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The hard wooden floor that the assembled males found themselves on seemed to tip back and forth, and in the pitch-darkness of the enclosed area, one thing quickly became certain for the scattered gathering: they are on a ship. Even as vague memories flitted through their minds of a relatively hazy evening at the Formidably Maid the night previous, the muffled cries of a gull could be heard somewhere outside, though with the darkness being as it was, most of the males present, save for the token full-blooded human, had a relatively easy time making out where they were.
It is quickly apparent that you have been locked up in a ship’s hold, a very spacious area almost thirty feet wide with large wooden pillars supporting it. On the side walls of the hold, a number of footlockers with keyed openings on their fronts sit stacked, twenty on either wall of the area.
The area is completely dark, and other than patches of further darkness, you really can’t make anything out save for noises coming from other people and the squalling of the birds outside.
An oily aftertaste, reminiscent of nutmeg or some other spice, is present in your mouths, as well as the flavors of what you’d consumed the night previous. For the moment, at least, things seem relatively quiet.
You’ll have a brief period to get acclimated to the tossing of the ship and converse a little, then I plan on moving things onward; likely, that’ll happen with a post tomorrow. Not too much time for gabbin’ when you could be working instead, after all! Also, not a one of you has either Craft: Alchemy or Knowledge: Nature, so you have no friggin’ clue what that taste is in your mouths. I am surprised by this!
Coming to, Sh'torek reaches back for the throbbing on the back of his skull. Flinching as he rubs the painfully bruised area, he looks around to scope out his surroundings. Noticing he's not the only one present, "Who are you all? Why am I here?" he asks, his voice smooth and fluid sounding.
The only thing that very well made the headache that the 6'6 old pirate had so recently obtained was the fact that whatever drugs they used to put the salty dog down weren't enough to actually do the job. In his stupor, they'd had to knock him out just as well, and they even did a good job of it, he'd admit too quick. Raising up in the dark, he found himself far too disoriented...
He felt around, raking his old hands across the wetness of the wood, and after a short moment, he felt for his gun, strapped to his chest for whatever reason. He felt of it, grabbing it by the base, looking around to find naught but more darkness.
Raising to the sound of other people, he sighed heavy, feeling for his gear. Everything had been taken save for his pistol and clothes... Thankfully, his coat was still on him, along with his hat. Folding it, he placed it in his coat, revealing the black bandanna on his head.
He looked about, scoffing at his inability to adapt to the darkness of the lower decks as he'd been used to be able to do. With the sound of so many people coming to, he opted not to immediately speak.
Noticing the human having difficulty as he gropes around blindly for something on his person, "You cannot see, human. Is there something specific you are looking for? And I speak to you," he looks, noticing his hand is missing, "the one with the hook for a hand."
Dhugal wakes with a start, "What happened? Where am I?"
Slowly he pulls himself to a sitting position and surveys the room with his dark vision. His hand slides to check his boot. They missed the dagger!
Hearing Sh'torek speak, he caustiously addresses him, "Who are you? How did we get here?"
"Ughhhh...."
Without opening his eyes, the barely conscious dwarf moves an arm, running callused fingers through his matted hair. It does not take long for him to find several large bumps on his head; he was rather sure that they hadn't been there before last night. The memory of the thrashing he received the previous night comes rushing back, eliciting another guttural groan from him. He could not remember the last time he had been beaten so badly. It was almost... embarrassing. To make things worse, the mix of flavors in his mouth tasted like utter ass.
Only after processing these details does Boldwin open his eyes, realizing where he is.
"In the brig already, and I didn't even cause a stir this time. That's a first."
Dhugal wakes with a start, "What happened? Where am I?"
Slowly he pulls himself to a sitting position and surveys the room with his dark vision. His hand slides to check his boot. They missed the dagger!
Hearing Sh'torek speak, he caustiously addresses him, "Who are you? How did we get here?"
