On yer own…" the sailor frowns. "Ah, you's one of 'em runaways, then? Whatchu running from?"

"Not a runaway," I grunt. The shorter I keep my answers, the faster this conversation will be over.

"Oh yeah? Then where'd ya get 'em pants? Stoles 'em, I bet. Killed a man and ran, I bet."

"Nope," I answer curtly.

The sailor grins knowingly. "Aye, 'course not," he says, tapping his nose. I let out a deep breath when he goes off to talk to another sailor. So far, so good.

We cast off a few hours later, while the sun is still high in the sky. There's a lot more people on the ship than I would've expected, but most of them are staying above deck at the moment.

I stay below deck to clean. This place is seriously grimy, but I'm just glad that I have work to do. If I can be useful, it means that I won't get thrown overboard. I mop, clean, and tidy up on occasion, reorganizing bags and blankets until my back is sore. I lie down for a few seconds to recover when I can, but never when there's a risk of a sailor catching me. I can't look weak.

I don't speak to anyone else, slaves included, nor do they speak to me. Now that we've cast off, everyone seems to be in their element. It's noisy. There's the sprays of water and the frequent yelling I hear above deck, as well as the constant creaking of wood.

The rocking of the boat gives me a bit of nausea when I go above deck to clean. I have to close my eyes, but then my character page comes up and I instinctively try to read it, which makes it worse.

"Ain't got yer sea legs yet, eh lad?"

There's a hearty chuckle and a familiar thump on my back that can only be Garm. I don't open my eyes. Something very unusual happens when my mind focuses on the man next to me.

Garm
Berserker

LV: 8. EXP: -.
HP: 72/72

I can see his stats.

"Workin' on it," I say, cutting myself off because I know my voice isn't as steady as I want it to be.

I can see his stats, and they're scary.

Str: 40
Mag: 0
Skill: 21
Spd: 32
Lck: 16
Def: 22
Res: 5

Mov: 6

That's absurd. This guy's probably as strong as a Shepherd! What is this, lunatic mode?

… Oh god, I seriously hope not.

No, wait a second. I'm coming from an area associated with an endgame paralogue. Of course the pirates here are going to be strong.

"Best learn quick," he says. "Open seas ain't a place for anyone with a weak stomach, no sir."

"Open seas?" I ask quizzically, opening my eyes. "We need to brave the seas to get to Plegia? It ain't that far away, is it?"

If I remember my map correctly, the body of water separating this paralogue from the mainland isn't that wide.

"Plegia? We're headed West, lad, not East." Garm lets out a bark of laughter. "Though ya don't need to worry. Swabbin's the same no matter where we go, yes sir!"

Oh, son of a bitch.

"Speakin' of which," I say, gesturing to my mop. Garm nods lets me get back to cleaning with another thump on my back, leaving me to my thoughts. They go something like this:

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-

Well, at least I'm relatively safe so long as I work hard. Exploring the world can only be good, because I sure as hell wasn't going to get anything done stuck on that paralogue island.

I get the feeling that I'm just trying to justify my actions to myself.

The dark-skinned quartermaster, Roll, comes around later to let me know where to grab some food. I thank him, and when he turns away, I close my eyes to check his stats.

Roll
Sniper

LV: 20. EXP: -.
HP: 80/80

Str: 38+5
Mag: 5
Skill: 48+2
Spd: 40
Lck: 20
Def: 38
Res: 26

Mov: 6+1

These guys are unbelievably dangerous. He's got standard Awakening skills, too: movement+1, skill+2, prescience, hit rate +20, and bowfaire. Well, at least there's no lunatic plus skills, right?

I check the stats of everyone else that I can see when I have a chance. Roll is the highest-rated pirate I've seen so far, but that's to be expected. It turns out that everyone respects the quartermaster; he's considered to be comparable in rank to the Captain himself. The Captain's in his cabin right now, so I can't check his stats.

There's a few barbarian-class pirates here, who're a lot weaker than Garm but still a hell of a lot stronger than me. When I look at my fellow swabbies, I'm not surprised by what I see.

George
Villager

LV: 8. Exp: -.
HP: 17/23.

Villager. I clench my mop a little harder, but there's nothing I can do right now.

We sail for hours. The sun falls, and I'm still cleaning and running errands. The bottoms of my jeans are soaked with sprays of water. Dinner is a small affair with hard tack and barreled water. The tack is a tough, plain biscuit. I'm glad for it, though. It's the first food I've consumed in this world that isn't Estus. I think with both hard tack and Estus, I'll finally be able to sleep without really being hungry.

I take advantage of the water as much as they'll let me. Apparently, water doesn't keep for too long in barrels anyway, so we've got to finish it within a couple of days. After that, the only drinks available will be rum and wine.

