The interior of the tavern is bright and cheerful, although there aren't many patrons here at the moment. Still, there's plenty of food, games of chance to be played, and a bartender who can supposedly brew any concoction you can imagine. He's an bespectacled, average-looking Human of indeterminate age with a friendly grin. Not particularly talkative, though, as he's continuously kept busy making drinks.
In the corner near the fireplace, a woman with blood red skin reclines at a table, chair tilted back to lean up against the wall. She isn't wearing much; a black bustier and matching shorts, which have been custom made to allow her long tail through (without having to hang it over a waistband). She smiles unnervingly at people as they pass, assessing each one through pitch black eyes that reflect like mirrors, and nods her horned head at some.
Tamesis orders another beer from the bar runner as he passes by, and looks to the the door as it opens again. She waits, patiently, for her companion on the trip here. Her bodyguard. Well, former bodyguard, now. Their contract was technically over, though the last part of her payment still remains. After tonight, the search begins for a ship and a crew. One for her, one for her companion. Tonight, though, is for relaxing, and celebrating safe arrival!
And she had said she would buy her bodyguard a drink when they arrived. So, there's that.
Shore Leave! What Fun, Excitement and joy. Some sailors went straight for their ladies of choice, others hit the bar immediately, and still others sought out a good gamble. Anything to get away from the monotony of the sea. Likitt had originally been apart of a crew of a dozen or so bar-hoppers who had in the wash of chaos and alcohol had all gone their separate ways and left the Grippli alone with his mug of booze that he nurtured like a newborn babe and in his state of mind was likely more important than any child.
What respect he got, getting ditched by his fellows, when he was the one that spotted the enemy vessel before it began to strike, quick enough so they could escape. What rewards does such keenness of eye and bravery receive? Solitude, or so it seemed. Spinning on the stool, the diminutive sailor watched the room with a keen interest and in fact, it seemed sort of dull. A few employees scampering about fetching drinks and food, a passed-out buccaneer, and an odd red woman sitting near the fireplace, keeping her eyes close to the door. While Likitt could not consider anyone odd for their pigmentation, possessing a flashy orange and blue hue himself, there was something mildly threatening about the lady. Not to mention occasionally four of her would just swirl around the area she was sitting...
Ooog... Maybe it was a bad idea to drink so much...
In a private corner of the tavern sits a paradoxically colorful and pale woman with her legs kicked up on a wooden chair, rice paper in hand, sketching something with a piece of charcoal. Intricate tattoos decorate a good portion of her exposed skin, including a large and elaborate tattoo of waves and whirlpools in many different colors on her right thigh. Her clothing is just as colorful as her tattoos, occupying the full range of colors. A scarf rests around her neck, secured snug, and is possibly the most elaborate piece of her ensemble, and she has blue and orange ribbons tied around her left bicep. Expressive violet eyes occasionally dart up to watch people as they arrive from outside, looking for any interesting new faces.
Airy's definition of interesting may be a bit different from other people's, given her heritage and current residence in a pirate port, but there's a drunk frog in attendance tonight, along with a woman with skin as red as hers is white. She had met very few of the woman's kind in her travels, mostly around Chelaxian lands, and the frog is something new entirely. I wonder if it has a long tongue, like other frogs? she muses.
The two in question occupy much of the attention she has to spare people watching, especially the frog's antics (and the occasional snuck glance at the tiefling's tail), but most of her attention is taken up by the papers in her hand, some of which rustle very faintly in an almost imperceptible breeze - which would go unfelt by anyone not within caressing distance.
As the night drags on a bit, Tamesis starts to grow bored. And so, when a rowdy group of gamblers starts getting a little loud, she rocks her chair back forward and wanders over to them.
"What's the game?"
"What the...uh...Craps."
Tamesis throws down a few silver for the bet, watching as the dice come up 6...then 3...then 9...and finally 7. She grimaces as her coins are lost, but repeats the bet for the next roller. 11! Well, that's breaking even. She starts getting into it with the rest of the gamblers, cheering and bemoaning losses, and generally making a fair amount of noise.
A private night of lonesome drinking is not the life for a young Grippli with ambitions! How dare he simply sit and spin, staring at his fellow patrons in a state of semi-stupor? That simply will not do. Prince Likitt stirs himself out of depression and downs the rest of his glass, shivering as the pure uncut rum ran roughshod through his gullet, filling him with warm comfort throughout his cold-blooded body.
Hopping off the barstool with a faint 'oof', the Prince wanders his way over, keeping a fair balance despite the drink. After all, it wasn't anything worse than the rolling deck in a storm. In time, he makes his way past a colorfully pale woman that had almost as many shades as the finest ladies in his village. Perhaps it was because the scarf looked a bit like a ceremonial dancing garb or maybe it was a sick perversion, but as he walked, Likitt stared a little too long at Airy, half-lidded eyes reddened with a rum-soaked stare before scampering his way over to the table.
He must have looked quite a sight, sauntering up to the coven of gamblers with the bravado of the young and the foolish, wavering slightly on one foot, but eventually crouching with an interested gaze. Eventually, he lets out a basso rumble, a voice strangely deep for his size, "I'm in for next round, five silver on the fellow with half a nose. I can feel his plight..." Rubbing a webbed finger over his own non-protruding nostrils.
The game was on! With only a bit of a sour grimace, the half-nosed buccaneer began his roll, Likkit's eyes glistening as the dice fell... 6... 3.... 6! With a resounding cheer from those smart enough to bet, the coins went out, and more was added, eager to run the man's luck.... 4... 6...5... Getting close. 7! Argh! The pain of loss was a visceral one, especially in the rush of the crowd. "Easy come... easy go, or so I've been told. By the way, has anyone seen these markings anywhere in their travels? I have an interest in them." With that, the Prince opens up a watertight container, pulling out a scroll with a detailed rubbing with a strange language, an odd degeneration of the Grippli Script he had found once, years before. While many of the brigands looked, Likitt kept the closest eye on the red woman, as she seemed... familiar with oddities.
Tamesis continues on with the bets being cast. "Pass!" She cheers along with the rest as the half-nose man comes up a winner, and ignores the groans of the ones who bet against. The next round comes, "No pass!" Again, she cheers! Only two rolls, but that guy paid out twice for her!