The Undine turns his attention toward the Half-orc, almost robotically. "I am Sh'torek. And I do not know how we came to be here. I was to go for a swim before I was bludgeoned upon the head several times. Who are you?"
Jagray turns over and rubs his head "By Gozreh will ye all shut it? It be too early for all yer jabberin" Not a stranger to waking aboard a ship after passing out drunk he hadn't even realized where they were. A moment later he realizes Eh.. I'm not suppos' ta be on no ship... Sighing he flips over and opens his eyes to take in the situation messaging his aching neck where he had been passed out funny.
Under his breath he mumbles "Ah great.." He quickly takes inventory of himself, finding all of his possesions gone, except for a small wooden carving of a leaf with a drop falling off the end. He smirks to himself a moment then turns his attention to the others.
"A'right, seems we're in a bit of a pickle. Anyone have any ideas as ta what happened last night?"
"To you? No. But that is due to the fact I do not know you. As for myself? Yes," he simply responds.
"Judgin' by the smell, either we all got drunk off our asses," Boldwin starts, stretching his arms out, "Or someone 'ere went and pissed off the wrong people." Cracking his knuckles, he then looks pointedly at Sh'torek. "Sounds like I'm not the only one who got my skull pounded in, so I'm inclined to assume the latter - it's not like I was that drunk."
"I do not understand what ire I possibly could have caused. I was simply attempting to go for a swim," he explains clearly.
Wood beneath him. Rocking waves. Sea air choking him, gulls like carrion squawking. Not another day. Let it end. Voices like whispers, assaulting his soul, taunting him, ushering him into the everlasting darkness. No more. He squeezes his eyes, trying to will himself into the dull blackness of oblivion. He tries not to breathe, tries not to feel, to hear, to taste... Nutmeg? He relents, returning to the world of the living, fading back from the darkness. He realizes that he isn't soaked to the bone, that he's lying on a hard wooden floor. He hears voices, real voices, not the whispered blasphemies of a thousand devils. Slowly, he opens his eyes.
He sees wood, the inside of a room. He says nothing, letting it sink in. Closing his eyes again, he begins to remember...
Land. Land in the distance, hanging on the horizon.
Darkness.
Later, washing up on shore. Land at last. Standing, walking, falling.
Darkness.
Later still, hunger. Standing, walking. A town. A tavern. Food! Water! A bed.
Darkness.
Waking, more food. A man, a smile, a drink.
Darkness.
Ambrose looks around, slowly, his neck aching. He takes in the hold. Other people, the source of the voices. Where am I? Slowly, he begins to move, pushing himself into a sitting position, leaning against a locker on the wall for support. He rolls his shoulders, wincing, stretches his arms. He shifts slightly, flexing his limp tail, coaxing the feeling back into it. He looks down at his body, as though he still isn't sure if he still has one. He does. It's still wrapped in his red coat, warm and dry for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. He raises his arm, slipping his hand inside, into the hidden pocket. It's still there. He releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Sighing deeply, he begins to live again.
He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is an unintelligible groan. Breathing, he tries again. "Where are we?"
"I do not understand what ire I possibly could have caused. I was simply attempting to go for a swim," he explains clearly.
"Hm. So it could be somethin' else, then," Boldwin says, shrugging his broad shoulders. He pauses for a moment, just now noticing the undine's bizarre, bluish features. "Well, you ain't exactly normal lookin'. Could that be the reason? You're not the only one either... Ah, speak of the devil!" He directs his attention toward the tiefling, the last of the bunch to awake.
"We're in the brig of someone's ship," he explains to Ambrose, as though his words explained anything at all. But what else was there to say?
Dhugal stands up and starts inspecting the footlockers.
"I'm Dhugal. I suggest we work together to find a way out."
Turning to group, "I plan on killing who ever did this to us"
Turning to group, "I plan on killing who ever did this to us"
He shakes his head disapprovingly and stands up slowly, bending his back until it pops "Would'na jump to hasty measures 'till we know what's goin' on. In any case I'm Jagray, humble servant of Lady Gozreh." He scratches his head a moment then realizes his hat is missing and sighs "Well who ever stuck the lot of us down 'ere seems to have stolen all our belongings as well."
