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::"All hands on deck to witness punishment." Bellowed the Righteous Eagle's Master-at-Arms, Harvin Fenrek.
Captain Havershaw, sat before the mast. The officers table laid out before him and draped with green cloth. His normally warm face was hard. The capain could be a hard man when he had to. Today was one such day.
Sitting stern back and rigid in his dress uniform, Havershaw gazed across the table at Seaman Tavenero, who stood at attention before him. Mr. Steel the captain began, please read the charges to Seaman Tavenero.
Aye, Captain. Lieutenant Steel intoned with a sharp salute.
Seaman Joves Tavenero, on this day, the 8th of Calistril 2410, you hereby stand before the mast on the charges of Article 133, Bringing dishonor upon the Andoran Navy. Article 129, Burglary from the ship's quartermaster for the amount of fifteen eagle crowns and Article 92, Failure to obey regulations. How do you plead?
Hanging his head in shame, Seaman Tavenero looked up at Captain Havershaw. I'm sorry captain. I knew it was wrong. I was drinking and I don't know what I was thinking. I saw the door to the quartermasters shop open and It was just sitting there. I should have never done it. I'm guilty.
Sitting at his chair, bedecked in finery, Havershaw rubbed his chin. Will the mast representative step forward. He intoned, following the procedure and ritual of the event.
Aye, Captain. Petty Officer John Rawkins stated, stepping forward to the captain and giving a sharp salute.
Petty Officer Rawkins, The captain trailed off, glancing from John to Tavenero and back. You have worked with Seaman Tavenero extensively, in your opinion can this man learn from his mistake? Would you take him on a boarding at your side?
Looking at Seaman Tavenero, John looked back to the Captain. Beside him was Mr. Steele who gave a short by firm shake of the head "no". Sighing, John glanced at Seaman Tavenero and then back to Captain Havershaw. "Would I take him into a boarding sir? No, not now. He drinks too much and too often. He he hadn't have been drinking that night I doubt he would have done what he did. Can he be redeemed? I would like to think so sir. As his enlisted advocate I believe that this man is salvageable. A lot of good men have been masted and went onto do great deeds and serve our country well. Seaman Tavenero has a hard road to walk, but I think he can pull himself up.
Nodding at Johns words thoughtfully, he turned his full gaze to the Seaman. His eyes became like clouds on a darkened sea, ominous and looming. Trust, Seaman Tavenero, it is trust that allows this service to run. I am not a man fond of punishment, but I cannot abide an untrustworthy man aboard my ship. Captain Havershaw exclaimed with a boom, as his hand slapped the table as if to hammer in the point. Petty Officer Rawkins has spoken on your behalf, and for that be grateful. This. Is. Your. One. Chance. Do you understand me? Very well, Standing up from the green cloth, the captain turned to the Master-at-Arms, Fenrek.
Let the log reflect on this day I have found Seaman Tavenero guilty of all crimes and award him the following punishment. Two Months confined to the Eagle upon return to home port. Two months forfeited pay. And.. Havershaw paused. Ten strikes with the cat.::
Hearing Plugg's words, snaps John from his memories.
Keelhauling for theft? The former marine thinks, scowling inwardly. That's likely to kill the man. But I'm not in the navy anymore.. John mutters to himself. Briefly, John considers telling Plugg to find one of his cronies to do his dirty work.. but only briefly. While John doubted that he would get haul' too, refusing an order would earn the lash or the cat. Knowing his luck, it would probably be the cat, too.
Hobbling forward, John felt his stomach roiling. It was bad enough that he had to watch this cruelty unfold and not be able to stop it, but to participate in a mans execution was so very much worse.
Not be able to stop it..
Thinking furiously John realized that maybe there was a chance to save Crimson from a bad death. The tighter the line was against the hull, the closer the man would be dragged against the barnacles. If John was somehow able to put some slack in the line, it might give Crimson a fighting chance. And it was more than most others would do aboard the ship to help someone out.
Taking up the line next to Wyn, John skillfully looped the rope around a nearby belaying pin to serve as a form of a pulley. Don't let the muscles fool you John muttered, scowling at the whole situation. [b]I work smarter, not harder. Leaning in close and knowing he would only have a moment, John grabbed the line as if to steady himself and whispered to Wyn. Long pull back and then move forward. It will give a little slack and look like you're straining against the current...
John started to say before being interrupted by Plugg. Plugg bellowed, while planting a slamming kick against Crimson's chest throwing him down into the water below.
The battle against these bastards starts now boy'o and there's no second chances!
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After the cold response from Doctor Quarne, Vrunyar returns to the crewman’s quarters feeling frustrated. He mentions to the former Lighthouse crew that Iakob has improved greatly under Doctor Quarne’s treatment. ”A long way for full recovery, but I think he’s through the worst of it.”
Declining to play cards, he takes out his formulae book and studies. His foot keeps time with Rosie’s music. Engrossed in working out a series of equations, he starts to chuckle. After about three-quarters of an hour he succumbs to sleep.
The next morning in the sickbay, Vrunyar thinks, If he wants to treat me like an apprentice, fine. More post-graduate training like in Absalom. After changing Iakob’s bandage, he sharpens the surgical instruments, washes the floor, and takes stock of the medicine on hand. Unless Vrunyar has a specific question about how the doctor runs the sickbay, he doesn't speak to Quarne.
As they assemble for the keelhaul, the bright heat, unlike the dark, comforting heat of a deep tunnel, gets to Vrunyar. He wraps his sash around his head, hoping to provide some shade for his eyes. As Shivikah and Maheem lash Cogward to the log, Vrunyar thinks if the man survives he might have some broken limbs. This is his first keelhauling and doesn’t try to hide the unease and alarm he feels since he is sure that reaction is what Plugg is hoping to see from him. As subtly as possible, Vrunyar scans the crowd judging the crew members’ reaction, looking for those who enjoy it. ”Torag’s sparks,” he whispers, hoping Wyn and John don’t upset Plugg.
Wyn stumbles as the unexpected tug comes when Cogward gets dragged under the water. She had braced herself for his fall, with gravity being a fairly predictable force. When the hideously powerful pull of the still-moving Wormwood drags Cogward under the ship, she barely holds onto the rope but loses her footing. In the back of her mind, she at least remains thankful that her failure has a silver lining: Crimson likely gets a brief reprieve, especially with John's muttered instruction, from the initial impact and dragging. She hears the laughter of some of the crueler pirates and a few loud japes at her 'weakness' as she recovers to her feet and holds onto the still-pulling rope.
John - a more practiced hand around the ship - uses a fulcrum in place of mere strength. When the dragging comes, he is able to keep his balance (even on the peg leg). Using his familiarity with his pulley system, having mastered its design through trial and error in the Navy, he is able to give Cogward significantly more slack than he makes it appear. He even tugs and groans a bit, to make it seem that the rope is tighter in his hands than it really is. He looks over at Plugg, trying to gauge if the man notices his treachery - but Plugg is a thug, not a true shipsman.
Plugg shouts out the instructions over the cheering of many of the crewmen. "Get to the middle! Not too fast! Owlbear, take over for Blondie!" The hulking simpleton lumbers over to her, where he holds out his calloused hands expectantly. The ship hits a wave at that moment, sending the deck slightly sideways. Normally, the swaying would be little more than a distraction, but provides a difficult challenge while trying to properly drag the ropes down the sides with an attached prisoner.
