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You awaken to a painful throbbing in the back of your head, a woolly coating on your teeth that tastes of cheap wine, the pervasive smell of sweat and fish left to stew together, and a rhythmic creaking accompanied by a lurching rolling of your world. It feels like you're still drunk, and after the wild night you had, you wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. When you open your eyes, however, you find yourself in a dark room. You can barely see, but it feels spacious. Certainly the walls aren't within reach. Neither, when you check, are most of your possessions. You can, however, see and hear the shapes and sounds of others nearby, in a similar predicament.
As you sit up to get a better look around, the creaking all around you is punctuated by heavy footsteps down what sounds like a staircase. A harsh, yellow lantern is shoved in your faces, revealing seven dirty-looking men, none of them dressed quite the same but most of them armed with saps. The one holding the lantern, however, wears dreadlocks, a beard, and a long, heavy coat, and carries a mean-looking, well-used whip in his other hand. A pained expression that might have been meant for a smile bruises his face as he cracks his whip on the floor.
"Still abed with the sun over the yardarm?" he shouts. The pain in your head flares. "On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap'n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!"
The hour draws late in Port Peril, and the town is actually starting to quiet down a bit. Suddenly, the door of the tavern of the 'Formidably Maid' bangs open, and a half-elven woman wanders out into the street. Her course is not completely steady, as if she had indulged in a couple of strong drinks within the less-than-reputable establishment. As she staggers towards the docks, a large seagull alights upon her shoulder.
Oh, there you are Chum. How are you liking your time in Port Peril?
The seagull then proceeds to hack up a disgusting, un-identifiable piece of some sea creature.
Ugh. Do you have to do that around me? I'm glad you find this place to your liking. Well, I've had a good night, too. I've found at least two ships that are looking for crew members, and one in particular is looking for someone with experience in catching fish. They are sailing for Augustana, leaving in the morning. I think our luck is finally starting to turn around.
Suddenly, Tiesa starts to feel a bit woozy. She hears a sharp squawk, and everything goes black.
***********
Tiesa wakens with a pounding headache. What the .... is all she manages to get out before the crew pounds down the ladder. After hearing the crewman's instructions, she gets to her feet and falls in line with the rest of the new "recruits".
ugh!... uh what, wait, dammit again. Wait, whose pants are these? Ah hell, who cares. Get out the way, I got sailin' to be done. Now don't you give me no guff, I'm a carpenter and I don't take no guff from guttersw#$% Bilgebeards tirade is interrupted by his puking on the nearest sailors feet. Gunter straightens up and wipes the filth of his bare chest. Oh, much better, you may escort me to the captain now.
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As he tries to get up, Gunter feels the crack of the whip across his back and a heavy but ultimately futile blow against his wooden leg. Then the man whose feet he'd soiled stomps down on his head, shoving Gunter's face into the pool of sick and grinding it into the dwarf's hair and beard with the sole of his boot. The three others slap their saps menacingly into their palms.
"Let 'im up," says the lasher, waving his subordinate away with the lantern. "You'll find it's we who won't be takin' any guff from ye. Any more lip, sawyer, and ye'll have to carve yerself another peg. Now get, all of ye, up on deck."
From the grinning cutthroats to the bar toughs, he could see that this place was the spitting image of a pirate port. Rapier at his side, he sidled into a tavern whose appealing-seeming sign bore the image of a buxom serving maid with the type of bosom a charming young halfling man could get lost in. "Formidably Maid," he thought to himself. "That's either a good pun or the spelling's a bad joke."
As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the busy tavern, he sidestepped past a serving wench carrying a platter of drinks and made his way to the bar. It wasn't long before he caught sight of a beautiful red-haired human beauty with a gleaming cutlass at her hip, whose fierce glare told the drunken mass to keep its distance. That obviously didn't apply to Jack, he reasoned, so he downed his drink, ordered two more, and strolled over to her table with both of them. In the hours that followed, the two of them learned a great deal of things from one another. She learned that size isn't everything, and one should never judge a halfling by his cover. Jack, on the other hand, learned that you shouldn't trust strange pirate women you meet in bars, as he was ambushed by several thugs leaving her room, and knocked unconscious before he could even draw his sword.
