The first thing you feel is the hard floor.
It's dark, and you can hear other people groaning nearby.
There is the aftertaste of too much drink on your dry tongues and a headache like an axe splitting your skulls.
It is a moment before you realize the creaking noise isn't your joints complaining, that the room isn't rocking because you're still drunk. The salt in the air isn't your sweat.
You are on a ship, sailing.
As if they had been waiting for that realization to dawn, a rough looking gang of pirates bursts in, waking the room with shouts and blinding lantern light. Those who aren't quick to find their feet get swift kicks, and a tall man swaggers in with a long coat and his black beard in braids. He bares his gold teeth in a vicious grin.
"Still abed with the sun over the yardarm?" he screams, leaning down to get in your faces, a whip coiled in his hand. "On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap'n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!"
The whip cracks in the air as he finishing, and he steps aside, waving you up a narrow stairway.
Havok gets up from his snooze, and tries to shake his head, his large goblin head is swimming from the pain. He tries to give it a couple of bonks to clear out the pain, but in usual goblin fashion, It just makes it worse.
Havok suddenly notices that his flask belt and formula book are missing as well as his tools and cutlass. "G#~%@*int it all to Besmara, bloody tieves took me booms." He checks himself over and suddenly finds one of his extracts in his "special place". He removes it and slides it under his coat.
Slight of Hand 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Shaking his head once again, he begins to follow up the rest of the sailors on deck. He hides his excitement about being on a boat again.
Moaning as the pirate's screaming only makes her head pound worse, Lorelei manages to get to her a feet. A bit too slowly for the taste of the pirate who gives her a swift kick to the ribs.
Gods damn it all! How could I be so stupid as to let my guard down when alone in a pirate bar? Nothing to do for now but to follow the rest of this sorry lot above deck and see what kind of wreck we're all stuck on.
As the march up, Lorelei looks about her, assessing the others who have been shanghaied along with her. Seriously? Someone would bother snatching a gob? This ship must be pretty desperate. And that poor fellow there has to be colorblind, in not actually blind to be dressed up like that. Jeez, they should toss their recruiter overboard for this lot.
How about a profession sailor check to see if any of us have heard of Cap'n Harrigan before? 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Ragnar grunts, a rumble in the back of his throat. He picks himself dizzily off the floor, fresh bruises purpling on his face and torso from the previous night's brawl (and the boot in his ribs). He spares the grinning pirate a murderous glance before heading up on deck. Feeling at least the comforting heft of his knuckles concealed safely in his fist brightens his mood a bit as he blinks in the daylight.
Odiseo stifly hauls himself upright, clutching the side of his throbbing head.
"Deck? Duty?" he wonders. "Wha- what happened? Where am I?
A rush of whispered voices, not quite in unison, answers: Based on the rate at which your position is oscillating, and the grammar and vocabulary of the speaker, we calculate that you are aboard a ship."
As Odiseo tries to recover his bearings, he's nearly bowled over by a halfling (he thinks) rushing past him.
"We recommend you acquiesce to the demand to egress to the vessel's surface," the whispering continues.
"I'm going, I'm going! Odiseo shouts, then winces in pain as his headache spikes.
You are hustled quickly up two flights of stairs to reach the open deck, where you discover that the ship has been underway for quite a while. Looking around, there is nothing but the blue sea in any direction. On the deck, the crew clusters around the main mast, looking up at the higher deck astern.
Standing on the higher deck is a muscular Garundi with a shaved head, an eye patch and a long beard bound with gold rings. There is no doubt at all that he is running the show, and beside him stands a younger, balding man with a ponytail, casually swinging the lashes of his cat-o'-nine-tails, a vicious whip used for discipline on ships.
Among the pirates on the lower deck with you are four others who are notable for their relative cleanliness and the expressions of surprise they wear. It would seem that you are not the only ones who were taken unawares.
Before you can do much besides take in your surroundings, the bearded man speaks, his booming voice coming through loud and clear over the wind, the waves, and the noise and activity of the ship.
"Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for 'volunteering' to join my crew. I'm Barnabas Harrigan. That's Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need to address me. I have only one rule -- don't speak to 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 keel-haulin' for anyone caught killin' anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you'd be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it'll save me having to put them in the swatbox for a year and a day before I make pies of 'em."
With that, he walks away, and Mr. Plugg, his first mate, grins and comes down the ladder to the main deck. "Well, well," he says, chuckling. "We'll see what you're made of soon enough."
