Happy to steer clear of the naming (so long as the Magpie isn't retained) Dibbets keeps to the periphery of the conversation... pondering the appointment with the sawbones on the morrow... and rubbing the muscles of his wasted leg.
Kaul mulls over his own spending, discussing getting his own chain shirt enchanted.
When talk turns to the tub's new nom du guerre, the brutal bosun weighs in with his notions;
"Magpie is a thievin' bird right? An' we'll be a reavin' crew... Need tae have a reavin' name. I reckon "Bloody Fortune" fits perfect like.. Hur. Hur,.."
"I like that name. Very businesslike," Belinna says.
Kaul mugs a grin at his skipper, tapping his scarred noggin with hook paw;
"See... Sometimes the voices make sense... Hur..."
Dingus catches the last jolly boat out to the ship glittering with rather gaudy jewelry. The night passes somewhat quietly though the occasional strains of a ribald song carry over the bay from the Docks. The next morning the mates make their plans: Kaul and Dibbets have an early appointment with the sawbones, Jim and the Groom have a late morning meeting with Sister Gwyllin. Later, after the rest of the Loot is liquidated, Jim, Groom, and Dingus will head over to the Wizards' Guild for magical upgrading.
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Also, if Dingus wanted to get his tattoo in house, Dibbets has the skill.
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Dingus searches the flea markets, and second hand shops for good deals on costume jewelry. In one such nameless shop he comes across a stained print of a colorful geometric snake consuming an even more colorful geometric peacock, while a tribe of howling monkeys look on and cheer. He is unable to resist the trinket, and adds it to his unusual collection... but he can't get it off his mind. Finally that evening he approaches his foul smelling, short shipmate.
"Hey Dibbs. What are the chances you could ink something like this on my arm, so I can look at it whenever I want"?
He extends the weird painting to his little friend, with a hopeful expression.
Dibbs wipes his filthy hand on his filthier kilt and takes the drawing from his serpentine companion. Squinting and musing he turns it around and holds it out t'wards his mate's appendage - attempting to gauge how it might work. Spitting a gobbet of blood flecked phlegm sideways he ventures "Aye... I ken gi' ye tha gist o' it... but she's awful busy fer an arm piece. Ain't enough canvas tae do it all justice like. Ye sure ye dinnae want it chesty or on yer back?"
"Or... how bout this, ye gets tha snakey on yer left, twinin round, an the 'cock on yer right, arse fanned out tae yer elbow. Monkeys'd need tae go on somewhere else though... wouldnae be able tae fit em in wi'out bein right confusin."
-----
To the others "I'm guessin I willnae make yer meetin wi' Gwyllin, but ask tha skinny sea witch what tha feck she's doin tae track down her mother."
To Kaul "C'mon lad... less go see iffin ye ken get a better lump o' steel on yer arm"
Kaul leans in when Ding and Dibbs discuss ink;
"Monkey's on yer back lookin' o'er yer shoulder... Monkey's always on yer back. Always watchin'. Trust me I knows! Hur-hur-hur..."
When talk turns to his new arm, the thug grins inanely, before his scarred brow furrows. He whispers an' aside to his wee wise mate;
"Hur. Dreamt last night I became like her... all mad and accursed... an' even got fun-bags! Jimmer kept botherin' me for a feel! I an't gonna go all Jemma is I Dibbs?"
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"Brilliant! That's why you're the artist, and I'm simply the canvas... and I even like Kaul's idea about the monkeys looking over my shoulder. Let's do it! What will it take about 10-minutes"?
The sorcerer begins to dance about excitedly, and starts to disrobe in preparation for the event.
Dingus is disappointed to hear that it will take MUCH longer than 10 minutes and that Dibbets has other plans for the meeting. The skinny sorcerer is left to spend his time imagining the promised tattoo and selling off the remainder of the plunder from the Bloody Fortune.
Dibbets and Kaul head through the hungover Docks district circumnavigating the Old City walls to enter the Temple District. Jim and the Groom follow along figuring they might have a better chance of catching Peg-Leg early in the morning before he leaves Besmara's Temple. The pairs split at the grounded ship and Dibbets and Kaul quickly spot the gnome gunsmith in a rickshaw in front of the wide stone stairs of the Temple of Knowledge. He waves excitedly and dismounting, hands the metal arm to Kaul and the repaired musket and a pistol to Dibbets.
To Dingus "Heh... if'n ye want it tae look like sh1te mebbe... but iffin ye want summat decent like ye'll needs tae gi' me a mite longer eh? Hows about we starts wi' tha snakey laters an we'll see how we goes?"
