Lorn hops to the orders of the Bos'n, "Aahhh, once again overlooked for specific tasks. Now who are the favored ones of the working crew? Just do as they do and keep close to them. Poor saps have nothing on Cheliax. This last thought is accompanied with a small private smile of pride.
"Aye, Aye! Boats!" acknowledging a recent command, followed immediately by a nod of thanks from an assisting crewmember when the line was not tight enough.
"Big ears, small talk, lots of effort." is a very quiet mantra that helps her get in the tedious yet physically demanding routine.
Her shipboard action:
"Runner? At least keep me above decks, mostly. Least I hope." Sylvestra accepts the position without any resistance. " 'course, Bosun." Sylvestra will spend the day running messages as best able. During her runnings, Sylvestra will try to talk it up with the cabin girl.
"Ahoy, I have a message for the cap'n. Can't say it's a pleasure, but might as well be friendly. Name's Sylvestra, you are? Can't just keep callin' ya cabin girl."
As Rhialla works at the task at hand, the crew's eyes are inevitably drawn to her exquisite form. Sweat rolls down the exposed expanses of skin as she does the job of swabbing the deck rather efficiently, never shirking n the least, yet somehow languishing her movements to be more than a little distracting.
She makes sure to catch the eye of a seemingly notable crew member, her arm stretching out to subtly display the unique birthmark, a perfect representation of Besmara's own Jolly Roger as perfect as if inked by an expert.
@Rorgrim: Since you're consuming an axtra rum ration you gain a charisma bonus and a wisdom penalty for the next 24 hours.
If you wish to influence someone let me know who exactly (or give me some general conditions so I can give you a valid target)if you haven't already and make either a Bluff (to deceive), diplomacy (to befriend), or intimidate (to bully) check.
If you are sneaking please make a DC15 stealth check to prevent from being spotted.
Lorn do me a favor and make a diplomacy check. We'll call that an off the table ship action. Also do not forget the rolls you have to make for the work.
Will move things further along once I have all the rolls I need.
Rorgrim is attempting to befriend Fishguts.
Diplomacy:
Stealth:
Retcon and daytime rolls:
Diplomacy re: listening and asking for re-telling of "stupid" crewmember stories...
Strength
Constition
Exhausted, her arms glistening from sweat and the bucket of water slips from her tremored fingers, not once but twice. Contents spilling. She wipes her brow, the fevered eyes hooded by a hand against the sun"Aye I dropped the bucket. Not like we gonna run out." Picking the bucket, she sluices the remainder over her head. "Better. Bit parched." Bucket (looks like tub in comparison to the petite halfling) dragging along the deck, she ties a line in prep to drop it over to haul another bucketful from the sea.
@Siera: You find no time to explore much only seeing the upper deck on your shift. However you do take some time to poke around the fore deck.
This raised deck stands some 10 feet above the main deck, immediately behind the bowsprit, which is shaped like a rearing dragon. The foremast rises 30 feet above this deck. Tucked away behind the dragon in such a way as it enters the back of its head and is just short of protruding out of its mouth is a canvas covered thing. You peak under the cover and keep yourself from whistling as you spot a six pound cannon hidden underneath. A nasty surprise that redefines the term dragon's fire.
@Rorgrim: Stepping out of the mess for a bit you find yourself exploring a small cabin next to the kitchen. The general disarray is punctuated by the presence of nearly a dozen chickens as they cluck and s#$* themselves to get out of your way. Two beds are located here with a pair of footlockers at the ends of each. You manage to determine that this is the cook's cabin but the identity of his roommate is a mystery to you for now.
The chef chuckles at the notion of being a world renowned chef as he claims that he was one of the best chef's in port peril. His name is Ambrose Kroop. He like chickens and hates his lot in life. Though the details of how he ended up here are lost in durnken slurs.