Jagray joins Dhugal in searching the various footlockers to see if any are easy to open, hoping some of his gear might be inside.
As he hears the people begin speaking, he doesn't do anything but cradle his head against his gun. He can't see anyone that's talking, to make matters worse. For a moment he licks the ravaged insides of his mouth, taking in the cinnamon aftertaste and spitting in a general direction through what little teeth he had left.
Looking down at his gun, he knows they didn't take it on accident, and that it'd come in handy soon, for sure.
Rubbing his head, he looks about, hearing voices acknowledge him. Taking his sleeve he wipes the drool from his mouth and feels around the air as he stands to his feet. "Hmm..." he groans, clenching his fist. "Looks like there're five o'ye? Me thinks we been press ganged, lads! The name's Edgar McDougal. Seems er'ones been beaten 'er drugged. My case, both! If'n I had to guess..." he says, plopping his peg leg to the ground, and moving his mountain of clothing with him as he did so, "I'd say we ain't on no hoity toity white cap's ship..."
"Well, you ain't exactly normal lookin'. Could that be the reason? You're not the only one either... Ah, speak of the devil!" He directs his attention toward the tiefling, the last of the bunch to awake.
"I do not know. But, it is reasonable. There are outsiders who possess a hatred of my kind," he states apathetically.
Rubbing his head, he looks about, hearing voices acknowledge him. Taking his sleeve he wipes the drool from his mouth and feels around the air as he stands to his feet. "Hmm..." he groans, clenching his fist. "Looks like there're five o'ye? Me thinks we been press ganged, lads! The name's Edgar McDougal. Seems er'ones been beaten 'er drugged. My case, both! If'n I had to guess..." he says, plopping his peg leg to the ground, and moving his mountain of clothing with him as he did so, "I'd say we ain't on no hoity toity white cap's ship..."
"Six. Including yourself. And I do not understand. What is 'Press ganged'?"
Jagray answers for the Edgar "Generally when ya got a group o' unsavory types they hire new members o' their crew through a bit o' a forced process." He nods to Edgar "Yer likely right on tha' account Edgar. At leas' it makes the most sense for what were all doin' here."
"Press ganged?" Boldwin mutters with disappointment, rubbing his forehead, as though to smooth out the swelling. Now that he thought about it, it would certainly explain why he got attacked out of the blue so suddenly. Dangerous as the Shackles were, his past assailants usually had the common courtesy to announce themselves before attacking. How else could they try to put him in his place?
"So some cheap bastard's forcin' us into service instead of jus' hirin' us on. Didn't want to risk takin' no for an answer, I reckon."
Confused at such a predicament, "If that is the case: what happens to us next? Are we to fight for our freedom?"
Jagray lets out a booming laugh "What ye plan on fightin' with? Yer good looks?" He shakes his head "Na, I wouldna recommend tha'. Mayhaps we'll have a chance ta do somethin' 'bout our situation at some point, but I'd advise patience. Jus' think, if they're willin' ta do this jus' ta hire us how do ya think they'll react if you start a fight?"
Edgard looks at the voice for a moment, and he releases a quick, short laugh. Just shortly after he proceeds to roar with laughter at the question. "Haha! You, boy! I feel bad fer ye' if ya haven'ta ask that question! We're on a pirate ship! Figure we're the new mates..." he says, somewhat grinding his teeth.
Pirates. Out of the pan, into the fire.
"Pressed is better than enslaved, blurry as that particular line might seem at the moment." You finally have your wits about you again, Jeggare. Don't go losing your head just yet.
Jagray lets out a booming laugh "What ye plan on fightin' with? Yer good looks?" He shakes his head "Na, I wouldna recommend tha'. Mayhaps we'll have a chance ta do somethin' 'bout our situation at some point, but I'd advise patience. Jus' think, if they're willin' ta do this jus' ta hire us how do ya think they'll react if you start a fight?"