-----
Dibbs lumbers cumbersomely towards the gnome, raising hand by way of greeting as they draw near. He nods a thanks as he takes the weaponry before adding "Hows ye gets on wi' tha arm fer me matey? Figger it out like?"
Jim knocks on the door to Besmara's temple. "Ahoy, Peg-Leg! Travelers returned from the sea!"
"Hows ye gets on wi' tha arm fer me matey? Figger it out like?"
The gnome nods, grinning wildly. "Yessir! There was a bit of salt crust and some blackish rock on it, but I've cleaned it and oiled everything so it's moving extremely smoothly. I can't wait to see it once it is installed! My name is Fermend, by the way."
He pays the rickshaw and waves you to follow as he quickly moves away from the Temple of Knowledge and up to the Fool's Market. Thankfully, the place is relatively clear of evangelizers at this early hour. The cracked stairs of the old Temple of Aroden host a handful of prophets engaged in weird calisthenic rituals or half-awake mumbling dire prophecies. A small group of bright orange-clad acolytes are bowing at the light patch of clouds to the east in some semblance of Sarenrae worship based more on hearsay than actual knowledge of the Eastern Goddess who isn't widely followed in the Shackles.
Inside the 'Hall of Gods', the gnome leads the way through mysterious and just ridiculous altars and shrines to a familiar booth. In a side room near the back, once again the crew enters a booth contains a clean metal table, a few comfortable leather chairs, and a desk with merchant scales. You wonder if you've found some subcategory of gnome now that you're confronted with blue steel haired Fermend and penny bright coifed Mog. The bright gnome hair gleams in the bright light of the row of everburning torches for sale. Talbous Mog smiles. "Ah, still of sound mind? I don't see the Tian. Nothing's happened to him, I hope..." he says in a tone that doesn't show much concern.
Jim knocks on the door to Besmara's temple. "Ahoy, Peg-Leg! Travelers returned from the sea!"
The loud rap of the iron skull’s mandible quickly brings a familiar face to the carved doors that incongruously pierce the hull of the great black galleon. A wide smile is surely present somewhere beneath the beetling brows and wild black beard.
"Aye, Jim, Groom! Good to see you!" A heavy hand pounds your shoulders. "Sorry to miss you yesterday. The Docks have been busy with Raidfest. Come in! Come in! Tell me where you've been!" He guides you in and has a heavy seat on a pew calling Dunny to bring a bottle.
Kaul mugs a grin and runs his good paw o'er the shined up metal.
"Hur... Look's bloody good Master Fermend! Just the ticket to make Ol' Kauly a red-handed reaver hur-hur-hur..!"
The brutish thug taps his hook paw;
"So... How we doin' this? Saw, bit an' grog?"
"So... How we doin' this? Saw, bit an' grog?"
Mog walks over to have a good look at the claw. He looks questioningly at Fermend. "So the muscles are to be attached to those bars? You'll need to point out what goes where." Then he pokes at Kaul's arm. "I'll take it off close to the elbow and make sure there's a bit of muscle to work with. Payment first." He grabs an abacus and slides the beads around muttering, "Calm emotion for the edge, couple heals, time, limb disposal fee... that will be 1,110.34 Sails. The grog is your own."
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Frowning as he steps in to assist with the negotiating "An whats if I takes care o' tha hand holdin, blood healin an gettin rid o' tha arm eh? He's nei fop offa tha street an 'e ain't needin ye givvin him a warm fuzzy in 'is noggin... he'll hold... he's seen worse'n yer saw."
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"Well I guess I can wait a bit... but I am anxious to get the work done... Maybe tonight"?
Dingus decides to try a different tack today. He attends to a more boisterous market elsewhere, and loudly boasts of the value and legend of the loot he attempts to offload.
"Ah this gem. Plucked it from the eye socket of a baby Kraken I did, while it's momma and dad stood by and watched, scared to make me mad by trying to intervene"!
Bluff (Trying to increase the value of the loot).
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The Abadarian priest is uninterested in bargaining. "I'm not working on another orc without a calming spell and the application of the healing spells needs to be exactly timed and placed. The price is set."
Dingus has FAR better luck as he draws a sizeable crowd at the Seaside Market. Even his most ridiculously far-fetched boasts are considered given that he's identified as part of that RedClaw Crew. Rumors of treasure from the famed Fearsome Tide stars a bidding war and things get so raucous that the Watch gather to keep a cautious eye on the proceedings. In the end, the industrious quartermaster walks off with half-again what he was expecting!
Kaul winks at Dibbs, then shrugs his no-neck;
"No problem Master Mog. Ol' Kauly has the coin..."
