Players, please dot the gameplay thread.
Alfonso bursts into the Formidably Maid from the streets of Port Peril with a spring in his step. "What a rustic establishment! Barkeep, a glass of your finest wine, and a selection of the local cheeses, if you please!"
Shikyo stands in a shadowed corner...plotting the death of everyone involved.
Aye, me ‘arties, welcome to Port Peril - capitol of the Shackles. And by Besmara’s bountiful chest, ain’t no finer place for a hardbitten scallywag or a green buccaneer to call their second home. Ye smell that? The sting of the salt, the lingering funk of sweat, the tang of totty rum - only place better is a ship asea.
But for now, here ye be. Mayhap ye’ve been here for years, or mayhap ye barely had the time to knock the mud caked on your boots when you came to port. It matters only to you in the end. But then ye saw the Formidably Maid, and ye just had to step inside. And who could blame ye?
The sweltering night, the thumping music, and the flowing rum - it’s a fine brew for stirring carnal lusts. So ye drank up, and gave into the night and all its pleasures.
But then something felt off…
You wake up the following morning in a dark place. You can remember the previous night - mostly. There was raucous laughter, wild music, rich stewed meat and fragrant, frilly perfume -- but now all you feel is a pounding headache, a dry, foul mouth, a cold wooden floor, and a disconcerting swaying that’s doing your hangover no favors. You hear a familiar rhythmic creaking and suddenly it all makes sense.
Somehow, you’re aboard a ship.
One by one, you open your eyes and realize you’re in a hold. It’s dark, but you can just make out some others around you.
"Ugh, what happened? All I remember was drinking and dancing, then... something about a goat. Is the goat here too? I think I owe it money."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Shikyo wasn't going to be involved, not his fight...but when the gaijin devil knocked his tea to the floor that was just enough to launch the young man into action. Little did he know that the man had seven friends. The brawl that rocked the Formidably Maid would be talked about for weeks and not a few of the onlookers remarked on the strange looking fellow who was pummeled into submission after snapping Red Robby Horner's hand like a twig.
Gaikoku akuma. Karera wa kore o shiharau koto ni narimasu....。
Grizzle wakes up with a snort. "Not tha clams!" He screams. He seems to come to his senses, looking around. "Bugger. Na again! Ah don remember anythin aboot last noit! Thar was tha pretty little gnome lass, bu then wha happened after tha? Ah do remember somethin aboot tha goat tho. ****, ah gots a terrible headache! Doos any o you lads have a drink on youslelves ba any chance?"
The dwarf slowly, painfully gets up, swaying more than he should have been with just the sea rocking. He takes a step forward, and falls flat on his face, bum up in the air, head on the ground. He doesn't seem to notice his fall for a few seconds.
"Jus gimme a moment lads. Ah'll be up is a sec."
"Uhhnnng!" moaned Jack, some spiteful demon had invited a marching band into his skull. Somewhere in his tortured skull was the distinct recollection of a goat bleating but it passed. He made a wet sounds and rolled over snoring for some time.
Later, much later, he blearily opened one eye. The room was swaying, he must still be in the tavern. Yes that's it he was fine, likely still under a table along with the other patrons judging by the snores. By Calistria's whip that grog had been brutal!
After several seconds the room swam into focus, and it as clearly rocking in a light swell, "I'm on meh ship, how'd I git'ere? I donnae remember that..." he told the air. Suddenly he stat bolt upright as realization struck him this wasn't the Seaspray, "BY CALISTRIA NOOOOOO!" he wailed. It hadn't been much but the Seaspray had been his, all there was left to reminds him of his Pa. He lost it at a game of dice, double or nothing. He wouldn't have minded but the dice had been loaded and he had been too drunk to have done anything about it. That was the way a blood feud started...
That in itself was strange for although Jack had a taste for the hard stuff, he rarely got more than a bit tipsy. Bad things happened when he lost control, like this. He spent several minutes feeling utterly sorry for himself before a voice asked about a goat. He favored the speaker with a jaundiced gaze and started laughing, "Ye cannae remember? T'was tha small matter o' a wager! Could yon fellow stay on a greased pig runnin' laps round tha tavern?!" Jack pointed to the half elf and added, "I couldnae find no porker, but I found tha goat! Ye did grand by tha way."
His laughter was cut short by a shout from somewhere above, theboat suddenly moved he could tell the mainsail had been unfurled and they where likely far from port. He looked around and cursed and told the others, "Lads we're in trouble..."
I would say so. We are, after all, here against our will. I vaguely remember that damnable goat, and the affections of our half-Elf friend of ours.
He stands and nearly whacks his head off of a low slung beam in the Hold where they sat. He immediately recognizes his bow is missing, along with everything else.