The scramble between rollers begins, and the frogman holds up a scroll with some weird scribbling on it. She shakes her head, "Sorry, frogman. Can't help you."
The next fellow takes up the dice, a man with a vicious scar running down behind an eyepatch, a hook for a hand, and a peg leg. One of the others pats him on the back, "Come on, Lucky! Let's see what you've got!"
Tamesis shrugs and lays down her coin, "No pass!"
As the gambling gets rowdier, Airy's party senses begin to tingle. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Either way, she has been sitting there doodling and hovering a bottle of booze by her lips for a while now, and her legs could use a bit of a stretch. Who knows? Maybe this time she'll be able to hold a conversation that doesn't end disastrously. Those are rare ones, ones that she usually has to pay for. So she rises from her seat to join the group of obvious misfits, carefully depositing her tattoo art in a fine backpack, and prestidigitates her bourbon to float along with her. A great sorceress shouldn't handle her own booze!
"Room for one more?" she asks. She's not really familiar with this game, but if these people can grasp the concept, she should be able to figure it out in short enough order.
The door bursts open, and a man lumbers in before it rebounds shut. A compact yet hulking figure, with a spiked shield strapped to his back, helmet clamped under one arm, and a smoked turkey leg in each scarred, corded fist, Bolvak spots Tamesis and heads straight for her table. He shuffles through the crowd of gamblers, then hooks his foot into an empty stool's legs and drags it into place to seat himself. Eyes wandering between the patrons, the dice, and his boss, he keeps a watch for trouble and lays into the drumstick in his right hand.
"Ha HA!" Tamesis cries out as 'Lucky' craps out on his first roll. She grabs her coin just in time to see Bolvak smash his way through the door. She grins at him and raises a hand to the bartender, "Barkeep! One for my grizzled friend there! Aw hell. A ROUND FOR THE HOUSE!"
A cheer goes up from the establishment as Tamesis spends her winnings on alcohol for everyone.
Tamesis indicates her open spot to Airy as she goes to pay for the drinks before plopping down next to Bolvak, "Glad you could make it! Man do I love this town already!"
As more patrons poured in, the gambling table became more and more crowded and the ever-present din. Likitt kept himself composed and bet more patiently, more interested in keeping an eye on the new arrivals. The fellow with the turkey legs seemed unique, possibly because of how much he was eating. That Turkey Leg did look awfully good... The urge to snap his tongue at the spare ran through his brain, but in a case of utmost control, he kept his cool.
Drinks were passed about and the haze of inebriation became something of a pea soup fog. Grinning from ear to nonexistent ear, Likitt began to chum it up with the Colorful Sylph. "I couldn't help but see that you've been drawing something. Are you an artist? Maybe you're making a treasure map to dupe some poor pirate fool. Ha! Th'names Likitt, Prince Likitt so I've been called." Wavering back and forth on his seat, he takes an inane pleasure in watching the dice roll about.
As Tamesis approaches, Bolvak tears the last of the meat off of his first turkey leg. He nods at the tiefling and swallows. "Glad I came. Looks like good timing."
A passing server plunks down a tray laden with mugs of grog for all in arm's reach. Bolvak whips his right arm in one smooth motion, over his shoulder to impale the turkey bone on his shield with a crunch and then back down to snatch up a mug. He gulps down half in one go and licks his lips, catching a sliver of turkey stuck in his beard along the way. "Strange burg, but not bad." He holds up the remaining drumstick before his face. "Can you believe this came from fowl? Damn shame they don't have eggs to this scale here, too, but still. Not bad." Crisp skin crackles as he continues eating, pausing now and then to look at the bootlace-thick tendons snapped and dangling from the bone. "Wonder if they've got pork knuckle."
Bolvak leans back and swigs more grog, surveying the tavern. "Crowd's not rough as it might be, but some colourful. Literally. Good thing you've got a pedigree to help stand out. And a free hand with the drinks. Speaking of," he says, wiggling the now-empty mug at Tamesis with a half-grin, "does this count as the drink you said you buy me if it's actually the round you bought the crowd?"
The tiefling grimaces as the bone is stuck to the shield, "That's gross."
She shakes her head as Bolvak continues eating, wondering at the lack of table manners. Still, what he lacks in social grace and cognitive ability, he makes up for in raw combat efficiency. A good soldier.
Tamesis laughs at the comment about her skin color. She's rather proud of it, and the heritage it represents, after all. When Bolvak tries to wrangle another drink out of her, though, she rolls her eye. The effect, of course, is lost, seeing as her eyes are mirrored black orbs with no discernible features. She waves for a bar runner all the same, though, "Fine, fine. Moocher. Another round for my friend and I, please."
"I wanna know what the marrow tastes like, thing's actually got bones big enough to find out, but I doubt it'll be good as having the last drumstick while it's warm."
His mouth splits into a full, toothy smile at Tamesis. She sasses the logic even he knows is spurious, then buys him the drink anyway - definitely a natural leader. "Not that you didn't pay me well enough for the guard, but figured I'd see how much you appreciated the entertainment I threw in. Should've charged up front for that - with how hard they were laughin', the whole caravan back in Cheliax ought've paid to see me drag that goblin up the poplar and chuck it off the top." The hauberk hanging off his chest, remarkably well-polished given its wearer, jingles as Bolvak chuckles at the memory. "Anyway, I'll stick around for you 'til morning, seeing as we now constitute 'your friend and you'. Froggie over there wasn't acting strange, was... he?"
Tamesis shakes her head in amusement, chuckling along with him, "He's a frog that walks on two legs and talks. Deeper voice than I'd have thought, too. He's definitely 'strange,' but I don't think he's dangerous. Drunk, but not dangerous."
She looks back over to the gambling group, as it starts to split into multiple tables, a different games start up. She watches the movements of the tattooed girl and the grippli, which games they gravitate to. Grinning, she turns to Bolvak and indicates a barrel that's been set up for arm wrestling, [b]"There's a game for you, Bolvak. Break some arms, earn some gold. Nice and simple. I'm gonna go try my hand at Liar's Dice."