The scarred thug looks down at his arm, then to the metal limb;
"An it'll work like a proper paw? Only better aye?"
Dibbs rankles as the Abadarian dismisses him "Well then... hows bout I sets mesel outside 'ere an spends the rest o' tha day blatherin that it were yer healin that put me leg wrong?" but there isn't much venom to his voice or force behind his words. Shuffling one side to another he offsets the weight on his fractured leg and it buckles beneath him, leaving him to lunge desperate for some support to stop him flat arsing on the floor.
"An it'll work like a proper paw? Only better aye?"
Talbous Mog shrugs as he places the paid coins into his safe. "That's what he says," he hooks a thumb at Fermend. His attention turns to Dibbets' grousing and near topple. "Hey! You break it, you buy it. I had nothing to do with your leg. What's wrong with it?"
He bows a little to look more closely, "You were hobbling before; old break, improperly healed. You should have come to me then, Now... huh? You got a shark bite on there now. Healed, but there is something else in there. Saw something similar this week on a sailor maimed by Sea Devils. A terrible bite with a touch of curse- lycanthropy. He said others had reported similar instances and called it the Devil's Kiss. I got to him in time, but this looks different. Maybe we should just take that leg off to make sure..."
Kaul scowls, then eyes Fermend;
"Better work. I ain't one fer sufferin' 'alf assed work... Us pro-fessionals need to take time an' do it right like. Fer you wee fellas its bolts and bones. Fer me its puttin' the hurt on."
The thug grins as he pats his belted axe;
"Tis a gift. Me an' Lopps 'ere are quite the perfectionists."
As talk turns to Dibb's gimpy leg, Kaul leans in beady eyes scouring o'er the grubby oracles gammy pin;
"Hur. Get yersel' a peg Dibbs..."
A flash of Gozreh's impetuous anger crosses the halfling's face at the words 'improperly healed'. He decides against honor or valor though... and takes the floor's present offer up to serve as rest for his arse. Through grimace and cold sweat he gravelly responds "Feckin thing healed up just as tha Skylord wanted it tae... as much as he is fer gi'in a sh1te that is. Bloody thing's been tearin me in knots since though. Cannae be tha kiss... we's gots a mite experience wi' that sort of sh1te... an it dinnae feel like that."
Shuddering as a stab goes through his leg and drives through his trunk to the shoulder "No feckin peg. That ain't fer me... but need tae shed tha flesh.." his eyes flickering between Lopper... and his musket...
"Well, have a seat. Bigs has an appointment and has already paid besides. You'll have to wait." He gestures for Kaul to get up on the table and lay down while he pulls out a fearsome array of shining steel tools. "The spell will relax you, but if you want a drink or a smoke, now's the time."
Kaul nods towards his smaller shipmate;
"Hur. I ain't in no rush. See to my matey first... Will allow Ol'Kauly time to have a stogie and a nip... Afore it gets real nippy! Hur-hur..."
The thug fishes out a battered old cigar and lights up whilst checking his flask has a shot or two o' rum left sloshing inside.
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Jim settles down and takes a pull from the proffered bottle. "Fine stuff, mate. I believe the last time we spoke, it was just before Tarmon sent us off on an errand to Bloodcove. We had a bit of excitement there 'fore we sailed upriver in this odd boat powered by fire and water, somehow. We were on the trail of Obreck Dallian, who'd marooned us (and sold out to the Aspis Consortium). Almost caught him at a gold mine far into the Expanse, but he got away on some magical flying beast. He'd badly mistreated the people of the area, though, and they were kind enough to call up great eagles to fly us in pursuit. We got to him at a place with the fine monicker of The Aerie of Bloodletting Song--fought strange bird women, who'd apparently been having their way with him. Neither he nor his feathered paramours survived our encounter, though he was taken by some strange creature of the netherworlds.
"We found ourselves out in the midst of the Mwangi Expanse with neither map nor guide. Kaul had gone native under the malign influence of his little coconut fetish and run off into the jungle. Dibbets, Dingus, and I managed a bit of a lucky break--encountered a fellow who spoke Taldan Common quite well. He guided us along, helped us rescue a few grateful ladies and break the power of the fetish over Kaul, and got our heads fixed in the bargain. Saw us to--to--oh, Hells, some damned port or other. We took ship on the Magpie, sailing under Captain Lanteri, who had a map to the treasure of Captain Jemma Redclaw." Jim takes another drink. "I know, I know. Walk down to the Docks and you'll find dozens of people who'll try to sell you such a map. This one was the genuine article, though. We had a few adventures getting there, though. Sea devils attacked the ship, and then some undead priest of Day-Jo-something called some of the crew to him and turned them into weresharks. One of them was a good fellow, though, so we kept his condition from the Captain--probably a mistake, as she marooned us after sending us to get a map from Cap'n Storm-Eyes' sunken vessel. We found the map, and there was this strange fellow on the island who gave me this--" He taps the hilt of his new rapier. "--in return for mine. It belonged to Cap'n Storm-Eyes herself.
