Skull and Shackles (Inactive)

Game Master Mimesyne

A pirate themed, seafaring adventure filled with brigands who aim to swash every buckle and buckle every swash. There's probably at least one Jack Sparrow and maybe that cat-lady from Treasure Planet. All in all, it should be good times.


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Wormwood Map

Here is where we will play the game. Feel free to dot before things get started for all your easy thread-tracking needs!


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Dot?


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Dot.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Dootdoot.


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

Ahem. Dot.


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

Dot!


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

Port Peril! I thought as I strode through the fabled waterfront. What is that smell? I thought next. I couldn't rightly place it, but it was horrid. But no matter. I was here! After so many weeks at sea with the most dreadfully dull crew of sailors one could ever meet. They actually didn't want to meet a pirate vessel! All they wanted was to slip through these waters unnoticed and deliver their cargo.
I suppose that's the perspective of the other side of things, but I myself found a voyage through the legendary Shackles without an encounter of piracy to be exceedingly disappointing. When I voiced my complaints, the crew on the Jeniveve nearly locked me in my cabin. At least they promised that if we did encounter a pirate ship, I would be the first one to meet them.
My destination was a tavern that my father frequented in Port Peril. I inquired a few of the old salts that seemed to know such locales, but none had ever heard of Le Petit Foie Gras. I could only wonder what tragedy had befallen such a place, especially one which was no doubt made more famous due to its role in my father's adventures.
An idea struck me; perhaps my mother decided to protect the establishment's true identity from the many dastardly enemies my father had accrued. Of course. That had to be it. The owner, Gaspar Raison, was a good friend. Even he may have a different name.
I pondered. Quite the quandary. I suppose I must go from tavern to tavern, and perhaps regale the locals with the tales of Captain Poisson. Eventually, someone will make contact with me. No doubt.
I looked up at the first tavern I found. The Formidably Maid. That doesn't make any sense. I disregarded the name, and stepped over a couple of drunken bodies into the dingy interior.
Oh, that's what that smell is.


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

Formidably Maid. Only a few hundred yards from the place Harmony grew up. She knows this neighborhood well. Alas, she's been gone for quite a while, and who knows how many things might have changed in the interim. Not a good bar, though, apparently. Back when she was still a regular in these parts, a kid would have been frowned upon at the rowdier hours of the day, but she is no longer a kid. Thus, she its at one of the central tables in the barroom, drinking a pint of ale. "...so there we were, twenty people or so, a few good fighters sure, but most of us peeing our pants. Turned out the scrag wanted to have us for dinner, but after breaking its tooth on the dwarf --"

"Olaf?"

"-- yeah, Olaf, anyway, he was the toughest dwarf I'd ever seen, the sort who gets tired of the speed at which the mule is lugging around his junk, so he decides to carry the damn mule. But I digress; the scrag broke its tooth on Olaf, right? Well everyone knows trolls just grow back whatever they lose, yes? Olaf -- now, you have to realize, he wasn't just tough on the outside, but unlike most dwarves I've met, he was really sharp. And I don't mean the axes he carried, I mean smart. Shrewd. A scary businessman. Turned out, one of the other Pathfinders on the expedition spoke the scrag's language, and translated between it and Olaf. And Olaf was like, 'you regrow everything you lose, damn hoss, we could make thousands off that'!"

"No!"
"What'd they do?"
"Did they make some kind of deal?"

"Turns out, there actually is some kind of weird twisted demand for things like scrag testicles --" Harmony starts, only to be interrupted right away.

"Get out!"
"No way! No WAY would anybody let anybody do that --"

"Well, as it happens, we will never actually know whether the scrag would have been happy as a testicle-growing machine raking in the gold through the acumen of a dwarf businessman, because soon as the scrag, the translating Pathfinder, and Olaf got to talks, you know, it started lowering its guard, right. And Olaf's a dwarf long before he's a businessman. I think this story rather..." Harmony's eyes start turning a little glassy, and she starts to teeter a little in her chair. "...rather...rather nicely...I forget what I was..." Suddenly, she just passes out, slumping off her chair and thudding to the floor like a sack of wet potatoes.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Cueta Guiding Star wouldn't have looked that out of place, walking the pier, longbow slung over her shoulder, boarding pike under her arm, both hands gripping a stout wooden locker. Just another sailor without a job - certainly nothing unusual for Port Peril. What made the Ijo woman look strange - silly even - happened once she stepped from the wooden pier onto the rock and dirt of the city itself. Immediately, Cueta Guiding Star dropped her possessions and kissed the earth. It was cliche - even the uneducated sailor knew this. But it was also the perfect gesture. For Cueta had no intention of ever setting foot on a boat again.

Look for a job tomorrow. Tonight, celebrate your good fortune. The sailor had known her destination before she ever stepped foot off The Wasp's Tail. The Formidably Maid wasn't much - a dive bar frequented by pirates and pirate wanna-bes. But Cueta had been there, knew where it was, and liked it. It was a simple place, loud, good rum. And the patrons were her people. Or they used to be, anyways.

Stepping around a guy literally holding his nose, Cueta moved past a table with some broad holding court, telling some tale of a dwarf and a troll - an amusing one, no doubt, judging by the encouragement her companions were offering her.

Sidling up to the bar, Cueta dropped her chest at her feet and propped her bow and pike against the handrail. Holding up four fingers, Cueta yelled at the barkeep. "Three rum, shots! One pint bitter ale. Bitter as you got!"

Behind her a crash, as the storyteller tumbled to out of her chair. Her companions let up a cheer, and lifted the woman to her feet, and then carried out the door. Lightweight.

The rum came first, and Cueta tipped back a shot. To Cap'n. Then another, and another. Spackle. Wide Trudy. Holding up three more fingers, Guiding Star sipped her pint and counted more names off her list. Willie Ears. Monroe. Angry Sally. By her estimation, Cueta had forty-two more sips and shots to get through.

A bit of blackness crowded the woman's vision. The rum was really strong. The voice - that damned voice, that had been with her since the Pegasus was sunk - it was coming on again, all syllabant, hushed words, intelligible, at the back of her consciousness, beyond the black crowding her vision. Stop it, girl! Woman up, now! Your imagination is getting away from you again.

Another shot, and then another. Drunk. De-runk. To late to slow down now. The voice came back, a little stronger, the darkness at the edge of her vision creeping inward. She may have to find a room soon, but first, gods be damned, Cueta Guiding Star had an announcement to make.

Hopping up onto her barstool, the sailor tipped uneasily. Normally, such a feat was no problem - Cueta lacked many things, but coordination was not one. Steadying herself, Cueta raised the rest of her pint and drained it, and then smashed the glass on the floor. Holding her last shot high, the sailor addressed the quickly quieting crowd.

"Listen up, you dirty sons of sea-b&~*+es! You're my kind of folk, but you're not gonna see this pretty face around any more. This shot right here is for The Golden Pegasus, one of the damn finest galleys to ply the Inner Sea, and I'll break anyone's nose says otherwise! She was sunk by a gods-damned kraken, and I'm the only survivor."

