Rorgrim lifted his elbow to wipe sweat and saltwater from his eyes while attempting to get a clear look at his surroundings. The storm had produced driving rain and high velocity winds blocking almost all vision. Luckily, His father's training had come back. With a mast line wrapped around his tanned, muscular forearm multiple times; Rorgrim piped sailing commands to those around him.
Prepare th' belayin' pins. Grab th' Monkey fist and heave the line until it be chock-a-blocked. Ye to th' stern or the Captain will be getting his daughter (cat of nine tails) after ya. Watch the leech. It be twistin'!
His frame was built for this. His short, massive thighs flexed tightly holding his feet to the rocking deck.
Storms were the great equalizer. In times like these, no one cares who is the skipper and who is the deck hand. All that matters is who has sea legs and can save the ship. Only hours before, the dwarf was cooking the evening slop down below. Now he was working his ass off to save the ship.
From his periphery, Rorgrim sees a small shape fall overboard. It be th' halfling. We'll have th' devil to pay for her to make it.
AHOY! Man overboard port! He barely has time to say it before the small figure splashes in the water.
Rorgrim looks for a life preserver and judges the danger of disconnecting his safety line and heading to the port side of the ship (Sailor Skill check above).
odd. I swore I updated this.
Rorgrim can toss a line out to her as a ranged attack roll (at a -6 for high winds and nonproficiency). The profession check does allow you to get the line and ignore the penalty for the violently rocking boat.
Rorgrim makes it to the side of the boat and tosses a line to the halfling, but the rope is too light for accuracy against the storm.
I be needin' help! Someone! Anyone!
It be a lost cause damn it.
Let me pose a question for Tark and possible actions based on Lorn watching Rorgrim's attempt.
Lorn, having given up on Giffer, watches Rorgrim's sad attempt. A gleam of inspiration comes to mind, or was it madness? Yes, let us go with madness. Unhooking her safety line, she shimmies down the wet brine- soaked line to Rorgrim’s side. ”Tie the rope fast to my line. Secure the bitter end to the rail and be prepared to haul both of us back! You Dwarf enough to play tug-o-war with an angry ocean trying to claim two halflings?” She stands on the heaving rail to catch sight of a bobbing Halfling amongst the sea-sprayed darkness. Grinning, she dives in.
Perception +3 (storm-lashed feat: In rainy conditions, your visibility is only reduced by one-quarter (not by half ) and you only take a –2 penalty on Perception checks)
Swim +5
Concentration +1+3 vs DC? 11? (Vigorous motion + spell level)
Bullrush from Hydraulic push(CMB+4=+1lvl+3Ch) =5’ for every 5, I beat her CMD if she is resisting.
She will swim towards Giffer, casting Hydraulic Push(x3/day) to get Giffer closer to her. I can use this to push myself (or her is she is willing) for an automatic 20’ if I interpret this right.
If she is successful in reaching Giffer, she’ll grab halfling’s remaining safety line and tie it to hers, relying on Rorgrim’s strength to haul them in. Her effort will be to keep both of them afloat.
As Lorn and Rorgrim fiddle with rope in howling winds giffer drifts farther adn farther away from the ship.
Diving into the water Lorn immediately begins to regret her decision. This is no calm seawater but a maelstrom of terrible proportions and for a brief second lorn is even airborne as the gozreh tosses her about like a cat toy.
The decision to tie off to the rail was probably the only sane gesture she acquieced to. She might use it to throw herself back on deck. Should invent and patent a lifejacket if she ever makes it back. This could be the quickest PC death for a PBP I have ever played in. Please don't mourn her passing, but take care of Hugs the dead dire rat. :-)
Gasping for breathe, sucking in sweet, sweet air tinged with salt spray as another wave pushes Lorn level with Wormwood's sterncastle deck. The rope tied to her safety line growing taunt and slack with each yaw, pitch and roll of the vessel, sometimes dragged under water occasionally giving her enough slack to briefly look for Giffer. An impossibility. Futility. Need Air! Where? ”Giffer!” Lost. Stupidity. Air! Ears popping. How’d the Wormwood get way up there? Crap! Where’d it go? Lorn is forcibly pulled through a wave lengthwise, then becomes airborne as the ocean releases its grip on the other side as the Wormwood continues its plunge into the bowels of a deep trough. Air. Flying. Crow’s nest. Sails. Deck. Water. ”(Gasp) Giff… [i]Nothing. Something? Nothing. Retreat. Pull slack. (Chuckle/choke/gasp)"Focus. Swim. Giffer!"
