"Two fish-women is playing with head on beach. One of them is wearing Sandara's hat."
Fish-women? Like those bloody s~&%stains that attacked the ship?
Lorn Butterrun wrote:
An inner resolve visibly steels her backbone, "I have a confession of sorts. I can scream silently but only the person who hears it is hurt, sometimes stunned. I might be able to keep one of them out of the fight long enough to kill the other fish-creature. It is how I was able to survive those two sailors knifing me in the bilges, much thanks to Mugwort's killing the other before he got to me."
Then do it, halfpint. I've been hurtin' to get back on those piss-pot leftovers.
Face red from hate and pent-up anger, Siera moves to the beach with determination in her steps and murder in her eyes.
Plenty of time to lie down later, red, and with better company!
Siera nonchalantly picks Sylvestra up to her right shoulder and hoisters Lorn under her left arm.
Fortitude saves: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 91d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Siera's Strength of 18 lets her carry under 100 lbs as a light load and up to 200 as a medium load.
Siera bites her tongue as the order is given, her first instinctive response running along the lines of "Ya want fresh water, kneel down and I'll give you a steaming jet of it".
Ya want fresh water, you'll get it, cap'n.
She takes a moment to spread her toes and feel the hot sand running through them before setting her eyes on the task. Turning back to make sure the boat and curious ears are far enough, she confides:
I'd rather take my chances with whatever's down in this pisspot island than spending 'nother day on that boat. Don't know if y'all noted, but the chance for a proper mutiny has properly gone down with Ryzern and the redhead. Anybody got any clue to where the f~$~ we are? Might be we can just outrun them in the green.
"Rhi, tell me true, did the Lady of the Sea bless you to produce life-nurturing rum hidden underneath that bodice? I am in awe and curiously thirsty."
Siera smiles to see the halfling up and talking, and smiles even more at her words.
Aye, life-nurturing rum indeed she produces beneath these skirts. But they're naught for the likes of you, halfpint!
Putting the halfling down, Siera looks around to measure the morale of the crew.
If that cockfaced s~#@eater mista Plugg cracked the whip down on us before, what's he gunna do now that the crew is on half-strength? Dya think he plans to mount a rescue mission? If so, I should find mah way into it and out of this hellhole of a ship.
Grinding her blood-stained teeth, Siera gives back a crushing right-handed hook to the ribs, probably shattering two or three of them and driving on into his lungs.
Full-round action: Flurry of Blows
First Attack (the monster at Q33; includes Power Attack -2): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17 Damage: 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Second Attack (includes Power Attack -2): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6 Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
5-ft step to Q35.
I'll bite yer filthy heads off, you s%~&-faced mongrels!
Siera lashes out with a savage hook to the cranium of the nearest gobltopus.
Your momma must've git into a really f#+#ed-up orgy, squidface!
Full-round action: Flurry of Blows
First Attack (the monster at Q34; includes Power Attack -2 and flanking +2): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 20 Damage: 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
If Q34 is down after the first hit, 5-ft. step into that square and attack the one at P33.
Second Attack (includes Power Attack -2): 1d20 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (11) + 4 - 2 = 13 Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Siera tries to visit the Owlbear whenever possible and share bits of food with him, since she believes he may be forgotten and unable to fend for himself and he'll make for a powerful ally. She also tries to befriend the sailor Cog.
Diplomacy checks if needed: 1d20 ⇒ 18 and 1d20 ⇒ 10
So if we're headin' that way he surly means ta have hisself a boat. And only those around here will know the secret. That means he has one more reason to murder us, as if he needed more a' those. I say we win the murderin' race by a longshot.
Siera, armed with a fierce scowl, nods to the words of her crewmates.
Pretty boy there has tha right of it. Mister ButtPlugg there prolly means to steal the boat, and the only reason we're not shark bait yet is that the bastard needs us to man it to port. The moment we see land we're done for. He'll just throw our pieces overboard and recruit some hapless f+!*wits to crew this piece of s$+$.
Seemingly fuming with anger and frustration, Siera explodes:
Allrite, fine. I'll be that b!!&+ and say what everyone's been thinkin': mutiny. There, it's out in the open. We gang up and kill the bastard in his sleep before we get to a port, man the boat to a safe shore, and whoever wants to walk, walks. The ones who don't, don't. We do it really nice and quick, before he has a chance to make friends with the other crewmembers.
2 questions: Did the Owlbear come with us to the new boat? What's a Rickety Squibs? Do any of us know that?
Rhialla offers a public prayer of thanks to Besmara, complete with cheering and drinking. Somewhere during the celebrations she seeks Siera looking to make good on the celebration of not having died today.
Siera is clearly in high spirits (and somewhat high from strong spirits, too), and nonchalantly puts Rhialla on her shoulder while shouting something along the lines "claim hard-earned booty". She spends the rest of the evening putting her taunt physique to work.