By Calistria's short hairs! Where are my possessions? We all appear to have been robbed by our captors as well.
He begins to think back about the details of last night, and he clearly recalls dicing with Mad Jack, and he was winning before the fight broke out. The fast flying fists and feet of Shikyo were almost enough before he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
"Don worry." Says Grizzle, attempting to push himself off the floor. "This situation seems ta be yer standard press-gang. Thay'll want os ta work fer them fer a while, bu then we'll be good. Yer bow will be foin. Onless tha buggers decide ta sell it. Than yoo'll never see tha poor bow again!" He looks slightly worried. "Ah hope me slicers will be foin. Ah loik those things."
Jack eyed Grizzle with wonder. Grizzle was tough as old nails and seemed pretty compis mentis considering he'd downed enough ale to drown a horse, "Aye yer probably right at tha." The situation rankled. Jack's Pa and Grand Pappy before him had no truck with pressgangs, 'Son a great pirate lord is loved by his crew, feared too but mostly loved. A man who cares for ye will leap in front of an assassin's blade. A man who hates ya will stab ye in tha back...'
"Press ganged, you say? I presume they took me because they recognized my talent for leadership, and want to apprentice me."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Yeah, Alphonso, or maybe they just liked our long ears? Mad Jack, what do we do to get out of this?
Jack replied bitterly, "Truthfully? Survive. Bide our time, find out who we can trust and who would feed us to the sharks. We need to make them think we can be trusted and get our gear back. When the time is right, vengeance will be ours!" There was a strange intensity to his eyes as he said this, there was going to be blood that much was certain.
Treggor lies silently, his hands folded over his chest and his hat covering his eyes. He'd awakened before the others, but not knowing where or with whom he was, he decided to wait it out. Obviously if they'd wanted him dead, whoever "they" were, they were at least waiting until he was awake. And since they'd granted him that courtesy, he decided to take full advantage of it.
Then some voices started drifting around. Initially Treggor just grimaced at the favors they weren't doing for his headache, but then began to pick up bits about goats and captivity. He couldn't tell what he had on him without using his hands, save for his boots and hat. But just as well, he figured his sword was long gone. He hoped they hadn't found his daggers, but knew they probably had. So that was that.
Treggor took his had off of his face and sat up, noting from one of the other fellows that standing was a poor idea. "Well, if it's ta be workin' at sea, they won't find a finer hand. But I spent too long runnin' a ship to go back to swabbin' decks fer long." The straggly-bearded man stands, crouching, and introduces himself. "I be Treggor Mynth, ya may have heard of me."
"Were ye tha man with tha goat? Or are ye tha pirate who wasn tha one who captured us? If ye be tha pirate, ah may have heard. Hell, moit have even bin on yer ship!" Grizzle says, finally managing to push himself off the floor and into a sitting position. "Please, do ye got a drink of ya? If ah get sober, ah'll remember...it. An that wouldn't be good at all."
Jack rummages around in his pockets, their captors had stripped him of arms and armour and naturally all coin. "Aha!" he crowed, they had missed a hip flask. Jack unscrewed it and took a sniff. Ooof it went right up his nose, Taldan fire water! He took a swig, coughed and passed it to Grizzle saying, "Hair of the dog."
"Well, I don't see how they expect me to provide the nightly entertainment without my lute."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Shikyo watches the others in the hold, and he listens to the sounds above. His fists curl into a ball.
Unfortunately, he is still suffering from the effects of last nights beatdown.
Alfonso's eyes penetrate the darkness easily. He takes a few moments to get his bearings. There are sixteen pillars supporting the deck above, and between this pillars are hammocks that have been left down so no one can trip on them. The hold is currently empty of cargo, but along the walls are many storage lockers, more than half are left open and empty, while the others are closed, potentially filled with crew belongings.
He also finds the outline of a trapdoor leading below.
But before he can use this information, however, several pairs of heavy footsteps enter the dark room, and the harsh light of a lantern painfully spears the eyes of all of the press-ganged, disorienting them.
A man with a look on his face that could be mistaken for pain, but probably is an attempt at a smile is carrying a whip and leading six others who are carrying saps.
He screams at the press-ganged, “Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? 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!”
He cracks the whip and then violently motions for everyone to stand up and walk up on deck.
Jack falls into line and frowns as he does so. 'Captain Harrigan eh? Feel I oughta know 'bout him, but drawin' a blank. Best keep me head down fer now.'