Next time. AIR!.. Next time, I'll let one of the bigginsis take a flying leap into Gozreh's ocean tantrum. I am too cute to die. "Snort! *BREATHE* Stop laughing at your own jokes. " Brief calm spot sheltered from the winds between waves. Lorn takes several deep breathes, looks for the Wormwood, looks for Giffer, checks her safety line. The moment passes with the cresting of another wave she is riding. She is slammed with saltspray accompanying the 70Kph winds."Gi..." *Breathe* Maybe I am slowing the ship down, one halfling length per hour. If the fish were biting, I'd gift Rorgrim as soon as he decides to reel me. Taking his sweet time about it. No wonder he's volunteered for cook assistant. Here fishy. "GIFFER!" Time to go home. It's been fun Gozreh, but I think I've worn out my welcome. Lorn starts pulling on the line. "GIFFER!"
Perception +3 (storm-lashed feat: In rainy conditions, your visibility is only reduced by one-quarter (not by half ) and you only take a –2 penalty on Perception checks)
Swim +5
Concentration +1+3 vs DC? (Vigorous motion + spell level)
Just letting you know I'm working on getting everyone together.
As Lorn struggles agaisnt the terrible waves she realizes the severity of her mistake almost immediately. Within moments of leaping in the water Lorn finds it nearly impossible to cast, not simply being rocked about but violently hurled into the air and smashed down into the waves even Rogrim's stout and sure legs have a hard time keeping a grip on the rope as it jerks and slacks with each terrible jolt.
Over it all is the roaring of the captain giving orders here and there heedless or perhaps uncaring of the drama happening in the sea. When lorn finally manages to get close enough and cast her spell she is all but at the end of the rope. With a painful stretch she reaches out to grab giffer's finger tips. For a brief second theirs a glimmer of hope in the drowning halflings eyes before the cruel fates split a terrible wave between you and giffer disappears from sight. Forever claimed by the sea.
The ocean spray, water and tears mix, no longer purged by a simple blink. Lorn weeps from the effort to get this far. Weeps from the almost success. Weeps for a loss of life. No more slack to give in the line, she just remains afloat, staring into through the dark swells, deaf and blind from the unbottled humanity she thought properly buried for survival purposes...
A particularly massive rogue wave draws her into a deep swell before swallowing her whole. The pressure popping her ears. "Right. Survival. Now the fight only involves me. Divide and conquer. Pull!!! Lorn knows the surface will appear eventually, she starts the hand over hand retreat on her safety line.
Surfacing with a bit of slack, *GASP* "Com'ere fishy... Pull! Reel in the Wormwood. You are mine for the taking. My trophy. Damned fools try to sail her away."
Lorn continues the hand over hand action, throwing in an extra swimming kick with each bit of slack provided by a pushing swell or yawing of the Wormwood.
Lorn readies a Hydraulic Push. She is saving it for one of the officers when she returns on deck. The madness is raging BUT if she needs it to return she'll do that. And wait.
Concentration vs DC? 11? (Vigorous motion + spell level(1))
Bullrush from Hydraulic push(CMB+4=+1lvl+3Ch) =5’ for every 5 = an easy 20' move in a pinch.
updating tonight
As lorn claws and scrapes her way back up the rope held on by rogrim she manage to find herself back on.
By dawn the storm passes and the captain allows a few hours of respite before a true accounting of the damage, and the discipline following. IS done.
Beaten, almost-drowned, emotionally drained from the adrenline and loss, Lorn clings to Rorgrim not trusting her legs yet her hands shakes so much she cannot do much more than barely open her fists much less hold herself up.