((please check Craft: Alchemy or Knowledge: Nature if you have them, or Intelligence if you don't.))
((@ Lorelei, I'll say a 12 will let you know that you've heard the name, he's a Free Captain of the Shackles (making him effectively a nobleman of the Pirate Kingdom) but no specific details.))
((holding here til we're all aboard. Feel free to talk among yourselves or take what actions you like.))
Intelligence: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
The Ulfen man with the scarred throat stifles a bitter chuckle at the Captain's policy on talk. "Luhst uhz nuh puhzuhnuh fuh wuhnz.", he mutters quietly. While his lips form words just fine, the sound is all wrong. He looks about at the ship and the other press-ganged swabs, his face impassive.
Craft: Alchemy 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Havok had heard of press-ganging crews. Not something his old captain would ever consider doing, but he should at least be thankful that he was on a ship again. He tried not to laugh out loudly at the completly silly hairstyle of the first mate. And another problem, he was getting hungry and he tried to stiffle the sound of his stomach growling.
Havok began looking around for two things, one for something to eat, and two, for any traces of his lost items. He began looking around at the other pirates, looking for anything of his.
Perception 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
"Terrific," Odiseo mutters. "Maybe I should've just let them drag me to the sanitarium."
Intelligence check: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Odiseo scrutinizes this Capt. Harrigan as tries to think if the name means anything to him.
Untrained Knowledge(local) check to see if Odiseo knows anything about Capt. Harrigan: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
Ornotch wakes up to the sound of being yelled at. getting out of the hammock he notes that he does not know this man. great i have been pressed. *cursing* he then moves over to a beam and hits his head a few times, before going up the stairs to see what awaits him. not being his first time on a new ship.i was the helmsman, now i have to start on the bottom once more, great
Everyone new here best to just go on up now, no need to find out they like to see there crew bleed. even more so if that crew is you.
Ornotck walks up the stairs with a thump as his peg leg hits each step.
ornotck is a gray half orc standing at 6 foot 6 inches, dark wool shirt and black wool pants, he has a peg leg on his left side.
knowledge(nature): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
Once on deck, Fen's mouth hangs open in awe as she looks around at her surroundings. Never before had she seen so much ocean, so much sky. She whirled around several times taking it all in before allowing a bit of a grin to creep into the corners of her mouth. Amazing! It's all I dreamed it would be!
She's obviously too distracted for knowledge checks at the moment ;)
Knowledge nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Knowledge Geography: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
sense motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
geography to know where we might be at, sense motive to get the feel for who is new to the crew and who is not. add in 2 for any human or human blooded.
Ornotck looks around to find out where he is and what his new crew mates are like, as well as to see how many of them are new to the crew, if not the sea as a whole.
Knowledge Nature 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24
Though I wanted to get a job aboard ship, this is not at all what I had in mind. Plus I wanted to be able to choose what ship I ended up on.
Lorelei eyes the first mate warily, wondering if he plans on using that cat'o'nine tails already.
The captain goes back below decks and the mate smirks as he looks you over. As he moves among you, you can see that he is young to be a first mate, and everything about him is polished til it shines in the harsh sun, from his boots to his bald head. He paces slowly around the deck, pausing to take the measure of each of you, contempt in his sneer and the way he swings him cat casually at his side as he walks.
"Good then," he chuckles. "Some of you might turn into pirates after all. First thing is, I'm needing a rigger." He points above, to the dizzying array of ropes that control the sails, support the masts and the yards. "First one to the crow's nest, it'll be." He looks up at the platform 60' above the deck.
"Well, staring won't get you there," he snarls, his anger storming up out of nowhere. "Climb, damn you!"
((climb checks, please. DC 10 to move 1/4th speed, DC 15 to move 1/2. you're going 60' up, keep rolling until you get there or fall.))
((assuming that you are obeying the mate's orders, of course.))
((@ Odiseo: untrained knowledge check doesn't tell you much more than what Lorelei learned: he's a Free Captain))
((@ Havok: you do not see any of your gear at the moment. But it's a big ship.))
climb 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
acrobatics to land 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
Well, don't have much for now. I should never had drank that damn rum. May as well just bide my time until I can get a chance to jump ship.
Eyeing the height warily, Lorelei sighs and begins climbing at a cautious pace. Though whether from the rough night before or nerves, she looses her grip on the rigging not long after begining and doesn't land too well onto the deck.
