While Vrunyar tattooed John’s head, as he was doing the last dot, he finally turns his extended monologue to Iakob. He echoes what he said at the service, adding in a few more memories about their final battle when he got injured.
Answering John’s question, he replies stoically and rather vaguely, ”A friend’s death is why I was on the Empty Lighthouse. I was hoping to pay my respects to his family. I guess I still am.” He shrugs with a sigh. ”More pressing concerns now,” he says letting John continue the discussion. When the human quietly mentions killing Plugg, he meets John’s eyes and reads his face. He slowly nods. ”Aye, so long as it’s not cold blood.” They shake hands, each showing his resolve with a strong grip.
Vrunyar’s head turns towards the starboard side of the ship. His eyes scan the turbulent water line, as he continues to pump. The water is at his armpits. The lower half of his beard sways in the water as he works.
”A hole? My idea for a stone ship sounds better all the time! Do you hammer something into the hull? Stuff it with an tar-painted sail? Just tell me where I’m most useful and I’ll do the task.”
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Seconds into the bilge John realizes something is wrong. At first he can't put his finger on it, more concerned initially with keeping up with the rate of flooding rather than studying his surroundings. Then after a few moments he realizes that it is the flooding itself that is the cause of the itching sense between his shoulders. Eyes widening, John glances at the water and then towards the hull. Blood hell! The sailor exclaims, scowling. What a peice of crap boat. Thats what you get for manning it with pirates and cutthroats rather than competent well disciplined sailors. Not stopping his furious pumping, John triest to create some order from chaos. Yelling to Vrunyar, who threatened to be overwhelmed by the rising water he gestures towards the ladder leading out of the watery hold. Doc! I need you to go get Hojo . Tell her we need oakum, tar, some plugging cones, a sledgehammer and some shoring beams. And that we got water three and half feet above the deck. Glancing quickly at the surface of the wall where he suspects the flooding might be coming from, John frowns. Tell her it's for an I-type shoring. Go get her and hurry back. Grab a saw too!
Pumping up and down on the installed drainage system John cursed again. It was old and poorly maintained. John had noticed it before when working below, but now it mattered. Glancing up to Ollivor who acted as his partner pumping on the other side, John glanced over to the inward curving hull. Cookie, if you got any magic that can make little floating things like flowers or bits of paper or whatever, do it. Put em along the edge of the bulkhead. You can watch how they will move in the water and it will show you where the flooding is coming from. Biting down on his lip, John grimaced as he pushed down again, preparing to man the bilges by himself. We used bits of specially treated paper back in the navy for the same purpose. It will point right towards the leak.
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Pumping up and down on the installed drainage system John cursed again. It was old and poorly maintained. John had noticed it before when working below, but now it mattered. Glancing up to Ollivor who acted as his partner pumping on the other side, John glanced over to the inward curving hull. Cookie, if you got any magic that can make little floating things like flowers or bits of paper or whatever, do it. Put em along the edge of the bulkhead. You can watch how they will move in the water and it will show you where the flooding is coming from. Biting down on his lip, John grimaced as he pushed down again, preparing to man the bilges by himself. We used bits of specially treated paper back in the navy for the same purpose. It will point right towards the leak.
"I'll give her a shot..." he says. Prestidigitation has its limits, but it can change something's color....
so, while he's looking, he casts a color change on some of the water, a bright and visible bronze, and see where it sucks out
Thorn grabs the several pieces of cut line from Doran and quickly places them in his mouth and bites down on them to secure them from washing away. Thorn stairs at the main sail with a steady stair and determined concentration as he rapidly ties his wet hair back into a pony tail to keep it from sticking to his face and temporarily obstructing his view. Thorn new this was no storm to mess with and did not want to be washed over board. No mater how good of a swimmer he thought he was the waves would continuously crash down on him making it impossible to breath. Thorn realized Doran was a master of these ships and listened intensely to Doran's instructions. Thorn was no stranger to sailing and the sea but he was raised on long boats his entire life and was not use to this many lines and sails. Thorn bent down to grab a life saving line and tied it tightly around his waist as Doran continued instructing Syl and Jape in a stern and commanding tone. Thorn knew this was no time for talk and kept his remarks to a nod of the head to let Doran know he understood what was asked of him.
After securing his hair in place and himself to the life saving line Thorn rushed after Doran....