While John and Wyn fight for Crimson Cogward's life, Vrunyar watches the reactions of as many of the crewmen that he can see. He notes a clique of jeering and japing pirates - irredeemably cruel and malicious - led by Kipper, who is nearly jumping up and down with excitement. He tries to recall their names: Shivikah, Aretta, Jaundiced Jape, Maheem, Tam Tate, and Jakes Magpie, he believes they are. He scans for anyone who seems to object with their body language. His eyes settle on Samms Toppin, a human woman who has remained barefoot as long as he has been aboard. She has a look of utter disgust and revulsion as she tries to shy away into the back and look away.
Wynifrid flushes with both exertion and a bit of embarrassment as the movement of the rope takes her by surprise--but she is grateful John is there to take up for her. She owes him one, she knows that for certain.
She needs to get a feel for this--and she needs to prove herself to the crew, now laughing at her. "Back off," she barks to Owlbear, not willing to trust the crewman Plugg picks to replace her. Under the circumstances of the crew laughing at her, she is feeling less than gracious, and gives him a good sneer as she asserts, "I've got this."
Taking deep breaths, trying to get a feel for the rhythm of the rope and the dunking, she follows John's lead and hopefully his advice, and works to keep her footing better this time.
Definitely feeling the rhythm of things now, she manages to use the momentum she's gained as an advantage to help drag him in a hopefully beneficial direction.
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Fighting against the rope and the savage undercurrent below John feel the deck swell beneath him as the Wormwood crests another wave. The deck lurches below him as the pirate vessel breaches the swell and rides down into the trough. Instinctively John shifted his weight to his back, leaning against the motion as many of the other impressed crew members and pirates did likewise. To an outside looking on the motion might have seemed almost casual, but John knew better. Getting ones sea legs could take months, and once back on shore the illusion of motion could be hard to shake. That was the reason why some old salts felt more at home in asleep in a hammock or working lines on a deck. There was something basic and primal about the ocean and despite being a prisoner in all but name aboard the Wormwood, the ocean was a familiar place to the man.
Glancing over the rail John spied a crosscurrent across their amidships. To a vessel as large as the Wormwood with all sails tacked, the water would have no effect. It would be like a man trying to push a boulder up a mountain, but to a man, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, that current might make the difference between life and death. Cutting the line hard to the aft, John dragged Cogward into the current. Feeling the rope suddenly pull down instead of out, the maimed sailor knew that he had sunk the line true.
Momentarily glancing at Wyn, John nodded stoically, his face locked in concentration. Dam right you do. he muttered, moving in tandem with the woman.
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Doran has seen such horrific punishments before in days aboard the Fortune's Bride, but they were carried out swiftly and brutally, without making a twisted game that punishes all who even see it, but deals a cruel punishment indeed to those forced to be players. I hope John and Wyn can ease that fool's suffering some, or offer him a swift end if they fail. And not get into too much trouble in the process. Unobtrusively turning his head to look around at the rest of the crew, Doran notes that all eyes are focused on the spectacle playing out at the stern of the ship. Either way, I can't bear to watch, and most here can't bear to look away. Better seize the moment and see if I can learn anything of use.
Bending down as if to pick up something he's dropped, Doran slips unobtrusively through the forest of long legs around him, heading away from the horrors of the Bloody Hour. With a quick look around, he sets off to explore the area belowdecks a bit, hoping to learn a bit more about his situation, be it some useful information about the officers, or better sense of the captain's goals, now that he has been deprived of the chance to kill Captain Jonas. If nothing else, maybe I can lay hands on another weapon or two, to get into John's hand, or maybe Wyn's. They seem the most like to need to defend themselves, the way the rest of the crew treats 'em.
Wyn and John pull from their respective sides, giving slack and taking it away in a dance that promises some chance at survival for Cogward. Even better, they do so right under the nose of Plugg and his gang of brutal thugs. Their choreographed tug of war continues as Wyn rushes to the middle of the ship and John lets the natural tide give him an advantage.
Plugg doesn't seem to notice their efforts and continues his showy charade. "Keep moving! To the stern! Let's see how much of ol' Cog is left! I bet he'll have earned the name 'Crimson'!" The crowd of pirates moves along with them to the back of the ship, ready to see the spectacle. No one seems to notice that one of the halflings is halfway down the steps instead of continuing to watch.
Judging by the slack on John's side and the tightness on Wyn's, they can tell that Cogward will come out on the port side. As John glances around - and Wyn catches him looking, quickly putting it together - he sees that the position of the sheets means that the rudder is somewhat on the port side. Cogward will catch it unless they get in the middle and pull hard towards starboard - or if they can move the rudder itself so that he misses it.
As the Bloody Hour continues on the main deck, Doran slips below. The cheers and cries of cruelty grow muffled as he moves about, silent and unseen. He knows that he likely only has a few minutes at the most to find something - anything - useful to justify the risk he is taking. The officers' quarters are all accessible only from the main deck, so that is a no-go. The quartermaster's cabin and hold are accessible through this deck, but it may not be a wise choice - considering what is giving him his distraction. Given that he spotted the entirety of the ship's senior crew at the Bloody Hour, and the whole crew (if he isn't mistaken), he should be alone and undisturbed at least for a few minutes.
With the waning light of the afternoon shining through the grates, he moves swiftly - faster than one might think for a man so short. He scans the middle hold, where most of the ship's cargo is held. The small room where they were first held is off to the corner, and he knows that there is little of value in there. In this room, he spots a group of pigs snoozing quietly in a cage to the side. Near the mainmast, two light ballista and a disassembled light catapult sit in preparation for use in boardings and captures, with a dozen large barrels of oil keeping them company. A few crates sit through the hold, likely with something better than what is in their makeshift prison hold.
Doran rummages through the first of them - a difficult proposition considering his height comes up barely a foot higher than the edge of the crate. In the straw-packed crate, he finds a number of oranges kept in burlap sacks, likely to prevent scurvy. Digging deeper, he finds a small wooden box. Brushing off the dust and straw, he opens it to find two small, heavy burlap sacks with a distinctive tarry smell and three sticky wooden sticks. He recognizes them as tanglefoot bags and smokesticks, respectively.
Were the situation not so grim, it almost would have felt freeing, bobbing on the rope--but she knew it could end badly for Crimson, if not for her and John, if they weren't careful.
Giving a firm nod to John as they continued their "dance" holding the rope, when the time came, Wyn took a breath and prayed to any god that would listen to give her not just the strength, but the right kind of strength to ensure they could keep up their performance. Wyn does not have the sailor's knowledge John does---and she is learning, the far too hard way, that she must fill in what she lacks, and fast. But for now she focuses on giving it the physical effort needed. She is confident John will fill in the expertise, but she does not want to let him or Crimson down for her part.
This is risky! I'm like to end up keelhauled too, and my friends won't be the ones holdin' the bitter end of the rope, I'd wager. But I'm not going to get another chance like this one soon. I'll check another box at least.