"The fellow got a giant sea turtle--don't laugh, mate, this is true--to tow us after Lanteri. We found her in the Cannibal Archipelago, but something had cored her and was controlling her body. I don't know what it was--some alien thing from far stars. We killed it (with some difficulty), recovered the treasure, and sailed Magpie back here. I captained her for a time, but gave her over to the Sailing Master after making a foolish promise to a tengu who served the Siren. The rest of the trip back here was uneventful."
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As Kaul lights up a cigar and takes to a tot of rum, the pungent scent hits Dibbets senses like a full broadside taken amidships. Reeling with the overload to his scent and his eyes roll back into his head. Visions flit across his surface thoughts, blue fine scaled skin and a thick crusty white beard, the swirl of maelstrom's wind, distant echoes of laughing clouds... and the minutes long fall from the nest of crows to the deck.
Arching his back the grimy halfling lunges forward to place one hand on either side of his leg, pressing white-knuckle hard and focusing on the limb. Slowly and with purpose he speaks "Storm and salt... the wind blows and the buffet guides the way... Feckin indifferent bastard." before mentally reaching into the space between the air... and calling forth the instrument of Gozreh's divine indifference into form... physically and wholly within his leg.
Screaming he holds the position as tension and muscles contort and jerk, electric current shooting through him even as his flesh glows first red, before blackening and blistering... and soughing away from his broken limb. There is no blood, the charge of his trident cauterizing the wound even as it forms... but there is pain... profound, sharp, deep and truthful.
Even the fortitude of the brined and pickled oracle cannot hold forever... and as the room fills with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, his cheeks stained with tears... Dibbs succumbs to the blackened embrace of unconsciousness. Perversely, as he slumps to the ground on one side the grimace on his face seems almost a rictus of relief, and there is a hint of smile to his face as blood tinged saliva drips from his mouth.
Peg-Leg Peligro just gapes a moment at the Amazing Tale(c) and then laughs robustly. "Uneventful.. HA! HA! bet that was a relief. That's a tale for the ages. Storm-Eye's blade? Now that was a grand trade. And you found Jemma Redclaw's treasure? Where is it now? Have you sold it already? Ought to keep you in booze and whores for a while. Well, sad to say, I've had no such adventures of late. Besmara is probably ready to toss this old land lubber."
"You've got a ship though. The Magpie? Lanteri sounds familiar, but coulda sworn he was a 'he' last I heard. Well, strange things happen. So what's next? No hurry, of course. Raid fest is in full effect and soon the entire fleet will be out to harry the Inner Sea."
The shining gnome priest shakes his head while the gnome gunsmith looks on in horror.
Mog sighs, "Yeah, no wonder his gam got gamy. What the Hells was that about? OK big boy, up on the table. Looks like the halfer is covered."
Kaul shoots a look of concern at his wee mate's malaise;
"Dibbs! Wha-tha-feck! Ye aright mate?"
He lumbers o'er and lifts his grubby shipmate up, propping the oracle against the wall and thrusting his bottle o' rum into his gnarled hands;
"Have a nip or three matey... Kauly's turn now... Hur..."
The thug claps Dibbs on the shoulder, then takes up his berth on the table.
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Dibbets limp form yields easily to Kaul's gentle proddings and pokerings as he's manipulated into a mostly upright position with his hands nestling a bottle of rum.
The gnome priest says a prayer and Kaul feels himself removed from his physical situation on the cold, hard table and unaffected by any trace of concern or agitation from the pain. And there is pain as his arm is chopped anew and muscle pulled and healed to metal rods.
Kaul grunts and grimaces at the hacking and rethreading of his limb.
He distracts himself by looking toward the grubby oracle propped in the shop corner, cradling the grog bootle like a new born babe;
Hurrrrrr.... Dibbssss... How ye fairin' there mateyyyyhhhhh..."
He scoffs, feeling words form to respond "Hard tae tell what's fester and whats fair... been walkin circles wi' tha limp since tha Skylord tossed me frae tha nest... though feels like I've been caught core inna tempest ever since I listened tae tha red faced bastard an took a p1ss in that alley. Me bones're sore... body's tired... an tha rum ain't takin tha taste frae me soul tha way it used tae."