The darkness was coming on, the voice in her head growing louder and louder. Гэта нічога не значыць.Гэта нічога не значыць.Гэта нічога не значыць.Гэта нічога не значыць

"I'm done, you's hear me! I'm gonna find some fat merchant, put a baby in my belly, and live out my life on this rock. Cueta Guiding Star will never set ship on a foot again! No. Fookin'. Way!

Cueta downed the shot and threw the glass across the bar, nearly tipping her chair in the process. Darkness. Strange words. Her vision swayed, the room circled, like an eddy in a river. "No Fookin'-"

The blackness covered her before Cueta hit the ground. Letting out a ragged breath, the sailor rolled onto her back, fighting a quickly loosing battle with unconsciousness. Just before she went under she understood what the voice in her head was saying, the first time it meant more than gibberish. Cueta let out a ragged breath and felt her tongue pushing against the roof of her mouth, and the voice continued on, one phrase, into blackness...

You do not call the shots.


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

The Formidably Maid was as it always was: boisterous and crowded, with more bodies than should have been in such a small space. There was something about the smell of dirty sailors and drunken pirates that gave Esmarelda a sense of home. Yet why she felt that way, she was never sure. Maybe it had something to do with her family or blood, but that was for another time. She shifted the bag on her back and secured her coin pouch down the front of her shirt, before heading inside. Greeting her was the aroma of stale drink and just a hint of vomit, which was never that pleasant.

Moving through the tavern, she pushed past those who were falling over drunk and stepped over a few folks who looked like they had lost a bar fight and just been left there. It took some elbowing, well more creative wiggling, but she eventually managed to squeeze into a free spot at the bar. The bartender looked to be an overworked half-orc who was easily twice as wide as every other man in the establishment. He carried a huge cleaver at his side that had a few suspicious red splatters along its blade. Hopefully he's the cook too she thought as she ordered up a double whiskey and water. A quick glare from the bartender snapped her eyes away from his knife and she did her best to look busy with scanning the room. A tall dark man sitting at a table of his own caught her eye for two reasons: One; he had managed to maintain a considerable amount of personal space with only a scowl Two; he was a rather good looking gentleman with dark skin and a strong jawline. Esmarelda gave him a seductive smile along with a wink. Before she rose from her own spot and slipped her way around the crowed towards his table, drink held high in the air to keep it from spilling as she pressed passed too many people.

When she arrived she made her intent very clear, as she sat her drink down by his and slid slowly into his lap while leaning onto the table now beside her. The conversation between them began as normal, but swiftly turned into whispers of heated passion. Drinks ran freely along with hands that began wandering across each other, tugging playfully at clothes that clung to their bodies. He had quickly become a drug to her, intoxicating her with his presence. She clung to his every word as he told her tales of his adventures on the high seas and likened her beauty to that of Shelyn or Calistria. With that type of sweet talk, it wasn't long before Esmarelda found herself holed up in a backroom closet with the dark stranger, eager for a night of taboo excitement.
=============
After some time tangled with her dark and handsome stranger, Esmarelda was finally able to pull herself from his grasp. Exhausted, she scrambled to get back in her clothes. Yet she found her fingers fumbled with the strands of her pants and bodice, and again with her kapena. Noting a severe lack of grace, getting dressed was more of a challenge than she remember. The man, Maheem as she had finally learned, seemed to have far less issue. That is when she realized something was wrong. She did her best to keep her cool and think of anything that would allow her to leave the room without him noticing her weakening state. "Another drink?" she asked him, still breathless, though now she was unsure if that was from their lust filled time together or something he had given her. Without waiting for an answer she opened the door to head out back to the common room. Of course, what she was met with was not the common room at all, but a large sack and a stinging pain at the back of her head as the world faded out.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Dirty, cruel slaps of skin meeting skin, raucous jeers that rang off the tavern walls, and glass shattering amidst howls of amusement all easily drowned out grunts of effort. Leather creaked as gold exchanges hands, at least until the resounding thunk! of a meaty fist hammering a significantly smaller hand into wood puts an end to that. An uproar with all manner of elation and dismay goes up from the small table in the center of the bar, masking the groan of pain from one participant.

Beneath it all, the hearty belly laugh of the arm wrestling competition's victor booms out long and low. As he picks the occasional shard of glass from his thick fingers, yet another cheer goes up from across the bar. Too wrapped up in his bout with the most recent contestant, he had missed whatever speech had drawn silence to those closest to the bar. A glance in that direction tells him more than enough; the speaker lay in a ragged heap beside the chair she had stood upon. A shame, really; she seemed to have such fire within her. Perhaps that was simply the fire that too much strong drink had lit in her belly.

"Fear not, my friends," Gall calls out from his seat as he lifts the remnants of his ale into the air to those around him. "I've no doubt my mysterious benefactor will buy a toast in that brave soul's honor, lest she be drinking alone!" A bit more quietly, he leans closer to the dwarf with a thoroughly broken nose as further vocal delight hits the air around him and asks, "Won't you, you old scallywag?"

Amidst hasty assurances, the half-giant drains yet another mug and adds it to the growing forest atop the table before him. Though it cannot be said that he is lightweight of any degree, this is far from the same quiet man that first entered the bar. With each consecutive bout of booze he had imbibed, like a hungry clam the sailor opened up to the tavern's patrons. It did not take long before Gall was taking flagons and challengers from anyone with half a mind to offer one to him.

It is not until his elbow hits the table as he clasps hands with yet another pirate that the bitter tinge of something foul hits his tongue. With barely enough time to wonder if his beer had gone sour, clouds of darkness slither into his vision and he lurches forward in his chair. The table rattles and mugs clatter to the floor, but Gall never hears anything beyond the rush in his ears. He is out cold before his head even meets the table, thankfully ignorant to the glass shards that lodge in his face. Not that it will help his headache or temper the next morning.


Wormwood Map

Ah! The open seas! The spray of the fresh ocean water, the sun on your face! You can almost smell it! Wait a minute...

Your morning reverie is rudely interrupted by a sharp reminder of the previous nights indulgences. Your head is wracked with the oh so familiar throbbing pain of a nasty hangover and the taste of cheap wine and ale sticks to your tongue. The ground seems to rock under you in time with a rhythmic, high pitched creaking; perhaps you're still a touch drunk. A bit more sleep would probably do you some good...

"Still abed with the sun over the yardarm?" bellows an unfamiliar voice. The piercing crack of a whip jolts you up, and in the dim light you can just make out a group of figures looming at the other end of the room.

"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!"

Anyone who looks for their possessions realizes that everything's missing but the shirt off your back, and even that's rumpled enough to it look like someone may have tried to take it.