”Better get Quarne too,” the dwarf grunts. Vrunyar gives one final push of the pump and wades through the water, squeezing past the bucket brigade, as he maneuvers up the stairs. On the deck, he holds a hand above his eyes to shield them from the rain. With his low-light vision, he sees Doran, Thorn, and some others in the rigging, and he’s thankful he has bilge work.
he calls attempting to break the noise of the storm. With each step he grips a rail or a rope, white knuckles fighting the pounding of the waves against the hull. Aretta is coming towards him, so he asks, ”Have you seen Hojo or Quarne?”. She shakes her head and pushes past him.
a wave slams him to one knee. Sputtering, he holds on with both hands to a rail. ”Torag’s hammer,” he mutters. Regaining his footing, he continues to the sickbay, still gripping on to the super structure, hoping Quarne is there.
Doran does a fantastic job of lashing the sails to the main mast, crawling over the rigging like a monkey in a jungle. He quickly secures the mainsail, ensuring that there is little chance of it being blown loose by anything short of Gozreh's personal attention. Thorn, on the other hand, spends quite some time getting himself lashed to the mast and has little time to tie any knots; his expertise, after all, was in pulling oars instead of fixing the sails.
Doran finishes the topsail and makes his way over the rigging to the next mast. He climbs near the apex of the rigging, where it is tightest, and does his best not to take a look at the thirty-foot fall. For a regular-sized human, it would be a dire fall - but for a halfling, the fall is well over tenfold his height. His strong hands keep him steady on the rigging, even as the wind blows cold rain straight into his face. Jape has already made it to the next mast, repeating the process in keeping the sails down.
In the bilges, John and Ollivor try to find the source of the leak while simultaneously continuing to hand bucket after bucket of rancid water upwards. The pump seems to be barely working, forcing John to put his whole body into making it function. The water is higher now, almost up six inches since they began a few minutes ago. The magically-treated water pumps out by irregular motions, pushed away on the starboard side. Ollivor follows it along the side of the hull, looking for the location of the leak. In the darkness, his eyes seem just a touch more capable than he would think in picking out details. He is able to find a spot down on the stern side of the starboard hull in which the planking is cracked open. Seawater pours in with every pitch of the ship, though it would be almost impossible to see without John's tip or Ollivor's magic.
Vrunar calls out from above, "I found Hojo!" He pulls himself down, not realizing that the water has gotten deeper. He finds himself having to tread water, as planting his feet firmly on the ground puts the water right at his mouth.
Hojo is right behind him, supplies in hand. The Tian woman seems even more serious than usual, if such a thing is possible. "Show me the leak!"
Wynifrid rubs the aching spot on her side where the barrel hit her; she's certain that it will leave an ugly bruise and be sore for days. She gets the next hatch closed, putting her in near-total darkness. Her eyes are accustomed to the darkness at this point of night, but she still finds herself stumbling through a dark cargo hold that sways to and fro - with dangerously untethered barrels rolling around. She manages to make her way up to one of the stairwells, where she at least doesn't have to worry about a wayward barrel smashing into her.
She notices that the stairwell is not the front set of stairs that leads up to the main deck or down to the crew quarters, but rather the officers' stairwell. She has seen it from the other side of the cargo hold, but never gotten too close to it before. She knows that it doesn't lead straight to the quarters of the officers and the captain, but it still remains off-limits to them. She is about to brave returning to the cargo hold when she hears a faint wail coming from the top of the stairs. She slowly climbs the stairs, looking up to see the source of the sound. Sitting on the top set of stairs, near the door that leads to the main deck, Owlbear rocks himself with his knees drawn in tight. A small pool of vomit dribbles down the stairs. Every time the ship rocks, he lets forth another plaintive wail, and every time the thunder rolls above, he cries out.
Following the sound of wailing, Wyn crinkles her nose at the telltale scent of vomit, though fortunately it is one she is all too familiar with, from wrestling drunk sailors outside the tavern to rowing alongside seasick wretches on the Hellsmouth, and she continues to approach.
Seeing the poor simpleton nearly out of his mind with illness and fear, she leans over slightly. She looks him over, trying to be sure there is nothing else wrong with him besides the seasickness and the threat of the storm. "Owlbear? Owlbear, can you hear me? Are you hurt?"
He is able to find a spot down on the stern side of the starboard hull in which the planking is cracked open. Seawater pours in with every pitch of the ship, though it would be almost impossible to see without John's tip or Ollivor's magic.
Vrunar calls out from above, "I found Hojo!" He pulls himself down, not realizing that the water has gotten deeper. He finds himself having to tread water, as planting his feet firmly on the ground puts the water right at his mouth.
Hojo is right behind him, supplies in hand. The Tian woman seems even more serious than usual, if such a thing is possible. "Show me the leak!"