"Of course, to work! Just provide me with writing instruments and my lute, and I'll get started on composing tonight's set list."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Captain Barnabas Harrigan isn't just a Captain. He's a Free Captain of the Shackles. The Free Captains of the Shackles have long been a thorn in the sides of the nations of the Inner Sea, although no country has chafed under their predations as much as Cheliax. Free Captains are almost considered pirate royalty and, in theory, at least they serve the Hurricane King.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"Get up on deck before I compose a funeral march with me whip. Move!" the man says harshly.
"Yeah, best listen to Master Scourge, Pretty Ears," one of his stooges adds.
'Master Scourge sounds lik a man after me own heart. Wonder if he is of tha faith...'
Grizzle thanks Mad Jack, taking a swig and grunting happily. As the man walks in, he scours his slightly-sober brains for a recollection of the name.
Well, he ain't no small fry.
Grizzle stands up, strait and tall. "We'll be roit along mr. Ouchface! No need ta get yer panties in a knot, weknow whaterdoing! Hup to, ya foilthy landlubbers! Oi know whot oi'm doin!'"
Treggor smiles, recognizing the name. Then he frowns, realizing that means this isn't some two-bit outfit and he may be in a bit over his head. He complies with the marching order, a defiant grin marred by the pangs of a headache plastered on his face as he ascends.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Dieredon stands and walks purposefully behind the others, searching his memory from the days of investigation in Port Peril to see if he recollects the name of the captain.
Aaaaaaah...a Free Captain. So, now we may find out some useful information about these pirates from the inside.
As they were being hurded to their work stations, Jack's gin soaked brain suddenly thought, 'Ohhh hang on a mo, they mean Barnabas Harrigan! Darnation, Jack your in it up tae yer neck this time.'
Shikyo doesn't let on that he understands the man, instead he stands and says
Watashi wa watashi jishin no te de anata o korosudeshou watashi no kōei senzo no chi ni yotte chikaimasu. in his native Tien.
Shikyo's words have venom, but he doesn't think anyone here speaks the Flowered Tongue.
Shikyo moves up to the deck...eyes darting about warily.
Master Scourge eyes Shikyo angrily. He may not understand the dangerous monk, but he gets his intent easily enough.
"Better hope ye at least understand proper Chelaxian, landlubber. It's a long swim back to shore," he mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.
As the pressganged make their way up to the top deck, they regain enough of their faculties to discern an odd aftertaste of oily nutmeg on their tongues.
Anata wa fumeiyona inu no yō ni doku o uttaemasu... Shikyo says in a near snarl.
and then in Taldane I. I, Understand. he says, more meekly than even he intends.
As they walk Jack's head clears fractionally and he wonders, 'Huh why do I taste Nutmeg?! Never could stand tha stuff. Hmm mebbe t'was added to tha food. Or mebbe t'was oil o' taggit! Evil stuff smells o' nutmeg, 'n' makes yer blotto and forgetful. Some oik poisoned us...'
Jacks mood darkens considerably, by Calistria somebody was going to pay for this.
Master Scourge likely poisoned us with oil of taggit, thus explaining how we got here.
I should talk like me pa used ta. They'll never understand, and ah think ah don want them knowin aboot me bein smart an all.
Grizzle looks shocked at the mention of poison.
"Watsee?! Poison! Yera digroos ta yer spoicies ya foilthy cootlfush! Whouses poison ta get em crew, eh? Isjus na roit!"
Master Scourge cracks his whip again, reminding the pressganged to get a move on.
Once the pressganged are aboard the top deck it becomes quickly apparent that they are on a sizable ship in the middle of the ocean, far from any land. Port Peril and the mainland of the Shackles are just an ochre haze many miles astern.
Figures cluster around the ship’s mainmast, looking up at the higher deck on the stern, where two figures stand. One of them is a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch—clearly the captain. The other is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails.
At this point the pressganged also notice that they are not the only new recruits—four others are standing with them on the deck, set apart by their relative cleanliness and their apparent unease with their newfound situation. A dozen or so other pirates, clearly existing members of the crew, stand about on the deck or in the ship’s rigging.
Once everything settles, the Captain addresses the crew.
“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 all get along fine."
“Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhaulin’ for anyone caught 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 sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of ’em.”
At the end of his speech, the captain walks away, leaving behind the man with the cat-o’-nine-tails, who says, "I am Mister Plugg, the Wormwood's First Mate."
He looks down at the pressganged and other impressed captives and smiles unpleasantly.
"And right now you belong to me. I do not care what a man says he can do. Talk is cheap. Good for nothing but whores. A man's actions are all that matter. So right here and now, we're going to have a little test to see just what you're made of."
"I need a sailor to work the rigging. So let's see if you can climb."
Mister Plugg points to the pressganged. "You will all climb to the crow's nest as fast as you can. Hop to it, or feel the sting of the lash."