Then Dibbets awakes to find a jug in his hands and his bum leg a blackened stump. Kaul stirs on the metal table with a red metal claw now attached to his left arm.
Kaul grunts as he comes around, the emits a hacksaw chuckle as spies his new metal claw.
"Hur-hur-hurrrr. Ain't that a sight eh Dibbs? Ol' Kauly Redclaw! Hur!"
The thug shifts more upright, then begins to flex the claw - marveling at its movements...
Coming to Dibbets opens his eyes and runs a dry tongue around gravelled lips. The jug's raised to lips to wet them and swallowed with a grimace before his eyes settle first on Kaul's addition before sinking down to what he himself now lacks. With a slight flatness he revels "Aye matey... a feckin sight ye are now eh. How's she feel?" considering his position and lack of ease that he might regain his... foot...
Fermend smiles as he admires his hand-iwork. "Working like a dream, I'd say. Amazing!"
"That is something," Mog allows. "Even with the healing, it'll take you a day or two to get used to it and you'll be a bit tired as you recover."
Kaul flexes and shifts the claw arm with weary glee;
"Feels great lads... Bit weary like myself... "
The thug climbs down, slightly overcompensating for his new mekanikaul limb.
He casts his beady eyes toward his slumped shipmate, eyes widening with concern and grim fascination;
"What the feck! We're'd yer gammy pin go Dibbs!"
Kaul looks to the others with a scowl;
"Is I dreamin'? Is Ol' Kauly still under the knife?"
Dibbs coughs and chuckles darkly "Nei matey... yer awake... an I'm guessin I am too like... mebbe a bit more now than afore eh?" the halfling settling the jug down to one side and experimentally using the nearby wall to serve as means to wedge himself slowly towards his feet. It takes a few moments for him to get settled enough to gain ascendancy over his present enemy of gravity.
What remains of his leg sloughs away and is left to stain the floor, heat rent and buckled bone in contrast to the ashed fleshy remains. Once a foot he keeps a hand to the wall for balance, but stands firm... unseen and unfelt breeze swirling round him to set kilt, beard and scraggly hair waving. Finishing to Kaul he states flatly "S' gone Kauly... had turned tae fester an needed cullin'."
Rolling his head around his shoulders eyes closed he adds "Wind's come lad... tha fog's blown clear o' tha bay an there's bloody work a plenty augured and waitin for hard nosed, scarred and violent feckers jus' like ye an me. Ye still fer walkin wi' me eyes open an spittin on fate... wadin through blood, sh1t an p1ss if needs be?" waiting for some kind of affirmation before adding hesitantly towards Fermend and Mog "Ye gots crutches?"
"Ye gots crutches?"
An avaricious glint appears in the Abadarian's eye. "Of course," he retrieves a finely crafted ebony colored pair of crutches. "30 Sails apiece or 50 for the set."
Kaul lumbers to help his wee shipmate upright, a slightly glassy sheen on his beady eyes;
"No need tae ask Dibbs... I'll stay the bloody course wi' ye mate! Red 'anded an' red clawed Kauly is..."
The thug waves the greedy shop-mongers away;
"Ain't needin' crutches... He's got me like. I'll carry 'im. Hell an' high water I'll carry 'im."
Waving off Kaul "Nei Kauly, I ain't nei cripple I'll make me own way" turning attention to the Abadarian "But I ain't nei painted whore neither. Put yer lubber wood away, ebony ain't worth sh1t inna salt - feckin things'd sink. What ye gots in oak or teak?"
"Darkwood," Mog clarifies. "But it is true that they would sink. Yes, a stout pair of oak crutches do seem more suitable." He rummages through the rest of the crutch selection. "Nothing too fancy: 12 Sails."
"Tain't need tae be fancy like... jus needs tae nae splinter when it sees a bit o' action like." fishing around his grimy person for the appropriate exorbitance before taking a single crutch. Jamming it into his armpit and taking a wide stance he experimentally works at leapfrogging his way forward, in a strange slightly weaving drunk hopping stance. Nodding a grudging acceptance and figuring the other eleven and a half sails worth was due payment for cleaning the remains of flesh from the floor he nods to Kaul "Righto lad... we's got work."
Once outside Dibbs pauses to consider the tumult, uneven nature of Freeport's foot traffic. Sighing and taking as given that free passage is going to be a struggle rather than a given he steels and implores to his nuggety companion "Didnae tha others say theys were sittin wi' Sister Buck Naked todays? I gots words an portents need be makin 'er ears."