Doran pockets the tanglefoot bags and smokesticks and neatly re-packs and closes up the crate he's finished searching before moving on to the next one. His attention is focused more on looking and listening for anyone approaching, or for a change in the sounds coming from the riot of the keelhauling party on deck, than on the task at hand, but that's probably the safest course to follow.
Ollivor doesn't even notice Doran leave. Indeed, he's itching to charge forward and help with Crimson but then he does realize that Doran is no where to be seen. I just hope what ever Doran is doing, Desna is on his side. Realizing he can't help much with either, not directly anyway, he instead says...
"Poor bastard, I think I saw a shark fin on the other side..."
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A John thought, hearing Ollivor as he strained against the line, fighting to keep Cpgward alive. Something about the very idea about a shark near him troubled John deeply and to the core. He had hated the creatures ever since he has lost his leg during his final boarding. He still kept the sharks tooth that had been pulled from his leg on a leather throng around his neck. For months following the attack John had had dreams of floating in an ocean, abandoned by his friends as jigsaw fins slowly circled around him. Even now John secretly feared swimming in water. He loved the ocean, but the world would be a better place without the creatures.
Momentarily shaken, John took a hasty step away from the rail. He had also heard that some sharks could leap out of the water to attack prey. He wasn’t sure if it was the truth or the scuttlebutt of an old salts tale, but the thought frightened him regardless. As he hobbled away, the normally stable marine stumbled, and pulled tight against the line. Instantly he realized his mistake. Ollivor had been trying to help him and draw attention away from the line handlers. And his mistake might have cost Cogward his life.
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Doran digs through the crate, peeking up every few moments to check for an errant sailor coming down and catching him shoulder-deep in goods that aren't his. He pushes the straw aside, looking for something more useful than spare rope and extra sheets for the sails. His deft hands feel something hard below one of the sheets, which he peels aside to check. Tucked in between, he finds a pair of axes with backward-pointing spikes on the back of the handle. Instantly, he recognizes them as boarding axes, useful for any number of tasks during a boarding - chopping through hatches, rigging, or crewmen; dragging burning debris away; or climbing up the side of a ship. In any case, its main usefulness at the moment is that his group of friends now has access to something more dangerous than their hands and wits if a situation calls for it.
Doran exults at having found such useful items. This could mean a life and death difference! If I can just get them out of here, and get them to my friends without getting caught...
Looking around and listening carefully, Doran decides to risk one more search, thinking that he'll be able to disappear in the general hubbub as the Bloody Hour breaks up and everyone returns to their stations. But he's extra-careful to keep a weather eye out for anyone approaching, as the last thing he wants is to be caught with his hands deep in a crate of the ship's cargo.
Crimson Cogward, flogged and beaten into confessing, knows that he has little life left in him when Plugg pushes him off the bow of the ship. At least they gave him some time and the attention of the doctor's ministrations to heal, he reflects darkly. It isn't charity or a hope that he would survive the keelhaul, he knows - it is Plugg's cruel desire to know that he suffered as long as possible before succumbing to death. He hears the malicious laughter of many of the crew, the bastards.
His aching body feels free for a moment, even with his arms painfully strapped to the keelhauling log. The last thing he sees - other than Plugg's sneering, hateful face - are the worried looks exchanged by the new pair. The blonde woman had played cards with him before he lost all his money to those swindling bastards, Jack and Shortstone; she seemed as close to a proper lady as he'd ever met in his years on the sea. He knows that he made a mistake in breaking in and stealing from the quartermaster, but he couldn't lose the money that his ailing mother asked for in her last letter. Life in Port Peril is difficult for an old widow, and harder still when your only child is a good-for-nothing pirate lowlife with a weakness for liquor, loose women, and gambling.
He hits the water with a splash and goes under. The water invades his throat and lungs, despite his desperate effort to hold his breath on the way down. The water seems to yank him backwards, though he knows that is just the ship's movement mimicking a pull, though the keelhaul would have the two rope-holders (reluctant as he could tell they were) pull him backwards to keep him tight on the ship's hull. He braces his body, expecting to hit the hull immediately with a bone-crushing force. It takes a little while longer than expected, giving him a moment to turn around and get his bearings under the water. He actually gets his legs in front of him and times a push perfectly, bouncing off the front of the ship instead of slamming unmercifully into it.
He rolls along the side like a doll in the grasp of an angry toddler. While he worships Pharasma devoutly, a terrified respect of the power of Besmara jumps into his mind as he hits the ship a second time. He rolls limply, high enough that he misses scraping on some of the worse barnacles, though his skin shreds on them even as he avoids the worst of them. His luck can't hold up forever, though a current and an unmistakeable pull from the rope above sweep him away from the hull for a few seconds of blessed relief. A sliver of hope wells up in his heart as he realizes that he is over halfway through the keelhaul and still alive. He'd never seen one - only being about a month and a half since joining the Wormwood and just a docker before his mother got sick - but he had heard that most sailors are dead before they even hit the center mast.
Even as the hope rises in him, each terrible bloody scrape and slam drives the air from his lungs and water into them. He blacks out for a moment, missing his opportunity to push off again. A razor-sharp barnacle tears open a hole in his calf, causing him to scream what was left of his air into the water; no one save the Kraken would hear his screams. Weakly, he pushes off one final time, but even that is too much; he feels the inky blackness of the ocean depths below rush up and snuff out what life of his remains.
John and Wyn pull - hard - to get him up out of the water. Knowing the terrible punishment his body must have been through, both know that moments might make the difference between his life or death. They pull the bloody, limp body from the water and press it upon the deck. His eyes are closed and his body still, but the blood still oozes and pumps out of the gashes in the body. John shouts aloud, "He's alive! He's alive!"
Doctor Quarne steps forward to assist Cogward, but Plugg points at him menacingly and growls out a command. "No, let the dwarf do it. It's up to him, no one else." Clearly, he knows that the customs of a keelhaul dictate that surviving merits medical care - but he desperately desires a bloody death out of nothing more than spite. Having expected a corpse and been denied, in turn denying Quarne's practiced hands in favor of Vrunyar's is his sole hope to see Cogward dead.
Quarne hands Vrunyar what tools he has on him - hardly more than a handful of bandages and a needle and thread. It isn't enough for a proper long term treatment, but may be enough to keep him breathing for a few minutes. He scans Cogward's body for the most major exterior injuries, the ones most likely to kill him immediately. A massive gash on his calf calls for immediate treatment, so he hands John one of the bandages and instructs him, "Hold the pressure tight with both hands, right there." The next largest is a bloody, open flap of skin on his stomach that he could fit three or four fingers in if he tried. He prods in it for a moment and sees that none of the innards were pierced and no major blood vessels leak inwards. He hands Wyn the second bandage and points to it. "Same, but not quite as tight or you'll put your hands through him."
He places his ear on Cog's shredded chest, hearing a faint heartbeat but no breathing. Knowing that the heart was likely to stop pumping if deprived of oxygen itself and faintly recalling his first set of instructions at his father's school, Vrunyar grabs Cogward's jaw and puts his own mouth on top of it, holding his nose shut with the other hand. He blows in hard, seeing that Cogward's chest is rising. He offers another life-saving breath, then puts his hands on the man's chest. He pushes down - hard, hearing a crack but not relenting - over and over and over. He cycles between the breathing and the pushing several times - and then Cogward vomits out seawater and bile, all at once, and takes a ragged breath on his own.