"Ugh... cram it with yer prattlin'! They not be here to listen to us bleatin'!" The strong and confident voice comes from a tiny halfling, picking himself up off the floor as his head clears from its haze. His hand reflexively reaches for his sword, though he hardly expects to find it on him. Press ganged! Well, Jack, you've done it this time! Why couldn't you see that lass was trouble? Practically had it written all over her. He brushes himself off, straightening his clothes as a pretense to check what possessions he still has on him. Down to some scraps o' cloth and a backup blade at best. Looks like the most valuable thing down here... is these others. Better press ganged with friends than alone, after all. "Up! Methinks they not be tellin' us twice!" Jack offers a hand to help up the human still slumped on the ship's deck, but scurries up the stairs without further delay, hardly wishing to join the back-talking dwarf in a pile of sick.
"Hrm..yes..sausage..sounds delicious. But not the spicy type. More mild...excellent..." Simon said, before rolling back over.
He reached for his pillow, and failing to find it, opened his eyes for the first time. He took in his surrounding, but didn't quite know what to make of what he saw. "Where...what...Gods!..." he sat up straight. "Where am I?!?" Without thinking about what he was doing, he stood with the others, swaying only slightly - he had been far more inhibited than this before.
He looked at the menacing-looking individuals, and eager to avoid taking a beating, he follows the others up the stairs.
Shielding his eyes from the bright sun as he clambered up onto the ship's deck, Jack ground his teeth at the lack of his favored hat. Blaggards best not have mishandled the damned thing, he thought, idly wondering if he'd be able to get it back. He kept his eyes peeled as he examined any crewmen he saw on deck, in case he spotted any of his belongings. He had little hope though - what full-sized pirate would need halfling-sized equipment? If they're anywhere, they're probably stowed in the hold, he thought.
After being held below decks for so long, the bright sun causes Tiesa to squint her eyes and wince. About this time, a pounding starts up in her head. A few moments allows her eyes to adjust, and she looks around at the others being herded onto the deck with her.
I have got to steer clear of that dwarf. He seems like trouble.
Scanning the rigging, she spots Chumbucket perched high up on a yard arm.
At least Chum had sense enough to stay out of the way. Hopefully, none of the sailors will try to shoo him off.
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Gunter, Simon, Tiesa, and Jack are shoved up two flights of stairs. The first flight takes them through a mostly-empty cargo hold. They pass a bulky man covered in tattered feathers, smelling of oil, wearing a vacant grin, and chained to a mast. Further back in the hold, they hear the grunting of hogs. The second flight leads them into a much smaller room furnished with hammocks, sleeping mats, and foot lockers. Finally, they pass through a door onto the main deck. When their eyes clear from the sudden assault of the sun, they quickly realize that the ship they're on is well out to sea. Neither Port Peril nor the outlying islands of the Shackles are anywhere to be seen.
What can be seen is the rest of the crew, gathered in knots on deck or in the rigging. The crew's a disparate lot: men and women, humans, halflings, half-orcs, half-elves, dwarves, and gnomes of all colors. A redhaired human woman in a tricorne hat, a halfling brunette wearing a red scarf and cradling a fine-looking handaxe, a human with a sloppy goatee and a blue bandana wrapped around his head, and a gnome with an eyepatch, a jaunty hat, and a waxed blue mustache stand together near the mainmast, looking both cleaner and less at ease than the rest. All the sailors are looking up at two figures standing on the poop deck, a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch, and a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o'-nine-tails.
"Glad you could join us at last!" booms the Garundi. "Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for 'volunteering' to join my crew. I'm Barnabas Harrigan. That's Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need to address me. I have only one rule—don't speak to me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we'll all get along fine.
"Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we're still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There'll be a keelhaulin' for anyone caught killin' anyone." Captain Harrigan turns to the man at his side, presumably the first mate. "Mister Plugg! If you'd be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it'll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of 'em."