"Patience. Very well. I shall do as advised. It is an advice given to me some time ago. From the reaction I have garnered it sounds as if it is going to be needed."
If nothing comes of checking the lockers Jagrey will move about the room trying to find a door or stairs or some method of leaving the room.
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For everyone except Edgar, it was plainly apparent that there was what seemed like a staircase in the foreportion of the ship, with a door set in the left-hand side. There were some barrels to the port side of the wall surrounding the staircase, while the starboard side had a small gap that led to more room at the fore of that floor of the ship. When Jagray attempted to pull on its handle, he found that it was barred shut from the outside, fins on the exterior of the door in place to keep as much light as possible from intruding on the interior.
The sounds of muffled conversation and footsteps growing louder soon became apparent, first to Jagray who was closest, then the others, and the noise of the wooden bolt sliding back presaged the door opening outward. A human male with swarthy skin and braided, long black hair and beard that seemed to merge together, wearing a long waxed coat with multiple pockets over a bare chest and a pair of brown breeches steps into the dim light, holding a well-oiled bullwhip in both hands, folding it and giving it a crack; behind him, a fat, pallid human male with a shorn head in a ratty pair of pantaloons and equally unkempt shirt that was formerly white carries a lantern in his left hand, holding it over the whip-carrying man's shoulder, and a worn leather blackjack in his right.
As the males' eyes adjusted to the new-found light, the whip-carrying man smiled, revealing glints of yellow from teeth both capped in gold and somewhat rotten, and in a reedy holler, bellowed, "Finally roused yerselves, eh? Best t'get movin' 'n on deck, ye filthy lubbers. Cap'n Harrigan wants ye t'get to work, 'nd ye'd best make haste or else, Fishguts'll be skinnin' the lot of ye 'nd servin' ye as stew come sundown! Up with ye, c'mon!" Several other pairs of legs were visible in the stairwell, further behind the man doing the talking and the piggish human behind him.
Flexing his muscles, Dhugal walks up to the man, pointing his finger in his face,"Don't you know who I am? What, you don't recognize me? You've made a horrible mistake putting me in the brig. Captain Harrigan is going to flay you when he finds out what you've done. I ought to gut you right now in front of your scurvy crew. Captain Harrigan and I go way back! Take me to him right now and I'll ask him to show you some mercy."
Bluff:
Intimidate:
Jagray steps aside thinking they might get out of this yet, since Dhugal apparently knows the Captain.
Ambrose stands, stretching some more. He makes no move toward the stairwell, instead watching to see how the confrontation plays out.
"What a heap o' whale shit..." Boldwin mutters to himself, stirring from his seated position. Only then does he realize that his pockets aren't empty. Oho, what do I got here?
When the light rips through the room, Edgar guards his face as the blur practically blinds him. As the light adjusts over the voices, he looks, slowly, connecting the sounds to who he believed spoke. "Damn light!" he says, recoiling.
When the local thugs roll in, he sums up their worth almost immediately, scoffing at the boy with the whip. Patting his chest, he feels of the gun, ready to be drawn and fired in no time at all...
Edgar smiles at the lie. He wasn't a betting man, but he knew better, and lying on a pirate ship was definitely something that happened rather frequently... but including a captain in something so petty was deathly. No skin off his back, however.
Looking a bit surprised at Dhugal's revelation, Sh'torek mentally shrugs it off as he closes his eyes and moves within his mind palace...
Standing upon the shore of his community, Sh'torek looks around, seeing his mother instantly arrive to greet him. she starts. she finishes, smiling warmly at him as... he returns from his reverie. Taking a deep, yet, silent breath, he awaits to see what transpires between the Half-orc and the whip-carrying man.
