Mabelode was more comfortable in his veteran, wooden armor. He had carefully sanded smooth all of the nicks where splinters erupted. The past couple of days had been uncomfortable simply lacking the familiar weight. He was a bit surprised of the lack of reaction from Plugg or Scourge of his apparent full health. Either they didn't care or notice; both were equally probable.
When the order came to crew the jolly boat, he was again surprised. Given a little wind, he thought that they could sail this thing back to Port Peril.
His sea legs easily found him a seat in the rocking jolly boat. He grabbed an oar and sat opposite Osir to balance out their muscles. His strength was obvious. Mabelode's strength was oddly hidden within extraordinarily dense, whipcord muscles. The same surprising strength that muscled undead enjoy.
After rowing away from the Wormwood, Mabelode looks over his shoulder every several strokes surveying the flotsam.
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Zenu looks quietly out at the oncoming ship, eyes narrowing slightly. Well, whomever they were, they were preferable to dying out on the ocean, though there were worse ways to die, he has to privately admit, thinking back to the time he had visited the outskirts of the Tanglebriar with some older elves who wanted to impress the younger half-elf with the suffering of their people. It had been most... enlightening, even though the proud princelings had nearly gotten them all killed with their flagrant use of magic - it had drawn a nasty demon of some sort, the name for which Zenu had never learned.
After he hears to Trevor's shouted warning about sharks, Zenu frowns, noticing the hammerheads himself. "Oh..." He whispers an Elven curse, then lets go of the piece of flotsam for a moment, surrendering himself into the embrace of the Arcadian Ocean. A tiny portion of its power enhancing his own, he chants the spell of protection, using the motions of treading water to strengthen its power. No harm in being prepared, after all. Letting the spell go with a whispered word, he clambers up onto the piece of flotsam with a grim smile, checking himself over for injuries that he hadn't noticed earlier. Aside from the shimmering, translucent armor that seems to be made of overlapping seashells (but that is likely far more protective), Zenu notes a few stinging splinters and a few cuts. "Oh dear..." He sighs, looking at the boat in the distance. Well, it was better than dying, he supposes as he begins to paddle through the water with his hands and keeping a keen eye out for sharks.
As he approaches the ship, the young half-elf examines the ship, trying to determine whether or not the Chelixian marine has returned to finish it's business, and readying his shortbow, just in case it had. Unable to notice it, he shrugs, and keeps one hand on his bow as he continues to move towards the ship.
_________
Despite the thick fog and the grumpy mood of the Captain and his cronies, Osir was in a good mood this morning. He’d slept well enough on the hammock, he was reunited with Pellinor who he spied sleeping high up on the foremast, and he had his equipment back. Dressing for the day he looked even more formidable then he previously had. Lacquered wooden plates along his shoulders, forearms, and torso provided him additional protection and displayed nautical themes in detailed paint. A rapier now hung at one hip and a coiled barbed whip on the other. He gloved one hand in a thick falconry gauntlet and in it he held a formidable trident. He grinned widely when his new arms caught a crewman’s attention.
While he was more than willing to take to the Jolly boat and explore, his natural suspicions were raised, especially when separated from Redbeard. The man was part of the little circle of alliances he had formed since coming aboard and he was worried as the separation. Once in the Jolly Boat, Osir pulled at his beard and looked to unsettling tiefling woman. He was loathe to give up the chance to pilot, but it was clear that her strength would not be enough to power the oars. “I’ll take to the oars, as we’ll be needing my strength. Thar ain’t no way we’ll get very far with either one of you crushing waves. That’ll leave the piloting to you or Robinton. Caerlei you make that call.” He then set his trident down in the boat and lifted his gauntleted hand, a thin whistle was lifted to his lips with his other hand and blew into it. The silent whistle was unnoticed by most, but the Osprey circling overhead responded within an instant. Powerful wings propelled the brown and white fish-hawk from the sky and it let out a sharp whistling Yewk when its talons grasped the upraised gauntlet of Osir. With a wingspan of nearly six feet and razor sharp talons and beak, the Osprey was a formidable raptor.
Osir allowed himself to smile. “Pellinor, track. Find people.” He then swept his arm in a motion out at sea amidst the fog and then sunk down next to Mabelode to begin rowing when given word.