As more patrons poured in, the gambling table became more and more crowded and the ever-present din. Likitt kept himself composed and bet more patiently, more interested in keeping an eye on the new arrivals. The fellow with the turkey legs seemed unique, possibly because of how much he was eating. That Turkey Leg did look awfully good... The urge to snap his tongue at the spare ran through his brain, but in a case of utmost control, he kept his cool.
Drinks were passed about and the haze of inebriation became something of a pea soup fog. Grinning from ear to nonexistent ear, Likitt began to chum it up with the Colorful Sylph. "I couldn't help but see that you've been drawing something. Are you an artist? Maybe you're making a treasure map to dupe some poor pirate fool. Ha! Th'names Likitt, Prince Likitt so I've been called." Wavering back and forth on his seat, he takes an inane pleasure in watching the dice roll about.
"Yes! A tattoo artist, to be precise. And a cook, but tattoos are my passion. I did this one..." Airy turns over her left arm and shows Likitt a tattoo depicting a black trident with golden prongs wreathed in blue-white lightning over a backdrop of lavender and turquoise surf. "I've only done the one, since I have to use my inks for customers, but it makes a good example."
"I'm Airy," she says, arm returning to her side, "not a prince last I checked. Your name's Lick It? That's a strange one. Were your parents being literal? Do you have parents? I don't think I've met anyone of your kind before. I think I would have remembered. What are you a prince of?" Her eyes narrow, recalling a story her mother once told her about a frog that turns in to a prince when a princess kisses it. "Did you get that from the fairy tale about the princess that kissed the frog?
She scoots her chair on over near Likitt, eager to hear all of the answers.
Although his attention was mainly focused on Airy, the Grippli noticed that the other two compatriots; the Swingy-Tail Female and the Turkey Leg Male mentioned him. Or rather the amphibian that resembled him. Rolling his massive orbs towards the two, he quirks his head just a tad before snapping back to his conversation partner. "Tattooing? I have seen the Tall Folk cover their skin with colors. I figured it to be mere jealousy." With a shrug he stretches out a long and spindly arm, mildly damp and shockingly Orange and Blue. "It is a good spear, but I would not like to travel those seas. The spirits in that scene seem furious."
Bowing as elegantly as one can while seated on a barrel, the Grippli continues. "Airy, it is indeed a pleasure and I am indeed named Li-kitt, the first part is a bit short, but others have mentioned the similarities to a tongue, but that's ridiculous. A tongue is for grabbing... Witness." Without a moment to prepare, Likitt opens his mouth and from the front whips out a thin dart of a tongue, almost as blue as he is as it sticks to a cooked cornish hen, whipping back in a flash into his awaiting mouth. With a crunch of his tiny pointed teeth, Likitt just swallows the thing. "Tall Ones can lick, Grippli stick, that is the difference."
After a few moments of satisfied chewing, crunching of bones, and picking out of undesirable gristle, he remembers in his self-satisfaction, he was being asked questions, "Oh, apologies. Yes, in a sense, I am a leader of my kind and since Tall People lead through Kings and Magistrates, I am considered a Prince of the Grippli, but we are still a small kingdom, some miles from here. Fine place... Damp... Less open seas, but there's a charm to it. Can't say I've heard the tale, but have you heard the legend of a fool girl who kept kissing Grippli and ended up with a house full of seven of them?."
"Of course all these questions are not fair, I've told half my life and yet I only know your name and your passion, plenty enough for some, but I am thorough. Where does that scarf come from? It reminds me of the pigments of some lovely sisters back in my home, but I doubt it is just to keep the surf away."
A bright blue shirtless man with kissable abs enters the tavern, adding to the already colourful patronage. He looks cheerful, but tired. He recognizes Airy in an expression of intense interrogation she calls 'practicing polite conversation'. Velvet chuckles and hopes the frog-person is up for it. He wonders how well the frog-person can swim, if he'd be up for a race. This is the first time Velvet has seen this type so close, but after all the wide variety of customers at the Goldfish Companion House, his feelings are more of mild interest than anything else.
But Velvet is just a bit too tired from a day spent with a new trainee, so he settles at the bar to get a drink first. On the way he winks at a rather attractive woman with blood red skin, however he is unsure if she sees him due to her pupiless eyes.
He takes a seat and recognizes the bartender as the one that's always here. Supposedly he can concoct any drink imaginable, so Velvet orders the most ridiculous drink he can think of: Potato Schnapps with a twist of farmed gold.
@Velvet: Without batting an eye, the barkeep takes your payment and feeds it to a rat that picked a bad time to come out from hiding. A minute later, he neatly impales the unfortunate rodent with a dagger, cuts it open, and retrieves the gold piece. Cutting a slice out of the metal, he slides the wedge atop a glass and pulls a green bottle out from behind the bar. Just like that, your order is complete.
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Over at the gambling tables, Lucky seems to have gotten himself into trouble. Seems he's begun to amass a sizable winning streak at Liar's Dice, and accusations of cheating are starting to pop up.
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A Finely-dressed balding man throws open the tavern door and announces loudly, "The Wormwood's back in town! Barkeep! A round of your finest for everyone!" The bartender promptly pulls out an exquisite walnut cask and begins distributing mugs of a fine citrus-tasting rum.
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A pair of inebriated patrons begin to clumsily dance around the tavern floor and come very close to stepping on Likitt.
After winning a nice sum on Liar's Dice, of course, Lucky has to come over and start taking it all away from Tamesis. The tiefling is among those about to start beating the bastard senseless when the chrome-dome wanders in. Of course, not one to turn down the establishment's "finest," she abandons the vendetta and swiftly grabs a glass of the rum.
"Tasty."
Seeing the dancing begin, Tamesis drops her empty glass on a table and joins in, showing off her natural grace, if a lack of practiced skill...
"My mother made it." Airy untucks the end of her kapenia to show it to Likitt. "It holds my entire family history, as far back as my line can remember. I'll knit some for my children one day, if I have any. Might pay Velvet for that, too." She leans toward Likitt, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I highly recommend you pay him for a date, too, he's the best listener. He's so intent on the words it's almost like he's zoned out!"