"here!" He gestures, wondering if the woman noticed the colors on the water and will realize they're magical in nature. If she does and reveals them, it could be the lash for him, but that's a risk they may have to take, besides, the old crew of the lighthouse likely remembers his display when he was hired,"See the crack in the stern side? Tell us how to help plug this damn thing or to get out of your way if we're no good to you"
The water continues to swell and seems ready to overcome them all. Ollivor feels instincts rising to the surface. Urges to either dive or fly threaten to distract him from his tasks at hand. Ha! If I were a dragon, certain things on this ship would be much easier.
Vrunyar notices the colored water but doesn’t comment on it. Seeing where Ollivor is pointing, he says, ”Torag gave dwarves eyes for dark places, and I’m a decent swimmer. ” He rolls his shoulders back and stretches his arms. ”Pumping the water warmed up my muscles. I’m ready to help you, Hojo. Ha! Or get out of your way if I'd be more of a burden.”
Owlbear continues to moan and rock himself. She looks him over, not seeing any injuries or wounds. He seems utterly terrified of the storm, especially the thunder. It's impossible to know why - too much for his simple mind, or some memories of a dark childhood, perhaps - but she does her best to give him some comfort. She looks back down, hoping that no one else comes up the stairs. If she stays here to comfort him, she runs the risk of "doing nothing" in terms that Plugg and Scourge might understand. She can return to work, but she would have to leave the poor simpleton in a state of agitated fear.
Wyn reaches out and very very carefully touches Owlbear. If he pulls away she does not try again. Otherwise, she pats him gently on the arm.
She wishes she had a knack for comforting like some other folk did, but she could only hope that he could, through his fear, sense her intent was genuinely to help. "Owlbear," she says, as softly as the storm's noise would allow her. "Owlbear, we have to get away. Do you understand? This is a bad place to be in the storm. We have to go..." She thinks of something, remembering months ago before she was sold to the Hellsmouth, she had traded for some elixir that helped make seasickness go away. "We can go get... a drink, that will make you feel better. Make your stomach better, understand? But you have to come with me."
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Shoulders heaving, John continued to work the bilges. The sweat trickled down his forehead as his lungs acted as bellows and his taunt forearms and massive shoulders applied the continual up and down motion towards sluicing out the water filled bilge. The pitch soaked wood, combined with the repetitive motion made the room hot. Knowing from experience that up above the crew on deck would likely be shivering from the wind and rain did nothing to lessen the strain from the man. Gritting his teeth, John barely glanced up as Hojo climbed down into the bilge. He was fighting a war of inches against the slowly rising water. It’s over there! He grunted as he pushed down on the crank again. See where the dye is moving outward. That’s where the crack is. Can’t tell how big, but we are taking on a inch or two ever few minutes.
Thorn watches Doran secure the sails with blazing fast speed and knowledge as he secures himself to the mast with a safety line. Suddenly Thorn is knocked over and slides towards the ships edge with the help of a massive wave pushing him towards the sea. Just as fast as Thorn was heading for the ships edge and a long swim he is yanked to a sudden stop by a hard tightening around his waist. The safety line squeezes the breath out of him as it does its job. "THANK THE GODS' Thorn yelled out in a thank full yell. Thorn regains his footing and say to himself "Its time to quit playing around and help Doran" Thorn rushes up to help Doran with his daunting task of securing sails and keeping the ship from capsizing.
Owlbear whimpers in fear as Wynifrid tries to calm him. As she touches him, though, another crack of thunder explodes almost directly overhead. He howls and lashes out, flailing out wildly with his powerful fists. He smashes Wyn directly in the face, leaving her head ringing from the impact. She tastes blood in her mouth immediately, and instinctively raises her own fists to defend herself. However, Owlbear has returned to his hunched-over position, whimpering quietly.
Wyn hears the barrels continuing to slide around in the deck below her at the bottom of the stairs. She hears the sound of boots on the deck - the ominous heavy thump of Scourge's boots, a sound she has learned to be very aware of in the past few days. She looks around for options. He will almost certainly be able to hear Owlbear soon, if he hasn't already. She may be able to sneak back down the stairs through the darkness, but that would leave Owlbear alone with Scourge. She can try to quiet the simpleton, though that may prove difficult as well.
Hojo climbs down into the watery bilges, keeping the supplies high above the water. She looks around, seeing that it is just the few of them. She shouts up at the sailors above them, "Close the hatch! I need it closed!" They oblige quickly, enclosing them in total darkness. They can hear the squeaking of the gears as John works the pumps, as well as their labored breathing and the constant splashing. "Ollivor, give me some light. I know that you're capable of it, and I need to see what I am doing." It's clear that she had the hatch closed to protect his secret.