Mister Plugg crosses his arms and gives the crew on the deck an appraising look as Captain Harrigan disappears belowdeck. "Right, deck rats, up in the rigging, on the double. First one to reach the crow's nest gets to work for me."
Landlubber is it? I'll show this fishbait what a real sailor is.
Bilgebeard looks for a moment to see the best route in their rigging, then rushes for the lines.
Into the rigging? What does he think we are, monkeys?
Tiesa takes a slow and deliberate approach to the climb.
She just manages to get moving upwards.
Simon was torn - he had little desire to work for the angry looking and sounding man who ordered him up the rigging, but he also assumed, based on his previous vessel, that this man held some authority. Perhaps working for and impressing him would help Simon's status aboard the ship.
The latter won out - aided by the fear of receiving a lashing from those who woke him from his slumber only a few minutes ago. He stepped towards the rigging and began his amateur attempt to climb.
At first, Simon moved smoothly and easily up the netting. After getting about 15' up, he began to falter. The previous evening's effects began to take hold, and he felt his stomach churn. He lost his grip for a moment, recovered, and then lost it again as he fell to the deck. His body hit the wood with a thud. He was mostly embarrassed, and largely unharmed. He began his next ascent.
The fall had tweaked his knee, and made even getting started difficult. He managed to get a few feet up the net, before falling back to the deck in frustration. Eager to overcome his previous embarrassment, he got right back up and began again. Unfortunately, by this time, the netting was wet with sweat and blood and he once again fell to the deck, this time suffering a slightly more serious injury.
Wincing against the pain, he glanced towards the whip-wielding man and decided the deck was slightly more forgiving. So he began again. After a rough start, he finally got some momentum, and began scaling the netting with some success. Feeling good about himself, he got a bit cocky and his foot got caught in netting. He tried to free himself, but overcompensated and once again fell to the deck below.
This fall was less humorous - Simon was seriously injured. He was still conscious, but he laid still, hoping the pain - and his predicament - would vanish when awoke from this nightmare.
- Success - 5'
- Success - 10'
- Success - 15'
- Fail - No Fall
- Fail - Fall -
- Fail - No Fall
- Success - 5'
- Fail - No Fall
- Fail - No Fall
- Fail - Fall - Less than 10'
- Fail - No Fall
- Success - 5'
- Success - 10''
- Fail - No Fall
- Fail - Fall -
- Fail
- Fail
- Success - 5'
- Fail - Fall - Less than 10'
- Fail - No fall
- Success - 5'
- Success - 10'
- Success - 15'
- Fail - Fall -
Jack listens to the captain's speech, sizing up the gigantic man with a keen eye. So that's the man responsible for all this. Someday, there'll be a reckoning, and as my mother always said, 'The bigger they are...' He glances around at the others as Plugg explains the challenge. If I'm first to the top, it's likely they'll be wantin' me on ropes duty. Rigger's a good job, if a bit dangerous. Anything's better than swabbin' though - I'll not last long with that sort of work. With a grin, he dashes off towards the mast, moving with a speed hardly to be expected for his size. He scurries up the mast like a cat, hardly stopping to check for handholds, and trusting lady luck to see him through any slip-ups.
Halfway up the mast, Jack puts on a bit of a show, swinging on a loose line for momentum and even doing a kip-up off the yardarm as he passes it with a flourish. His antics seem to spur him on, letting him close the gap in the blink of an eye.
Perched at the top, Jack surveys the surrounding sea from the crow's nest, straining to spot any specks of land (or sails) in the distance. If any of the others make it to within his reach, he will reach down to assist them.
Little rats are scurrying past me. We'll see how that works out when they fall to their deaths. Slow and steady.
10
15
20
25
30
30
30
30
35
40
45
50
55
Really?! Now I fail by 5!
Gunter laboriously climbs up the ropes, his peg leg hardly slowing him, till he reaches the very top...and loses his grip entirely.
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Gunter's fingers slip off the shrouds, but before he falls he feels Jack's iron grip on his wrist. His bulk is too much for the halfling to lift at first, but Gunter manages to get a new grip on the rigging.
With a stronger foundation established, the two together manage to get Gunter high enough to throw a leg over the yardarm.