“It’s poison, this ship, but don’t let anyone hear you say it aloud. The hull listens, see, and the cap’n hears it all. Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core. You’ll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap’n Harrigan in all your days at sea, and his crew’s the same, ’specially the first mate, Mr. Plugg. Vicious little sod, he is. He’d take his own mother’s liver to the butcher to make pies with, he would. But they leave me alone, mostly. They know I can’t ’arm ’em.”
@Mumbata: The first two things you discover are easy to see. First is the massive nest of cobwebs located above you on the ceiling. From within you can see large hairy figures crawling through out giving you the feeling of being watched. The next is a man chained to the wall who mutters curses at you when you try to talk to him. The treasure, and reasons to praise the gods come to ahdn when you search the crates finding three heavy maces, a suit of leather armor, and 12 silver pieces. More than that, hidden carefully in the muck and mold is another grand discovery. A broad and incredibly sharp handaxe. It's heft and feel is comfortable and of excellent craftsmanship (masterwork).
@Lorn: You learn that the two to watch for immediately are MAster Scourge, Mr. Plugg, and their cronies about the ship. You also hear that the destination of this ship and its general purpose is a mystery. Though judging by the weapons and the empty cargo hold it doesn't take much thought to think about how this ship earns its daily rum ration.
You also learn that the officers are generally bastards. Well except the ship's cook and the quartermaster who are generally just drunk. You also learn of the four others that were pressganged with you. Rosie Cusswell a halfling who is complaining quite a bit about the loss of her fiddle. Crimson Cogward, who seems to be taking to the life rather well and says he volunteered. Conchobar Shortstone a gnome who has been eyeing you since you arrived (with his one eye). And Sandara Quinn a dangerous looking red head in a tricorne hat that was last seen descending below decks with Master Scourge.
This info has come at a cost. Your exhaustion and slackness has given birth to loud complaints and angry shouts. And punishment is imminent.
@Sylvestra" [b]"Names "Caulky!" The short blonde cabin girl shouts. "Cap'n tol me not ta talk to you!" With that the cabin girl goes back to her duties ignoring you.
@Rhialla: There are plenty of men here who notice very much Rhialla's attractiveness. However at the point you reveal the birthmark there are muttered curses and signs made against strife and bad luck. Besmara is a god of strife and conflict and any male sailor worth his sea legs knows well to stay away from her avatars on this world if they wish to wake up the next day with their loot and their dignity intact.
However your general friendliness has not gone unnoticed. Another woman, human and barefoot smiles as you reveal the birthmark. "Could've had em eaten out the palm of yer 'and till you done that. Ever man on this boat knows the mark of Besmara be a bad sign on a woman ye want. Names Samm Toppin though they jes call me barefoot round here. You a priestess? Or is that jes a fancy tattoo ta scare the menfolk?"
Whether you answer positively or not she is friendly toward you.
Rhialla raises an eyebrow at the comment, then flashes a grin. "Priestess is as good a term as any I s'pose. The Lady grants me her favor and I live her philosophy."
Chuckling she glance over at the men whose glances, while still firmly focused on her body are a little more guarded now.
"Might cost me a chance to wrap a few around my finger, but I'd rather the meaner ones felt a reason to keep their peckers to themselves if I'm caught alone belowdecks."
Ambrose...How be th' Wormwoid bein' poison different from any buccanneer ship me hearty?. Rorgrim asks as he begins to feel the effects of the rum? Do ye know 'ere they be havin' put me swabbieal belongings? What ye be knowin' about th' captain?
After waiting for answers to the questions above: Wher' ye be stayin'? Ye be havin' a roomie?
After the above conversation, a buzzing Rorgrim leads his new friend in song:
Well it's all for me grog, me jolly jolly grog
It's all for me beer and tobacco
For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin
Far across the western ocean I must wander
As Mumbata sees the shackled man for the first time his eyes squint and his mouth purses together. "Strike dat, dare be chains enough here, por bastard. Ya wunt sawm water mate?" At the shackled mans muttered curses, Mumbata moves away. Nothing ta be dun fur hum now Mumbata, best to keep looking. Gods, if ut pleases ya, I could use ah hand er. Then Mumbata begins to search the rest of the bilge. At the discovery of the armor, coins, mace and wicked handaxe Mumbata's eyes widen! Ha Ha Ha! Mumbata checks over his shoulder at the chained man. Un hand guvs, da uther takes! Thank ya Gods ah Abuve and Beluw. I'll be back for ya pretties later.
