So he, too, is a ghost. A dead magic ghost sailor person.
Are there any real people on this ship?!
It was possible to watch the process of emotions causing Dolphus’ face to slowly fall. The shock, the realization of what that meant, the questions that arose from that, the filtering of those questions into the one, poignant response that seemed to encapsulate the whole of his musings.
He’s done. What little color there was seemed to drain from Dolphus’ face. Who knows how long he was a normal person before he became a stupid dead magic ghost, but that extended period is over. His life’s work… His entire life’s work is done and being handed over to me.
But why does that have to end? Is there a temporary lease on how long someone becomes a dead magic ghost? Perhaps there is a contract signed, that becomes invalidated after a certain period? But why would the period end so conveniently after I’ve arrived?
And what happens to a dead magic ghost after they’re, well… No longer a magic ghost? Do they go to the afterlife? Has this man been trapped in limbo on this ship, in this crew, waiting to get out? Or has he been enjoying his time here, and is resigning from his existence simply because another cartographer showed up?
Dolphus’ eyes traveled over the entire room, but now they settled back on the man, water slightly beginning to build beneath their lids. So many questions were forming in his mind, questions about how this all operated, and whether or not he was doing the man a favor or a disservice by taking over his post. “I don’t…”
“Why? Why am I…?”
There seemed to be more to the question, but Dolphus couldn’t get it past his throat.