7.5
Fall, less than 10' so no damage?
On the ground, going nowhere
Really?
I can swim really well.
7.5 finally moving up again
15
15
Fall,
After trying feebly to get up the rigging, Tiesa falls back to the deck. She just lays there, hoping her pathetic performance will so amuse and/or disgust the pirates that they don't bother beating her for it.
Jack thinks he may have heard some vague grumblings that might be considered thanks from the surly Bilgebeard. Though it is hard to concentrate on it as you discover yourself down wind of him...
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"Pathetic," Mister Plugg sneers at Tiesa and Simon. "Yer lucky I'm feeling generous. Any other day, those sorry displays'd earn ye the cat. Get up." He calls up the mast. "And you two, get down! Halfling, you'll be working the rigging and I'm not gonna shout your orders. Dwarf, I might have another job for ye."
The mate climbs down the stairs in time to receive Gunter and Jack, and to bull Gunter into a line with Simon and Tiesa. "Simple question," he says, beginning with Tiesa. "Can you cook?"
Aye, I can cook. I'm also a fair hand at catching the grub to cook up.
Jack coughs as the foul-mouthed priest's odor washes over him. Besmara's bosom! He smells like a gutter. He pulls the dwarf over the side into the crow's nest, and looks down just in time to see the human take a nasty spill, wincing as he hits the deck. "Me name be Jack Thimble, by the way." he says, glancing over his shoulder. "What should I call ye?"
Once he gets the dwarf's introduction, he swings himself over the side, climbing down at a much slower pace. He helps the dwarf if he seems to need it, but if he waves off any aid, Jack leaves him to climb alone. The halfling makes it to the deck and approaches Plugg, giving Tiesa a sympathetic glance as he passes, and offers Simon a hand to stand up.
Simon stands with the halfling's help. "Thanks, mate. Not quite as able on the netting as you, it appears." He presses his hand to the gash on his forehead. He felt nauseous, and was unable to interject that he was a fine cook before the job was assigned to the woman. It was a lie, but he knew being a cook's aid was far preferable to being a swab.
He stood, feeling as if he was would pass out at any moment, awaiting the foul-looking and smelling man's orders.
Watching the halfling glide into the rigging with ease, she thinks to herself: There really are monkeys on board! Part monkeys anyways.
Once dismissed, she heads down the stairs and towards the stern, looking for the galley and the cook.
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Daytime Ship Actions
- Work Diligently: Gain a +4 bonus on any one check for a job's daily task
- Influence: Make normal checks for a job's daily task and attempt to influence a single NPC
- Sneak: Make normal checks for a job's daily task and briefly explore one area of the ship (the PC can make a single Perception check or other skill check with no chance of detection)
- Shop: Take a –2 penalty on all checks for a job's daily task and visit the quartermaster’s store
- Shirk: Take a –2 penalty on all checks for a job’s daily task and take time exploring one area of the ship. The PC can take 10 on a single Perception check or other skill check, but must make a check to avoid being discovered.
Nighttime Ship Actions
- Sleep: Go to bed early and sleep through the night (automatically recover from fatigue)
- Gamble: Play or gamble on a game of chance or pirate entertainment
- Entertain: Make one Perform check to entertain the crew
- Influence*: Attempt to influence a single NPC
- Sneak*: Take time exploring one area of the ship. The PC can take 20 on a single Perception check or other skill check, but must make a check to avoid being discovered.
- Steal*: Attempt to open a locked door or locker. The PC must make a check to avoid being discovered.
You may take up to two additional nighttime ship actions per day, as long as those additional actions are marked with an asterisk. If you do so, you must make a Constitution check (DC 10 + 4 per additional action taken) or be fatigued the next day.
First, Scourge hands out mops and buckets and directs a few swabs, including Gunter, to a pile of head-sized sandstone blocks he calls "holystones." "Ye'll be scrubbin' me decks til they shine in the sunlight and're smooth as that one's cheek," he says, pointing at the young man. He reddens, and dips his mop furiously into his bucket to hide it. Before he goes to pick up his holystone, however, Gunter finds a familiar object slipped into his hand; he can tell by the feel it's his holy symbol. He turns surreptitiously, and is greeted by a wink from the redhaired human.