"I'm in your debt," Ollivor nods and lights a bit of debris to use it to light her way. I'm such a fool, I should have used it right away. Those colors wont' do anyone good if they can't see it. Once the light is lit, he does the trick on the water to change some of it into a bright hue so she might be able to follow where it goes. The last attempt may have already flushed out.
Flushed out...we might get treated the same soon if we're unlucky.
Doran makes his way over to the next mast, intensely focused on the task at hand. Knowing that the rough swaying of the ship in the storm is magnified high in the rigging, and that a mis-step could easily fling him into the sea far from the cursed ship, he barely lifts his eyes from the ropes and spars as he moves along them.
Wyn blinks till the stars in her eyes go away, and cringes as she hears Scourge thump. She's almost tempted to try to knock Owlbear out, but she fears it would not take a single blow to knock the wall of meat that Owlbear is.
There was no time for niceties. She could only hope she could make him more frightened of Scourge than he was of the storm. She wraps one arm around Owlbear's arm firmly. "Listen, Owlbear, listen, you hear that? That's Scourge. Scourge, you understand? He sees us down here, he will hurt us more than any storm can. Let's go."
Seeing Owlbear remain frightened and unresponsive, Wyn resorts to trying to physically force him away. Brute force was all she had anyway.
If all else failed, Wyn would stay with him. She wasn't going to let Owlbear in his state bear the brunt of Scourge's wrath.
Wynifrid tries her best to get the powerful brute to move, either through coercion or by force; neither is remotely successful. Wynifrid does the best that she can in the circumstances - she holds her finger to her lips and hopes that Owlbear understands the simple gesture. She stands as quiet and still as she can, hoping that the violent mute goes about his business instead of coming up to investigate. Owlbear, for his part, continues rocking - but he does so silently. Wyn hears the clomping sound come near to them as Scourge approaches, causing her to hold her breath. The waves crashing against the sides of the ship and the sound of the rolling barrels echo through the hold and the stairs. After a moment that seems much longer than it actually is, the sound of the heavy boots retreats down to the other side of the hold, and eventually down the main stairs entirely.
Suddenly, the line that Doran is crawling over snaps and tears, leaving him with an ugly feeling of a free fall. Unprepared for a fall rather than a gust of wind, he reaches out to catch himself on the line. Unfortunately, a gust of wind hits at that exact moment, blowing him backwards as he falls. His small fingers miss the rope by mere inches, leaving him with no recourse whatsoever. He plummets to the wooden deck, smashing into it from thirty feet upwards. The wood absorbs a little more of the impact than stone would; falling off the ramparts of a castle onto a stone floor would likely have killed him. The halfling lies motionless on the deck, buffeted by winds and rain that begin to wash away the ugly bleeding from a gash in his head. His left leg looks considerably worse off though, bent at a bad angle with a bloody length of white bone sticking out at the ankle.
Doran’s vision goes white, tinged with a nimbus of a bloody red. He’s unable to see anything for a few moments after he hits the deck, or to make any sense of what has just happened. What just happened? Why can’t I see? Wait, there’s a dark line – the mainmast? Why’s it look so tall? I’m nearly at the top of it. But why’m I lyin’ down, in the middle of this storm? He turns his head to the side and sees the rain-soaked deck, then looks up and sees Syl and Jape far above, looking down briefly and then exchanging a look charged with meaning. How’d I get to the deck? And what are those two up to? Did they cut the rope I was workin’ on? I’m gonna climb back up there and give them what for!
He begins to roll to his feet and his broken leg, unnoticed until now due to shock, refuses to support him. Doran crumples to the deck like a child’s doll, when the child turns away to focus on a new distraction and simply lets it drop to the ground. His vision blanks out again, his mind focused only on coping with the pain in his leg, even thought impossible for a time. He nearly loses consciousness, but manages to swim to the surface of his mind again, long enough to look down at the shattered ruin of his leg and call out, ”Ollivor! Vrunyar! Somebody help me!” Even this feeble act is enough to exhaust his damaged body, and his head drops back down to the deck and he focuses on breathing – and thinking about the fact that two of the crew just tried to kill him.
Wyn sits with Owlbear a little longer, well after Scourge has passed.
She knows, however, she will soon be missed if she has not been already--and that obviously, she is not obviously going to be able to move Owlbear of her own accord. The storm could last for who knows how long, and she cannot stay indefinitely.
She gives him one more look. "Owlbear, let's get some HELP okay? Get you to a safer place?""
She gives him one last, gentle tug on the arm, but if he does not go, she gets up. "Then I am going to get help. I will not be long."