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The whip drooped partly to the floor as the man let go with one hand, the tip dangling at his feet while he held the other end mid-way up its length. His eyebrows all but disappeared into his bangs as his jaw went slack, and the tone of his voice became obsequious as he took a step back from the angry half-orc. "Now, now," he said, holding his other hand up in a conciliatory fashion, "no need t'be hasty, there. Cap'n Harrigan's up on the top deck, if'n ye want t'see him. I'll just move outta yer way here...". Stepping aside, he motioned for the others on the steps to part and allow the half-orc through. "If'n ye don't mind, I've got t'round up the rest of this lot so Mr. Plugg can break 'em in. Jus' follow the staircase up 'n head up the next set to the aft. I'm sure ye'll be able t'find the Cap'n from there."
Once the half-orc had passed, the man's mein changed dramatically, and his coat opened a little to reveal a vicious handaxe as he looked at the others. "Get movin'!" he growled, clearly not in a mood for any more discussion on the matter.
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There were squealing sounds at the top of the set of steps leading up to midship, and they ended in the huge middle hold of the ship. Stacks of boxes of provisions, crates of trade goods, and barrels surrounded a pen with fourteen squealing, live pigs. Oddly, a burly, bald, and scarred human whose skin showed signs of having been tarred and feathered was lashed to the foremast on this level, making loud moaning noises punctuated by giggles and slurred speech.
Among the others who'd parted to allow Black Dhugal through were a pinch-faced, skinny halfling in oversized pants and tunic that'd both been patched numerous times, a foppish-looking gnome with a ridiculous purple hat, a red-headed human woman whose eyes were rimmed in deep purple bruising and who squinted maliciously at just about everyone, a buck-toothed and fly-away haired blonde human woman whose face was spattered with freckles and whose clothes were a bit too tight, even for her lanky frame, and a massive Rahadoumi with matted hair who glowered sourly, all armed with blackjacks similar to the shorn-headed man who'd been behind the whip-bearer.
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The whip-bearing man and the others kept Dhugal in their sights as they ferried the others up another level and to the main deck. A massive Garundi man, obviously the captain, with a shorn head, a long beard bound in ornate gold rings, and an eyepatch with a huge sapphire in its middle stood, talking to a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and with a well-used cat-o'-nine-tails on his hips. Other crew members were milling about, either in the rigging or on the deck, and three other apparently new crew were looking nervously around them: a small, muscular halfling woman with a very unhappy look on her face, a young-but-tough Varisian man wearing a long bandanna, a black vest over a white and open shirt, and a pair of dark breeches, and a feisty-looking red-headed human woman wearing a tricorne hat, a blouse with a ruffled neckline, and a crimson pair of pantaloons with dark boots, a sword hanging at her hip as she smirked, seemingly unconcerned with her surroundings.
Holding his hand up to the others as he led them above-decks, the man with the whip halted with the others and said, "Let's let the Cap'n's old chum have a wee bit of a talk with 'm afore we get this all started, shall we?" Over the sides of the ship, it was easy to see that there wasn't land in sight anywhere to be found, save for perhaps a very blurry, faint brown line at the aft portion of the ship, many nautical miles in the distance.
"Well I'll be. That sonofab@$&&," Boldwin mutters, raising a bloodied brow as Dhugal moves out ahead of them. The dwarf's first impulse was to punch the man that was threatening them in the nose, but his fellow kidnappees' advice rang true - there was not much point to picking a fight at this point. He simply shrugs, and complies with the man's directions.
Out on deck, he looks to the faint vestige of land in the distance, acknowledging it with a grunt. Well, that scratches the easy way out...
Jagray follows without a fuss taking in the scenes. He rubs his eyes a bit as the sunlight hits and his eyes adjust. He takes in a deep breath as the sea air washes over him and smirks to himself as the make their way onto the deck. S'pouse thar could be wors' places ta be, at least I'm at sea for this here mess.
He wipes the smirk from his face remembering the situation. On deck he looks around to try and get a bearing and gather any insight as to where they might be.