@Rorgrim: Unfortunately the cook is unable to answer your question. He is simply too drunk. He slurs at you. Points and dribbles some comments about someone's mother. Presumably yours but given the circumstances he could be talking about the chicken roosting by your head as well.
@Mumbata: Mumbata could gather all the weapons and the armor now if he chose though he would likely need to hide them on his person if he does not wish for people to know he's armed.
As the day wears on the bloody hour comes. It is a time of judgment to pharasmans a point between dark and light where the day's work comes to an end and it is time for rest, perhaps eternal. On a pirate ship it is a time of punishment and pain.
As the shift ends and the sailors gather on deck Mr. Plugg bellows. "Bring forth tha lousy halfling sod! Fer slackin in her duties tha punishment be three lashes!"
Befores he is aware the sorceress is snatched up by a number of sailors before she has a chance to react meaningfully. Kicking and curse she is quickly strapped to the mizzenmast and Master Scourge administers the punishment as Mr. Plugg counts and the captain witnesses impassively from the poop deck.
1!..
The whip cracks laying a terrible lash across her back.
Nonlethal.
2!...
There are some winces by the smaller members of the crew as Master Scourge adds another scar to Lorn's exposed backside.
Nonlethal.
3!...
Nonlethal.
On this last stroke master scourge makes a point. He lays a hard blow right across the back of the halflings kidneys. It quickly becomes clear as the halfling slumps unconscious from the pain that master scourge is enjoying himself.
"Very good master scourge!" The captain calls from the poopdeck. Leaning on the railing "Leave her up there to contemplate his pain for a moment. And let's get on to the main event of this evening's entertainment! Bring up that worthless maggot in the bilges!"
After a few moments a pair of pirates emerge from below decks dragging an angry and cursing man in chains. He spits and kicks at his oppressors but a solid blow to the gut calms him just enough for Mr. Plugg to address him.
"Ye who've been acused and found guilty of stealin by dint of a confession by yer own worthless tongue has been sentenced to be keelhauled slowly until the ship has made one round. Any words from the convicted before the sentence is administered!"
The bedraggled and malnourished man looks up at Mr. Plugg. "Aye! A curse! A curse on ye and yers! May yer sins come take you on the shores of the hells itself! May ye get exactly what ye ask and have it ripped from ye by besmara's own claws!" Another blow and the man coughs as a rope is tied around his wrists.
Several pirates including Mr. Plugg and master scourge have hold of the rope and they throw the man overboard. The ship turns and the men pull on the rope dragging the man underneath the boat slowly. They drag him against the hull and Mr. Plugg in particular seems to be enjoying the punishment. The man screams briefly before the rope is pulled again and he is dragged underwater. After what seems like a long time darkness has fallen adn the bloodied, bloated mess of the man is pulled up. Cut to ribbons, drowned, and very much dead his remains are unceremoniously given to the sharks. Justice, or at least a mockery of it, done. Lorn is untied from her post and left to lie there by the mizzenmast ignored.
With night fallen the evening meal is brought up and the rum ration given out (giving you a charisma bonus but a wisdom penalty for 24 hours).
Eventually a red headed woman approaches the unconscious halfling. Looking about her she adjusts her tricorne hate and kneels over her. She whispers and touches a choker about her neck before tentatively touching the wound on her back. damage healed.