I'm not looking forward to travelling with a bunch of drunk pirates.

I'm glad when Garm finally signals me to tell me to go sleep. I head down below deck with him. There are a few hammocks available, but I'm not going to bother staking a claim on that around such a dangerous bunch. I find an open enough spot next to another swabbie, and lie down on the hard wood.

With the unfamiliar creaking and rocking of the boat, and the curses of the pirates as a few of them argue for a hammock, sleep is slow in coming. I sip at the remainder of my Estus before I doze off, my dreams troubled.

Dark Awakening – Now Loading

Maiden's Blessing (Night): A penalty born of the Outrealm skill "Speaker for the Dead." Appear as a Risen during night-time, even when in human form.

A young maiden, once heralded as a Saint, willingly accepted a Demon's Soul to help the lowest of monsters deal with the agony of their existence. Alongside her faithful knight, she travelled into the depths of darkness to comfort and heal those forsaken by God. She was eventually cut down for her blasphemy.

To the compassionate, even the greatest of curses can be seen as a blessing.

The next day passes uneventfully. Scrawny the pirate shakes me awake, and I get to work quickly. I learn a bit about living on a ship.

We can do our business while over a bit of rigging at the head of the ship. Waves of water wash it away. Unfortunately, no one bathes while on a ship, since the water is a little too valuable. We're all starting to smell a little, for those of us who didn't smell right from the get-go.

"How long 'til Valm, Scrawny?" I ask as I swab the deck.

It's not an insult. That literally seems to be his character name.

Scrawny
Barbarian

LV: 16. EXP: -.
HP: 30/30

I think he's one of the more recent recruits, since he isn't nearly as strong as some of the other pirates.

"Don't think we's headed to Valm, swabbie," he says, spitting over the rails of the ship. "There's a nice island in-betweens us and Valm. O'erdo for a visit, so I hears."

My blood runs cold, but everyone else I speak to confirms what Scrawny tells me.

We're going to be hitting some innocent civilians in a few days time. I should've expected as much. I'd hoped that I'd joined a band of pirates like Fargus' in Fire Emblem 7, but no luck.

I've gotten the real deal here. Pillaging, murdering, thieving pirates. Our captain is in league with Zanth, the Southron Sea King.

On the upside, we'll be heading back around to strike at a coast-town in Plegia right after. It'll give me a chance to get the hell away from these guys. That's a silver lining to a pretty dark cloud.

On the 4th day of our trip, as the sun is falling, the island comes into view. The captain rounds us up to give a speech. It's short and to the point. I close my eyes as he speaks.

Ulric
Berserker

LV: 20. EXP: -.
HP: 80/80

Str: 50+5
Mag: 0
Skill: 35
Spd: 44
Lck: 39
Def: 34
Res: 30

Mov: 6

"Alright, boys," he roars. "Time to do what ye do best!"

Captain Ulric seems to be pretty popular with his men, because they yell their agreement. A lot of them have had more drink than necessary for tonight. I feel a little sick.

Quartermaster Roll comes around to me soon after.

"Oi, swabbie," he says. He's a lot quieter than the other pirates, but he speaks clearly, with a lot less slang. "Heard from the captain that you're looking to move your way up, and that you might know how to use staves."

He gestures to a staff of knotted wood in his hand, topped with a dull gem.

I stop myself from gaping. "… You think I should come along?"

Roll nods. "If you're serious about being one of us, then yes."

Around us, the crew is bustling as the island draws closer and closer. The sun is fading. Do the inhabitants see us coming? Do they recognize us as pirates?

Roll's eyes are sharp, and he's watching me carefully. Does he know how disgusted I am with what's happening? Does he know what I'm struggling with, even now?

It's not like I'm taking a weapon, though. A healing instrument… that can only ever be good, right? My presence as the pirates attack, it can't make anything worse for anyone else.

I nod jerkily, not trusting my voice right now. Silently, Roll hands me the staff.

"What did I tell ya, Roll?" a voice booms. Garm claps my shoulder as he comes up from behind me. "Told ya he'd take it. Don't worry, swabbie, I'll show ye the ropes. Gar har har!"

I think he's drunk.

Roll is still staring at me. I don't break eye contact with him, and eventually he nods, pulling away to talk to others.

Garm's still talking loudly in my ear, but I can barely hear him. My grip tightens on my healing stave as we draw closer to an unsuspecting coastal village on this new island.

The sun falls.

The captain calls for us to quiet down as we approach. There's excited whispers and suppressed laughs as we draw closer and closer. I'm praying for an alarm, for a sentry or someone on the island to notice us. But there's nothing.

We drop anchors offshore, and steal off into small boats. Garm is sitting right next to me as we row closer to shore, huddled together.

"Almost time, boys!" he whispers loudly.

We pull ashore, and it begins.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?