Pellinor
Perception +8, Survival +6 (+7 Tracking)
Ughh, why couldn't they let her sleep... who was making all that racket whistling and shouting... Consciousness was slow to return to Saranaja, the scaly woman gradually stirring from unconciousness bordering on a coma. Memories of the previous night drifted their way through a skull overstuffed with cotton wool, cannons, fire, the mate dying--she had to smile at that--an explosion, then nothing... She sits up sharply as her thoughts sluggishly clear, and then groans, holding first her head, and then the chunk of hull she clung to as it rocks worryingly.
She lets out a pained groan as she more carefully straightens and takes stock of her situation. Her seabag was tied to her... she had recognized an unwinnable fight, and had no wish to go down with captain filth and his abominable mate. She hadn't jumped until she realized what was about to happen, and by then it was too late. She'd been broadsided in mid-dive... Apparently fortune had been with her however, and she had ended up on top of the piece of debris rather than in the water where she would surely have drowned or it seemed, been devoured...
Moving carefully she reaches down to her beltpouch, and withdraws a small whistle, glancing at the still hollering Trevor. Putting the signal whistle to her lips she blows out a short series of blasts, which anyone familiar with proper signalling should recognize as a signal for help.
Trevor was still alive. Had anyone else survived? She couldn't tell in this blasted fog... She would have to wait and see what emerged...
Stopping long enough to give a sarcastic salute to Plugg as the man barks orders to the Wormwood's new bloods, Caerlei nimbly glides onto the jollyboat behind the others. As the issue of who might pilot the small vessel comes up, Caerlei grins deviously at the rear of the boat. A gale of wind whips through her small frame and kicks locks the color of obsidian into a frenzy about the pale woman's head. Drawing a left hand over her face, she restrains the bulk of her hair behind ears, then shoots a cold look to Robinton that could still a heart.
"Up to me, huh? I suppose I can be the captain of the illustrious vessel beneath us. That is, unless Robinton here has any objections?" Caerlei pulls on a gauntlet as she poses the question to the gathering, cruel and wicked spikes rising from the knuckles and forehands of the dark steel to promise pain its owner would show no hesitation in delivering.
"Good! Now, get to rowing, dogs! First one to miss a beat loses his teeth."
(enhanced diplomacy)
|
Leaning away from Caerlei as she shows off her ability to procure sharp bits of metal from her body at will, Robinton quickly shakes his head from side to side. "Nope, no objections here. None at all." His eyes show that he is indeed, quite terrified of the insane woman and does his best not to cause her ire.
Getting in line with the others, Robinton quickly begins rowing.. wondering all the same if he prefers Plugg's company or this woman's. He hasn't decided yet..
As the group of scallywags row the calm waters towards the wreckage nearly two-hundred feet away, they can hear something off the in the distance, coming from the direction they are headed. At first, the sounds are indescriminate, and nothing can be made of them. Robinton is the first to realize that the sounds are people - survivors as it would be.
"Oye.. those are people yelling! Sounds like there are survivors after all!" Robinton says, just before a loud, sharp whistle is clearly heard by the rest of those aboard the jollyboat.
With Caerlei expertly coordinating the rowers, they quickly obtain maximum speed and reach the wreckage within a minute. Despite the thick fog, the sight of burning debris and the dark shape of the half-sunk ship comes into view. A dead body bearing a single, small shark bite floats past the jollyboat. In addition, three people - two men and a woman - can be seen floating upon the wreckage, while four small hammerhead sharks swim around in lazy circles, looking for something to eat - apparently, they disliked the taste of the dead and look for fresher meat.
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Caerlei continues setting a relentless pace for those unlucky enough to find themselves under her direction, keeping time with the oars by slapping the tip of her barbed-chain tail against the floorboard she sits above. Her small frame conceals more strength and endurance than it shows outwardly, and she keeps pace with her own harsh direction admirably. Seeing the flotsam suspended fools floating in the water beyond, she elects to loop around and approach from the burning ship's aft, strafing alongside the ruined vessel as they collect survivors. Passing so close to the much larger vessel might avail them further assessment of any valuables to be hoisted from the ship's carcass. "There! We'll pick up the woman first, then the pitiful looking fellas afterwards. Keep an eye out for that wreckage. I have a feeling if we don't bring back something besides bruised sailors, Harrigan will add a few bruises of his own to our lot. Best we try and win over the new bloods to our cause, I suppose. Safety in numbers, and all that, right?"