Vrunyar looks up at the two others with a smile and a heartfelt laugh. "He's going to live. He's gonna live."
Hearing quite a bit of noise coming from above, Doran knows that he only has a few moments left before he will be forced to stop foraging for useful items. He gets into the third crate and finds little as he digs hurriedly. It just seems like the sort of junk a ship needs to use as repairs - riggings, winches, rope, and the like. He grumbles to himself, thinking that this last one would have nothing for him. He pops his head up, looking at the stairs, and gets ready to push himself off the crate and into a safe spot to sneak back in. At the last moment, he turns his head and spots a small piece of canvas a different color from the rest of the sailing patches inside. He picks it up, noticing that it is heavier than the others - an unmistakable attempt to smuggle something onto the ship by whoever packed the crate. He holds it up to the waning light and sees a series of thin metal rods sewn inside the canvas. It doesn't take him but a moment to recognize them as a set of thief's tools for picking locks and disarming traps. A smile comes across his face. With a few days of hidden practice on his own chest's locker, he knows that he will be able to use them properly.
He gets the crates closed and kicks away the straw just as the first set of feet clomps down the stairs. He hears the chatter - disappointed for some, pleased for others - about Cogward's survival. He slips back into the crowd from the base of the stairs, nearly hitting the feet of one of the pirates - but no one pays the small, satisfied halfling any mind at all.
John and Wyn pull - hard - to get him up out of the water. Knowing the terrible punishment his body must have been through, both know that moments might make the difference between his life or death. They pull the bloody, limp body from the water and press it upon the deck. His eyes are closed and his body still, but the blood still oozes and pumps out of the gashes in the body. John shouts aloud, "He's alive! He's alive!"
Ollivor gives an earnest whoop at the news! He makes a note of those joining him if he can, if any dare. He fights a scowl when Plugg tries to limit the healer to the one he knows not so well, but Ollivor DOES know the dwarf's talents, and has confidence in him.
Vrunyar looks up at the two others with a smile and a heartfelt laugh. "He's going to live. He's gonna live."
"Guess it wasn't your time, Crimson."
Thorn stares at Tilly as she erupts at him goes off at him with a slur. Thorn lets her finish before responding "Oh well, I guess its your loss. No point in wasting a perfectly good ration of rum, DOWN THE HATCH!" Thorn head back while swallowing the ration of rum down his throat, eyes closed, making sure to savior the rum. He slowly opens his eye and lets out a loud "aahhhhh, that sure hit the spot." Thorn can see Tilly wanted the Rum but was to proud to give up any information before she turned away from him. Thorn got comfortable in his corner before closing his eyes to sleep.
Hearing the loud yelling and the hustling of sailors rushing about the hold and up to the deck, Thorn gathers himself and follows the rest of the crew up to the top deck. Thorn watches and listens to Plugg as he gives everyone their orders. Thorn stares at Plugg while holding his tongue but never looking away from Plugg as he hands him a small net to catch rats. Thorn smiles and looks the small net over giving a simple nod of the head to Plugg. Thorn tosses the next over his shoulder and walks back to the stairs leading down to the hold.
Thorn slowly walks down the stairs back towards the hold remembering the years spent with the rangers of Halgrim. Thorn remembers all that he was taught, study and observe your surroundings, use what nature offers you to your advantage and keep his patience. Thorn recalled seeing several rats running towards and under the stairs as everyone was running around during their wake up call. Thorn makes his way down the stairs into the hold slowly and quietly as to not scare the rats. Thorn scans the dark corner making out two rats huddled together eating dead fish guts. Thorn observes the gap between the stairs and the wall are about as wide as the net. Thorn sees the small net is a casting net and lays it flat on the ground next to the wall knowing the rats will stay close to the wall for safety. Thorn holds the small rope connected to the net ready to pull the net closed. Thorn slowly walks to the other side of the stairs against the joining wall to the corner. Thorn quickly stomps on the ground scaring the rat towards the stairs and the net. The rats hold to their part of the plan and run along the wall until the first rat clears the stairs and runs over the next soon followed by the second rat. Thorn quickly pulls the rope and trapping both rats in the net. The rats squeak and thrash violently in the next. "I love when a good plan comes together" thought Thorn "Now what to do with you two."
Before Thorn can decide on the rats fate, he is summoned to the top deck for a keelhauling. Thorn made his way up to the top deck listening to the other crew members. Apparently a crew member named crimson attempted to steal from the quartermaster. Thorn began to worry about his weapons and if they were part of the loot stolen from the quartermaster. Thorn quickly made his way through the crowd to see the quartermaster and what was recovered from this Crimson.
Thorn does not see any of the stolen goods, only a sailor beaten and whipped. Thorn slowly steps closer to the quartermaster as they begin to strap Crimson to a log. Thorn acting interested in the keelhauling quickly threw out a comment in the direction of the quartermaster "What did the scoundrel get his grubby hands on before he was caught, probably the Captains fine silver ware would be my guess." Thorn continued to watch Crimson while waiting for a response from the quartermaster out of the corner of his eye.
Thorn continued to watch and cheer with the rest of the crowd as Wyn and John attempted to save Crimson from a cruel death.
Wyn leans against railing, breathing heavily. She gives a brief nod to Rawkins and, when she is sure no one is looking, mouths 'Good Job' to him, followed by 'Thanks.'
Perhaps Thorn was right, she wouldn't be able to hold up with ignoring John or treating him poorly, but only because she was damned sure after all this he was one of the most competent and stubborn bastards on this vessel. Time would have to tell what would seem like the right course of action. At the moment she could manage a bit of feigned indifference.... and mostly, exhaustion. After a day of cleaning the decks and the last minutes' work she felt again like she'd been rowing on the Hellsmouth again. Seemed like it was freer here at the same time that it was far more dangerous. They'd been warned against Harrigan, but of course Wyn hadn't had much interaction with him. Plugg was clearly a man more interested in enjoying others' misery, however, than running a crew.
When she hears from Vrunyar that the man is alive, she is too tired to react much, but glad in her heart. She hopes later to have a chat with Crimson once he recovers a bit. She hoped whatever gold had been on her when she'd been handed over to the Chelish and then Harrigan was in the quartermaster's possession (if indeed, Crimson had not stolen it). Maybe she could figure out a way to offer to lend or give some to him, without breaking what was left of the man's pride.
Vrunyar finishes stitching up Cogward's wounds, large and small. The barnacles tore into his flesh in a number of places, and he suffered a broken leg from one of the impacts against the hull. None of the veins or arteries were punctured or torn, a small miracle considering the number of lacerations on the patient's body. The largest of the tears - the one on his leg - took nearly twenty stitches to close properly. Quarne continued to watch and advise, but followed Plugg's orders and let Vrunyar solely take care of Cogward. As the dwarf exhaustedly puts down the needle and thread, Quarne looks at him with almost a hint of admiration - or at least respect. "Excellent work. You have done well under difficult circumstances, to say the least."