Head lolling to one side, she tries to count the figures still in the rigging, moving and non-moving. Whole lot of effort with nothing to show. So close. Sails are ripped. Rigging loose. More crew unmoving in the rigging. Her eyes unfocusing, "Rorgrim, Wake me only after they keel-haul me. I hate pirates." With that, she releases her tenuous hold onto consciousness.
By midmorning everyone is awake and merely fatigued. The captain ahs amde it known that anyone who was not working to save ship and crew last night for any reasons will be tasting the whip as this evening's entertainment.
A forlorn Lorn drudges around the deck, looking into corners and deck strainers. She cuts a ragged figure with her hair both matted and standing on end, clothes salt-stained with no rime or reason. PUN! She slowly picks up whatever detritus is on deck, inspecting it before tossing it overboard. A haunted look about her, "Hugs, where are you? Did you go look for Giffer too? She fell in during the storm."
On the plus side, this is the cleanest you've seen her.
Ugh, mah hud. Mumbata growns cluching at his skull. Ah musta hut it dur da sturm. Pushing himself up onto the deck he groggily looks around. Ugh.. dis ain’t gonna be ah gud day.
Sylvestra awakens, recovering from the storm and exhaustion. Seeing herself alive and on board the ship, the joy is quickly washed away at realizing she is indeed still on board the ship. She rises, moving to see who else suffers such misfortune, a small hope of who may not.
Seeing Mumbata and Lorn, she smiles inwardly but doesn't let it show, instead looking for who else survived, seeing that the captain did as well sours her mood slightly.
Rhialla awoke shaking her head to clear it. The storm had been one of the strongest she had seen so far and she expected to see casualties.
She was happy to see that her other friends had survived, though all looked the worse for wear, but given that bastard captain's mood, the night would not be a pleasant one.
Siera awakens with a foul headache, her forehead bruised where she was thrown into the mast by the tide and winds. She kicks a piece of wood to vent her anger, the plank splintering before her callused foot.
Calistra's bloody c#+&! I can't f&$$ing believe I lost the entire godsf%%*damned storm! An now it's the whip for me. F!@#damnitalltabloodyhell! Asmodeus' black a&$*%!!$!
Just to be clear on our newcomers I've kept nearly everything. So here's a rundown.
Ryzern and Mumbata both fought owlbear in separate instances. This means that all of the crew (including the original players here) got there gear back. You won't have to make saves for said gear but it was dumped unceremoniously in the bilges.
All the allies that the swashbucklers made are now also the harpies and vice versa. You know Ryzern and know how he's a strange dichotomous sort of coward.
In other news: Waiting on rest to post before moving on to your whippings feel free to interact with the newcomers I'll get a proper update tomorrow.
Rorgrim stretches his sore muscles as the stocky dwarf walks over to his friends. 'twas a rough un last night mates! Everyone be alstarboard today? He looks around to see if everyone is accounted for. May be some beatin's comin' from t' captain tonight. We need t' stick together.
"Yes together, forming a block that might even be seen as a threat, excellent idea."
Ryzern hobbles away a bit, putting distance between him and Stormbeard. He starts carefully coiling rope, aka "looking-busy".
Mugwort scowls at the rest of the crew, his stomach still not recovered from the storm's churning. He too moves away, working diligently to not be accused of shirking.
Lorn having paced and peeked into the nooks and crevices of the deck and between ship's gear. No Hugs the dead dire rat found. She was gonna ask Ryzern for help, however he stomped off focusing on coiling a bit of line.
The scowling goblin clearly was not in the talking much less a helpful mood. Mumbata and Siera look the same. "Hugs, I'll miss you." She slowly ascends one the rope ladders. Picking up the nearest tear in the sail clothe to repair. Her work is slow methodical, her fingers doing the work without concentration as she cast her eyes across the sea for some indication of life.
"Yes together, forming a block that might even be seen as a threat, excellent idea."
Ryzern hobbles away a bit, putting distance between him and Stormbeard. He starts carefully coiling rope, aka "looking-busy".
Tis a good way t' get yur skull crushed nimble fingers. To the others What be wrong with that land lubber?