Sitting upright once again, she continues as if there was no tangent in the conversation. Her fingers dance along the strands of the kapenia. "It's called a kapenia. It even has my father on it, here," she taps a silvery thread, "Never met him though."
She gets distracted when she notices Velvet at the bar, and more so when the dancing begins in earnest. She brings her bourbon closer to her to protect it from all the dangers of the dance floor, and notes that the bourbon tastes suspiciously like citrus rum, but seems otherwise unbothered by the festivities.
"So you're a Grippli? Do they call you that because your tongue has a grip? And you have lovely sisters?"
With a lazy salute to Tamesis, Bolvak gulps the last of his grog and heads to the arm-wrestling barrel to finance his pork knuckle dinner. He holds his seat handily against a couple humans and a dwarf. When the fourth challenger - a porter with more hair on his bull-neck than head - drives his hand back out of deadlock, he blasts the man with a belch two parts grog, two parts turkey and immediately crushes his surprised foe. It takes a couple shared drinks to smooth over accusations of literal and figurative foul play, the cost of which Bolvak recoups in the next two matches.
The stir at the dice table cuts off Bolvak's streak, and he moseys over to Tamesis. Figures: nearly every 'Lucky' he's known turned out to be lucky they got away with cheating. Except Lucky the idiot corporal back at Ramgate, who wasn't bragging about his dice. A prick in every sense of the word, that one.
More surprising is the arrival of that garish human, who has the bartender pouring out a barrel of fine liquor for the whole crowd with not 10 words. A sip confirms it is indeed the good stuff, but this only deepens Bolvak's suspicions. Strangers bearing gifts never sat well with him.
Chaos began to ramp up at the tables and while Likitt attempted to pay attention, his cautious nature had him glancing this way and that, spying the various events that went on and most particularly the corsair sort of fellow in a purple longcoat yet without a shirt. How in the blazes did that make any sense? Still, he was buying drinks and the small cup of rum did well to assuage any fashion crimes.
Airy's Kapenia certainly looked like a rippling rainbow of colors, but upon closer examination, there was keen detail in the stitching Sure, some more elegant than others, but there was no denying that the clothing was a labor of love. However, upon mentioning Velvet and his active listening prowess, Likitt couldn't help but reply, "Wait, the Tall Blue over there with the green drink? The one you've been catching glances at? Is it a habit for Tall folk to show off their midsection, or have I happened across the wrong bar?"
Upon downing the rum, Likitt felt well and truly sauced, so when the dancing couple stomped their way towards his barrel, the Grippli had to totter back, knocking himself off balance and onto the crushing pirate boots of doom. Ducking and diving out of the way of the feet, he charged through the crowd, maneuvering underfoot and seven feet up a wall, clambering onto the stuffed head of a shark and hanging on for his dear life. "How dare you rat bastards, gallivanting around with your boozed up floozies thinking you can knock me around? Well you've another thing coming! I'll..."
Glancing down and feeling his gorge rise, the Grippli realized that he was not in the physical state to get down and cheerfully gestured to Airy, or frankly anyone not willing to stab him, to keep him from plummeting into the Gauntlet of Boots, "Little help would be appreciated."
Velvet nods an impressed nod at his drink,
"One of these days barkeep, I'll stump you," he muses more to himself than anyone else. The barkeep is already off pouring citrus rum into every cup.
Velvet downs his glass of ridiculous potato flavoured Schnapps, just in time to immediately consume the mug of rum efficiently served before him. He smiles politely at Airy and the jumping one from the bar, then slowly makes his way over in a sort of flowing, travelling, not quite dance. He notices the flurry of movement as the jumping one manages to get itself stuck on a shark, looking quite ruffled for something with no ruffles.
Velvet stops by the wall and extends a blue hand, "need a little help there, friend?" He smiles, "the Wormwood has certainly caused a ruckus."
Velvet thinks on what he knows about the Wormwood.
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Where do the great heroes and villains come from? Are they chosen by the whims of a deity? Does the universe simply will them into being? Or are they simply individuals who possess the necessary skills and the will to use them? Maybe all of these are correct - or none of them. All that's really known, is that the vast majority of these people can trace their origin to a tavern or bar....
You're rudely awakened the next morning with a bucket of cold seawater. "Rise and shine, you lazy lot! The captain don't want to be waiting around all the bloody day!" The Speaker is a grinning, cruel-looking individual carrying a whip. Behind him, a half-dozen thuggish types are carrying leather-bound cudgels. Blinking awake around you are several people you recognize from the bar.
Your head is filled with fog, and you have no memory of what happened after the balding gentleman bought everyone drinks last night. However, based on the rocking of your surroundings, you seem to be on a ship. Most likely in a cargo hold - at least that's what the various crates indicate.
Tamesis leaps to her feet as soon as she awakens, her tail thrashing about wildly. Instinctively, her hand makes the gestures, and her left hand ignites in a swirling flame, the makings of a spell. Swearing in a harsh combination of Abyssal and Infernal, she shakes her head in an attempt to clear it, and reaches for her cutlass.
As it becomes all-too-clear all-too-suddenly that she is outnumbered and unarmed (aside from a single spell that's unlikely to actually kill anyone), she grinds her teeth and runs her fingers along her palm, causing the flames to flicker out of existence. She glares at the man with the whip, but straightens herself up. Her tail, however, keeps twitching back and forth in an annoyed fashion.
Airy stands upon the moonlit balcony of a great palace, the great expanse of the cosmos above her, but she felt as if it was at her fingertips. The balcony overlooked a great city, mightier than even Cheliax, larger than Absalom. Behind her stands her love, a great prince. "Airy, my light," the prince whispers, so powerful his words that they reach her several feet away. Suddenly he is beside her and takes her in to his arms. A finger caresses her cheek. "You are to be queen of this kingdom beside me as king. We shall sleep in this luxurious bed 'neath sheets of the finest silks and blankets of coziest fabrics, and you shall never want for anything ever again, especially not inks, of which our supply is limitless for you to pursue your art."