The next day she's visibly both satisfied and hungover, until the moment the announcement is made.
Piss and biscuits, thas how they repay us? Putting us under that good-for-nothing pissbreaches? For f$&#'s sakes, if I crapped on a sack that would be a better cap'n than motherf+#$in' Plugg!
"Surviving." She is about to add something else, visibly thinks twice and gives a half-hearted grin and shrug. Then, head cocked to the side, "Do you think you could teach me something of what you did?"
Thar's really not much to it, ta be honest. Get tough, get down in the gutter, win at all costs. But yar at the right height for sum vicious nutcrackers. Ya grab a man by the balls he'll do anything for ya. When we find the time and a good punching bag I'll show you how ta do it.
Siera walks around with the enemy officer's helm hanging sideways on her head, looking around the deck to congratulate any surviving crewmates.
Slapping the goblin's oversized head she declares: Ya fight real good, Mug; for a gobbo, that is.
Nice screaming and turning into a big giant, 'mbata. Hope you're not only big during battle.
How dya like the boarding, Rhi? Perhaps this night we can celebrate practicing boarding maneuvers below-deck; I mite have a thing or two to teach'ya.
Besmara has one less crewmate to man her ship today becausa you. Ya saved my bony ass down there, red. I owe ya., she says as she taps Sylvestra on the shoulder.
Siera approaches the halfling, holding under her arms to carry her piggyback. How do ya feel survivin' yar first boarding, halfpint?
Full-Round Action: Flurry of Blows (all attacks will be non-lethal at no penalty due to the monk's Improved Unarmed Strike)
First Attack 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
Concealment roll (miss on 01-20%): 1d100 ⇒ 87
Second Attack (Power Attack): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
Concealment roll (miss on 01-20%): 1d100 ⇒ 27
Damage roll (nonlethal): 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
The cascade of savage elbows, knees and punches finally starts to tire out the officer as Siera sneaks a powerful right-handed hook to the liver.
F*!# THIS MISTY FART ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE BLACK A%~%$&*+ THAT CONJURED IT!!
Siera ducks and moves away from the officer's blows, trying to protect the injured goblin at her side before asking herself why.
Full-Round Action: Flurry of Blows (all attacks will be non-lethal at no penalty due to the monk's Improved Unarmed Strike)
First Attack 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Concealment roll (miss on 01-20%): 1d100 ⇒ 29
Second Attack (Power Attack): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
Concealment roll (miss on 01-20%): 1d100 ⇒ 31
Damage roll (nonlethal): 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9[/OOC]
A hardened fist connects to the side of the officer's throat.
Black feet thunder upon the ground as Siera runs towards the officer.
Move action: Move to O-32 using Acrobatics (she'll jump from her spot to Q-31, then
Use Stunning Fist feat (DC 13)
Standard Action: Attack the pike-wielding officer at N-33.
Attack roll (including Power Attack): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Concealment roll (miss of 51-100%): 1d100 ⇒ 48
She unleashes a vicious kick to the gut that fails to connect by a mile.
Seeing the wounded Siera come near, Sylvestra reaches a hand out to her and sends a wave of healing energy into her. "A little aid, to help you make good on that promise to 'em."
If ya wanted a piece, red, all ya had ta do is ask! I'll make sure to squeeze you in sometime.
Siera cries in pain from the wounds, channeling the pain and anger into the knuckles of her fists.
Arrh! Before this is over I'll shove that sword up yar dungholes! I'll bite yar cocks off ta feed the sharks!
Full-round action: Flurry of blows.
First Attack (using Power Attack): 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 4 + 1 = 21
Damage: 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Second Attack (using Power Attack): 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 4 + 1 = 19
Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11
5-ft. step back to R-32.
A bare, black foot leaves the wood to find purchase in the kneecap of the nearest sailor, shattering bone and cartilage. As her enemy screams from the pain, Siera plants a powerful hook punch on the sailor's windpipe, cutting off his voice (and probably life). Taking a step back, the fighter gathers her breath for another assault.
Fists up and head bobbing, Siera throws a sweeping right-to-left strong punch, forcing her opponent to dodge low. As he does so, she smiles wickedly, tugging on his hair just enough to pull his head down while her knee connects with the sort cartilage of his nose.
Thinking she should feel scared, Siera smiles exhilarated. At a moment like this, luck favors the bold and the fool, and gods know she's both. Taking a last look at Rhialla, Siera feels the need for a quick prayer.
Watch this, b%+@# queen. Watch this battle and know every drop of blood shed by my fists is dedicated to you. Watch and wet yourself, you filthy whore.
Satisfied with her exemplar devotion, Siera hangs tight on the rope attached to the hook, takes a few steps back, grabbing the halfling, and...
By Besmara's bloody c@@#!
...jumps through the space between the ships, hoping to face her enemies.