Sh'torek follows the others up and out onto the deck, remaining silent, curious as to what may transpire between Dhugal and the captain.
Ambrose wordlessly follows the others up the stairs. Once above-decks, he glances around, taking stock of the ship and crew. He counts the sails and appraises the size of the ship, mentally evaluating how sea-worthy she is and how many hands she'd need. His tail flits about, unconsciously testing the wind speed and direction.
Walking up the stairs was troublesome as usual, considering his peg leg, but Edgard couldn't help but laugh the entire time, He heaved and bellowed so hard that his lungs hurt, and he found himself tasting cigars, which didn't help his urge for them. Coughing and weezing as he lumbered up the stair, he coughed hard for a moment, laughing the entire time.
Wiping his face one last time, finally removing himself of the cinnamon flavor in his teeth, he licked his lips. A wry, sickening smile crossed his face as he walked up. Elbowing Boldwin, he had a wild look in his eye as they landed upon the deck finally. "Heheh! This is gonna be good. Watch'n learn! New blood ain't got no say, y'hear?" he said.
Shoving Boldwin out of the way after saying that, he passed by, stopping just short of the man with the whip on his shoulder and looking out toward the massive Garundi. "Don't mind me! I get the business, boys. " he gargled. For a moment, he just stood there, looking crazed at the ship. Suddenly he took a deep breath and breathed in through his nose. "I missed this salty spray, lads! Press ganged'r not, this is where it starts, idn't it?" he says, waving his hook hand about as he speaks.
Pointing to Dhugal he smiles drearily; "Fer yer sake, boy, you bettah hope you ain't lyin, eh? If'n ya are, yer gonna be like this bastard!" he yelled, pointing at the man that had been tarred and feathered. Turning as he said that, he pushed the man with the whip. "What'cha wait'n fer ya dog? What needs done on this beauty of a ship?" he asks, with his arms outstretched.
The man was most certainly mad...
"'is brains mus' be addled," Boldwin remarks aloud, his voice filled with equal parts irritation and amazement. Was this human crazy or something? As much as he detested being manhandled outside of a brawl, he was not about to toss a punch while surrounded by pirates. He wasn't that stupid. For time being, he was content with waiting and seeing whether Dhugal and Edgard would get the crap beaten out of them.
Dhugal winks at the halfling, gnome, and other crew members as he passes by, "Stick with Dhugal chaps, and you'll live longer."
Dhugal confidently strolls onto the ship deck, seeking out the man he perceives to be the captain. As he walks, he rolls up his sleeves, exposing the extensive tattoos of Varisian criminal insignia that adorn his muscled green arms.
He nonchalantly joins the group around the Captain and inserts himself into the conversation. "Greetings Captain Harrigan, I am Black Dhugal, smuggler operative of the Cerulean Society. I come as an emissary from my guild. I am here to offer you the riches of the Varisian shipping lanes! We offer an alliance with the Cerulean Society! As a show of good faith, the guild offers my services to you in whatever capacity you require. I'm sure you will find my skills with a falchion to be invaluable during your next raid!"
Before the captain can answer, Dhugal quickly turns and points to the whip bearing man, "As my first service, I tell you that this man is incompetent! I am greatly concerned about your ship's security. He allowed me to walk free without challenge. I offer to take his place as the ship enforcer!"
Bluff:
At the mention of the Cerulean Society, Ambrose brings his full attention to the half-orc. A mixture of emotions bubbles inside of him as the wheels turn in his head, processing the information. If Dhugal really was a member of the Society, as he claimed, he may have a way to get off this ship and back home to Korvosa. But if the Cerulean Society was partnering with pirates in the Shackles, they may have been responsible for the attack on the Imp's Purse and thus his own current predicament. In any case, Ambrose would have to keep a close eye on the half-orc.