This hur be ah cursed shup! Wippin ah little un cause she can't work as ard. Than deh all turn to, bunch o' bilge rats an' whipped dogs dey ar! At that Mumbata breaks the first rule of being a slave, don't speak up. Moving forward as the red headed woman heals the halfling Mumbata kneels beside them both. "Deh took mah salves an' mah books, else ah might be able ta due ya a bit o' help wee one. I'll carry ja duwn beluw fur da night if ya can't walk in da mean time. Then waiting for Lorn's response Mumbata whispers under his breath to the red headed woman. "Ya showed hur a bit o' kindness tonight, was ah bruve thing ta do. I be Mumbata, ah wunt be furgetting ya deed."
At almost the same moment that Mumbata moves forward,Rhialla also approaches the redhead.
"Looks like you beat me to it." she says quietly to the woman giving her a knowing glance. "And from the look of things they keep you pretty busy."
Rhialla's eyes drop to the choker at the woman's throat, then proceed to study her in detail, her mannerisms and body language, her style of dress, reading her as if she were an open book.
Perception
@Mumbata: Yes you can deliberately tip your rum. It's a DC10 stealth check.
When Ambrose gets too drunk to talk, Rorgrim ducks under his armpit to support the man and walks him back to his room. He places the man in his bed and takes off his shoes. He covers the man with blankets. Poor sod.
Rorgrim heads topside for the evening "festivities". While his small partner gets flayed, Rorgrim stares at the man with the whip. I will enjoy crackin' yer hade an' watchin' th' wee amount o' brains 't contain spill onto th' deck.
When the punishment is complete, Rorgrim walks over and stands over Mumbata. Is he going' t' live?
After everything settles, Rorgrim (still buzzing hard from the rum) will attempt to play a game/gamble.
The healing skin feels like a calming cool wind, the open wounds closing, disappearing and lost amongst the scars already mapped across her flesh. Clearly not her first time receiving encouragement to increase her efforts.
Opening her eyes, finally cleared of pain, she looks up to those who have helped her. "My thanks. Gonna be a long voyage. Hope to see you again tomorrow." Accepting the hands lifting her upright, pulling her shirt back on, "I'm hungry and...time to collect my rum ration if its not too late... "
She hangs close to the tall intimidating Mumbata, perhaps to give the more sadistic crewmembers pause.
A slightly subdued Lorn partakes in the festivities just enough to show unrepentence, then goes below to sleep, put todays events behind her.
As the rum is ladled out and each sailor is given is portion, Mumbata snorts in disgust, at the post violence revelry. Ah ain't beh dranking nun ah dis swill, gats ta keep meh seneus ahbout meh. Then turning to the fat dwarf and buxom lass Mumbata mutters "Yah, she beh fin fur now. Dat's huw tey work ya see." Eyes narrowing at the carousing pirates for a moment. "Dey gu fur da weak ones furst. Bust not da be alone fur now. Yah do wise ta fin ur self ah blade." looks around to see if anyone else is in earshot and waits for any passersby to wander off. "An' if ya can't dwarf, ya mught want da check ya chest, ja hurd meh?" Then standing up and pulling the tiny halfing gently to her feet Mumbata speaks up louder "Luts get ya sum rum, den ah gud nights sleep little un. Be right as da rigging come murning."
Sneak: Spill Rum
Sneak: Bilge Gear
The woman flashes a warm smile despite her tatooed arms and the choker with a small holy symbol to Besmara hanging from her eyes seem predisposed towards kindness.
"Don't get me wrong. Oi did it more to piss off da rat bastard of a master at arms than fer her though I imagine she'll appreciate it all tha same." She smiles and winks behind you and you spot Master Scourge scowling from the poop deck before he spits, turns, and goes back to listening to the captain and Mr. Plugg. "Son of a whore dog tried to get to friendly if ye understand mah meaning. Sadly he's got more lackies and bootlickers on this ship than oi got eyes. Names Sandara. Sandara Quinn. Priestess of Besmara iffin that has any meanin to ye.