"Oh, my charming prince, you spoil me so with limitless wealth!" Airy swoons, her bright violet dress ruffling with the motion. It has a train of multicolored fabric twenty feet in length. "Most assuredly everything is perfect now and forever!"
But then the golden doors with platinum inlays gleaming in the moonlight leading to the enormous bedroom, easily the size of a manor house itself, burst open. Sea water flows in like a great flood, consuming all of her new wealth and finery. Airy turns to her prince to see that he has become water. Her city is consumed by the ocean, and then she is water too.
Airy awakens with a start, sputtering and now covered in ocean water. She's bundled in a heap on the wooden floorboards, and has the presence of mind to feel indignant. Who dares interrupt my dream? she thinks, glaring around bleary-eyed. As more of her consciousness returns to her, she comes to the realization that she is on a ship, possibly thrown in with the cargo, and her heart sinks. A cold feeling enters her chest and her limbs tingle with trepidation.
She recognizes various faces among the other people here with her. There's Likitt, and Velvet too? And that tiefling... did I ever ask her to dance? I can't remember. I shouldn't have drank that citrus rum-flavored bourbon. And there's her large companion. She takes a moment to admire Bolvak's sheer size and girth.
Her senses returned, she takes stock of her own person. She's not wounded that she can tell, but all of her stuff is missing. Even her drawings! Even... the kapenia that her mother hand-knitted and finished shortly before her death.
With this realization, any trace of kindness or merriment slowly seeps out of Airy's expression like the slow shifting of a calm sky to thunderous roars and walls of rain. She stands as ordered by the mean-looking man, not in any kind of mood to be whipped at the moment, but says nothing and does nothing otherwise. Her violet eyes betray the brewing storm within.
Bolvak growls from the floor, but pushes himself up with teeth grit and straightens out at attention. The tavern was a blur, despite his relative sobriety, but from the ripping pain above his left temple he can guess that his suspicions earned him a cudgel minus the leather. Not bad enough that the swaying's in his legs, though, or that he forgot this captain's words.
Pressganged onto this 'Wormwood'. It's only explanation, since he's already been robbed. Bolvak's bitter enough just now that the name's fitting, at least. Bartender probably knew what was coming; probably knew he couldn't stop it, either.
Looking around, some other folks from the tavern got swept away, too. Tamesis' presence, and her clear fury, is bracing, even if it is (interpreted on a technicality, really) a mark against his record as a bodyguard. The inked-up Varisian wisp's got some powerful anger as well, if more subtle about it. The Undine, though hazardously pretty under the circumstances, might be good to know in the eventuality that he goes overboard. And then there's Froggie. He can only hope they took the fellow as a climber, not a curiosity.
Velvet looks around blearily, did he forget a roleplay appointment? He doesn't remember a bearded whip dom being scheduled...
Then he remembers the bar, the drinks, the dancing and- a frog? Yup, there's the frog again, over there, also on the floor. Well, that's what he gets for offering a helping hand. Which he could use now, much like everyone else. The red one looks pissed, did she just light her hand on fire? Looks like a good friend to make. The turkey one too, tough friends are always nice to have. Airy looks pissed without her scarf, the amount of time he's spent listening to the meaning of every fiber of that thing...
I had it, I had it in my hand.
As consciousness began to waver in and out, Likitt felt like this time, he had lost something. He had journeyed so far and conquered obstacles and received indisputable evidence of the Grippli Empire... And yet, as the waves between dreams and reality began to part once again, this single relic felt through to the abyss, lost to antiquity.
Bolting out of his slumber with a shot, the sweat-coated prince glanced around and realized that he was in dire straits, what with the whip-toting gangleader and the mooks with clubs. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and realized after patting himself down, unarmed! They took his rapier? The Cads!
He still had a few tricks up his sleeve, but caution did seem the watchword of the day, so instead he sat quietly and muttered, "I suppose I have no choice..." Instead of getting angry, he merely watched his fellow captives, noting that they were in fact the fellow patrons. What a merry lot they were.
No More Rum for Likitt it seemed. He was trapped.
The gang leads you out of the hold onto the deck of a ship. Looking around, you see nothing for miles. Well, there's a faint smudge on the horizon that might be land, but is it really worth risking a lengthy swim on the open ocean? There are about 20 other people on deck, and they're all looking at the high stern deck where two figures are standing.
The first: a tall Garundi man with a shaven beard, eyepatch, and rippling musclees is clearly the captain. He speaks, ”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 Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule, and we’ll 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 killing anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you’ll be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me from having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out o’ them.” He then walks away, leaving you under the care of the second man.
The second figure is your generous friend from the tavern. He doesn't look nearly as nice now, as he's holding a cat o' nine-tails and wearing a nasty grin. He looks at Likitt. "All right you lot, let's make this quick. Froggy here's gonna be our newest rigger. You work under me. No slackin' - I'll be watchin' you." Pointing at Velvet, he continues, "The pretty fish boy's our new cook's mate. Fishlips and Fishguts - it's like you're meant to be together!" He cackles loudly at his joke. "The rest of you lubbers just got promoted - to Swabs! You take your orders from Master Scourge." He gives a friendly nod to the bearded fellow who woke you up.
As he walks away, Mr. Plugg yells back at you, "Why are you still standing around like idjits? GET TO WORK!"
Tamesis glowers a bit as she is assigned to hauling heavy ass ropes around, all day. Until she has her weapons back, though, it is not her place to talk back. You obviously have no idea who you are talking to. You'll see, though. You'll all see. I'll take your souls. I'll devour them...
As jobs are barked out and everyone starts to move to their assignments, though, the tiefling makes a point of getting Bolvak's attention, if just for a moment, "Looks like I found you some work, after all. Sorry about that." She gives him an apologetic smile and takes off to perform her duties for the day. Best to try to get on the mercenary's good side early. Better to have a friend, here, than to have him blaming her for this mess.
Tamesis spends her day unhappily, growling to herself or muttering in Daemonic, foul curses on Harrigan and Plugg and Scourge and their mothers. All the while, her thoughts roil. This is grunt work, not fit for one of my stature. No, no. We all have to start somewhere. The indignity, though. Being pressganged. THIS is what is unfit, here. A waste. Had they merely asked, I would have come aboard willingly. And all of this would be unnecessary. Fine. If that's how they want it, that's how they'll have it. I'll slit their throats, take their souls. I'll show them what it means to cross a descendant of the End Bringer!