Scourge, taking this as volunteering, puts her at the disposal of the various officers, and assigns the halfling woman to repair what he calls a "keelhaulin' line." Finally, he comes to Simon. "You lot ain't the only rats aboard the Wormwood," he says. "And unfortunately fer them, I don't have to wait til they screw up to order 'em killed and tossed overboard. I want ten buckets of the things outta me hold by sundown."
A few minutes after Simon descends to the hold - he received a lash from Scourge for trying to go through the officers' cabin again, and eventually lowered himself down through one of the hatches - he's followed by the goateed man wearing the blue bandana. He doesn't stop to greet Simon, instead descending even further into the bilge. Soon the rhythmic sound of pumping, interspersed with muffled and intermittent speech, comes drifting up to Simon from this lowest part of the ship.
"Normally I wouldn't let my riggers mix wit' the swabs," he says ponderously, "but then, you're barely better'n a swab yourself." He points to a muscular halfling woman splicing and oiling a very long and very frayed line. "I'll need that, and any other loose rope, coiled and cleated down before evenin' bells. And don't be thinkin' you two wee folk'll hit it off. She's a mean little bobbit wit' that axe of hers!" The mate guffaws heartily and pulls himself back up to the poop deck to watch his crew.
The galley turns out to be a cramped and chaotic mess. Blood-drenched worktables, half-ajar cupboards holding spices, hard tack, and salt meat, and two pot-bellied stoves are shoved up against the port wall. Cauldrons roil atop the stoves, and the smell of spiced fish that wafts out of them is almost enough to drown out the smell of the goats and chickens that wander the room. One of the goats gets in among a cluster of barrels - variously containing pickled cabbage, water, and rum - and has to be swatted away by a short, fat man wearing a floppy white hat and a bloody apron.
"Ambrose Kroop, ship's cook" he says, by way of introduction. The smell of rum is heavy on his breath, and Tiesa can see he's missing more than a few teeth. He dips a rag into the rum barrel, waddles over to the worktables, and begins wiping them down. "An' you'll be me new mate, 'less I miss my guess. They told me I'd be gettin' one.
"Curse yer luck, missie," he says earnestly. "It's poison, this ship, but don't let anyone hear you say it aloud. The hull listens, see, and the cap'n hears it all. Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core. You'll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap'n Harrigan in all your days at sea, and his crew's the same, 'specially the first mate, Mister Plugg. Vicious little sod, he is. He'd take his own mother's liver to the butcher to make pies with, he would." He shrugs resignedly. "But they leave me alone, mostly. They know I can't 'arm 'em.
"Just do the job, and they'll leave you alone too. I'll be havin' ye fish ev'ry few morns so I can put somethin' in me pots, but ye don't have to worry 'bout that today. You'll just be helpin' me cook. Pay attention, ye might even learn somethin'." Ambrose seems almost wistful when he says that, but quickly sighs and gives one of the cauldrons a lazy stir.
Gunter drags his fingers through his filthy, tangled beard hiding the holy symbol in the rats nest of hair.
He picks up one of the holystones and shifts over to where the elderly half-elf woman is scrubbing and proceeds to mutter to her about the dumb pup that things he knows something about sailing.
All right stripes, you look like you've been around the waves a few times. They call me Bilgebeard. If'n any of these pups starts givin you grief, you let me know and i'll teach em to respect an old salt.
Gunter keeps nattering on, but maintains his focus on work, though as the day passes his commentary seems entirely directed at the shameful lack of rum in their ration.
"Aye aye, sir!" Jack replies with gusto. The day I be takin' romancin' advice from the likes of him be the day I give up the chase for good, he thought, smirking as he turned away. He cast a glance at the opening to the hold below - now that all eyes weren't on him, he'd love the chance to explore a bit and see if he couldn't find his sword. The temptation of the halfling lady he'd be working with on deck, though, demonstrated that Jack had clearly learned nothing from his experience on shore about tangling with pirate women, and he approached with a smile. "Mighty fine blade ye got there," he remarked, clearly admiring of its craftsmanship. "Jack Thimble, Jr. at your service. We're to be workin' together - mind showing me the ropes?" He smirked at the little joke, and maintained the light banter as he coiled and spliced the ropes. Years of working aboard ships made the task nearly effortless, as he focused his attention on getting to know the young woman.