Ragnar takes off for the rigging, clambering up as quickly as he can manage.
Climb- half speed: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Off to an impressive start, he keeps pushing for the crow's nest.
Climb- half speed again: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19
Climb-half speed: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Climb- half speed, final push: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (1) + 7 = 8
And then chokes. One more climb check, in case that's not me falling to my death.
Climb, to see if I can catch myself:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Havok looks up the rigging and sighs, "Havok not good at climbing"
He grabs on to the rigging and begins to pull himself up to the crows nest, grumbling each time.
Climb Check - without armor or equipment
1d20 ⇒ 8 Starting off with a bad start, Havok is barely able to lift himself up to the rigging.
1d20 ⇒ 16 5ft
1d20 ⇒ 20 10ft
1d20 ⇒ 8 Havok looks down and gets scared and can't seem to continue but he grumbles and continues to climb
1d20 ⇒ 11 15ft
1d20 ⇒ 12 20ft
1d20 ⇒ 3 Havok's foot misses the rope and his tiny strength is unable to continue holding him up. He begins to fall.
The half-elf slips and falls on her way up the rigging, landing hard on the deck, to the amusement of the crew, who cheer and laugh. The mate stalks over to her and barks.
"On your feet, lassie! I didn't give you permission to fall!"
A moment later, the huge Ulfen who had swarmed up the rigging swiftly and readily has nearly reached the top when his foot slips and he tumbles to the deck and lies still. The crew's cheering fizzles as the mate nudges the barbarian with his toe.
"Well, he's out."
A moment later, the goblin lands hard on the deck and lies still. There is a nervous snickering from the other crew members.
Fen eagerly jumps up on the rigging.
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15 10'
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21 20'
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14 25'
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
After making slow but methodical progress, she finally looses her grip 25 feet up and falls.
climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13 and doesn't catch herself.
acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
D'oh! Well, then...
Odiseo's grip falters for a moment, but he recovers. Holding on tightly with one hand, he reaches up shakily with the other.
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (16) + 0 = 16
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (6) + 0 = 6
He hauls himself a few feet off the deck before his hands slip again. Sweat beads up on his forehead as he struggles to maintain his hold on the rigging.
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (7) + 0 = 7
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (14) + 0 = 14
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (10) + 0 = 10
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (12) + 0 = 12
1d20 + 0 ⇒ (2) + 0 = 2
Gritting his teeth, Odiseo manages to make some progress, but a sudden breeze sets the rigging swaying. He misses a handhold and plummets to the deck.
hmm must have got me after that tumble i had with the whore upstairs. best make sure the newbies don't get them self's killed more work for me to do then.
Ornotck looks at his peg leg then back at the first mate, sighs and starts to climb.
I am sure you just want to see someone with a peg leg climb don't you, they always have fun with that... ornotck says to the first mate then he stats to climb.
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 4
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 6
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 2
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 9
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 9
looking up at how far the others have gone, he looks to the first mate and says Sure you have had your fun with me on this by now, i am not meant for climbing as you can easily see. get me behind the wheel and you have another story after that he stops trying to climb
"Blessed Besmara help us," a woman's voice says. A pretty redhaired woman with a tricorn hat and tattoos covering both arms steps towards you. She is one of the cleaner ones, standing with you on the main deck while the captain gave his speech. As she speaks, she raises her hands, and for just a moment, you all feel like you're being pulled under the waves. The sensation passes, leaving you feeling refreshed. You are healed to the tune of 2d6 ⇒ (6, 3) = 9 9hps each.
The mate only spares her a brief glance, but the skinny man with the long coat who dragged you on deck gives the woman a poisonous glare. Before you have time to think about it, the mate snaps. "Mister Scourge, get this pathetic flock of sheep on their feet!"
The skinny man pulls his eyes from the redhead and cracks his whip over your heads.
"You there, Big Mouth," Plugg chuckles. "You're my rigger. Now which one of the rest of you scum can cook?"
Lorelei had climbed gingerly to her feet at the first mate's orders, wondering how many cracked ribs she had and watched all the others make their attempts. Well, none of us appear to be good climbers, that's for sure.
While she was still pondering the wisdom of casting a healing spell, she was rather surprised to feel the healing wave pass over her. Well now, that solved that problem. I guess they aren't willing to just let us die off since they are so short handed.
"Does it matter if the result is edible?" Though at least I wouldn't be in danger of falling to my death when cooking...