Vrunyar is about to thank him when Plugg walks into the sick bay. The first mate is in a dark mood, clearly. He spits out a question at the doctor, barely giving Vrunyar more than a glance. "The captain wants to know when Cogward will be back and able to work."
Quarne glances at the still, unconscious man on the table. "Considering the trauma that his body went through, I'd say the captain should be thankful that he is alive at all. I'd say that he should have at least three days worth of full bed rest to simply become ambulatory. For a full recovery, he needs a week's worth of rest at a minimum before he is ready to work."
Plugg grimaces at the answer. "That's not good enough. Don't you have potions for this sort of thing?"
"I do, but I recommend that he heal naturally. His broken leg may not set properly if relying simply on a potion," Quarne replies.
Plugg snaps at the doctor. "I don't care about your 'natural healing' b@**#%%#. You've got potions? Give him one. That's an order from the captain, so hurry up and do it."
Quarne nods and goes to a locked cabinet. He pulls out a vial of a teal liquid with tiny, meticulous writing on the glass. "Vrunyar, hold his head back and mouth open so that I can administer the prescribed potion. I will give him the minimum dose to return him to functionality, but I insist that he be given light duties until he has had more time to heal properly." The dwarven assistant does so, and Quarne carefully and distastefully pours it into his mouth and down his throat. They can see him gurgle for a moment and reflexively swallow.
Immediately, Cogward's skin begins growing over Vrunyar's stitches. The minor wounds that were left with simple small bandages heal quickly, leaving small spots of pink, shiny skin. The large gash on his leg heals around the stitches, leaving an angry red trail in its place. His eyes flutter open as he looks around the sick bay - shocked to be alive. He croaks quietly, possibly trying to speak, but Quarne puts a finger to his lips and lightly presses him backwards to continue the rest.
More satisfied, Plugg turns to walk out of the sick bay. As he is leaving, he notices Iakob on a second table to the side. "How about that one? When can we use him?"
Quarne walks up to Iakob and puts a finger to check his pulse. "He is improving steadily from a bad case of rust poisoning, but it will be a number of days before we know anything solid. His heartbeat is steady, so he is in no danger of dying. Beyond that, it is a matter of time. I would give you a better answer if I could, but there are many variables that we don't know. A potion won't quicken the healing process, as magical healing is what brought him to this state to begin with."
Plugg frowns, an exaggerated gesture. "Another mouth to feed for a long period, with no guarantee that he'll ever wake up? No, thanks." Before Vrunyar or Quarne can react, Plugg pulls a small dagger from his belt and slits it across Iakob's neck. Both of the trained medical professionals can see that the cut is too deep and too wide to possibly save Iakob - even with magic. Blood gushes out of the wound, rapid and crimson red. Wiping his blade off on Iakob's shirt, Plugg sheathes it and turns back around. Vrunyar can see a hint of a smile on the man's face. "Throw him overboard. We don't need dead weight on the ship." As he strides out, Iakob's blood slows to a standstill and drips off the table onto the wooden deck.
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Tired from the heat in the bilges below and then the frantic effort spent trying to save Cogward, John sat upon a crate on the top deck of the Wormwood. Johns hands hurt. The line had bit deep and despite the calluses earned from long days on a ship, John felt his strength fading. The would be serving rum soon and sending the crew below for the evening as the ship dropped anchor. But he still had time to head below to the sick bay and check on Cogard, and more importantly his friend Lt. Steele.
Limping on the deck, his right knee continued to flare with pain. The rum would help with that, but a ship like this didn't take kindly to short-shifters and John couldn't be seen as weak. Passing Wyn, John saw the wordless nod of thanks. Not everyone on the ship was here by choice and it comforted him to know that he had some allies among the crew, not nearly enough if John was honest, but enough to make a difference. Returning the measure of respect, John gestured towards the hatch leading down into the sick bay. I'm going to check on Cogward and Iakob. The marine said at last. Before heading below.
Reaching the hatch, John gave way as Plugg pushed his way up the ladder well while sheathing a dagger. Quickly stepping to, John gave way to the brute of a man. Now was not the time for a confrontation. Plugg was a bully plain and simple and mean as the day was long. That much was clear to the sailor already. But the Wormwood was his domain and to challenge him now would only end in Johns death.
Going to see your friend? Plugg rumbled with an odd smile on his face. Thats good. You go see him. I just did. Before brushing past the one legged man arrogantly.
Frowning to himself, John made his way downward towards the sick bay. When he had talked to Vrunyar last the doctor had said he was in a stable condition, but it could be weeks before he was up and about. Reaching the med bay with its smell of antiseptics and herbs hanging from the beams above, John was greeted by Vrunyar at the hatch, the mans smock bloody. John... The dwarf rumbled looking over his shoulder into something unseen beyond. You don't need to come in here.
Pausing quizzically John frowned and then thought back to the snide comment made by Plugg. Blood running cold, John used his massive strength to push his way into the sick bay, and to the grisly sight beyond.
Falling to his knees at the table, tears began to stream from the normally stoic marines face. ooooooooooooo! John cried at the body of his friend who lay on a table as blood dripped to the deck. John screamed shaking his head back and forth. No dam you! The breath fled from his lungs, and John felt something die inside of him. John had seen death. He had faced it time and time again next to Iakob, but he had never expected this. In the last few days he had watched as both Captain Jonas and young Malakay Carr had died and John had been powerless to protect either one. But this was so much worse. Hands crimson from his friends blood, John grabbed at Vrunyar's smock. It was Plugg, wasn't it? John whispered as the tears continued to fall unbidden from the mans face, mixing with the blood below.
Amidst the general hubbub on the ship, with people still talking about the keelhauling, and exchanging coins owed due to bets on whether Cogward would live or die, and preparations being made for the evening rum ration and dinner, Doran decides it's time to unload some of the spoils from his little exploration. He carefully conceals the canvas-wrapped tools and a smokestick in an inner pocket of his calf-length pants, thinking Those are staying with me. But I need to get some of these other things to my friends.
He makes his way over to the hammocks of various friends of his, moving as surreptitiously as possible. John's hammock, located quite close to Doran's is easy, and he manages to stash a boarding axe, a tanglefoot bag and a smokestick amongst John's belongings, confident that they'll be distributed as needed.
He waits a while, until the crew cabin has cleared again, and moves over towards Wyn's hammock, where he stashes the same supplies - boarding axe, tanglefoot bag, smokestick - for her to distribute as she sees fit. The more scattered these things are, the less likely any of us are going to get caught with them.
His thoughts are interrupted by a deep scream of anger and anguish. Gods, what is that!? It sounds like Rawkins. What horrors have visited that poor soul now?
Thorn huddles around Crimsons body as he is dragged out of the water and thrown to the deck. Vrunyar begins working his craft on Crimson's wounds under much pressure from Plugg and the on looking eyes. Thorn is impressed with Vrunyar's work, gaining a new respect for the dwarf and his ability to keep calm and come through in a pinch.
The rest of the crew heads back down to the hold for the night as Wyn and John rest for a bit to catch their breath. Thorn waits and watches the quartermaster for a response to his question cast out trying to get an answer but no bite. The Quartermaster heads down with the rest of the crew talking about the event that just transpired.