@Mumbata: "openly armed" is relative. Most here are in fact armed. With hammers, hatchets, belaying pins, shortspears, harpoons, etc. etc. There are a number of fairly mundane tools on the boat that can go from harmless to brain splattering in under a second. You easily grab everything up from the bilges as no one pays attention to what you do and quickly snatch a foot locker from the hold where the others are tying their hammocks and getting ready to either turn in or relax for the night.
@Lorn: No one else bothers you from the night aside from a few kicks tossed in your direction from some of the meaner bullies of the crew. You go to sleep easily.
@Rorgrim: The first game that catches your rum blurred vision is a pair of men arm wrestling atop a barrel. One appears to have a grim countenance and a crimson bandana wrapped around his head. The other is a mean looking half orc who is saying nothing, not even a growl. The two struggle for several minutes and as the human begins to triumph over the half orc he sweats as his arm is brough closer to the top of the barrel where you notice a number of sharp objects, nails, and shardsof broken glass strewn about. As the man pushes his arm straight into the glass the orc grimaces in pain but does not roar or scream as you might expect. He lets go of the man and slaps the side of the barrel in submission. Triumphant the man claps and throws his arms up as the gathered pirates cheer, drink and exchange bets. After a brief moment the man spots you and beckons you over.
[b]"Come dwarf. Care to drench me barrel with some of yer blood?"
There be a sucker born ever' tide! I will give ye a go!
Rorgrim sits at the table in front of the man and bolsters all of his pent up anger into the "game". This be fer me lil halflin' friend you stinkin' swab!
At the moment someone says go, Rorgrim rages and fights against the man's arm.
Strength check?
During the wrestling match, Rorgrim growls menacingly.
Intimidate:
Bets are exchanged as you lock arms and eyes with the man. You recognize him as one of those who was pressganged with you. Though given the serene smile and cold look in his eyes you can guess that for him it might ahve beena choice between this and the gallows at some point anyway.
Rorgrim summons his rage and for a second surprises him with his strength. And then the man leans in a little and starts speaking.
"Ever seen what blood looks like in cold weather at night matey?" The sudden and calm talk about such a subject unnerves you and he suddenly gains another inch. "It steams a bit, looks black. Kind 'o like the souls escapin to the boneyard." Another inch and his voice goes down to a whisper. "And when you slice a man open and his guts spill out all over the deck in the dark all shinin and wriggling loike fishbait? No soight like it anywhere else in the world."
With that Rorgrims arm is pressed firmly into the broken glass and shards of other sharp bits cutting and gashing deeply.
damage to Rorgrim.
Intimidate.
Rorgrim feels sharp pain as his hand is pushed and then smashed into sharp debris. His hand suddenly turns warm as blood pools underneath it. Rorgrim defeated both physically and mentally gives the man a nod of approval.
Fighting a grimace, Rorgrim replies to the man. I obviously be meetin' me match. Would ye give me another go. Double or nothin'? Th' name be Rorgrim Stormbeard, but you prolly be knowin tis since ye took me gear. Rorgrim says this matter of factly (not in anger), but instead in respect for the man's strength.
If he is willing, I wait a few minutes regaining my strength and try again.
Lorn has pocketed a handful of line(large string for you landlubbers) and bit'o canvas during the day and festivities. She starts to craft a sling until the rum drops her eyelids. She probably only got as far as untangling the mess in her pocket. Regardless she makes no attempt at hiding her efforts while stretched out in her swaying hammock, rum and whipping has made her fearless.
Not having much luck with the Cabin Girl, Sylvestra continued on with the running, tiring herself out from the exertion. "Caulky, eh? Not havin' much luck on my first crew since I left."
As the sun set into the ocean and the crew gathers, Sylvestra feels anger swell in her as she watches the punishment dealt upon the small woman, boiling to a full fury as she watches the man keelhauled. But she says nothing. "Forced into servitude, severe punishments, and not a single oath. There ain't no code here, only motherless bastards throwin' their weight around."
As the red head heals the halfling, Sylvestra stays close enough to hear, thankful for her elven ears, but says nothing. "Looks to be a better lot than the cap'n. But they'll be watchin' us still tonight. No planning for now, recover and give it more thought then."