_________________________
The telltale sound of oars dipping into water and rattling in their oarlocks precedes the jollyboat hoving into view. Saranaja sighs in relief, tucking her whistle away in her pouch again, allowing herself to rest her head as the boat paddles towards her. She knew she should be taking a read on her rescuers, but even if they were slavers, well... enslaved was better than dead. People escaped slavery...
When the boat began to pull up alongside she finally looked at the motley lot crewing it, only a single human amongst 'em. That made her smile, revealing some pointy teeth, to go with the fine scaled skin, and the inhuman eyes. The four would likely not have seen Saranaja's like before, but then she hadn't seen Caerlei, or Osir's kind either, and she wasn't sure about the other pale fellow.
"Thank ya for the rescue." she says, pushing herself up on the wobbly chunk of debris. Her arms wobbled with the effort, but she managed to keep herself balanced, and rolled into the boat with a fair amount of grace considering the circumstances. "You're a damned site better looking than the sharks or those Chelish c*##s."
She simply sprawls against the side of the boat then, not even bothering to take a seat, just glad to have something a little sturdier beneath her than the precarious flotsam.
After several moments of none-too-useful paddling by hand, Zenu frowns and sighs impatiently. He has no real reason to wait for rescue, after all! Perhaps it would be better to demonstrate his talents... Plus, using his powers always sent delicious shivers throughout his body...
Settling himself in a kneeling position, he puts one hand at the back of his impromptu raft, concentrating on the power of the sea that filled his blood with magic, then let loose a burst of water from his palm, propelling him forwards and causing the flotsam beneath him to shudder briefly, nearly sending him overboard. "Ah!" He freezes, just moving with the waves and the water burst as salty spray is whipped up into his face. Steady, now... There! He manages to stay balanced, albeit only just. Thanking Desna he'd managed to stay upright, Zenu leans into the spray and grins widely, eyes twinkling. This was awesome!
_______
As Caerlei and crew reach Saranaja and help her board their boat, a gunshot rings off in the distance in the direction of the Wormwood, eerily echoing in the silence; The shot is followed closely by numerous additional gunshots, clanging of steel, and men yelling.
Before they can respond, however, the crew of the Wormwood's jollyboat have their own problems to deal with - out of the blue, the four sharks that had been lazily swimming around, occasionally nibbling on a dead body, burst into a frenzy of movement - directly towards their ship!
<< | | | >>
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Hearing the gunshots, shouting, and the sharks get riled up from all the commotion, Trevor sighs and begins rising to his knees while maintaining even balance on the flotsam. He pulls his shortbow from his back, and begins taking aim at the nearest shark. He lets an arrow fly into the water near it's dorsal fin, hoping it strikes flesh.
He then calls out to his would be rescuers, "Whoever is attacking your ship, we are not involved! I swear it!"
_____________
Osir was searching the waters with his gaze as well for any floating wreckage that might still prove of value, being of the same mind as Caerlei, at least to a degree. Anything of true worth would likely never pass before the wretched Captain's eyes, for Osir had developed little love for Harrigon or his officers. Pellinor circled directly overhead, making a few high yewping calls as the Osprey remained alert to danger.
Powerful arms pulled the oars as he rowed under the commanding voice of Caerlei. When they pulled their small vessel up beside the stranded women, suspicion and interested came to his mind. "Welcome aboard, we'll have a nice little talk once we rescue the other survivors."He flashed a smile, though his lips twitched downward when he heard her Cheliaxians. He readied to take the boat to the next member of the floating castaways, when he heard commotion back the way they came. He turned his head back in that direction and spit out a curse. "Kraktora's blasted blood! The ships under attack and we may be too! Eagle eyes everyone, look sharp!"
The sudden change in behavior of the sharks and the calls heard from the distant Wormwood all seemed to point to one thing. Invaders from the deep. "That ain't normal, friends. These sharks are controled, and whatever's got them under it's sway has given them orders to kill." His deep voice rings out as he pushes aside the oar. His coral green eyes search the fog coated water for the creature that commands the loyalty of the aquatic predators.