As your eyes adjust to the light, you can more clearly make out a surly looking group of mismatched individuals. Everything from gnomes to fat half-elves, and they all have a cudgel in hand that looks like it might have your name on it should you protest. At the center of the group is a wicked looking man holding the whip responsible for your rude awakening, a crooked gold smile twisting already unpleasant facial features.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Wakefulness abruptly thrust upon him, Gall barely has time to contemplate the cotton balls gumming up the works inside his skull before he is on his feet. His legs move before his eyes even open; more from reflex born of long practice than any desire to obey. When he finally does blink open bleary eyes to face the grim day, the shock of what he sees stops him dead in his tracks. Rather than the familiar faces of a crew that he has known for weeks and months, he is instead faced with pirates. Or at least, he assumes they are pirates given the general look of the group. He knows the type and judging by his current surroundings, they have some sort of nefarious plans for him. Heavy lifting, navigation, perhaps a bit of casual slaughter. Rage bubbles up from his gut at the thought; that these brigands believe they can force him to--

Wait, that's not rage, he finds himself thinking right as the taste of bile hits his throat. The nearest bucket is barely near enough for him to get to in time before he sets to emptying the contents of his stomach into it. Fortunately, he is far from unused to this sort of experience and quickly pushes himself up, wiping his mouth and his beard.

"Who the bloody hell're you?" Gall manages with only the slightest bit of a slur to his voice.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Familar rocking, back and forth, up and down. Nausea. Headache. Rocking. Smells of sweat, mildew, the ocean.

No. Gods no. No NONONONONONONONO.

Fook me.

Cueta sits up, straight up, and reaches for her - anything really, but only finds a hard wood floor, and the leg of a woman, the storyteller from last night.

Drugged. We were drugged. Her first, then me. Fools, both of us.

The sound of wretching comes from Cueta's left, from the largest man she's ever seen. His question, directed at the crowd, or perhaps the man with the whip, brings the answer immediately to Cueta's lips, along with a clenching in her stomach. She'd never seen it, the Pegasus being a desirable ship to crew, but she'd heard the stories.

"Crew. They're the crew. We've been press-ganged."

Rolling onto her back and then into a ball, Cueta grabs her head in her hand and lets out a scream, loud and long, filled with rage.


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

It was a most curious manner in which I woke that morning. Well, curious and decidedly unpleasant. My head pounded and my stomach pitched mightily. I definitely heard shouting somewhere in the haze. Where am I? I pondered while I heard the crack of a whip, distant retching and a particularly ear-splitting scream. Suddenly, images of last night -- Port Peril, a tavern, a number of rough characters -- came to mind through the fog.

Through bleary eyes I recognized the dank interior of a ship's hold and the familiar pitch and sway of a ship at sea. I'm on a ship! the realization came to me, as well as the tell-tale signs of recent inebriation. I usually wasn't one to drink to the point of losing consciousness, though I have been known to raise a celebratory libation when the situation called for it.

Ah! Of course! I pieced what must have happened rather quickly, I might add.
I stood up, and brought my hand up in a salute. "Artevious de Poisson, ready for duty, captain!"
I blinked at his swarthy appearance, and sought my memory for his name and the details of our arrangement. Nothing cut through the fog. Oh, dear.

"I'm terribly sorry to admit this, but, you see, I fear that I must have overindulged during last night's revelry on account of me joining your crew, obviously. I now seem to have forgotten your name and the name of this vessel. So, you would be..?" I ventured. This was quite mortifying.


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Esmarelda slowly sat up, her head throbbing in pain. She was sure it wasn't from the drink, it had to of been from who ever struck her on the head. She forced herself to fully stand up, feeling the rocking of the ship she smiled! She looked over to the man who had vomited, wow he's big..., before looking at the woman who answered his question and screamed in rage. Esmarelda couldn't help but begin to shake her head laughing as she looked at the man with the whip in hand, whom she assumed was the one yelling the whole time. "You know, if you had just asked I would have said yes. I usually say yes." She told him smirking as she moved over to the group slowly, ducking under the other hammocks as best as she could with the pain in her head.

When she got there she looked back at the others, that smirk still upon her lips. "This will go so much easier for you all, us all, if you don't fight. Just a fair warning." She told them, then couldn't help by laugh at the one that just jumped up.

"That's because they didn't ask handsome. They took you." She informed him as she shook her head. Then noticed a lack of jingling, and looked to the one with the whip. "Where is my Kapena?" with that she looked around for her things. "Where are the rest of my belongings?" She asked, the smirk had gone from her face and was replaced with a look of anger. Her head snapped to one of the men to the left, her expression changed into more of an annoyed yet flirtatious look. "Did you take my things Maheem? I didn't think our time together was so good you would take a memento." She said as she gave him an ice cold glare.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

"Maybe they asked for them and you said yes," Gall replies blithely as he turns his head to spit, trying to rid his tongue of the vile taste that plagues it. Pushing himself to his feet, he shakes his head a bit before realizing that to be a terrible idea. He stumbles as another throb of liquor-born agony pulses beneath his scalp, but quickly rights himself and steps purposefully toward his new crew. The scowl, glaring eyes, and imposing figure closing on the group has more than a bit of inherent menace to it, but Gall never bothers to act on it. He just waits for the others to come along, hoping that he will not be asked to carry anyone.


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Esmarelda turned slightly to the very tall man who had now joined them. "Oh ha ha ha, funny. But note I stated usually! I would have never hand over my kapena! Tis special to me and those of my family." She told him as her eyes slowly slid over the giant of a man standing closer to her now.
"You are very likely the largest man I've ever seen!" She told him, and just as she finished she began giggling again. "I just noticed how that came out, poor choice of words on my part!" She said with a sigh as she turned and looked back to the group before them.


Wormwood Map

The man with the whip gave Esmarelda a look of disgust as she approached.

"Ye can lift your skirts for the crew later," he barked, clearly not entertained by her words. "But after Maheem's amusing tale of your encounter last night, I doubt the crew will be willing to pay for your services."

He glares around at the others and gives his whip another crack for good measure. "I be Master scourge, and ye be on the Wormwood. Now get your worthless hides up on deck, or the next whip crack will be against your skin!"

The tall Rahadoumi man beside Master Scourge digs a hand into his pocket, a cruel grin replacing his scowl for only a moment before he flicks a dirty copper piece at Esmarelda. "Fair value," he said calmly as the others in the group broke out into a raucous laughter.


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

Harmony is the last to wake up, barely awake as the first words are exchanged, but tries to piece together what pretty much everyone else has already been explicitly explained by Cueta a few moments ago. Press-ganged? Oh no. I have a sinking feeling I know who's behind this. Fear shivers through her, cold sweat breaking all over her skin, and instinctively her breathing quickening. Working through her emotions and suspicions takes long enough for Esmarelda's exchange to take place, and then Harmony starts to climb onto her feet, shaky, but ships are familiar to her and she knows to expect the rocking, so she manages to stay stable. Mostly. Although once she gets into a standing position, and blood flows out of her head, her face starts to turn a little pale. The Wormwood? Do I know this ship? Hmm.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13 Guessing not much.

"If the deck is what you want, deck is what you get", she complies with Scourge's 'request', heading to deck. For now. I'll play along for now, but I don't expect you to keep me alive for long. I need to think up a plan, and I need to do it fast. Maybe these people are angry enough about the situation that I might be able to get some help from them."