"Aye, it has meaning alright. I follow Besmara's path myself. A sight better than these worthless bastards. Well met Sandara Quinn. Rhialla Blackwater's the name." Rhialla replies, flashing a smile of her own.
She follows Sandara's gaze to the bastard Scourge before turning her attention back to the conversation at hand. "How'd you end up on this bucket anyway?"
"Same as you I imagine. She says with a shrug. "Go to tavern get rip roaringly drunk. Wake up here. Can't say it's all bad would just have rather had it on my terms. Bur two of us on the same boat together? Wish I could say whether it be a a rare fortune or an ill omen."
Rhialla notices that there is a room where presumably the ships sorceress , a wiry russet haired woman with distinctive curls, has a room upstairs. You assume this by having seen her cast a number of spells throughout the day as well as retire every once in a while to a room she keeps carefully locked. The cabin girl too has her own private cubby hole next to the captains quarters but this room is little more than a converted closet.
She converses with Sandara a little further finding out little about the boat but making a friend in the process. Tired she retires to a hammock and goes straight to sleep.
Lorn spends some time building a sling bit by bit before going to bed. Sylvestra likewise finds a corner of the room far away from the rambunctious crowd of gambling pirates and goes to bed as well. Siera also retires to bed as well.
On deck Rorgrim easily triumphs over his foe who spends a long while with his eyes closed and his teeth clenched letting you drive his arm into the painful glass before eventually and tentatively slapping the side of the barrel. Almost as if he wasn't quite ready for things to end. The dwarf gets some pats on the back and plenty of cheers all around as money is exchanged once more. With a serene smile the man walks away from the barrel holding his arm.
The next day begins without a whip but a call to work just the same as you awaken most of the crew is wearily heading up but you notice about five of them loitering around the ladder smiling maliciously as they look in your direction.
Rorgrim returns to his room satisfied with his day. He presents his wounded hand to Rhialla hoping for some form of healing (magical or otherwise). Before he goes to bed, he checks his footlocker and finds the ornate hand axe. With a smile he turns to Mumbata. I be owing you one mate. The name be Rorgrim. He offers his hand to the Mwangi man. Besmara's fate be puttin us together on this cursed ship for something. It be best we stick together.. Rorgrim looks at rest. That be for the rest of ye too. We be havin a wee better chance t'gether.
Once the conversation ends, he goes to bed. It feels like only moments before he has to wake up again with his head still aching from the extra shot of rum. As he walks up On deck with his new companions, he sees the group of pirates that appear to be up to no good.
Rorgrim looks at the toughest looking one of the bunch. Ye best be movin' ou' o' ole Rorgrim`s way before I be forced t' put me foot in yer arse.
Intimidation attempt: Attempting to demoralize.
Mutagen yes. Formula book no.
As Mumbata settles in for the night, he watches careful the expression and posture of Rorgrim as he opens the chest and finds the hand axe. Seeing the genuine smile on the dwarfs face Mumbata smiles back "Ah been un ah situation luk dis before. Uts good da have a furnd at ur back, ya? Yah luk after mun, i'll luk after urs." Un mebey, by da gods of abuve and below, we buth makes ut out alive. "Ut ull be ah lung day tomorrow. Bust gat sum sleep." And with that Mumbata settles into the hammock and the cradle of the deep rocks him to sleep.
As the sun begins to rise and the first bells are run for a new watch, Mumbata rolls out from his hammock and stretches his arms. Dis be a cursed ship, nu dubt, bat uh always sleep buttur un da waves. As the rest of the crew begins to file out for morning reports and muster Mumbata narrows his eyes as he sees the five sailors loitering about the ladder well, blocking the exit from the berthing area. "Git behund meh Lorn! Mumbat exclaims as he steps forward interposing himself between the thuggish sailors and the diminutive Halfling. Then slowing walking forward, Mumbata uncorks a small wooden bottle that was tied on a sling around his neck and quickly shoots the liquid. As Mumbata's muscles begin to swell in size he continues to slowly move towards the sailors while cracking his knuckles CRACK, CRACK. Tume da gut nuticed Mumbata! beat em good, dat way de know not's da fook with ja nuxt tume Lut meh guess! Soomone dun't like da new swabs eh? Dink dey too gud fur da ship? Gats da straigtem ut!? Sew dis hur befur, but I ain't scurd uf ah few bildge rats. Now muv befur Mumbata maks ja muv."