Tiesa quickly takes stock of the situation in the galley, eyeing up the various stains and smears over the furnishings.
My name is Tiesa, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kroop. Although I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances. How did you come to be ship's cook for this batch of degenerates? Did you volunteer, or were you "recruited" like me?
She rolls up her sleeves, grabs the cleanest looking rag she can find, and starts working on scrubbing the nearest pot.
After her initial day on board, Tiesa decides it's best just to lay low, and keep her nose clean. She will turn in early for the night.
There are quite a few unsavory characters around here. It would be nice to have a weapon, no matter how basic.
At one point, when Kroop has his head stuck in the back of a cabinet looking for some spices, Tiesa slips one of the kitchen knives into her pocket.
That should at least let me defend myself, if necessary.
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Untroubled by the comings and goings of the others in and below the hold, Simon easily finds, traps, and kills his quarry, earning an approving grunt from Master Scourge as the buckets pile up near the rail.
"Depends how far back ye go, it does." The cook seems reluctant to talk about his past. Fortunately for him, there's a knock on the door. "Come on, then," he calls, going to the cutting board to chop up another fish. "Gotta look busy, we does," he whispers to Tiesa, screwing up his face at the lack of a knife. After a moment, though, he shrugs and pulls another one out of the wall.
The galley door opens to reveal the redheaded woman Tiesa noticed earlier on deck. "Special delivery for the cook's mate, compliments of Quartermaster Grok," she says jovially. Despite his earlier warning, Kroop looks disappointed it isn't for him. "Special spices, from the smell of 'em," continues the woman, dropping what Tiesa recognizes as her spell component pouch into her hand. "See you after work. Besmara bless you."
Six bells ring just before nightfall, and, prompted by whichever crewmembers happen to be nearby, Gunter, Jack, Simon, and Tiesa congregate on deck to find Mister Plugg, Master Scourge, and a bloody, harried-looking young man none of them recognize standing on the poop deck. Tiesa is the last to arrive, bearing a heavy cauldron of fish stew together with the cook. After they set it down she makes a beeline for the others, who have formed a little group with the red-haired woman. She crosses her arms uncomfortably as Mister Plugg addresses the crew.
"Now, some o'you don't know Jakes Magpie," he says. Master Scourge loops a length of line around Magpie's waist and ties a bowline so tight it crushes the air out of him. Plugg continues. "We caught him stealin' from the quartermaster, and since he was kind enough to confess, he gets the good punishment." He turns to the man, now shaking with fright, and picks up the end of a rope whose other end is somewhere overboard. "You're ta be keelhauled slowly, and may the Black Lady have mercy on you."
At a nod from Mister Plugg, Master Scourge shoves Magpie over the starboard side. The mate, soon joined by the boatswain, starts hauling his line slowly, hand over hand, tugging with relish every so often as the unfortunate thief is caught on something below the waterline. About two minutes later, he pulls the ripped-up, barely recognizable form of Jakes Magpie over the port railing and dumps him on deck. Master Scourge puts his hand to Magpie's mouth, then to his neck, and shakes his head. Scourge kicks him off the poop deck and onto the main deck. "Dead," he says pitilessly. "Give 'im to the sharks." The punishment over, the two officers disappear belowdecks.
Two of the crew reluctantly take his hands and feet, but the redheaded woman stops them. "Shove off. He gets last rites same as anyone else." They shrug and get in line for stew and rum rations, while the woman beckons Gunter, Jack, Simon, and Tiesa to stay with her. "Sorry you had to see that your first day aboard," she says, pouring some water from a skin at her hip over the dead man's brow and touching what looks like a holy symbol to his lips. "They dragged me aboard just a few days before you. I know how hard it is to get by on the Wormwood without a mate. My name's Sandara, what's yours?"