Before heading up, Harmony runs her hands through her hair, trying to make sure it isn't a mess with whatever tools she has available to her -- which, considering the lack of a mirror, isn't much. She makes sure there aren't any tangles, that the right amount of hair flows in front of her shoulders, and tucks unruly locks behind her ear. No matter the situation you find yourself in, always look good. She runs her hand across her clothes, trying to smoothe out the worst wrinkles, and then heads up onto deck. For now, you hold the upper hand, but I will get you.

Harmony tries to make it appear as if she has no problem following the orders.

Bluff: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Cueta lays on her side, looking nearly comatose, trying to hide her feverish mind behind a mask of despair. Its not a stretch. Scourge. Sounds like the name a bully would give himself. Make himself feel important. Maheem. Drugger and kidnapper of women. At best. Did you drug me too, Maheem? Hopefully there are some in this crew more... sympathetic than these two. But, Cueta thought, grinning just the slightest, if Besmara was intent on forcing our deal, Scourge and Maheem would make fine additions to the goddess' chest.

Rolling onto her knees, Cueta puts her forehead to the ground and closes her eyes, taking a moment to enjoy the darkness, the cool wood floor. Then she clenches her fists and springs up, stomach lurching, and follows the others above decks into the bright Shackles morning.


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

I couldn't quite follow the strange exchange between the comely lass and that Maheem fellow. If the poor dear's kapena -- whatever that may be -- was only worth a copper, why wouldn't he be willing to give it back to her? Well, the time for sussing out such oddities would have to wait. It was time to go above-decks and made ready to shove off and set sail!

"Jolly good, sir!" I responded. "Let's look alive, there, ladies and gents! It's high time we put the port to our rudder and plot a course toward destiny!"

I couldn't wait to get a look at the ship I'd signed on with -- the Wormwood. Not the prettiest of names, but truly fierce pirate vessels generally carry sinister monikers. I headed up the steps and cast my eyes around, to see what would strike fear in the hearts of lesser sailors!


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Rather than be outdone by the two women who were clearly in far more dire straits than he, Gall moves to follow the pair past Scourge and his cronies. He can only hope that the other decks of the ship hold something more promising than the dingy crew quarters.

Who knows, some darker part of his mind whispered as he ascended the stairs, each board creaking under his weight. He had to stoop to keep from hitting his head, but that was nothing new. No ship was built in his size. Maybe I'll end up liking this life. Just as soon as I pry myself out from beneath the thumb of these bilge swilling toadies. Now, who runs this sorry lot?


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Esmarelda caught the coin as she glared hatefully at Maheem. She could feel her face growing warm, but she did her best not to let him see the anger rising inside yet she was sure he was well aware. This is not off to a good start... She thought as she pushed past the group, making her way to the stairs. Don't give him the satisfaction of a reply... just keep moving... She told herself as she got to the stair leading up to the deck, or so she hoped. Sliding the coin into a safe place, she ascended the stairs along with her new crew mates. She didn't want to feel the whip on her skin any more then those around her.

Thus up to the deck she went, not a word to those around. Though she did give them a better look when they got into more light, Maybe they will be better! Maybe I just got an ass to start off with... She though as she rubbed the back of her head where she had been struck. It still hurt, they had hit her with a considerable amount of force and she was sure it would bruise.


Wormwood Map

As you make your way up the stairs, you see a slew of other crew members busying themselves around the boat. You could almost watch them speed up their work as Master Scourge got closer. He paused more than once to crack his whip; one might wonder if he simply likes the sound of his own power.

Perception DC10:

You can discern the aftertaste of oily nutmeg on your tongue.

On a successful Perception check: Craft(alchemy) DC15 or Knowledge(nature) DC10:

You are able to identify the oily nutmeg taste as a clear sign of oil of taggit poisoning. Oil of taggit will knock you out cold for a few solid hours!

Intelligence DC10:

As you start to clear your head, you realize that Master Scourge was one of the many patrons at the Formidably Maid last night. That cur had been orchestrating your press gang the whole time!

Finally you come out on deck to a bright and clear sunny day. Gazing out to the horizon, you think you can make out the smallest outline of the mainland of the Shackles. Trying to swim back would be nothing short of suicide, and that's without figuring in the sharks.

On deck, figures muster around the ship's mainmast, looking up at the higher deck on the stern where two men stand. One of them is a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch — clearly the captain. The other is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails.

Taking a moment to look around at the other crew members gathered on deck, you'd easily notice four others on deck who are set apart by their relative cleanliness and their apparent unease with their situation. A dozen or so other pirates, clearly existing members of the crew if their smell was any indicator, mill about on the deck or hang about in the ship's rigging.

“Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood!" comes a deep, booming voice that demands every person on deck's attention. The man you've figured as the captain glares about at those gathered with a look that may have been as close to a smile as he could get as he speaks, though it looks like it's causing him pain. "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. Mr. 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.”

With that, the captain walks away, leaving you with the younger bald man who you can only assume is Mr. Plugg. He looks down at you all with an unpleasant smile.

"Alright, ye dirty dogs! Ye heard the captain! All of you! In the riggin'! Climb ta the crows nest and make it speedy! There'll be a lashin' for whoever gets there last!"

You look up. Way up. That mast has to be at least forty-- No! Sixty feet up! But those other new recruits are already scrambling to the ropes. Better get a move on it if you plan to beat them to the top.

Time to climb the rigging! Include your Climb check in your post. Preview the results and roleplay it out accordingly.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
Know(nature): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
Int: 1d20 ⇒ 17

Smarter than he is perceptive, oddly. That's a first. Must be the booze from the night before.

Gall tilts his head to regard the lot of the crew for the first time, taking them in patiently while he has the time. It is not as though he had any particular need to be anywhere; big speeches and first impressions require only so much attention. There was still plenty to go around, even with the headache taking up his mental real estate. It only takes a few moments before he finds himself putting faces to voices and names.

Scourge. The Maid. Even that smug little dwarf bastard. Well, that just figures. You've got to kick this booze habit, before you get into real trouble. As though this is not real trouble. Either way, appearances were certainly suggesting that this is going to be exactly what rumors implied. Lift that, carry this, interpretive dance, jump. How high-- Aye, there it is. Climb.

An exasperated sigh slips from the half-giant as he moves to make for the rigging after the other new recruits. Nothing that he has not done a thousand times before, how hard could this be on a new ship?

Climb: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27

Not the least bit difficult; rigging is rigging is rigging and he knows it like the back of his hand. Up Gall goes like a monstrous monkey, all the way to the top.


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (17) - 1 = 16
Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Intelligence: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Harmony notices the weird oily nutmeg taste, but has no idea of the specifics behind it. Probably one of the drínks I had last night stuck with me. Yeah, she doesn't know how right she is. She also has no memory whatsoever of Scourge's presence at the Formidably Maid.

Upon Plugg's order to climb the rigging, Harmony almost slips and says something out loud, but catches herself in the nick of time. Climb? But -- grr. Inwardly, she seethes. I suppose I could talk them into giving me a pair of pants to switch into, instead of this skirt, so they couldn't look up it. But, I have this funny feeling that I wouldn't exactly be allowed to go belowdecks to change into those pants, so those bastards would get a show either way. Yeah, I won't walk into that trap. Skirt and climbing it is, then. She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a moment to center herself, and then starts to climb, her skirt fluttering in the wind. Fortunately, at least, she does have underwear so everything is not bared to view from below.

Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Yeah, that didn't go so well. Not a climber, she, and it becomes rapidly apparent to anyone viewing as she tries to clamber up the wooden masts, barely getting a foot off the ground before sliding down...trying again, getting a foot off the ground, then slipping and falling onto her butt onto the deck. Putting a steely resolve onto her face, she tries yet again, and manages to get a colossal two feet off the ground, before crying out in distress as she slowly dribbles, inch by inch, lower and lower until she hits the deck again. Well, on the other hand, at least nobody got a peek under her skirt this way. To anyone who might be suspecting her of being intentionally bad, an easy Sense Motive will pretty much reveal that no, she is really trying, and yes, she really is terrible at this.

After Plugg or whoever relieves her from this humiliation and puts the next person up to the task, Harmony tries to turn the embarrassing failure into a moment of levity for the crew. Instead of them laughing *at* her, she tries to get them to laugh *with* her. "I must be, without a doubt, the worst pirate you've ever seen." She holds up a finger. "Or, not seen, as you were perhaps hoping to", she adds, referring to the lack of upskirtage.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (20) + 18 = 38


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

So, that's the captain, I realized with some relief, since Scourge wasn't making a very good first impression. I bowed graciously when he thanked us all for volunteering, but couldn't quite understand why he didn't want us to talk to him. What were we to do if we spotted a ship ripe for the taking? Shouldn't we be yelling Ship ahoy! or something?

I supposed my first order of business would be to make a name for myself, and then the accolades would necessarily come. And then the first challenge presented itself! The bald man issued orders to climb to the top of the rigging, something I was keen to excel.

"Right away, sir!" I said with barely-contained excitement. I turned to the rigging, spat in my hands and rubbed them while watching my new mates. The big man got an early lead, while the comely lass was wearing the absolute worst attire for a climb.

"My apologies, miss, but there's a crow's nest that needs occupied" I offered, then sprang into the rigging.

Climb plus Panache: 1d20 + 5 + 1d6 ⇒ (18) + 5 + (5) = 28

The big man was moving quickly up the ropes, but I kicked one of the booms out while grabbing the line attached. It launched me out and upwards, putting me just ahead of the fellow.

"Call me Artevious! I exclaimed as I reached the summit.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Cueta walked above decks quietly, all the while clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, trying to suss out the curious taste in the back of her throat. The sailor been hung over enough in her young life to know the aftertaste of liquor, beer and wine, but this was different - more like the spice the Vudran sailors she knew aboard the Pegasus loved in their curries.

Then, about the time Harrigan started his speech, it hit her - all the stories of press-ganging she'd heard - many of them involved Oil of Taggit, a strong drug with the aftertaste of nutmeg, capable of knocking out an unsuspecting victim for hours. Obviously, the drugger's weapon of choice. And then another memory came on - Scourge himself at The Formidably Maid, surely the guy in charge of wrangling new recruits - at Harrigan's orders, no doubt.

Harrigan. Scourge. Maheem. I've got quite the list going, for being awake all of ten minutes.

The command Climb! shook Cueta out of her thinking, just in time to see the new 'recruits' scamper for the rigging. The large one had the sure hands and steady climb of a seasoned hand, the oblivious one plenty of natural ability. The storyteller, not so much of either it seemed. Cueta sprinted to the rigging and began climbing, but both the men had too much of a head start. She slowed her pace and went up the rigging with plenty of ease, realizing that she most likely just needed to finish above the storyteller.

She wasn't going to race for these men, as long as there were others to take the lash.

perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14
intelligence: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15

climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Esmarelda licked her lips as she listened to their new Captain's long speech, it was only then she noticed the odd taste of nutmeg. Nutmeg? I don't remember drinking anything with nutmeg... a bit worried after noticing the taste, she began to go over the night in her mind. Though most of which she did her best to ignore, reliving her time with Maheem was not something she really wanted to do. Then it hit her! Scourge! His face was among those in the crowd of people she had to push past. There was no point in holding back her anger this time, when the captain stopped talking she started, she kept her voice low as she cursed

"La naiba! Tu gaozari! În cele din urmă I a lua pe o navă și am avut pentru a obține cel cu cel mai rău echipajul! Haide Besmara Ce-am făcut pentru a câștiga acest lucru?"

translation:
Damn! You a*@@#@&s! I finally get on a ship and I had to get the one with the worst crew! Come on Besmara what did I do to earn this?

She said in frustration as she walked with the rest. She saw three of her four new crew mates make it up, and the four fall flat. Though she covered it well! Esmarelda gave a smile and nod to Harmony with a good job, smirk on her face before looking up once again. "Lets see if sneaking out all those times helps... She said, mainly to herself before she started up, only to lose her footing and fall back down. She rubbed the back of her head, doing her best to play off her inability to climb on her head.

perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (17) - 1 = 16
INT: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16
climb: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Wow, did good with the perception and int, yet so poorly with the climb! Oh well! Crit happens.


Wormwood Map

Mr. Plugg watches the new recruits climb with an equal scowl for both those who found success and those who did not. A few of the crewmen gave Harmony a wolf whistle as she made her attempt, and laughed heartily at her remarks after her failure. Plugg cracked his whip much the same way Master Scourge had below deck; you'd almost think one had learned it from the other.

"Enough, you filthy bilge rats! Get back to work!" The crew who had taken a break to watch the new recruits get broken in snapped to attention and quickly busied themselves with their work. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, he turned back to the fresh faces from last night's gang press. "And you! Get back down here!" he leveled a finger at Artevious. "Except you! You'll be workin' the riggin'. The rest of ye, line up!"

Plugg waited, albeit impatiently, for them all to get down from the ropes and to sort themselves out on deck. He slowly decended the stairs from the poop deck down to the main deck. Pacing up and down their ranks, he pauses and inspects them all one by one, prodding the bellies of Gall, Esmarelda, and one of the other new recruits as he passes.

"Alright ye mangy, flea ridden dogs... Which one of ye can cook? The captain be wantin' a fine roast for dinner and Fishguts could use a hand down in the galley."


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Esmarelda quickly got up from the deck and got in line, ensuring she wasn't the last to fall in. Her eyes nervously followed Plugg as he walked down to join them on the main deck. There was something about this man that sent shivers down her spine, and not in the way she enjoyed! I don't like him... He just, seems wrong... She thought as she watched him approach the line.

She watched as he poked Gall. Oh no... don't please don't... She thought, but then he did. He poked her right in the stomach! This caused her to let out a small giggle, though she quickly did her best to stifle it. Too late... She thought as she felt her blush returning to her face. "I am sorry sir... I'm rather ticklish..." She informed him as she looked at the deck under her feet. "I do not know how to cook sir." She answered when she heard the question posed to the group, her eyes never leaving the spot she had fixed them to on the deck below her.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

BEFORE

Cueta arrives at the crow's nest after the two men. Grabbing hold of the rigging, she dangles comfortably for a moment, catching her breath, and stares down at the other women. Peels of laughter drift up up from the pirates on deck, whether at a joke or the misfortune of the women below, Cueta can't tell.