Siera looks at the gathered men and frowns.
Mobs ain't good for nothin.
She rests one hand at the halfling's shoulder and warns her:
Hold it their, little one. Let us sort'tis out.
The woman walks with a swagger, stretching her arms and cracking her knuckles.
What seems to be ta problem 'ere, boys? Theirs work ta be done and ya in ta way.
Lorn's eyes pick out details in the dim low-ceilinged hold. Why another welcoming committee to starts today's initiation. Shrugging with nonchalance, "Let's get this over with." But before she takes another step, gently but inexorably the large man from Bonuwat pulls her behind him, the rigger champion anchors her shoulder with surprising strength. More then she could summon up to shake it off. Siera warns
"Hold it their, little one. Let us sort'tis out."
With her eyes and ears perked, she watches to further identify and categorize each of the players in this battle for supremacy of the bottom rungs. Lorn studies the welcoming committee from her vantage point. Calm in the knowledge that there will be another whipping no matter what the outcome. Which one is the leader, which are the informant, tattletale, obvious thug for hire or snake in the grass. Are these self-appointed bilge-rats scrambling to the highest refuse pile or Mr.Plugg's sycophants to serve another method of control. I seen it all.
M%&#*$&@*~~%!, Siera shouts as she tastes the awful grog. Who took a piss into the rum cask? The f~%#er must've been sick as a dockside copper-piece whore!
Looking around, she quickly notices that it's expected for her to drink the whole thing.
This will make anyone miserable and groggy as hell. That's probably the point, to avoid the common case of dagger-to-throat.
She apparently drinks it with a resigned and slightly disgusted look in her eyes, but in truth the cup remains almost full until she takes a leave for the poop deck and returns with it empty.
In response to Siera from last night.
Surely ye be kiddin'. This rum hits th' spot. Keep th' drinks comin' boys! Rorgrim says as he heads off to arm wrestle. After he wins the second match and as he is getting his congratulations:It be th' rum boys! I cnt' be tellin a lie. It'll make a man out o' ya!
Watching the exchange, the obvious answer here was simple. Don't get involved. Didn't matter who would win, someone was getting lashed. Disputes are settled on land, not at sea, that was how it should be. But she liked these fellas. "Seems ta me the dwarf outmatches ya by himself. And that Mwangi thar, he's down-right scary too. Suppose it'd be fun ta find out how long you five last."
Rhialla looked at the bully boys aching to establish dominance. She could smell the violence in the air, but she could almost feel the first of the phrases that she had tattooed across her back writhing in anticipation.
Disputes end on land
"The lady's right." she says striding up alongside Siera. "You've a score to settle, it best be done on land, or you could find yourself earning the Black Lady's wrath."
You find yourselves sincerely hoping the Mumbata's sudden transformation is merely a trick of the light as the lean man bulks up adding another few inches to his height and his accent slurs even farther into unintelligible gibberish.
As the dwarf and mwangi man lay down the fact that between the two of them they could probably snap one or more of them in half and play horseshoes with their broken corpses Rhialla slips between them and reminds them of a certain tenant of faith in which they quickly retreat to the upper deck before bad things happen to them. There are some defiant glares and muttered curses as the go giving the impression that the next time such an event may occur it will certainly not with all of you together and certainly not when you expect it.
Heading up deck yourself you spot Master Scourge leaning on the poop deck and scowling at you and the men who sheepishly report for duty with nay a scratch on either of you. You are given your work duties for the day. This morning there is no land or other such mark to give you an idea on where you are.