Move Action: Move to U-32 and from there jump to S-33, then continue moving to R-31.
Acrobatics check: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
Swift Action: Enter Dragon Style stance.
Standard Action: Attack sailor 1.
Attack roll (Power Attack): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
Damage roll: 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9
Too bad I cunnent find ya last night, sweet cheeks. When we're both back on deck I'll give ya a good, hard ride too. It's a promise.
Although her boast is accompanied by a snigger, it's clear Siera fully acknowledges the possibility of one of them dying on a sailor's blade by the end of the day.
Siera accompanies the halfling on her walk and watches with curiosity as she approaches the bootlickers.
Fat chance that'll work. I can smell the brown up their noses from kissing Scourge's ass all day long.
After escorting the halfing to the bunks to make sure nobody tries any funny business, she decides this could be her last night alive and searches fraternization in the bottom of a rum mug and the comforts of somebody's arms. Approaching the tight-lipped sailor Cog she gently suggests:
Siera smiles satisfied as the halfling is taken off the sweatbox and approaches her during dinner.
Here, halfpint, have my rum. You sure can guzzle it down huh? Pretty impressive that you can hold so much in such a tiny package. - it's fairly clear she isn't speaking solely about the beverage.
We need ta talk 'bout the attack tomorrow. Chances are, they'll throw us first as fodder, so we'll be needin' to put our heads together and try to figure out a way to survive this.
Finding a moment to speak with the others. "Perhaps if a distraction were to be made, a couple of us could 'check up' on Lorn, Syl and Jake. I mean, it would be terrible if the spiders were to get a couple of them."
Sense Motive check: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Whaddya sayin', red? That those bootlicking pederasts are gonna try somethin' funny with Lorn? Gods know they are sloppery c#*$%*%@+$s, but I dinnit think even those slitherin' landlubbers would risk the captain's ragebone up their behinds to kill one of the crew. That's spitting in the face of Besmara and a waste of a good deckhand and such a pretty face. F%~+ing c&#@#$&%@&s.
Siera walks with ill-concealed purpose towards the bilges, the knuckles on her fingers white from the rage.
It appears the boarding training, even if somewhat simple, awakened something behind Siera's eyes. Feeling no longer like a cornered rat in a drowning boat, she takes both to her daily tasks and carousing nights with renewed gusto.
That first night after the boarding training the rigger drinks merrily with the new recruits, feeling a strong bond with this misfit crew. Her mind goes back to the many tales and songs heard from many a seaman in many different ports. With a surprisingly strong and booming voice, Siera starts one of her favorite songs:
:
To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave,
Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave;
Let our deck clear for action, our bows be prepared;
Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the cutlass bared:
Set the ballistas ready, and then bring to me,
For the last of my duties, the armory key.
It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear;
If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.
Unshared have we left our last victory's prey;
It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:
There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck,
And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck.
There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose
Andoran's fair summers, the home of the rose.
I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine
'Tis to drink to our victory - one cup of red wine.
Some fight, 'tis for riches - some fight, 'tis for fame:
The first I despise, and the last is a name.
I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,
At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.
I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;
I only shed blood where another shed tears,
I come, as the lightning comes red from above,
O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.
Perform (sing) check: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
She will work diligently by day and try to make friends by singing sea songs and starting arm wrestling and drinking competitions. Her focus should be any of the new crewmembers who look strong and able.
Siera waits for her shipmates to make their tries shimmying up the rope, watching Lorn with worry and Rhialla with unfeigned interest.
Tha's how ye do it, girl!
Then her muscles spring to action as she jumps from the small boat into the ship's hull, twisting the rope around her arms. After planting her feet firmly onto the dirty hull, she pulls onto the rope with strong arms, her legs springing to her side as a bucket of refuse is thrown at her previous position.
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.
MOTHERCUNTINGF*$&DAMNIT!!!
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.
Since she has 11 HP, I suppose some of that damage converts to lethal.
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~#+!%*~!
Siera does her job diligently, an eye on the storm. She notices Mumbata looking ahead into the clouds and shares a worried look.
This damned crew need ta work together or together we sink.
Profession (sailor):1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14
When moving to gather new rope for the rigging, she brushes up against Rhialla.
Hey gorgeous. Ya mind sayin' a few words tonite for me an' the crew? Seems like with this storm in sight we'll be in need of a good, proper blessin' later.
Although her words are somewhat heavy with tension, there's enough of a jest tone to insert a double entendre there somewhere.
I figure most of the Harpies group finds it difficult to picture a muscular somewhat slender woman, so I've searched for a long time for visual references for Siera (oh, how I wish I could unsee some things).
But seeing as I had a lotta trouble finding fantasy images of muscular woman fighting barehandedly (go figure) I've turned to more modern sources.
Beware, photos of a woman in revealing clothes ahead (I guess NSFW):