Wyn climbs her way back to the other side as carefully as she can, trying to dodge barrels. Her plan is to get below decks and go to either the surgeon's quarters or the quarter master's post, whichever is easier to get to. If she sees anyone she trusts on her way, she will stop them to ask for help.
Vrunyar appraises Hojo in a new light as she begins the task of fixing the hull. He wonders how she knew Ollibor’s secret. Maybe when they fought the Chelaxians?
The drumming of the rain against the deck, the shouting of sailors in the storm, the creaking of beams, and the splashing of the rising water; all assault the dwarf’s ears in rising terror matched by the pitching and rocking of the ship. He scratches the side of his head vigorously.
”What are the chances of success Hojo?”
Just as Thorn grabbed the rope and started to make his way up the line Thorn heard a loud thump. Turning quickly to see what fell Thorn realizes Doran Hit the deck like a sack of potatoes. Thorn rushes towards Doran only to see he is in far worse shape than Thorn imagined. Thorn could see Doran's bone protruding from his ankle and Doran lost in a daze.
Thorn Grabs another safety line and ties it tightly around Doran's waist. Thorn looks at Doran's leg briefly before taking his shirt off and wrapping it around Doran's broken leg covering the open wound and slowing the bleeding. Thorn used a piece of the cut line and ties it around the shirt to hold it in place. Thorn ties his legs together with another piece of cut line to stabilize and support the legs together. Thorn realizes he has done all he can and looks up at Sly and Jape who continue to tie down the sails. Thorn unties his safety line and makes his way to the holds to fetch Vrunyar Only he can help Doran now! Thorn thought to himself as he reached the stairs leading down to the hold calling out "Vrunyar!".
Doran howls in agony as Thorn and Vrunyar carry him into the sick bay. They managed to pick up Doctor Quarne keeps his balance on the doorway as the ship rocks hard and threatens to keel over completely. Several items of glassware roll around on the counters; one of them falls off and shatters with a loud pop. "Hold him down!" Wyn stumbles in, hearing the painful yell over the smashing waves colliding with the hull, and helps hold down the surprisingly strong halfling. Vrunyar can't help but notice that they put Doran on the same table that Iakob was murdered on.
Ominously, Quarne reaches for a bone saw first.
With Vrunyar called away by Thorn, the others down in the bilges work to keep the water level low. The icy water of the winter storm numbs the workers from the waist down, while the exertion and the confined space of the bilges overheats each from the waist up. The room grows even hotter as Hojo uses an open flame from a lantern to heat the tar. It is a very uncomfortable combination of sensations. Hojo expertly patches up the leak in the hull with Ollivor's assistance, wedging oakum in the cracks and sealing it with the tar. "This won't hold forever," she says. "It needs to be dry to really set." She covers the spot of the crack as the tar expands, placing a shoring beam in place to hold the padding piece in place. John keeps up the pumping until his arms burn with exhaustion. Finally, the water level stops rising and even very slowly starts draining faster than they are taking on water.
Doran fades in and out of consciousness as his friends carry him to the sick bay. He knows he needs medical care, or magical healing, or both, but the agony caused by being jostled about in the storm is almost enough to make him ask to be set down to die. But he grits his teeth, only screaming in pain when it is too much to bear.
He sees faces he knows - Wyn, Thorne, Vrunyar - and is comforted by them, though he can't remember who he's supposed to hate in their little charade through the haze of pain. The presence of his friends causes him to relax slightly, but the appearance of the bone saw changes that.
"Vrunyar!" he calls out blearily, pulling an arm free of Wyn's grip and grasping the dwarf's arm. "Not the saw! My leg is bad, but not so bad as that. I've seen you heal with magic. I can't lose my leg! You can heal me...not the saw...heal...", he subsides into an agonized muttering, the momentary adrenaline fading and leaving him weaker than before.
Habbly Quarne looks across the table, over Doran's prone form, at Vrunyar. "Fine. Assist me. We must set the broken bone first, or it will never heal properly." He gestures to Thorn and Wyn. "Hold him down, and do not let him move even an inch." He reaches over and places a leather strip in his mouth, but doesn't need to say what it is for. He reaches down and grabs Doran's leg, right above the ankle where the bone protrudes from. He nods for Vrunyar to do the necessary work of getting the bone back into place.
Wyn retakes Doran's arm and holds him firmly. "Don't worry, we won't let you come to harm," she says, past her swollen lip.
Back in her mind, she remembers Owlbear still needs to be tended to, but she knows a bleeding broken leg could even be life threatening, so Doran came first.
Once all is done, she plans to ask Quarne for some soothe syrup and some advice for how to talk Owlbear down.
