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Each of you decide, for your various reasons, to spend the night drinking at the Formidably Maid, a notorious drinking establishment in Port Peril. The night progresses and things start to get hazy, which in your inebriated state you ignore.
The morning arrives and you wake up in a dark, musky room, you are unsure whether you are swaying or the room is. All you remember of the night before is the ringing laughter of a wild night, the heady joy of excess, the scents of rich stewed meat and perfume lingering in their nostrils. All that fades in the light of how you feel now, a pounding headache, the sickly taste of cheap wine, the hard floor, a rhythmic creaking noise, and the feeling of the room swaying, as if you were still drunk.
Before you can do much more than sit up, however, several pairs of heavy footsteps enter the dark room, and the harsh light of a lantern painfully spears your eyes.
You can barely make out, in the glare of the light, an evil looking man holding a whip, and 6 rough looking men armed with saps. He cracks his whip and screams at you, '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!'.
Barnabas sits up rubbing his aching head,
"Ye shanghaied me, ye bastards. This Harrigan must be a sorry sot, if he can't be raisin' a proper crew."
Perception
Knowledge(Nature)
Int Check
Slissk rises, his forked tongue flicking in and out. He does not take care to hide his form or conceal his scaled face.
"Duty..." he hisses, like a crocodile, before marching forward into the light.
Beshra rises regarding the man from her previous nights drinking with her dark eyes eyes. Her tail twitches spasmodically, and she rises in stony silence, following the man's instructions for the moment, until she can access the situation.
As she moves she unconsciously tugs her purple gloves up further, wincing at the movement of the leather upon the tender papery skin of her forearms. In the back of her mind malicious laughter echoes, but she ignores it,I am more concerned with the physical than you, oh impotent passenger.
She has a fondness for hoop earrings, and tends to wear dark soft clothing, favoring purples and blacks. She almost always wears a pair of elbow length purple leather gloves - taking them off only when alone unless she has no option - that hide her burned hands and forearms.
"Oh... someone turn off the sun would ya? And who do you think you are?" The weary looking man stands up and tries to size up the group that has entered.