At the end of it all, she is pleasantly surprised at her endurance throughout the day. Her muscles ache, but has had worse after days of training back home.
Bolvak is a bit surprised to be designated runner for the day, and more than a little pleased to have gotten off so lightly. It makes sense when he thinks about it, to keep all the parts in the system of the ship in contact and supplied without diversion, but he'd taken the position swab to be more concentrated. On swabbing. Pretty much the same as mopping, and he'd developed no small expertise in that during training. Judging by the general schedule of duties, though, those drear times and worse would soon come.
Before he jogs on, Tamesis catches him to apologise. "Appreciated, but I think the work found me. Just remember: to each their own." He flicks a salute at her, and takes his first lap through the ship to learn its layout.
The day passes with ease (he'd worried if he washed out at the first). He wouldn't mind taking the job full-time, off-combat, until landfall - just as soon as he finds his shield and gives Harrigan, Plugg, and 'Master' their final piercings. For all the time riding and sailing with Tamesis, Bolvak's still fleet of foot, and he finds spare moments to tactically assess the ship and the crew. The real trick, he muses to himself as talk of the messdeck spreads, will be finding the weaknesses in their minds and bonds.
As the crew of the Wormwood made itself more known, Likitt realized that the Shirtless Whipper was, in fact, not the captain. This, it turned out, was a mixed bag, since the actual captain actually looked formidable and much harder to overcome. In the disarmed state he was, Prince Likitt didn't feel notably compelled to rebel, but a small voice in the back of his mind said to wait, be patient and blend into the background, and when the time was right. He would strike.
By some twist of fate, Mr Plugg was to serve as his superior as a lineman. Oh joy Likitt droned, Perhaps his ponytail will get caught on a pulley and spare me the trouble. But in reality, he merely nodded, gave a faint croak of acknowledgement, and got to the day's work
The sea-sodden ropes were not easily manipulated and it took much of his prior training to get them working right. Even so, the lines were nearly as large as his fists, so by the end of it all, fatigue began to rack at him, leaving him bone tired. Still all the same, the ship seemed solid and as the hours passed, he tried to call to his spirit; his kindred animal that supplied his powers, in hopes that it would reach him across the waves. At least it could fly.
Velvet follows Fishguts into the gallery to attempt cooking the daily meals. It doesn't seem too hard, just chopping and throwing things in a pot. Fishguts doesn't seem too worried when a piece lands on the suspiciously sticky floor, opting to throw it back in the pot.
I wish Airy was doing this job, then maybe I'd get some dumplings.
He smiles when Fishguts smiles, looks concerned when the cook is imparting a piece of advice, and sympathetic if he complains. Best to wait until the time is right. And listening is always a good way to pass the time.
It's plain that the pirates didn't do research on who they were taking. Airy is disappointed that she would not get to cook, but only because she is not suited to the menial labor she was assigned. They don't deserve dumplings anyway, bunch of filth. I'll keep my weather predictions and fog sight to myself. They'll be good leverage.
She waits for the captain to finish his speech. She doesn't know what a sweatbox is, but it doesn't sound pleasant and wishes to avoid it. She's even more averse to being whipped by the cat o' nine-tails, and the thought that it might be unavoidable makes her tense. Upon being ordered, she makes her way down belowdecks to the bilges. What is even a bilge?
The suppresses a groan arriving at her workplace for the day. Assigned the nastiest workload off the cuff is very much just her luck. Not to mention that the duty looks very physical, and not the kind she likes. But it's not going to end well for her either way, so she gets to it and hopes for the best.
Airy's inexperience shows, and she's smacked around a few times by the overseeing officer . Still, she's luckier than some. At the conclusion of the day's labor, Plugg and Scourge summon the entire crew for what appears to be a nightly ritual: the Bloody Hour.
The crewmen who performed the worst (a one-eyed gnome and a halfling rigger with a few missing fingers) are tied to the mainmast and whipped. Master Scourge bestows the lashes personally and seems to take sadistic pleasure from the act. The whipping done, it's time for the main event! A young, good-looking human male is dragged up from belowdecks to stand trial for theft. Plugg officiates but is clearly in a hurry. The charges are read, a few trinkets are returned to their rightful owners, and then the unfortunate thief is tied to a rope and thrown overboard to be keelhauled. The process takes over a minute of uncomfortable silence before the body is pulled back up, its back torn to ribbons. Definitely a terrible way to die.
The night's entertainment over, it's time for dinner! In addition to a large bowl of Skilly 'n' Duff, everyone's given a quart of Rum. From across the deck, you can see Plugg watching to make sure everyone drinks it.
Tamesis watches implacably as the punishment is doled out on the less capable crewmembers. She notes with interest the amount of joy that Scourge seems to take in inflicting pain upon others. Big strong guy when laying into someone who can't fight back. I wonder how you'd react if someone actually stood up to you.
Her jaw tightens, though, as she watches the keelhauling of the thief. Theft? This man's crime was THEFT? A little extreme. Any insubordination must be subtle. I need my gear...
As dinner is served, along with a ration of rum, Tamesis takes her time to look out at the rest of the crew, trying to get a sense for social circles or cliques, or people she might be able to manipulate. Of course, her foresight being terrible, she quickly bores of this and focuses on her food and drink instead. She takes a sip of the rum and grimaces. Taking a breath, she chugs through it, just to get it over with, and finds a spot near Bolvak to rest. If possible, she tries to collect the frog, the sylph, and the undine as well. They had all been pressganged together, they might as well stick together, at least at first...
Pulling himself down from the ropes with a sulked posture, Prince Likitt was feeling the hurt and would have given anything to just flop into his bed and sleep the night away, but his life was no longer his own and the cavalcade of drudgery was only beginning for the day. As the crew congregates for the Bloody Hour, those who worked insufficiently or with a lack of diligence were whipped with an increasing glee by Master Scourge which seemed more and more a fitting name as time went on. While the Prince felt pathos for the whipped, it really only convinced him to avoid such a fate by doing the best work he could. Negative reinforcement seemed to have its benefits.