Patching up the sails, lost in thought…With Hugs gone, I need another prop. A willing shill. I do believe a little encouragement can go a long way. Plenty of ripped canvas, allows Lorn to work her way towards Conchobart. The petite lost Halfling in need of solace times her own appraisal just enough to glance away as if caught by the wandering eye of the gnome. Bait, let him hook himself. Canvas work is never done, she finds another stretch of sail and, although working slow, is consumed in the work.
That evening, the crew comes for thsoe who passed out during the storm egged on by the officers you are dragged, willingly or not and strapped to the mast for the whipping of a lifetime. As each is given his or her (un)deserved punishment the crime is laid out. The ship requires each and every single crew member to be alert and ready in the time of an emergency (be it hurricane or the storm of combat) should one crew member fail, then the chances of all hands on board perishing increases. The captain almost sounds reasonable as your flesh is being flayed from your back between Master Scourge's giddy chortles.
IF you don't pass out or nearly die from the pain you rejoin the crew, some of the more hostile ones are laughing, the friendly ones are remorseful while the rest either try to keep their heads down or simply stay out of the way.
Siera accepts her fate with resignation, more angry at her own shortcomings than any (what she feels is due) punishment. She rips up a small part of her already frayed pants to bite down on, promising herself she won't give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
She fails.
The first two whippings she takes with a cocksure smirk, moving her behind as if provoking Master Scourge to do his worst. The third cuts across the first two, making her drop her mouthguard and curse.
The fourth saps the strength out of her muscular legs, and the fifth robs the air of her lungs, making her unconscious. Master Scourge licks his lip while stroking his whip, planning the last blow carefully in order to deal the most pain possible. He takes one step to the right, smiling as he peeks at Siera's exposed torso behind the rags of her shirt. The whip whistles as it cuts the air with tremendous force, hitting her ribs first, the leather coils then lashing across her right breast. A trail of blood is left on her wake as she is carried away.
Mugwort takes the beating with gritted teeth and internal promises to kill the son of a bugbear who administers it. He manages to stay conscious to the last lash, but sags into unconsciousness with a goblin shriek of pain.
When he awakens that night, he scowls and stays under his hammock, curled into a ball to avoid allowing his torn back to touch solid ground. He cradles his gun, murmuring to it the many and varied ways in which he will kill each of the bastards who laughed....
Sylvestra silently goes to the beating, not attempting a struggle. Not out of any strength but rather knowing struggling would only make it worse. As she prepares for her turn of the whip, she closes her eyes to await the sting. She isn't able to stay silent after the first lash, the pain too much for her. The second lash comes bringing even more pain with it. The third is finally too much, Sylvestra losing out into unconsciousness.
Rhialla knew what she was in for as she was brought to the mast, the leers from some, and wicked hateful glares from others were nothing compared to the raw malevolent glee radiating for the psychopath Scourge.
She doesn’t even pretend to remain quiet when the blows start, giving voice to the burning agony as the whip cuts and tears as her beautiful frame, bringing brutality to parts of her designed for rapture. One especially wicked and well aimed blow wraps around her lower torso bringing an earsplitting shriek before she surrenders consciousness. And yet Scourge continues.
Her back twitching in sympathetic pain, Lorn does not enjoy spectating with the mandatory audience. She assists the withdrawing of the Sylvestra and Rhialla to their hammocks. Getting in the way of groping "helping hands" or stumbling into a tangle of limbs forcing those to focus on balance and less on accessible flesh, she is a rather a bumbling Halfling sometimes. ”Ooops Excuse me…. Pardon my big feet…. The sight of blood makes me woozy sometimes…” Piss off ya leeches, you ain’t my crew, no freebies here and I certainly don’t owe any of ya favors.
Crafting a couple of makeshift compresses from spare sailcloth, a bucket of fresh water from the tapped but hardly touched water barrels, and her flask (just recovered) recently filled with rotgut rum, she tends to the healing of the whipped and unconscious crewmembers. Intending to keep her wits about her, at least for tonight, she uses the rum for the ripped flesh, prevent infection; switching to the cool damp canvas compresses soon thereafter. Too many friends unconscious make for a hazardous deck watch. I’ll have to widen my circle of allies or at least non-hostile crew.