"Name's Cueta Guiding Star," the Mwangi says, almost offhand in her comment, to oblivious and hulk. "The guy named "Scourge" - he's the one lead the crew that drugged us."

-------------

NOW

The one called Plugg went down the line, hurling abuse. Cueta watches, watches him inspecting them, watches the new 'recruits.'

When he gets to her, Cueta looks straight ahead, her response flat, barely even an inflection at the end of her question. "Do I look like I cook?"

GM Besmara, how many of us are there? More than just the PCs, judging by the line "one of the other new recruits"?


Wormwood Map

Five PCs, four others. Nine total.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

The half-giant is barely five feet from the nest when wind whips at his clothing, drawing furrowed brows to face the swashbuckler's frenzied ascent. He blinks in surprise as the human sails past him, thoroughly flabbergasted that he has actually been beaten up here. It is not until Cueta offers her name and a bit of insight that he snaps from his reverie of wondering what the hell just happened.

"Gall," he offers in reply with a thoughtful grunt at her comment, before moving to descend again. "Figured as much. I thought he just got me black-out-drunk. Ah, well. Patient hunter's the successful one."

With that, he makes his way back down from the rigging at a slightly less hasty pace before coming to settle on the deck again. Gall falls in with the rest of the crew, eyes kept carefully on Plugg this time. Something about the man does not sit well with him.

"Not well, but I can. The quieter lass there'd probably be best at it, I reckon," he offers, nodding over to Harmony. Judging by her display of climbing prowess, anywhere that she would be out of the way of physical labor is probably best.


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

Quite the show, I thought, feeling rather proud of my prowess in the rigging. Such a show apparently meant that I was to be doing my fair share of the rigging work now about this Wormwood. The large fellow called himself Gall, and the one lady who was able to make it to the crow's nest just seconds behind him called herself Cueta.

At her comment about Scourge, I nodded. "He seems to fit the role of the swarthy, unpleasant taskmaster, but I suppose I should offer him my thanks. I apparently overdid it last night in celebration. If he hadn't drug me back here, I would have missed the boat entirely!"

I followed the other two back to the main deck and quietly observed as the others jockeyed for who would assist in the galley.


Wormwood Map

Mr. Plugg cracks his whip. The sound was certainly not losing effect and most everyone in the line gives a jump at the sound. "I didn't be askin' for any of ye's commentary! You!" he points at Gall and gives him a long look up and down. "Ye look like ye know how ta cook a good meal. You'll be helpin' that ol' drunk in his kitchen. As for the rest of ye, it'll be a swab's life for ye! Now get to work!"

With that, Mr. Plugg stomps off back to the poop deck, leaving the new recruits to find their way to their posts.

=============================

From up in the crow's nest, a bare-chested man with a heavy accent shouts down to Artevious as soon as he starts making his way around the rigging again. "Freesh meat, ya can be whorkin' dey ropes. I hope ya don't be mindin' heights." He gives a hearty chuckle and points to a pile of loose rope under the mainmast. "An' when ya be done wit' dose, ya can start tyin' off dey oddas."

=============================

Gall, once he finds his way down to the galley, is met by a rather short man bordering on fat. His apron is none too clean and neither is his kitchen. Both man and kitchen exude an air of neglect. "Welcome to my kitchen!" he says to Gall as he enters. "Scourge say 'e be sendin' me some 'elp. You can go fetch me some turdles." If asked where to find equipment for such a task, he merely waves a hand to a cluttered corner in the back.

=============================

Although Artevious and Gall are left unhindered, the newly dubbed swabs are stopped by the menacing grin of Master Scourge.
"Ye be workin' under me, now," he announces as he hands out the day's work.

So this marks our first day of work aboard the Wormwood. Please take a moment to familiarize yourselves with the available daytime and nighttime actions, available under the campaign info tab. Make the roll for your assigned task with the appropriate modifier from the Daytime Actions chart, and state what kind of action you are taking. If you are making a check that I would typically do in secret, leave your post open ended enough that it leaves room for both success and failure. If you have any questions about how this all works, feel free to ask in the discussion thread before making your post.

Daily Tasks:

Artevious
Rigger Task: 1d6 ⇒ 4
Rope Work: Handling the ship’s ropes, including coiling them, stowing them, and securing them to cleats and single and double bollards. DC10 Profession(sailor) or Dexterity check

Gall
Cook's Mate Task: 1d6 ⇒ 4
Fishguts' Sobriety: 1d2 ⇒ 2 high = sober, low = inebriated
Turtle Hunting: Hunting leatherback sea turtles with harpoons, treble hooks, and nets. DC10 Profession(fisherman) or Survival

Esmarelda
Swab Task: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Man the Bilges: Vile and sweaty work cleaning out the bilges. DC12 Strength, and DC10 Constitution to avoid fatigue

Harmony
Swab Task: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Runner: Passing messages to the crew and officers of the Wormwood in all parts of the ship except officers’ cabins. DC10 Acrobatics, and DC10 Constitution to avoid fatigue (Run feat = automatic success)

Cueta
Swab Task: 1d6 ⇒ 4
Hauling Rope and Knot Work: Tying and untying knots in the ship’s ropes and moving heavy coils of rope from one part of the ship to another. DC10 Profession(sailor) or Strength, and DC10 Constitution to avoid fatigue


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

Acrobatics DC 10: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11
Constitution DC 10: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3 Fatigued!

Harmony spends her first day on the ship running back and forth between the five floors, up and down on sea spray slicked stairs. She delivers messages all around, from officers to officers, officers to crew and vice versa, even crew to crew. The physical running may not be her forté and towards the end of the day she seems rather exhausted, but the message delivery may instead be a strong suit of hers, as she often manages to do it in an interesting, funny, quirky, inoffensive or otherwise satisfying manner. In a way, having Harmony delivering messages back and forth on the ship might have a positive effect on the ship's mood overall, as orders are delivered with a smooth tongue instead of a rough one.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (10) + 18 = 28 Just for fluff, no game effect.

A couple times during the day, Harmony is sent to deliver a message to the fisherwoman Barefoot Samms, who never wears shoes, and she serves as a sort of buffer between the officers and the crewwoman, softening a bit the verbal blows, editing out entirely or at least adjusting the worst insults. Harmony pays special attention to this woman today, trying to get to know her a little bit, trying to get at least one ally on board the ship who might not be looking to slip a dagger between her ribs. "I understand you used to be a fisher? I spent a year or so in Beachcomber, a fisher's paradise, that. Lots of natural shelter, gives easy calm waters and an aquatic cul de sac that seems to just gather fish into it. Was it your choice to leave that life, or are you on the Wormwood involuntarily like me?"

Daytime Ship Action: Influence Barefoot Samms Toppin.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (7) + 18 = 25

Nighttime Ship Action: Sleep to recover from fatigue.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

BEFORE, ON THE RIGGING

It was not the response Cueta had hoped for. The hulk - Gall was his name - had essentially shrugged and went on his way, seemingly content with his fate. The other man - Artevious, he had yelled when he hit the crow's nest - had enthusiastically misinterpreted her words. She stared long and hard at the man, at his cheerful smile, vacant eyes, wondering if he was taking the piss out of her. Sighing, she began climbing down the rigging to the Wormwood's deck. No, he's just a simpleton, the poor fellow. Perhaps, when he runs afoul of the meaner members of the crew he can be of use. Not until then, though.