The unlucky thief was given a quick dip, which answered the question of sharks in the area... Yes... There were sharks and that scared the crap out of Likitt. Cringing away from the sight, he noticed the rising bruises on Airy. While the Grippli was grateful that she was attacked in his place, he recalled that the Sylph was actually very kind if not talkative the night prior. The pangs of sympathy sounded out, but not yet enough to overcome his own self-preservation.
The Skilly 'n' Duff seemed too sweet with not enough meat, but he was not in the situation to complain. However as Likitt considered the rum, he thought about the night prior and how being unprepared and drunk got him into this mess. If he was to behave like proper fake royalty, he shouldn't be sullying himself with such poisons. However in that same vein, everything was a tool and there were those who enjoyed their rum something fine and could become great friends and possible mutineers. Using his natural talent with going unnoticed and unhindered by any silly things like armor, Likitt spirited away the quart, allowing it to fill the first few inches of a nearby bailing bucket. He would have to return to retrieve his prize and figure out who to grease.
With an unsatisfying dinner finished, young Likitt padded his way around before getting nudged over to the rest of the crew, at least many of those who visited the same bar as he. They were trustworthy to some degree, or at least less likely to stab him in the back. With a low murmur that seems more like a croak, he addresses those who arrive, trying to remain out of earshot of any 'superiors', "Name's Li-kitt, not Froggy or Toad. Keep calm... The spirits will not abandon us." Every so often, he glances back, the general nervous tics of someone expecting betrayal, but actually checking for telltale signs of drunkards in the crew; those who might be tempted by an extra portion of rum for the evening. Although the siren call of sleep beckoned to him, he may not have time to rest. There was much to do if he was to survive and overcome.
Velvet winces as Airy is smacked around, she didn't deserve that. But the reality of the situation starts to sink in when punishment is doled out to the thief. All day all Velvet had to do was tend to the Silky Duff, and listen to Fishguts. He was not a cruel man, seemed nice even. It wasn't hard, it wasn't particularly pleasant what with the continuous smell of the unwashed crew, but it was like a mediocre dream one can wait to wake up from. But this wasn't a dream. This wasn't a game, or a session, or something that could be stopped with a a prearranged safe word. This was real, and he could very well die here in the middle of a shark infested ocean, without even a nice coat or afghan to his name. This was intolerable. Almost as terrible as the smell that came from the rum ration.
"Yes, this definitely seems like it could kill me," he thought, wrinkling his nose.
Velvet carries his rather large quantity of rum in one hand and the plate of food in the other over to where Airy is sitting. He makes sure she and several other bodies are blocking the line of sight between him and Plugg, and quickly turns his wrist to dump the rum as he bends down to sit beside her, and sets his dinner down.
"How are you holding up, love?" He gives her a sympathetic look, and checks her injuries while doing a valiant job of ignoring her bilgy smell.
Nearby he recognizes the frog introduce himself as Likitt, saying something about spirits not abandoning.
"I do believe you're right, we have to have hope. And patience, until the time is right" Velvet smiles. He notices the red skinned woman nearby, she looks less than happy.
Tamesis quirks an eyebrow when Likitt introduces himself, "Lick it? Really? That's unfortunate." She gives Airy and Velvet a smile and a nod, as well, as they arrive, "My name's Tamesis. Tamesis Kieran. This is Bolvak. I figured it'd be best to stick together, at least at first. This ship doesn't seem to be the best place to be on your own."
She looks around at the rest of the crew again, noticing faces she had seen earlier, and picking out the ones who had seemed friendlier than others. "It wouldn't be a bad idea to try to get in good with some of the other crewmembers, either. I know I can be pretty persuasive when the need arises, so I can take some of the tougher ones."
Finally looking back to the small group she was captured with, she finally frowns, "First thing, though, is our stuff. I don't know about the rest of you, but I feel pretty naked without my cutlass. And I need my spellbook back. All I have right now is a fire spell, and that's not anything I want to be casting on a wooden ship." To accentuate her point, she holds her hand out in front of her as she speaks, causing light, flickering flames to spring up around it once more, if only for a moment.
Airy nurses her new injuries - ugly purple things staining her otherwise flawless skin; like ivory that bruised. Her jaw is tense as she contains the whirlwind of negative emotions she feels toward the ones in charge. She reeks of filth from the bilges, her dress is torn in some places, and her muscles feel like each one contains a hive of miniature fire elementals. Her legs tremble under her light weight as if to taunt her, but she forces herself to stay standing. It simply wouldn't do to collapse.
She feels sympathy for the two whipped. It's most likely not their fault. They may simply be in the same position she is in now: no idea how to do anything and not built for the physical labor. She can see herself being put up there for the evening's whip session if she doesn't get out of here before her body fails her. The show of reprimanding the thief is even more mind-boggling to her, if reprimanded could even be used to refer to the excessive disciplinary action.
With the evening's entertainment concluded, she makes her way to the mess for what is no doubt going to be exquisite dining. Maybe it won't be too bad, with Velvet helping. Maybe he'll have mercy upon my eternal soul where the rest of this day has not.
She sits down at a table with the tiefling that invited her over moments later, now carrying a large bowl where pudding goes to die and a pint of liquid that Fishguts says is rum. Airy is certain that the 'rum' is actually a fermented version of death in a cup, and would have tossed it were Plugg not watching her like a hawk.
She studies the tiefling's face, having gotten her fill of Tamesis' tail at the tavern they were all at before finding themselves here. She so rarely gets to see tieflings up close, and their horns are fascinating. The eyes, too! This one has black eyes; unnerving to most, including Airy, but she finds something enchanting about them, too. They remind me of some of my more wild nights.
Her violet eyes drift to the large man next. He's interesting for different reasons. The scars tell stories much like her tattoos, and she can't help but gaze at them in wonder of all the things he's seen and done. I wonder if I'll have some of my own when I'm done here?