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John hated the bilges. He had worked the holy stone as a younger sailor, and like many young men had been assigned the hardest tasks aboard the Righteous Eagle. The petty officers had said that it build character and to a certain point that was true. It also kept the more senior men away from the backbreaking labor. Since he has first been press ganged into sailing on the Wormwood. John had not known a moment of piece. The hardest labor and worst jobs had been heaped upon the one legged man. In a way however it had been a blessing. He had come to know ever square inch of the dammed bilges and so when the ship started taking on water he had known what to do and who to go to. Hojo had been as good as her reputation. The patch had been set and the hull had been braced. The Tian woman had probably done a better job in the space of an hour then most of the pirates had done in maintaining the ship in the last ten years. At least that was what John told her as he finally managed to finish pumping down the water along with Ollivor within the confines of the rancid hold.
Despite the hard labors of the day and the death of his friend, John was able to summon up a short smile. By and large the crew of the Wormwood was a bunch of shiftless sand-baggers, but Captain Jonas, may the gods protect had done a dam fine job picking his crew. There was a good strong core here, seasoned sailors with good hearts and the willingness to do what was right to help. When the time came, Hojo might be a good addition. He had already seen her try to hide Ollivor’s magical abilities from the rest of the crew. Perhaps she would be willing to assist in other ways.
Glancing over at the shoring, John gave a nod. I agree, we need to give the pitch and tar time to set so that the oakum can properly seal up to prevent leaks. In a few moments I’ll see about getting some people down here to help with the rest of the flooding. In an hour or so we should have the deck clear of water and as long as we keep the drains going we should be able to patch it permanently. Glancing up to where the bilge as now been covered, John leans in towards Ollivor and Hojo. There’s something I want to speak to both of you about. Even mentioning it is dangerous, but it needs to be said and I am putting my life in both of your hands. Will you at least hear me out? Crossing his arms, he waits with baited breath. The next few moments would be important.
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With Vrunyar called away by Thorn, the others down in the bilges work to keep the water level low. The icy water of the winter storm numbs the workers from the waist down, while the exertion and the confined space of the bilges overheats each from the waist up. The room grows even hotter as Hojo uses an open flame from a lantern to heat the tar. It is a very uncomfortable combination of sensations. Hojo expertly patches up the leak in the hull with Ollivor's assistance, wedging oakum in the cracks and sealing it with the tar. "This won't hold forever," she says. "It needs to be dry to really set." She covers the spot of the crack as the tar expands, placing a shoring beam in place to hold the padding piece in place. John keeps up the pumping until his arms burn with exhaustion. Finally, the water level stops rising and even very slowly starts draining faster than they are taking on water.
Ollivor nods, "Not sure I can dry it with my...gifts. Sorry.I don't want to risk making it worse." He's only learning about sailing, but too much of this goes into shipwright and carpentry. That's beyond him.
Unless told to do something different, he gets to work on the pumps and buckets again. It's not like the patch alone will get things done, and John looks fit to kill himself in the effort.
Glancing over at the shoring, John gave a nod. I agree, we need to give the pitch and tar time to set so that the oakum can properly seal up to prevent leaks. In a few moments I’ll see about getting some people down here to help with the rest of the flooding. In an hour or so we should have the deck clear of water and as long as we keep the drains going we should be able to patch it permanently. Glancing up to where the bilge as now been covered, John leans in towards Ollivor and Hojo. There’s something I want to speak to both of you about. Even mentioning it is dangerous, but it needs to be said and I am putting my life in both of your hands. Will you at least hear me out? Crossing his arms, he waits with baited breath. The next few moments would be important.
Ollivor's filthy face breaks into a grin, "You know me, John. Being scared just makes me angry anyway and I like the sound of my own voice too much to ask others to shut up too often. I'll hear you out, o course."
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Right then, John stated, glancing up towards the wooden hatch that separated the bildge from the berthing area. Rolling his neck, he felt his weary muscles relax slightly before a loud *CRACK* sounded from his spine. Lad, John started sizing Ollivor up. I know your brave and you don’t back down. You proved that right enough with that bilge rat of a spy we had onboard the Empty Lighthouse. Rubbing his jaw slowly, John took a breath out. The Cheliaxians are working with the pirates, or at least Harrigan. And pennies to pounds I’m going to die if I stay on board here. We will never know an ounce of freedom so long as Plugg and his toady of a brother Scourge have their way. Eventually, and I don’t know when, but eventually we will have our chance at freedom. I plan to seize it. And golden lord willing I plan to put a bullet in the head of Plugg for what he did to my friend.