____________________________
Overall, there are two undersea races that tame sharks on a regular basis: Adaros, carnivorous shark-like humanoids who often plan raids on coastal communities or ships during storms, and Sahuagin, fiercely territorial undersea expansionists. The latter are known to be quite common in the Shackles, while both species are able to speak telepathically with sharks at distances ranging from 100 to 150 feet.
Caerlei sails to a position just above the prow of the jolly boat, eyes peering out into the surrounding waters to regard the approaching threat that is the four small hammerheads currently cutting a path through the waters to their vessel. Much as she had done the previous morning, the pale woman pinches one of the myriad silvery shards of metal protruding from her skin and begins to rip the metal sliver out of her forearm. As she continues yanking the object free, as one might a sword from a sheath, it becomes apparent that she is manifesting a fully metal glaive with wicked barbs and hooks adorning the blade's head. She whirls the weapon around with a familiar flourish that manages to avoid hitting any one else on the boat before yelling over her shoulder, "Prepare your weapons, fools! We're about to have some company."
Planting her feet firmly and defiantly, she hefts her weapon before her as the dark shapes beneath the water's surface skim towards her mighty ship.
_________________________
As if they are of one mind, the four sharks converge onto the jollyboat simultaneously, each trying to take a chunk out of the boat's structure. Trevor's arrow nearly hits one in the tail, but misses due to the water veering off its aim. The shark takes no notice. Another, however, is skewered by Caerlei's massive glaive - her blade goes right through the top of the shark's head and out the other side, as if she herself was an expert fisherman practicing her trade.
Two of the other sharks, meanwhile, fail to gain a hold on the ship - their mouths, although quite large in comparision to the rest of their body, are just not designed for biting something this much larger than themselves.
___________________________
"Yeah? No kiddin'?" she asks sarcastically when the angelic descended one observes that the sharks aren't behaving naturally. She hauls herself to her feet, reaching for her bow before shaking her head; the string would be useless after the night in the water. She draws her sword instead, and stabs down at the nearby shark. The sudden movement causes her head to swim and she stumbles, almost dropping her sword overboard, causing the boat to rock as she catches herself.
"They are just sharks." Mabelode opines and continues to row. "Osir, don't you get frazzled, too. Keep rowing."
Mabelode does not have a weapon. Nor does he think it intelligent to jump in the water to attack the sharks. He continues to row and readies a fire bolt if a shark attacks him. He decides that he will never get used to her growing glaives from her arms.
________________________________
Zenu sighs as he feels the last of his magical water flow away slowly from his palm. It was always a bit of a letdown, to feel his power wane. A reminder, such as it was, that his union with the sea's limitless power was hardly complete, or even much more than started.
Regardless, the half-elf turns his attention to the small boat as he begins to hear shouts. Wait... boarders attacking the larger ship, sharks were attacking the smaller... Zenu smiles. If previous experience aboard the Grasp was any indication, the pirates of the Shackles were more welcoming when they knew a body could be useful. No time like the present, he figures, to prove his abilities.
Zenu reaches for his shortbow, grinning broadly, then reconsiders, realizing that he is currently too far out of range to actually do anything using it. Instead, he moves (very carefully) to the "back" end of his impromptu raft, where he puts his hands in the water and begins to paddle. However, with the pressure of the sharks behind him now, the young sorcerer can't resist throwing more glances over his shoulder than strictly necessary, rendering his paddling largely ineffective.
___________
“Keep rowing? Rowing without our ‘captain’ piloting the ship seems a right good recipe for disaster, my friend!” Osir called out to Mabelode even as he pulled the heavy oar back into the vessel and secured it so that no part of it still trailed in the water. For a man of his strength it was an easy feat. “Besides which, rowing with those sharks snapping their jaws about will more than likely lead to a broken oar or being dragged under with them. What we need to do is catch us some supper.” There was a laugh at the end of his words as he stood up on the Jolly boat and retrieved the Trident he had set aside when they first began rowing. It felt good to have the weapon in his hands again and this was an opportunity to show the other's what a man with Korzar blood could do. Not troubling himself with a shield for now, he gripped the tri-pronged weapon in both his hands and after moving into position he leaned over the side of the vessel. He intended to put himself in a prime position to anticipate and strike out at the shark that still plowed through the water toward the boat. He braced the trident against the rough wood and set his feet in position to prevent himself from falling overboard.