Blackness fades to light as Fen regains consciousness, staring up at the sky through the rigging. She reaches up and tentatively feels at the back of her head where the pain is the worst and grimaces as she feels something moist. Standing up, she raises a timid hand. "I helped cook back at my parent's inn..." She scowls at saying that but it's not apparent if it from physical pain or some painful memory.
blinking Ornotch looks at Plugg and Scoules sense motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18 thinking to himself why would he put me in the rigging if other then to see how funny it would be.
sense motive to see why i was put in rigging, if it was just for a laugh or something else.
I don't think he would waste the food on something like that, seems more like he is going to do a random pick. like he randomly picked me
Havok gets up from his day time nap, he recalls falling, but why on Golarion would that have happend. Havok suddenly has an idea about flying goblins but decides to think more on it later
Havok hops up and down like he's really excited, "Havok cook! Havok real good cook! Havok make good fish ball stew! He keeps hopping up and down trying to get the attention.
Watching the goblin.. "Havok"'s enthusiasm, Ragnar tries to do what little he may be able to sway the outcome a bit. He points to the halfling lass.
"Shuh cuhcks guhd; uh've huhd uht. In't duht ruht?"
He elbows the half-elf on his right and the orc on his left then pantomimes rubbing his stomach, pasting a smile on his face and nodding.
perception : 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8seems i don't hear that
I say the goblin, could make more meals, as long as we don't ask what is in it, best way to stretch out the supply'si am sure i can take what he cooks up, but might be fun to see how the rest of the crew takes to the cooking gives a nod of encouragement to the goblin.
Ornotch smiles back at havok.
hmm i will need to keep an eye out for this little goblin, should be fun
looking over to ragnar, ornotck just smirks.
It is not up to us, it is up to the first mate here. So what will it be plugg, good food for a short time, with the halfling. Or ok food for a long time with the goblin, Have to think about supply's after all, less time gathering them or being in port means more time sailing and looting.
lets see how plugg deals with that thought.
Ragnar stares for a moment, then jerks his head toward the rigging and taps Ornotck's peg leg with his foot and smiles sarcastical-like.
"Cuhnguhjuhlujuhnz buh duh wuh, Uh Uhgzbuht Ruhguh.", he says, his mouth forming Congratulations, by the way, O Expert Rigger.
Havok tries to settle himself down, he doesn't want to appear to eager. He loves cooking and doesn't want to get stuck with another job, like swab, god he hated being a swab.
If only he still had his "recipe" book. He could show this boatswain how good of a cook he really is. He tries not to grin too much at that last thought
Plugg looks on as the peg-leg mistakes his meaning, a nasty grin curling up the corners of his mouth. The grin gets broader as the goblin and the halfling contend for the spot as cook. His eyes grow distant as some pleasing thought fills his head....
Only to be interrupted by Scourge clearing his throat. The Mate glowers at him for a moment before turning back to you.
"THAT big mouth is my rigger," he snaps, pointing at Ragnar. He jabs his finger at Havok next, and then at Fen. "That little green bugger isn't going anywhere near the food on this ship, so I guess the halfling's our cook. Get your tail to the galley, before I chuck you over the railing."
He gestures towards the aft stairway, then snaps at Ragnar. "You come with me. And no more of your lip."
As Plugg stalks off, Scourge steps up, grinning. "The rest of you swabs belong to me. We'll make pirates of you, one way or another."
well at least i wont be made a fool of trying to climb with this leg, i hope they have something other then swab left to do on this tub....wait did he just say swabs oh he better not mean that is our jobs
I hope you can make a fine rat soup, ships are crawling with them. And if you cook them just right they are better then pigs. saying in a joking way.
Havok's ears noticably droop as he is denied his oppertunity to cook once again, but he hides a small creeping smile across his face. He turns to Ornotck before following to begins his duties as a swab.
To Ornotck in Orcish
Havok grins from ear to ear with malicious intent, and a glint in his eye is present.
If I could trouble you all to check the discussion thread, I sketched the next stretch of the adventure there. For now, I'll need a 1d6 from everyone but Fen to determine what fun little tasks Scourge and Plugg have in mind for you. Fen, you get to meet the cook before you roll 1d6
"Down the stairway aft," the redhaired woman who healed you leans down to whisper in Fen's ear, pointing towards a stairway towards the back of the ship, before she goes to join the other swabs, keeping to the back of the group as Scourge assigns tasks.