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The Captain's eyes narrowed as he turned and looked at the whip-bearing man for a moment, then stepped forwards, moving within arm's reach of the half-orc and looked up into his rough features. Even as the Captain appeared to be sizing Black Dhugal up, the man with the whip jammed the butt of it backwards and into Edgard's stomach, growling, "Wait jus' a bloody moment." Captain Harrigan smiled, revealing relatively good teeth for a pirate, and his voice dropped an octave, sounding quiet and tight. "What a generous offer, laddie! Only problem is, I already have me some allies, more powerful than your guild, and as for your services, you'll volunteer them up to me anyhow, or you'll be keelhauled. Now get back there with the others, and don't ever speak to me again. If you do, you'll regret it."
Turning to the balding man, the Captain added, "Mr. Plugg, I see this swab was more than willing to volunteer for bilge duty today, so when the Bloody Hour comes, he'll only take three lashes. I'm certain Master Scourge'll oblige him."
There was a savage, victorious grin on the face of Master Scourge as he tucked his whip beneath his arm and grabbed the blackjack from the hands of the foppish gnome, motioning for the gaudily-dressed pirate to join the other three who'd been waiting on deck for orders. While he did so, the Captain moved away from Dhugal and looked at the other new recruits. Raising his voice some, he said, “Now that's finished, I'm glad you could join us at last! 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, one that the half-orc fool already broke— don’t speak to me if you like your hide. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we’ll all get along fine.
Pausing for a moment, he then continued. "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 sausages out of ’em.” Not having anything else to say, the Captain turned and walked away from the group, heading to his quarters.
The balding man looked quite pleased, and pointed to the main mast, rising some sixty feet up into the air, as he moved towards the others. Pointing next at Dhugal, then the rest, he said, "I want e'ryone but this one to start climbin', and don't stop until one of you've reached th' crow's nest." Motioning to the four without blackjacks and the others carrying them, he said, "You lot, make sure they don't break 'er necks if they fall, then get to work once they've finished!"
Boldwin shakes his head as Dhugal rejoins them, unsurprised with how things turned out. Have to 'and it to 'im though... he's gotta 'ave some mighty big stones to try n' pull off that mess. Now well aware that the captain meant business, the dwarf straightens himself out, uninterested in getting a whipping.
He looks up at the crow's nest with a grimace - heights were not exactly his forte.
"Shit!" he growls, tripping on his own feet before he can even start climbing.
As Dhugal gets promised 3 lashes and bilge work, Edgard grins widely, giving him a swift pat on the back with his hook hand as they stand beneath the mast. "Boys! Get Su'im through ye' heads! Do it quick. In a life of piracy, and ye'r pirates now, ye gots ta not do any'ting stupid!" he says, shoving dhu'gal as hard as he can possibly manage.
Standing over the man as he stumbles, he smiles wide again. "If'n yer willin' to do what ye just did, least be havin' the smarts to pick yer timin ya land lubber!"
With that, to everyone's miraculous surprise, Edgard drives his hook hand deep into the mast and shimmies up the pole faster than Boldwin, with half the number of real limbs.
Jagray has a hard time of it, not even able to get a good hold at first. He then makes it up a ways only to almost fall a couple of times before eventually making it up to the top. Once up he wipes his brow of sweat and lets out a deep breath. Ain't doin' that again if I have any say...
As Dhugal's punishment is announced, It appears our chances of survival will be difficult, he thinks to himself as he moves toward the main mast, taking a deep breath and then looking up toward the crow's nest just before starting his climb.
As the man gives the command to climb, Ambrose looks at the rigging, following it all the way up to the crow's nest. As he does, his mind flashes back to the last time he was in ship's rigging.
His feet frozen in fear, his reverie only breaks as the hook-handed peg-legged man reaches the top, somehow ahead of everybody else. Hoping to cover his impropriety, Ambrose tries to cover it up. "A damn fine rigger he'll make. The rest of us never had a chance."
Dhugal fumes and glares at Scourge. "Well, it looks like we have a date tonight. Don't think you've won this."
As Edgard pushes him, he turns and snarls, "Shove me again peg leg and I'll cut off your good leg!"