She has been absently eating her death-in-a-bowl when Velvet arrives. His mouth moved, but the words he spoke took far too long to register in her brain for her liking. They snap her out of a fatigue-induced daze. "I wish I were an ifrit. I might not mind the fire elementals in my muscles so much then." Her voice is softer than usual and lacking in its trademark thirst for life. She winces when Velvet touches her bruises. "And wondering how long it will be before I'm fed to the sharks. I'm not built for this. I can learn, but not like this."
She listens to Tamesis speak, and her proposition for cooperation and manipulation of the crew. And their stuff. It sounded as good as anything, and certainly better than moping around and waiting to die. At least this way she gets to die on her terms. She keeps her voice low so she isn't overheard, not that fatigue is letting her talk louder than a murmur anyway. "I don't have anything that will help in my gear, at the moment, but I want my scarf back. Luckily I am never naked, but I'm lacking in fire. What I do have is grease, and mist. Mist that I can see through. Cantrips beyond that. I can fix equipment, throw acid, make the acid in to electricity, and my favorite: prestidigitation."
Remembering her cantrips, Airy prestidigitates away the smell and grime of the bilge, and notes everyone's lack of rum. Surely they didn't all drink it? I'll repair the dress later, this is more important!
"I don't suppose any of you have any ideas on how I can get rid of this... 'rum'? Drinking it may very well kill me."
The cook and the half-orc with the nasty throat scar seem to be enjoying their rum. It's even supplemented with a bottle of other spirits. They're laughing it up and having a great time. Tilly Brackett the rigger is with them, too. You also see the Dwarf rigger (that's something you don't see every day) playing some sort of drinking game with Fipps Chumlett, although you've also seen both of them hanging around Master Scourge quite a bit. They had pretty light work today, too, now that you think about it. In addition, Fipps is wearing a familiar-looking scarf.
@Airy: It's going to be windy tomorrow, with some light rain around noon. If you were taking this voyage by choice, it would probably be a quite enjoyable day.
Likitt and Velvet successfully manage to dispose of their rum without attracting Plugg's attention. Once he's dumped his in the bucket, however, Likitt sees a fiery-haired woman give him a knowing wink. He remembers she's named Sandara Quinn.
"It's got some kick to it, yeah. Drinking it may not have been the best idea I've ever had." Tamesis shakes her head as if trying to clear it, and sighs tiredly, "I can see why they make people drink it, though. Keep the crew complacent. Not a bad strategy."
She chews at her lip for a long moment, "They had to put our gear somewhere." She muses aloud, "They wouldn't have thrown it all away. Does anyone have a lead on who might be in charge of keeping it? The quartermaster, probably. Anyone have a lead on who he is? Or hear anything about him?"
Velvet puts his mug down next to Airy's as he tucks into a meal he adamantly does not look at in order the ignore the extremely unhygienic way he knows it was cooked.
"Oh Airy my dear, you may not be an Ifrit, but as a Sylph I'm sure you can blow us all away."
He regards the Tiefling, "Kieran, hmmm? Interesting." He picks up Airy's rum as if pondering the name before pretending to take a sip, "Well I don't know where any of our things went, anything of use I imagine would have been given to higher ups, sorting out spoils sort of thing," he makes an exaggerated shrug and uses the motion to dump the rum under the table, "let me know if you see anyone with my longbow, I really miss it. Also if you see a really nice shirt, if there's anyone around with a really nice shirt it's definitely mine." Velvet makes a show of finishing the last few drops of rum before slapping the mug back on the table.
"I've been in the galley all day making this slop, apologies by the way, no idea what I'm doing."
"Fishguts is not a bad man, I could chat him up about this, that, and the other. But if you really want to know where your things are," here Velvet leans in a bit to raise his eyebrows, "you could go for a little midnight walk. Get to know the ship a little better."
Throughout the vulgar display of power called the ‘Bloody Hour’, Bolvak can’t help but yearn for the army’s ways. There were some hazings, true, but mostly, there was efficiency in punishment: the incompetents, sentenced to drudge work; the thieves, run through the gauntlet and put back to service; and the real traitors, hung or axed. Or beheaded by sword, for the highborn officers. Vain to the end.
Whereas Harrigan runs a mediocre slave galley with idiot sadism standing in for discipline. Especially the keelhauling – grim and punitive to the extreme, however imperative it is to keep order on board. Strange, given what the captain said about preserving crew, but then he was also too stupid to pressgang actual sailors. Must be a devil in a fight if he’s run the Wormwood this long. The sooner Bolvak gets his shield and mail, the better.
It’s only when the rum ration is doled out that Bolvak realises how wrong he was. He needs his gear now. The sauced-up pud is fine, but the liquor is somewhere between coal oil and piss three months stale. Obviously for pacification, not pleasure, but he’ll dance the pirate jig for now. Might even be nice to get drunk.
Wronger yet this time. The palate matched the nose, though the rum does kick hard enough that Bolvak might say ‘wronger’ aloud. He shovels in as much skilly as he can scrape off his plate and swishes it around to clear the taste out of his mouth. By the time he’s done, he’s joined by Tamesis and Froggie (or Lick-it, or Lee-kit, or Leak-it) and his spirits. Terrible choice of words, that. But Tamesis is on the right track. “Yes to stickin’ together, gettin’ in good with crew, and gettin’ our s@$# back. And keepin’ the fire t’yerself.” He looks over to Likitt. “‘s’good plan, no? Y’know what wasn’t? Drinkin’ this f&~*in’ rum. Mercy.”
The wisp, Airy, comes by along with the Undine and weighs in on the scheme. The workings of a scheme, maybe. “Acid might be better’n fire,” he mutters. “Controlled burn. And tell me ‘bout this prestidigitation.”
“No idea ‘bout the quartermaster.” Bolvak peers out into the crowd, on the off chance that the quartermaster has some visible insignia, but he spots something better yet: a red-haired woman with the holy symbol of Besmara and a friendly look that’s he fairly sure isn’t rum-induced. “Midnight walk’s a good call, too, but jus’ now I think I see someone who’ll be real good to know.” He rises, feeling an unexpected slosh in his guts but otherwise steady, and heads toward the priestess.
On the way over, Bolvak remembers he never did get that pork knuckle.