Sylvestra earns the delightful distinction of working the bilges this day. They must make a DC12 strength check to work the pumps. They must also make a DC10 constitution check to avoid fatigue.
Siera has the duty of raising and lowering the mainsail today. She must make a DC10 profession sailor or strength check. In addition she must make a DC10 constitution check to avoid fatigue.
Rorgrim enters the kitchen to find Fishguts missing. A quick peek in the quarters reveals the man insensibly and irrevocably drunk leaving you to do the days cooking whether you wish to or not. Rorgrim must make a DC10 intelligence or Profession (cook) check.
Lorn herself gets the exact same work she did yesterday to make up for past sloppiness. She must make a DC10 profession sailor or strength check. She must also make a DC10 constitution check to avoid being fatigued at the end of the shift.
You may also tell me what day action you would like to take including any relevant rolls.
Rhialla spends another day at deck swabbing taking holy stones and smoothing out various parts of the hold. She must make a DC10 Strangth or Constitution check to avoid fatigue.
Mumbata gets the job of mending sails and splicing rope all day. He must make a DC10 profession sailor or dexterity check.
Lorn "works diligently" to shed some of the scrutiny. She paces herself to avoid fatigue.
ST(13)
Con(10)
Siera starts the day worried about the sudden hostility.
It dey have fight in their blood and it's been a couple days, imagine when we're a month at sea. I'll have ta sleep with an eye open.
But the routine job, although tiresome, washes her mind of most of her worries, and after lowering the main sail for the day and hoistening the ropes, she even manages to open a smile. A couple words escape her attention and flow out.
Sea to all sides, not a crack of land ta be seen. Best feelin' in ta world, ain't it?
Seeing the scowl on Scourge's face Mumbata lowers his eyes and blanks his face. Eh, suw dats whu sunt em! Nut enough da use da whip, he's luking have us hanging each nught! Then forming up Mumbata listens as his assignment is given for the day. "Aye Boss-Mon, Sail un Lun" Wull Mumbata, ja used ur last bit o' majic fending da mungruls dis murning. Best da see if ya ur able ta get ur Furmulae Book. But furst lets git ah but of wurk dun. As the day begins Mumbata turns to and starts on his task, mending sail and splicing line. As the sun begins to peak and noon bells are rung. Mumbata stands and moves towards the shade. Luts see abut my gear!
Due to his inexperience cooking, Rorgrim works diligently today to assure his success with the meals.
Intelligence Check:
Rorgrim struggles through the day, but somehow puts the slop together.
Let me be seein'. Two parts flour. One part butter. Oh bilge water, I be cooking th' meat too long. A wee bit o' this here fine rum ortin' ta balance 't ou'.
Rorgrim presents: Salted herring fillet with dirty (emphasis on dirty) rice
The bilges. She hated the bilges. Her father had always made sure everyone took the time to work them, but never as a punishment. Except for her. She hated the bilges then, and she still hated them now. "Must be punishment from the queen for something." Fortunately her time working them had proven effective.
In between her exertions, Sylvestra decides to find out what else is around.
Understanding the power of hard work in presenting herself as part of the crew, Rhialla works dilligentlythroughout the day, applying herself industriously to her task, barely paying attention to the appreciative leers of some of the other sailors. This was work she'd learned to do since she was knee high and though it was tiring, the salty sea air and the feeling of work added a positive feeling to the experience.
While in the hold Rhialla scans the area for weapons, useful items or hints as to the ship's destination or cargo.
Mimicking the motions of the experienced sea-farers around her, she has minimized wasted effort. Repeating her mantra: "Big ears, small talk, lots of effort." She keeps an eye on Mr.Plugg’s minions as well as Mr.Plugg. Asking for additional names of the crew (a certain five in particular), she looks for unspoken body language implying future maliciousness. Sense motive Lorn is feeling a bit sore from the day’s activities.