Nope. She'd have to look elsewhere for allies.

NOW

Cueta spends the rest of the day doing ropework. It is easy enough work that she'd done many times on the Pegasus, leaving her plenty of time to devote to other things.

The sailor finds herself working next to Ratline, a halfling with many missing fingers. Her mangled hands ill-suited to rope belaying and knot-tying, Cueta makes sure to assist the woman when needed, all the while aksing Ratline questions about herself, and replying in the ways that Cueta thinks will curry most favor.

"Ahh, you like turtle stew? I love it myself."

"It does look like we should have clear weather for the next little bit."

"No, I've never been to Megdolotti Island. What was your favorite part of it?"

And so on, passing the day. In between her innocent questions, Cueta tries to get as much information about the boat as possible. Especially, where her possessions may be, if they are still on the boat, and if there are any devout Besmara worshipers in the crew.

About midday, the storyteller comes by to deliver a message about the rope. Cueta thanks her and then waits for the storyteller to wander off. Slapping her forehead, Cueta turns to Ratline. "Ahh. I totally forgot to tell the errand-girl something. Be right back."

Catching up to the storyteller, Cueta walks beside the woman, her voice low. "It was Scourge, the one that led the press-gangers, and had our drinks drugged. I'm Cueta."

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, but in time the sun, coupled with the stressful morning, take their toll. As the night comes on, Cueta is spent.

sailor: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
constitution: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
diplomacy to influence Ratline: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

Cueta is fatigued.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Survival: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11

Will be taking the Sneak action to check out the galley for anything useful or valuable as my day action. Night action will be doing some good old fashioned arm wrestling.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22
Strength: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Gall frowns at Plugg's reaction to his suggestion, but that only reinforces his initial inclinations. Vile little seaslug. Add him to the list, then. With that, he turns to head down to his new life as a cook's assistant, but not before murmuring quickly across to the sailor beside him. Conveniently, Cueta happens to be close by. "Oi, lass. Ye look like you've a keen set of eyes. Keep an eye on the rest of these bilgerats and come find me if the lot of ye run afoul of anything. I don't imagine cooking'll be rightly difficult." While far from the best at making friends, the half-giant does at least put forth a bit of effort. He will just have to avoid being the one to give rousing speeches and generally sway people to their banner. Assuming they even have one; he can only hope the newcomers manage to band together.

Better than going it alone, he muses to himself as he wanders down to the galley, taking it all in from the door before he enters. Well. Can't say as I'm surprised, but it looks like this place has gone through a maelstrom. Shaking his head gently, Gall moves through to find the cook amidst all of the mess. It does not take long, given the reek of liquor on the portly man, but he does his best to appear cordial if not friendly. "Turtles. Aye, turtles it is. Let's just see if we can't get some of the right gear for the job, shall we?" Rather than go through the motions with any particular haste, the half-giant sets to picking through the mess in search of... Well, anything that looks useful or worth a small pile of coin. Afterward, he gathers up the harpoons and whatnot, heading off to set to work fishing.

Though not quite as simple as he suspected, fishing is something he is experienced with and that helps significantly. Spear-fishing especially. He rakes in a decent haul throughout the day and delivers them to Ambrose, content to sit and chat while the cook does most of the work. Every so often, he pokes his head out into the upper decks to check on the state of things but all seems well. For now. In the evening, Gall enjoys his turtle dinner with the rest of the crew before he heads on over to try his hand at his familiar pass time: arm wrestling.


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Hmm, I probably should have posted what my actions were. Cueta's daytime actions are work and influence (Ratline). Do we need to post the night actions now?

AT LINEUP

Cueta nods to Gall, just the slightest bit, and speaks, her voice a whisper. "Aye. My eyes are wide open, mate." A beat passes, and still looking ahead, Cueta speaks again, even softer. "It's good there's a friend on this ship. Plenty of sharks here."


CN Female Human (Varisian) Female Human Unchained Rogue 10 HP: 69/69 | AC 22/18/17 | Fort +3, Ref +11, Will +2| Init: +5 | Perc: +12+4 when overhearing a conversation or seeking secret things

Working diligently and adding it to the Strength roll
Strength: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Constitution: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (16) + 0 = 16
Esmarelda let scowl come over her face as Scourge stopped them and crossed her arms. "Oh goodie, I can barely contain my excitement." She said in the most sarcastic tone she could manage. Which was soon rewarded by her task for the day, the bilges. "You want to send the one with no upper body strength to- you know what? Never mind... There isn't even a point to talking right now." Giving a heavy sigh Esmarelda turned and started her long way down to the bilges. Look on the bright side Es, you might make new friends. She thought to herself then almost laughed. Right friends...

She lifted the door leading down into the bilges and the humidity hit her before she even entered. "Look what your big mouth has got you now Es..." She muttered to herself as she felt sweat already starting to build on her brow and she hadn't even started yet. She twisted slightly so that she could use the latter properly, and still be able to close the hatch behind her. When her boots hit wood, along with water, and her footing was solid she let go of the latter turned to look at the room. The water was the first thing she noticed, next she looked at the faces of those who also got this wonderful task. "To work I guess." She stated, obviously annoyed, she wasn't even trying to hide it any more.

By the end Esmarelda's mood actually lightened, if only a little. She had done well with the task she was given, more so then she thought she would have. Okay, maybe if I stay clear of Plugg, Scourge, and Maheem it won't be so bad! Oh and the Captain, don't anger him. She began to climb up the latter to the lower deck with a bit a renewed vigor, though it was a bit harder then it was coming down. This was thanks to her shirt, which now clung to her body from sweat and the sea water in the bilges. She ignored it the best she could and joined the others for their evening meal.

She took a bowl of the turtle soup before looking at the crowd she now called crew mates. She took a step in their direction to join them, then her eyes found Maheem and she turned. She didn't need to be humiliated again, not when the last time was still so fresh, and she was sure with the way she looked right now she would be. She sat down a fair distance from the groups of people and began to eat her soup in peace.


Wormwood Map

No need to post nighttime actions yet. We have some roleplay to get through before then. I'm out today, but I'll get a post up for the npcs responses to the diplomacy etc when I get in!

Dont be shy to rp among yourselves through the day, or to rp with the npcs. I'll get posts out quick as I can.


TN Female Human (Chelaxian) Bard (Negotiator) 3 | HP: 22/22 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +3, CMD: 14 | F: +2, R: +4, W: +2 | Init: +1 | Perc: +5, SM: +7 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 5/5 | Active conditions: None

When Cueta grabs Harmony's attention, the latter listens attentively to what the former has to say. "We were drugged?" For her part, she hadn't picked up on much more than the oily nutmeg taste. "Well, that certainly explains a lot. I didn't think I was quite *that* bad a drinker", she flashes a smile, and then adds, "If you're looking for anything, let me know. I'm running all over the ship so I get to see a lot of things." A little grimace. "Some of which I'd rather not."