After a while sitting on a crate near the center mast, Thorn watches John gather himself and begin to make his way down to the lower decks, passing Plugg on his way down. Thorn can see they exchange words with each other in passing. Thorn continued to watch Plugg as he strolls towards Thorn with confident and proud stride accompanying a hateful smile on his face. Thorn could not hear the words exchanged between Plugg and John but Thorn knew it was not good judging by Plugg's emotions and actions.
All of a sudden Thorn heard a sound all too familiar to him. It was the same roar of anger and rage he made when Espen was slain by the winged devil he swore to one day slay. He knew what Plugg had done to John, remembering the way John cared for his unconscious friend the first day they met on this ship. Thorn kept a face of stone while remaining emotionless as he swung the casting net from his shoulder. Thorn threw the closed net at Plugg's feet rats squirming and causing him to come to a sudden stop, erasing that stupid grin from his face. "Here are your rats, as ordered. Feed them to that rat Crimson, You are what you eat as they say.” Thorn say in a low tone while ending with a soft chuckle.
After Wyn passes John, she heads to toward her hammock. She was sore and aching, and unless a senior crewman stopped her, she'd take a brief respite. She only just notices her bag seems a little heavier than she thought it ought to be when she heard the scream. Placing it back as she always keeps it, she looked up, trying to pinpoint where it came from.
Perhaps if she were more practical--and callous--she would probably have continued to try to catch some kip, but something wrong had just happened. If she was right, it came from the ship's doctor's treatment room--had something happened to Crimson, after all their efforts to try and keep him alive?
She ran toward the treatment room, peering in, to see John weeping not over the form of Crimson, but of the sick man brought over with him from the Empty Lighthouse. Wyn barely knew him, and had only ever seen him delirious and rambling. Obviously, John had known him better.
And the blood spreading across his chest, from the gash in his throat... those were the symptoms of no fever she'd heard of. She has a flash of memory, for a moment, of seeing her mother's body cut open by bandits on the road, and thus is given yet another unnecessary lesson that they lived and worked among bandits of the sea, and perhaps worse scoundrels at that. Wyn feels awash for the millionth time since she found herself at sea, with helplessness. She tries to push it away.
"What happened here?" She asks Vrunyar and Quarne. "Don't tell me this was some kind of mercy killing."
Plugg’s actions occur so fast, Vrunyar is so shocked and surprised he can’t believe what he saw for moments. A glance at Plugg as he leaves the room, and another at Doctor Quarne to see his reaction. Then a prayer to Torag stumbles from his lips as he holds Iakob’s hand. He shakes his head, numb by the senselessness of the murder. Clearing his throat, ”Excuse me, Doctor. I just need some air.” At the hatch he turns and asks, ”Does he do this often?” Then he feels a presence and it is John. The dwarf doesn’t think he could feel worse in this situation.
After John pushes his way in and explodes in rage, Vrunyar plants a hand on John’s shoulder. ”Yes. It was the first mate. I know it’s small comfort, but Iakob died quickly and without pain. Plugg moved so fast. I didn’t realize what he had done until it was too late.” He looks at the pooling blood and the tears on John’s cheeks and feels his own eyes begin to water before he blinks away the tears. Squeezing John’s shoulder he says, ”I know what it’s like to lose a great friend.”
Wyn arrives next. The dwarf is tempted to shut the door against any others entering but doesn’t. Vrunyar shakes his head at her questions. ”Not a mercy. No...more like a display of cold-hearted power, indifference, cruelty, anger, and disdain. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He glances again at the doctor to gauge his reaction.
”John, did Iakob favor a particular god? Are there any Andoran funeral rites I should know about? I hate to rush you...but the sooner we take care of Iakob the better.”
Ollivor tilts his head at some sound, the work of the galley made it hard to sort out. Then it stopped, and he realized whatever was going on, it was too late for him to join in.
This duty in the galley is a two edged sword... I've got the softer work than some, and eventually everyone comes here, but I'm also cut off more than a bit.
Wyn arrives next. The dwarf is tempted to shut the door against any others entering but doesn’t. Vrunyar shakes his head at her questions. ”Not a mercy. No...more like a display of cold-hearted power, indifference, cruelty, anger, and disdain. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He glances again at the doctor to gauge his reaction.
Wyn doubted any man present would have done such a thing, or that Vrunyar would have said as such so openly if the culprit were still present. She didn't have to run down a long list of suspects to hazard a guess. "So... would I be off if I thought Plugg paid a visit?"
It would probably be the death of her, but more and more, Wyn felt inclined to plan a lengthy meeting between her fist and Plugg's face.
”John, did Iakob favor a particular god? Are there any Andoran funeral rites I should know about? I hate to rush you...but the sooner we take care of Iakob the better.”
A more rogue part of Wyn's mind sang a piece of an old tune the sailors in the tavern liked to sing:
Walk him along, John, carry him along. Carry him to his burying ground.
She opted not to share the tune for the moment, although it was as close to a tune of respect as the seamen tended to sing.
"I'll... leave you to your work then. If you can let me know when Crimson's up and about, I'd like to have a word with him when he feels like it. No rush. And... if you need help with anything..." ... hauling bodies... "Give me a yell."
She walks away. A stray thought occurs to her, and feeling the need to share the awful scene she saw, to some extent, she heads down to the galley.
Ollivor tilts his head at some sound, the work of the galley made it hard to sort out. Then it stopped, and he realized whatever was going on, it was too late for him to join in.
Wyn pops her head into the doorway, and seeing Ollivor already looks a little distracted, decided an additional interruption wouldn't be too much of a hardship.
"No need for any broth for Steele tonight... he's dead."
Wyn pops her head into the doorway, and seeing Ollivor already looks a little distracted, decided an additional interruption wouldn't be too much of a hardship.
"No need for any broth for Steele tonight... he's dead."
Ollivor nearly drops what he's holding, "What do you mean he's dead? I heard he had something that they could have pulled him through with a week of rest or something..." the young Andoran's is incredulous before he realizes he might be coming across as snappish, "Pardon, but ...what went wrong that he passed?"
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Shaking his head in rage, John grips the white blood covered smock of Vrunyar tightly pulling him in towards him. The rage wasn't directed at the dwarf but John felt so helpless as he heard the drops of blood fall to the deck that he didn't know how to channel it. It burned hot and bright in the mans heart. It consumed the love that he had for Alima and the devotion towards his daughter Farah. It felt as if John would explode. There was no place on the ship to channel it, there was nowhere to go. He felt trapped knowing that the bastard that had murdered his friend would be constantly around him, in a position to bully and beat the people that he wanted to protect. The world would have been a better place without Plugg. Would that have made it murder or just righteousness?
Leaning in close, Johns rage gave words to him. They boiled up from the roiling inferno of that the marine had been taught for so long to keep in check. Vrunyar.. I'm going to kill that bastard. John said at last. I'm going to kill him if it is the last thing I do. I don't care what it takes. I don't care who gets in my way. I'll going to take Iakobs pistol, put it to his head and end the man.
Stepping back, John released the dwarf. He gnashed his teeth and wanted nothing more to kill the man now. But John knew that it would happen. No on this ship. Not while he was in control. But he wouldn't forget that oath. Plugg was going to die by his hand. Biting down on the rage that threatened to overwhelm in, John turned away.