Holding his breath, John nods slowly. I’m talking about a mutiny, Ollivor. One day, gods willing sooner than later we will have our chance and I’ll need people I can trust at my side when we toss the dice. I won’t live the life of a pirate. I refuse to. I love the sea and I made a dying promise to my friend that I would carry on his burden. I plan to see it through come hell or high water. Holding out his hand towards the young cook, John stares hard at Ollivor and Hojo. When the time comes can I count on both of you?
Seeing the broken ankle, Vrunyar feels terrible. He half expects Plugg to appear and throw Doran overboard. Helping to carry the halfling to the sick bay, he resolves to get Doran back on his feet as soon as possible.
As Quarne readies his bone saw, Vrunyar is about to erupt when Doran beats him to it. He gently removes the halfling’s hand from his arm, and wordlessly reminds him to remain calm and steady.
”Yes, Doctor,” the dwarf answers as he examines the broken ankle. ”Hernias and broken bones are as common in mines as on ships. So I have some experience. I don’t see any signs of arterial bleeding. “ He exhales through his nostrils while he washes his hands. Planting his feet, bracing them against the wall and table leg, he does his best to absorb the rocking from the storm into his legs.
He sets the bones as expertly as he can, pausing for Quarne to assent the task is finished, then sews shut the wound. He sets the splint and ties it securely with twine. Next he turns to Doran’s head where the gash is matting his hair with blood. After washing it clean, he sutures that wound.
”Doctor,” he says while feeling Doran’s pulse in his wrist. ”I know you are reluctant to use magic for healing, but I ask you to let me use it on Doran. Please sir. He’s...I don’t want Plugg to think he’s weak. I just need a vial and some room to work. Please.”
John's words are heartfelt, and Ollivor feels them keenly, as they're echoes of much of what he feels. He looks over at Hojo, knowing that if she or anyone here tells the 'officers' what John just said, or what he's about to say, it'll be the lash... IF they're lucky. He touches his scarred throat. His voice has returned mostly, but he wonders if that scar will ever go away. It was completely worth it, and I'd do it again. Though I'd like to think I'd dodge a bit more given the chance.
Finding he still has the resolve within him, he answers John, "I'm with you, John. Don't strike too soon...and don't sell our lives cheaply, but when the time is right, you leave me know, and I'll be by your side. I'm still an Andoren. They can only chain the body, right?" The young man smiles a bit. "We'll need friends, more than we got anyway. I'll keep my eyes open, see who is as sick of this as we, and who might make a good ally when the time comes. Never been much of a team player, but every bird deserves to stretch his wings, eh?"
Hojo listens with practiced disinterest as John lays out his plan and Ollivor voices his agreement. The Tian woman looks at John straight in the eye. "Don't be a fool. So long as Captain Harrigan draws breath, we have no hope of escaping his ship." She continues to patch the leak as she talks. "You dream of vengeance for Iakob, but vengeance is impractical. A ship does not sail on fire - a ship sails on the wind by bending its sails appropriately. If you turn the sails in the wrong direction, out of laziness or ineptitude or even anger, the ship will not sail and may even sink. Learn to adapt to the wind, rather than force the sails where they will not go. That is all that I will say on that matter."
She is quiet for a few moments, simply working at her task. "But if you find the right moment to turn into the wind, I will be there to help you with the sails."
Doctor Quarne takes a step back, gesturing with his hands for Vrunyar to take care of the painful break on his own. Vrunyar makes quick work, getting the bone back into place with minimal pain. Minimal pain for a broken bone is still blinding, and Doran thrashes on the table and bites as hard as he can on the leather strap. Doran quickly brews together a potion to heal him with - getting the opportunity to successfully test this theory about making his extracts consumable by others. Doran greedily guzzles down the cloudy potion, passing out in a drugged haze. Doran and the others watch closely as his skin closes over the sutures, doing the healing work of several days in mere moments.
Quarne looks on disapprovingly.
Wyn exhales breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding as Doran relaxes and then passes out, under the influence if Vrunyar's concoctions.
She lets go of him, rubbing her aching side as her muscles unclench. She absently wipes away blood from where the barrel scraped her on her trousers, and waits for the two surgeons to finish with Doran before she speaks to them--looking around to be sure there are no senior crew nearby (besides Quarne) to overhear.
"Lads, Owlbear has holed himself up near the officers' quarters. He is sick and terrified of the storm. I couldn't coerce him to move, by word or force. I'm afraid if he's caught by the officers, he'll be punished for a fear he can't help. Could I have a tonic to at least ease his stomach, if not his mind, so I can try to coax him back here?"