Letting out three quick whistled notes, Osir looked up to Pellinor for a moment and made a circling motion with his hand in the air, before he set that hand back to bracing his weapon. The Osprey responded with a loud call of its own and began widening its circling flight over the Jolly boat, it’s keen avian eyes searching the waters, not for prey as was more typical, but for whatever or whoever was guiding the sharks in their attack run.
_______________________________
As Caerlei and crew reach Saranaja and help her board their boat, a gunshot rings off in the distance in the direction of the Wormwood, eerily echoing in the silence; The shot is followed closely by numerous additional gunshots, clanging of steel, and men yelling.
Before they can respond, however, the crew of the Wormwood's jollyboat have their own problems to deal with - out of the blue, the four sharks that had been lazily swimming around, occasionally nibbling on a dead body, burst into a frenzy of movement with each shark rapidly swimming directly towards the jollyboat.
Caerlei sails to a position just above the prow of the jolly boat, eyes peering out into the surrounding waters to regard the approaching threat that is the four small hammerheads currently cutting a path through the waters to their vessel. Much as she had done the previous morning, the pale woman pinches one of the myriad silvery shards of metal protruding from her skin and begins to rip the metal sliver out of her forearm. As she continues yanking the object free, as one might a sword from a sheath, it becomes apparent that she is manifesting a fully metal glaive with wicked barbs and hooks adorning the blade's head. She whirls the weapon around with a familiar flourish that manages to avoid hitting any one else on the boat before yelling over her shoulder, "Prepare your weapons, fools! We're about to have some company."
Planting her feet firmly and defiantly, she hefts her weapon before her as the dark shapes beneath the water's surface skim towards her mighty ship.
Hearing the gunshots, shouting, and the sharks get riled up from all the commotion, Trevor sighs and begins rising to his knees while maintaining even balance on the flotsam. He pulls his shortbow from his back, and begins taking aim at the nearest shark. He lets an arrow fly into the water near its dorsal fin, hoping it strikes flesh. The arrow misses, however, striking the water near the shark's tail. The shark isn't even phased.
He then calls out to his would be rescuers, "Whoever is attacking your ship, we are not involved! I swear it!"
As if they are of one mind, the four sharks converge onto the jollyboat simultaneously, each trying to take a chunk out of the boat's structure. Trevor's arrow nearly hits one in the tail, but misses due to the water veering off its aim. The shark takes no notice. Another, however, is skewered by Caerlei's massive glaive - her blade goes right through the top of the shark's head and out the other side, as if she herself was an expert fisherman practicing her trade.
Two of the other sharks, meanwhile, fail to gain a hold on the ship - their mouths, although quite large in comparision to the rest of their body, are just not designed for biting something this much larger than themselves.
Osir was searching the waters with his gaze as well for any floating wreckage that might still prove of value, being of the same mind as Caerlei, at least to a degree. Anything of true worth would likely never pass before the wretched Captain's eyes, for Osir had developed little love for Harrigon or his officers. Pellinor circled directly overhead, making a few high yewping calls as the Osprey remained alert to danger.
Powerful arms pulled the oars as he rowed under the commanding voice of Caerlei. When they pulled their small vessel up beside the stranded women, suspicion and interested came to his mind. "Welcome aboard, we'll have a nice little talk once we rescue the other survivors." He flashed a smile, though his lips twitched downward when he heard her Cheliaxians. He readied to take the boat to the next member of the floating castaways, when he heard commotion back the way they came. He turned his head back in that direction and spit out a curse. "Kraktora's blasted blood! The ships under attack and we may be too! Eagle eyes everyone, look sharp!"
The sudden change in behavior of the sharks and the calls heard from the distant Wormwood all seemed to point to one thing. Invaders from the deep. "That ain't normal, friends. These sharks are controled, and whatever's got them under it's sway has given them orders to kill." His deep voice rings out as he pushes aside the oar. His coral green eyes search the fog coated water for the creature that commands the loyalty of the aquatic predators.