He was a better man than anyone on this ship and he deserved better. He was a true follower of Cayden. He loved his drink, was brave and courageous. He believed in freedom and hated tyranny. I don't know what fate had in store for him, or any of us for that matter. But I do know that he made a promise that I plan to keep. Sighing, John looked away from the hatch up to the promise of light on the deck. I.. I need to go speak to Grok and Rosie. Keep him here. I'll be back with some canvas. I should tend to him. He would have done the same for me. Stepping out from the medical bay, John turned and glanced back to the dwarven doctor. Vrunyar, you seem good with a needle and I'm guessing you have ink? Wordlessly the dwarf nodded. Good, John said gruffly. Before I return have them ready for me. I'll be needing a tattoo.
Stomping his way up the deck, John glanced to his right as he saw Plugg laughing next to Jaundiced Jape and Tam Tate. The first mate was miming the motion of holding a dagger as the other two laughed. John turned away. He couldn't let them see his rage or frustration. Not here, not now. Instead he took that anger and let it boil up inside of him. Inward he directed it, letting it fan the flames of hate that already burned strong, but now blazed with the heat of a thousand suns. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him. John kept repeating to himself as if in a Vudran mantra. Each step along the deck he felt his pain flare in his leg. He added that into the fire too. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him. John repeated. Eyes blazing, John hobbled past them men and down towards the quartermasters hold.
Reaching the wooden door John banged on it twice. It was intended to be a knock but he couldn't control himself. Not now.
Opening the door, the half-orc with the lacerated throat looked up at the maimed marine, her face hard and her eyes questioning. Bleakly looking at the woman, John sighed. His eyes carried the flare of rage tinged with sadness. But his body was exhausted. Looking at the half-orc dead in the face, John softly whispered, in more of a plea rather than a demand. I need some canvas if possible.His eyes wandering behind her and looked into the storeroom beyond. And a sail patchers needle and some twine. Its for a burial at sea. He said softly, hurtfully. You can deduct the cost if necessary from what ever I had before I was taken on board.. please.. John finished, unaccustomed to asking when he should have been demanding. Yet it was what his friend deserved and what he was owed. At least in this John could see his friend off properly. Eyes watering John turned away. I'm not sure what customs are present here, if any. I don't care about gambling. I just need some.
Wyn pops her head into the doorway, and seeing Ollivor already looks a little distracted, decided an additional interruption wouldn't be too much of a hardship.
"No need for any broth for Steele tonight... he's dead."
Ollivor nearly drops what he's holding, "What do you mean he's dead? I heard he had something that they could have pulled him through with a week of rest or something..." the young Andoran's is incredulous before he realizes he might be coming across as snappish, "Pardon, but ...what went wrong that he passed?"
Wyn shook her head, she wasn't going to judge him for his tone. "Far as I can tell, Plugg went wrong. Cut his throat. I suppose there's punishment for being too ill on this tub. The sailor, Rawkins, he wasn't taking it too well. The dwarf surgeon, he said it was just cold-blooded."
It occurs to her her initial delivery was probably a bit callous. "Sorry I don't really have a genteel way of delivering such news. You were on the Lighthouse with him, weren't you?"
While retrieving the ink from his backpack, Vrunyar stops to get a mop, scrubbing brush, bucket, and soap. The rocking of the ship intensifies Vrunyar’s unbalanced feeling from Plugg’s action. He imagines granite, marble, iron, and mithral and tries to hide his emotions behind a stone-like visage.
John hasn’t returned yet to the sickbay, so he washes the blood from Iakob’s neck and torso. Once that is finished, he arranges the vial of ink and a needle near Iakob’s head. The dwarf hopes that if John wants a tattoo, he gets another person to create it unless it is a word or rune. He’s not an artist after all.
Working fast yet thoroughly, he mops and scrubs the floor, humming a dwarven song of high lamentation.
Wyn shook her head, she wasn't going to judge him for his tone. "Far as I can tell, Plugg went wrong. Cut his throat. I suppose there's punishment for being too ill on this tub. The sailor, Rawkins, he wasn't taking it too well. The dwarf surgeon, he said it was just cold-blooded."
At the news of Plugg's actions, Ollivor cursed under his breath, "Plugg got cheated of one man dying, so he went for another. The featherless bastard. I hope he gets what's coming to him in this life before he gets it ten folds in the next."
It occurs to her her initial delivery was probably a bit callous. "Sorry I don't really have a genteel way of delivering such news. You were on the Lighthouse with him, weren't you?"
Ollivor nods, "I was. John was closest to him, I think, but I admired him well enough. He was a solid man, reminded me a bit of my older brother, truth to tell. I don't think anyone had a cross word against Iakob in the all too short time I knew him. He fought tooth and nail during the battle. We're all a bit poorer for the loss of him." He sighs, "And there probably IS no genteel way to talk of cold blooded murder. I appreciate you keeping me posted all the same. Better to stare at the dark than blind yourself to it."
He offers her a small biscuit, "Biscuit if you like. So far, food seems to be the only thing I have power over on this ship of the damned."
If I get the chance, I'm going to kill Plugg. Assuming one of the others doesn't beat me to it.
Grok hands over the items to John with a soft sensitivity. "Don't worry about it. I figured out what happened when Plugg came and demanded the pistol. I don't like having that sort of thing in my hold because of the volatility, but that's not how I wanted to get it out. You got my sympathy and my cond'lences."
"I'm sorry I didn't really get to know him." She gratefully accepts the biscuit--after a day of work and then participating in the keel haul, she can do with any bit of sustenance.
"And like I said before, that ain't a power to dismiss." She smiles, and mutters under her breath, so only he can hear... "Too bad there's a poison taster..."
Back to her conversational tone, she says, "If I hear of anything else going on, I'll be sure to let you know, as I'm sure you don't get to go much elsewheres. Anyway, thanks."
She salutes him with the biscuit and heads back towards the crew quarters.
"I think you would have liked him and he you, given a chance,"
Ollivor nods very slightly at her soto comment. He'd normally be more vigorous in his agreement, but Wyn's got the right of it in keeping certain comments soft.
"If I hear of anything else going on, I'll be sure to let you know, as I'm sure you don't get to go much elsewheres. Anyway, thanks."
She salutes him with the biscuit and heads back towards the crew quarters.
"Much obliged to you, and you're most welcome." He watches her go. He's not sure he's ever met a woman quite like Wyn, but he's grateful to have her on the ship. She's solid, and judging by that slipped in reference, he and she are definitely of an accord on Plugg.
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Giving a nod, John turned to leave. His eyes were red with pain. Collecting the canvas, needle and patchers thread, he started to step away, Grok's words barely registering on the man. Reaching for the canvas, he looked up sharply. Wait, Plugg took his pistol?! John asked, not believing his ears. Shaking his head angrily, John cursed under his breath. That was his father's pistol. Thats not right. John said at last. The bastard and murder my friend and then before his body is cool he claims the man's most precious thing as his own? Shutting in rage, John turned away so that Grok could not see the hatred well up in John. I don't know how many times I saw him clean that pistol. He would oil it and tend to it like it was his own child. He used it to save my life twice. Plugg doesn't deserve to look at the thing let alone touch it. Biting down on his anger. John gave a single nod as Grok confirmed her statement. Fine.. John said at last, his voice barely a whisper. When I have you on your knees Plugg, I'm going to pry that pistol from your hands then you can know my rage.