N Female Human Soldier 1 / Mystic 12 | HP: 83/83 | STAM: 109/109 | EAC: 28 KAC: 28 | F:+10, R:+8, W:+14 | Init: +8 | Perc: +24, SM: +20 | Speed 6 met | Spells: 1st: 4/6 2nd: 2/6 3rd: 5/5 4th: 2/4 Resolve: 4/10 Healing Touch: 1/2 Ammo: 20/20 Starlight Form 9/11| Active conditions: see invisibility; energy resistance 10 electricity, fire, acid); mindlink; superpowers; darkvision

Cueta laughs, a low laugh, drawn out and easy-going in sound. "I can imagine. Or, I'd rather not." For a second, the sailor's eyes gaze off into the horizon, unfocused, before she looks back to Harmony. "I'm looking for my things. And any worshipers of Besmara. Let me know if you find either, and if I can do anything for you, just ask."

Figuring it would be easier to make friends with the new recruits than the established pirates, Cueta keeps an eye out for the others that were brought on board last night. One she knows, was sent to the bilges, poor girl. The others, they must be around here somewhere...


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

Dexterity: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

At my orders, I looked down to the tangle of ropes and smiled. "Right away, sir!" I saluted and got to work.

It was good, honest sailing work, and I whistled a jaunty tune while setting to it. I tipped my hat to the fair maid hustling about sending messages from one side of the ship to the other and smiled and greeted the other riggers clambering about.

I daresay, I like the cut of that gnome's jib, I thought to myself of the one in the broad-rimmed hat and impressive mustache. As I began my subsequent task in tying off the lines, I exhorted a greeting.

"Ahoy, and hello and a good day to you sir! Quite the fine weather to start our pirating adventure, don't you think?" I started. "Artevious de Poisson, at your service. What may be your story, sir? You have quite the dashing look about you."

Attempting an influence check here.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25


Wormwood Map

Harmony
Barefoot Samms was more than happy for the company while she worked, though her answers were short. She seemed to be a woman of few words. Or maybe it was just harder to talk when one was doing hard labor.
"Aye, been a fisher most of my life. When my husband died, I decided I needed a change of scenery. Hopped the first ship out, and this happened to be the one." Throughout the day when she happened to see Harmony zipping by on her errands, Barefoot Samms paused to offer her a drink. "Sweaty work, that is."

Cueta
Ratline spoke in a voice that matched the name; high and squeaky. "I like turtle soup a bit more raw than what Fishguts makes it," they said with an eerie tone that suggested raw and wriggling might be more to their tastes. Although Ratline comes off as friendly enough, as least as far as pirates go, there's most certainly something a little off with this one. "The Islands are nice this time of year... have good sport. Have you met a headhunter before? Unrelated of course."

Gall
Fishguts grunts in response to anything Gall says before taking off, seeming more focused on getting this meal prepped than striking up a conversation. It seems to take him a good amount of concentration even just to get the water in the pot to start boiling.

Esmarelda
Unfortunately for Esmarelda, Scourge doesn't take being questioned lightly. Rather than let her walk down to the bilges herself, he grabs her by the hair and begins hauling her of, dragging her behind him. When he gets her to the stairs, he quite aggressively tosses her down them.
Non-Lethal Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 4
"Watch ye tongue, ye filthy whore, or next time it'll be over the side of the ship!"

Artevious
"Well hello hello, newcomer! Yar, it be a mighty fine day, eh? And all the finer when that Rosie walks by, eh eh?" The gnome gives a wink and a cheeky smile. "Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone, at your service," he says, introducing himself with a flourishing bow that involved sweeping his superfluous hat from his head and dancing it around. "And I am here to live on the high seas! Have daring adventures! Get gang pressed along the way! And you, sir? Your story? I can tell by that dashing facial hair you sport it must be a good one!"

Feel free to RP and start to move into your nighttime activities. You can carry on conversations with PCs and NPCs alike into the night. Food is served from the galley, but the crew eats where ever they can. Activities and entertainment typically happen on the middle deck.


CG Male Human Swashbuckler 4 | HP: 32/42| AC: 19 (15 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +5, CMD: 20 | F: +3, R: +9, W: +0 | Init: +7 | Perc: +6, SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Panache: 4/4 | Active conditions: None

I beamed, as it seemed as though I have met a kindred spirit on this ship. "Quite so! I myself am the son of a great legend of these waters! Artevious de Poisson, son of the infamous Ricardo de Poisson. You may have heard of his numerous exploits. I come to follow in his wake."

I regaled him with some of the feats of derring-do my father had achieved, but then a most disconcerting notion hit me. I lacked all my possessions, including my cutlass and most worrisome, my mother's novels! I had to hope that they were brought on board along with my unconscious form this early morning, but I rightly had no idea where they may be.

As the day wound to a close, I realized that Ms. Cueta recalled being dragged to the Wormwood by Scourge, so perhaps she might recall if my belongings were amongst us. I decided to refrain from addressing Scourge directly, since he struck me as a thoroughly unpleasant person. In truth, I could hardly believe he was able to persuade me into signing on with this ship.

Thusly, I approached Cueta when the opportunity presented itself. "I daresay, milady," I began, "You seem to be more aware of the goings on of last night than I; much of the evening to me is lost in a haze. You don't perhaps remember where our belongings were stowed when we were brought on board? I happen to have a number of items of great personal value that I hope to recover."


Wormwood Map

Gall - woops, missed his perception!

While rummaging about in the kitchen, Gall manages to find a total of 9 silver pieces and 20 copper pieces that had fallen behind various cupboards and rolled behind brooms, pots, and crates, as well as the materials necessary to catch and capture the days turtles.


TN Male Half-Giant Ranger 3 | HP: 24/28 | AC: 15 (11 Tch, 14 Ff) | CMB: +8, CMD: 19 | F: +4, R: +4, W: +3 | Init: +1 | Perc: +9, SM: +2 | Speed 30ft | Spells: 1st 0/0 | Active conditions: (0) Nonlethal

Not one to try to carry on a conversation with someone who was unwilling to put in any effort, Gall excuses himself quickly. Better to simply wander around the ship and take stock of everything than sit idle in the galley. He goes to and fro across the ship, generally making mental notes about who works where and what can be found around the ship. If given the opportunity, he stops to chat with Harmony, Cueta, or Artevious about idle things. He is certain to mention that if they need a hand with anything, that he is rarely going to be entirely busy. If nothing else, he is always willing to lend a hand provided that it is not to Scourge or Plugg.

As the evening rolls around, he settles in to get himself a bit of dinner and lounge. Settling in near Cueta and Artevious, he beckons the other pair over as he listens quietly to the question. To say that he feels a bit out of place with how little work he has been doing is an understatement, but he is certainly not going to complain. That would only belittle the amount of effort the rest of them had to put in. "Quartermaster, probably. Gotta get yourself the coin to buy it back first, though," he pipes in before taking a bite of his turtle stew. "I've half a mind to take the few coins I found today to gamble and try to double it."

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