"They are just sharks." Mabelode opines and continues to row. "Osir, don't you get frazzled, too. Keep rowing."
Mabelode does not have a weapon. Nor does he think it intelligent to jump in the water to attack the sharks. He continues to row and readies a fire bolt if a shark attacks him. He decides that he will never get used to her growing glaives from her arms.
"Yeah? No kiddin'?" she asks sarcastically when the angelic descended one observes that the sharks aren't behaving naturally. She hauls herself to her feet, reaching for her bow before shaking her head; the string would be useless after the night in the water. She draws her sword instead, and stabs down at the nearby shark. The sudden movement causes her head to swim and she stumbles, almost dropping her sword overboard, causing the boat to rock as she catches herself.
Zenu sighs as he feels the last of his magical water flow away slowly from his palm. It was always a bit of a letdown, to feel his power wane. A reminder, such as it was, that his union with the sea's limitless power was hardly complete, or even much more than started.
Regardless, the half-elf turns his attention to the small boat as he begins to hear shouts. Wait... boarders attacking the larger ship, sharks were attacking the smaller... Zenu smiles. If previous experience aboard the Grasp was any indication, the pirates of the Shackles were more welcoming when they knew a body could be useful. No time like the present, he figures, to prove his abilities.
Zenu reaches for his shortbow, grinning broadly, then reconsiders, realizing that he is currently too far out of range to actually do anything using it. Instead, he carefully moves to the "back" end of his impromptu raft, where he puts his hands in the water and begins to paddle. However, with the pressure of the sharks behind him now, the young sorcerer can't resist throwing more glances over his shoulder than strictly necessary, rendering his paddling largely ineffective.
“Keep rowing? Rowing without our ‘captain’ piloting the ship seems a right good recipe for disaster, my friend!” Osir called out to Mabelode even as he pulled the heavy oar back into the vessel and secured it so that no part of it still trailed in the water. For a man of his strength it was an easy feat. “Besides which, rowing with those sharks snapping their jaws about will more than likely lead to a broken oar or being dragged under with them. What we need to do is catch us some supper.” There was a laugh at the end of his words as he stood up on the Jolly boat and retrieved the Trident he had set aside when they first began rowing. It felt good to have the weapon in his hands again and this was an opportunity to show the other's what a man with Korzar blood could do. Not troubling himself with a shield for now, he gripped the tri-pronged weapon in both his hands and after moving into position he leaned over the side of the vessel. He intended to put himself in a prime position to anticipate and strike out at the shark that still plowed through the water toward the boat. He braced the trident against the rough wood and set his feet in position to prevent himself from falling overboard.
Letting out three quick whistled notes, Osir looked up to Pellinor for a moment and made a circling motion with his hand in the air, before he set that hand back to bracing his weapon. The Osprey responded with a loud call of its own and began widening its circling flight over the Jolly boat, it’s keen avian eyes searching the waters, not for prey as was more typical, but for whatever or whoever was guiding the sharks in their attack run.
Robinton, meanwhile, starts whistling a jaunty tune - despite the fact the crew is surrounded by sharks and the Wormwood over yonder is being ambushed. The others feel their moral boosted by his upbeat performance. As he does so, he pulls out one of his daggers, though remains seated for now.
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<< | | | >>
___________________________________
---
This is pointless, this bow isn't going to accomplish anything. If only I had a harpoon.
Trevor slips the bow back over his shoulder, then lies down on the flotsam to distribute his weight. He then starts trying to paddle towards the rowboat. However, his fear of more sharks in the area keeps him from putting serious effort to the task, and it is evident he is more focused on watching the waters than making actual headway.
__________________
"Here, fishy, fishy, fishy! Come give momma a nice big..." Caerlei's words are interrupted by a well placed thrust towards the shark just off the port side of the jolly boat, "..." A sway in the boat pitches her slightly off balance and ruins what might have been a killing blow. Caerlei clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth in vexation. Her weapon finds its mark, albeit with a less deadly precision than she had intended. Finding her feet again quickly, Caerlei hops back into the relative safety of the boat, glaive raised in anticipation of the shark's next approach.
Sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at her crew, Caerlei scoffs at the relative lack of results availed her brief survey. "Stop playing with yourselves and kill these chum-guzzling pests already!"
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