Turning around, John stalked down the passageway to the berthing area.
Reaching the hammock strewn space, John limped through the small clusters of pirates. In his hands he held the canvas and he clutched it tightly to his chest. He squeezed it so hard that it made his arms hurt. He imagined it was Plugg's neck instead of a spare patch of sail. Wandering through the hold, John made his way first to Rosie. She was seated on her sea chest and was tuning a darkwood fiddle. She held it in the same way the Iakob had held his pistol. There was an affection towards it. That much was clear just from a glance.
John! She said, seeing the towering red haired sailor looming over her. Smiling, she looked into his face and then her smile slowly turned to a frown. She glanced at the canvas that the man held in his arms. She could see the pain on his face. Oh John, I'm so sorry. She said slowly. News on a boat traveled quickly and she had not known that the two men were close.
The hate and anger was easier to deal with then condolence. He would grieve later. He would drink until Kroop would let him drink no more. But not now. Rosie. John said, his words rough like stone. Would you do me the honor of playing your fiddle at my friends burial.. Turning away John swallowed hard. I.. I would appreciate that. It.. would mean alot to me.
Rosie quietly nods, quiet and respectful. "I'd be happy to. Most everybody that dies on board just gets tossed over like it was nothin'. If he was anything like you, I'd've liked to know him. It looks like you're gonna stitch him up for a proper burial? Maybe you can tell me about him while you do it? I'll play a dirge while you do it." She gets up and follows him, fiddle in hand, and beckons to some of the others. "Look, unless most of the crew's willing to go out, the cap'n will let Plugg stop ya. But if enough's with us, and you get maybe Sandara to offer Besmara's blessing, he should let us out for a night funeral. I'll get 'em gathered."
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Surrounded by Kroop, Riki, Jax, Arutro, Hojo, Crimson, Ollivor, Wyn, Vrunyar and a few others, John knelt beside his friend who lay supine on the deck. Behind him Rosie played a dirge, while Sandra stood ready to offer last rights to Iakob.
A few of the others held grog or rum in their hands. It was quiet on the ship except for the lapping of waves against the hull and the keening wail of the mournful fiddle.
Wrapping the man in the tough tanned canvas, John looked at his friends face. The blood had drained from Iakob's normally sharp cheeks and jaw and he looked pale. If not for the crimson gash across his neck it was almost as if he could wake up then and there and ask for a drink. Turning away John hid his eyes. Seeing his friend for the last time was almost more than he could bear.
Taking out the sail mender's needle and thread, John started at the feet, slowly working his way up the canvas. Each line was sure and strong. It was all that he could give to his friend, and apparently more than most received onboard this cursed ship, but it was less than what he deserved.
As John began to stitch the needle and thread along his friends waist, he thought back to the scene as he arose from the berthing area and up onto the deck. Plugg along with Scourge and the rest of his lackeys had watched from the shadows, the anger and fury in their eyes. In the days ahead John knew that he would be singled out for this insubordination in the eyes of the first mate but he didn't care. The mutiny had started now and it wouldn't end until one of them was dead.
Reaching Iakobs neck, John carefully folded the canvas up and around his friends wounded neck and placed a stitch carefully though it, leaving only his friends face uncovered. Tiredly, John gestured to Vrunyar and pointed to the three dots that decorated his friend’s brow, just below the hairline. When you ink me, John said raggedly, I want that, but make it four in the shape of a diamond. One for Iakob and three for the others who remain trapped at Deepmar. Alright? Wordlessly the dwarf nodded.
Running the last few stiches up through the tough fabric, John carefully took the needle and with a single push threaded it through his friend’s nose. The fiddle reached a crescendo and then the music died. Rising slowly John stepped away. In place of his friend was a canvas cocoon in parody to Desna. Looking up he glanced at the crew of the Wormwood that stood silently in a half circle around his lost friend.
It was hard. It was harder than anything else John had ever done before to summon up the strength to speak on his friends behalf. He wanted to yell and scream, to throw himself at the First Mate. But he couldn't. Not yet. Gazing mournfully at the canvas wrapped figure, John coughed into his hand and then ran it through his hair. He said at last, his voice booming with barely controlled anger. Was a good friend and a fine shipmate. He was a staunch ally and the world is less without him here. He was also solid and respected sailor. And he saved my life twice. He was with me the day that I first met my wife who was a slave aboard a Katapesh Slave Galley called The Taskmasters Pride and he helped save her as well. There are hundreds of men and women who would still be locked in chains if not for that man. John announced stoically, pointing towards his enwrapped friend. And he was a steadfast foe of the Cheliaxians. When he was captured and sent to Deepmar he spent a year working to escape, and when others were left behind he swore to return and bring them to freedom. I could not imagine a better man or friend.
Dolefully, John looked into each of the arrayed sailors eyes. Sandara Quinn has to offer to speak Besmara's blessing on his behalf. Will anyone else speak for this sailor?
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Sandara steps forward to give the rite of burial. She seems unsure of herself at first, placing her hand on Iakob's wrapped body and slipping a pair of gold coins between the wide stiches. "I beseech the Pirate Queen to take this man into her domain, the sea. With him, we leave this treasure for Besmara's good will. As is said in Besmara's Code, end your quarrels on shore. Remember that life is short, and that only glory and plunder last beyond death. The chains, please." One of the other sailors arrives with heavy iron chains, which she wraps around the body in order to weigh it down.
Sandara raises her hands and invokes the blessing of her god. With a crack of sound, a pair of dolphins appear in the water, jumping and dancing along the wake of the ship. "Besmara sends her blessings. His rest will be a peaceful one, guarded at the bottom of the sea."
Sandara doesn't know much at all about the worship of Besmara, though she is still blessed with some divine powers from another source. Still, considering Besmara's laissez-faire attitude towards her worshippers, pretending to be her cleric would likely please her instead of making her wrathful.
Ollivor is properly quiet and respectful during Rawkin's actions and words. He lowers his head and recalls that mouthing off the anger he feels isn't going to bring Iakob back. Still, its hard not to resent Plugg and his stooges who he is sure aren't too far away.
They've no right to be here, the damn killers.
Dolefully, John looked into each of the arrayed sailors eyes. Sandara Quinn has to offer to speak Besmara's blessing on his behalf. Will anyone else speak for this sailor?
"Only to say, he was a good man, and we're all weaker for his loss. "
As John arranges for Iakob's funeral, Wyn gathers the sense from the efforts made that the more people there, the less likely Plugg would be able to stop it from happening. She didn't know him well, but if as many are willing to show sympathy for a man killed by Plugg as well as the sailor Plugg's taken to being down on, she would join in, and show her respects.
She does try to take note of who are here (besides the crew of the Empty Lighthouse of course).
She sees that Quinn is winging it, but she also seems aware that the goddess Besmara won't mind. It doesn't improve Wyn's impression of Quinn much--she still thinks she is soft and takes offense much too easily--but is glad she's at least willing to speak at the service. She doubts many have experience with the priesthood here.