Gunter will try an sneak to find a quiet place to pray and perhaps to talk to some of the local wildlife (aka rats)
"Hah! Figures his fat fingers couldn't handle a halfling-coiled line. Many thanks for the tip, Rosie." Jack is sure to make use of her advice throughout the ship, continuing to chat her up as he does.
Jack chews his lip throughout the keelhauling, looking not at the rope but at the pair pulling it. His eyes narrow at each grin from the sadistic duo, realizing just how cruel they are. They're like to be sharks themselves, these two, he thinks. I'll not be findin' any favor with them unless I be as bloodthirsty as they, and Jack Thimble's no sadist. They be the real threat aboard, and I'll either be watchin' for them or become chum myself.
Careful not to make it seem like he's following her around the ship, Jack tangentially involves himself in whatever pursuit Rosie takes up after hours, whether it's gambling or other entertainment (spectating if necessary, as gambling's hard with no coin). Once the opportunity presents itself to chat with her one-on-one, he relaxes into his usual friendly conversation - getting to know her better without being too forward, and although he doesn't proposition anything, it's clear the handsome young swordsman is attracted to her. If she seems to be warming up to him, he asks, "So ye've been aboard this ship longer than I. Aside from that yellow-bellied cur of a bosun an' the officers, who's the ones t' watch out for? It seems I be lucky I've found someone aboard this vessel worthy of talkin' to."
Tiesa cringes when she sees the state of the corpse.
Ye gods, that was no punishment. That was an out and out execution. I need to steer clear of the mate and the botswain.
She observes Sandara administer her rights to Magpie's remains.
My name's Tiesa, and they put me in with Mr. Kroop, as cook's helper. You seem to be a priest of sorts. We could use any help we can get on this damnable tub, from whatever divine quarter it comes from.
That evening, Tiesa will try to retire early, and contemplate the events of the day. She also drops off to sleep with a firm grip on the knife she "borrowed" from the galley.
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"Aye, that I be," says Sandara, finishing her ritual and heaving Jakes overboard. "Just say the word if you need anything." She leads Tiesa to the rum ration line and, when she gets hers, knocks it back. "That's the quartermaster, Cut-Throat Grok, I told ya 'bout," she says, pointing to the reedy half-orc with an ugly scar across her throat, doling out the dark, strong alcohol.
"Drink up, greenhorns," she says, giving Gunter, Jack, Simon and Tiesa each half a pint, and grinning toothily before waving them on so she can serve the next sailors in line.
Gunter, Tiesa, and Simon all retire early, but Jack decides to find his way to Rosie instead. He finds her just in time to see her toss her rum overboard. "Well, there's the quartermaster at rumtime, but I think ye've figgered that out." She gives Jack a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Ye're lookin' like ye been through the Hells and back after that dosin'. Quinn says she ain't such a bad sort, but I'm not buyin' it. She be keepin' me fiddle, see." She crosses her arms. "'part from that, stay outta the gunnery. And if'n ye see a blue-haired gnome name of Shortstone up in the rigging, tell him to keep off yer longshank lady friend. She'll thank ye."
Jack and Rosie spend an hour or two watching the other sailors gamble, fight, sing, and yarn the night away, joining in a few of the chanteys but not going out of their way to get noticed. Around them, pirates arm wrestle over broken glass, toss greased lead pellets down a trestle table, see who can down the most leftover rum, and bet on all of the above.
Jack grimaces as the foul liquid practically rots his insides. "Rotting teats of the Sea-Queen!" he exclaims, expecting an unpleasant taste, not a crippling poison. He silently resolves to follow Rosie's example and dispose of the 'rum,' rather than use it to dispose of his organs. Staggering to the rail, he vomits up whatever he can, desperate to get the liquid out of his system. Appreciative of Rosie's sympathy, he quirks an eyebrow when she mentions her fiddle. "It be Grok who's got yer fiddle, then? Well I'll keep me eyes peeled for a chance to nab it back for ye. I'd like to hear ye play it sometime." He thinks back to the morning. "That be the same gnome on deck this mornin'? I'll tell 'im."