The storm passes as dawn breaks over the horizon, leaving a still calm over the seas. The crew emerges from the holds and starts trying to recover from the battering that the storm gave them. For such a powerful storm, the members of the crew suffered few injuries - except for Doran's painful broken bones. The diminutive rigger takes a few days to recover, fully blessed by Plugg to take the time that he needs. The cruel second mate even visits him now and then to wish the halfling well. Vrunyar watches with a great deal of tension as Plugg comes to the sickbay, but he seems pleased that the dwarf is taking good care of Doran.
During the storm, Wyn manages to keep anyone from discovering Owlbear, but can't get him out of the staircase until the storm passes. With Ollivor's help and some sweetened hardtack, they get him up to the main deck where he can see that the storm has passed. The simple man doesn't understand how much Wyn tried to help him, and doesn't offer any apology for striking her in the face.
John goes down into the bilges to check on the leak. While he longs to see the ship at the bottom of the ocean, he would prefer to watch it from a different ship instead of from inside or trying to stay afloat many miles from shore. When he checks the leak, though, he finds that it is entirely, inexplicably gone. Hojo's patchwork is still there, but now sticking to the interior of the hull instead of wedged inside of it. It seems as if the ship healed itself.
Thorn has trouble finding rats for a few days, as if they are still in hiding after the storm. Strangely, he finds a few rat skeletons scattered in the dark recesses of the ship - but no living rats, not a single one.
Kipper awakens the crew early in the morning with a shout. "Get up! You new lot are all going to learn to fight today..." The short, burned man sneers at them and adds an ominous note: "Or die trying..." He seems positively giddy at the prospect. The former crew of the Empty Lighthouse, plus Beshra and a few others, scarf down a quick and minimal breakfast.
They assemble on the top deck, expecting Plugg or the Captain to come and submit them to some new cruelty. The presence of Riaris Krine is almost as bad, as she seems to have a sour and angry look on her face. She stands with one leg on top of a chest and her arms crossed angrily over her chest. "This is what I have to work with? Bah! Bunch of p*%#ies, one and all! You lot couldn't fight off a single drunk grindylow! But I still have a use for cannon fodder. You'd better learn quickly, or you'll die five minutes into the next ship we catch. I'll shed a single f#+@ing tear for you before I kick your useless corpses out of the way."
She kicks the chest over onto its side. Its contents spill out of the open lid: grappling hooks with ropes attached. "Any of you morons know what this is? It's a f@!$ing grappling hook, and you're useless to me if you can't throw one. As I said a moment ago, losers, you're going to be the first ones onto the next ship - and if you can't hit the ship with grappling hooks, I'll kill you myself to get you out of the way. Pick one up, and we'll get to practicing here. Once you've got the basics, it'll be time for your final exam. And there's no f%+~ing retakes on this thing, so you either succeed or you take so many lashes that you'll s&!$ blood for a week."
During the storm, Wyn manages to keep anyone from discovering Owlbear, but can't get him out of the staircase until the storm passes. With Ollivor's help and some sweetened hardtack, they get him up to the main deck where he can see that the storm has passed. The simple man doesn't understand how much Wyn tried to help him, and doesn't offer any apology for striking her in the face.
"Easy big fellow, remember me? There we go...." Ollivor is gentle toned with the fellow. It's hard to get a read on him. No wonder poor Wyn had trouble. At least he likes sweets.
When he later learns of Doroan's situation, he feels horrible. "I didn't hear a thing over the rushing water and so on. Gods, I'm sorry." He tells the halfling when he next wakes.
He definitely plans to make sure his friend his well fed while he recovers.
If anyone wants to influence someone with those days, write the whole thing out; you know the DC, so you can make the 1d3/1d4 roll yourselves and write out the response to you.
Having already worked on winning Samms' trust once with the shark hunt, Ollivor greets her again with a smile the next day. By now, he's clean as can be. He notices her fishing, "Might be nice to catch a regular sized one eh? Tell you what, you catch one and I'll cook it up just for you and we needn't tell anyone if you like."
Samms grins openly at the prospect, and when she pulls forth a large wriggling one, while not shark sized, it turns out to be big enough for the two of them.
"Didn't even have to use an elf as bait," She jokes, and Ollivor can't help but laugh.
............
Having given Owlbear time to calm down, Ollivor makes more sweetened snacks for the big man. He chats lightly, but treats the fellow just like anyone else, "So, Owlbear, what do you like besides sweets? Music? Games? Seems everyone has a way to pass the time."
Owlbear devours the food as quickly as before, but mention of music makes him cock his head, "Knew a song...." It turns out to be a child's song, simple and happy.
And one Ollivor knows. The two sing together, badly it turns out, but the big man claps his hands and seems to have a good time.
..............
Seeing Tilly loves her rum ,and determined to help Fishguts reduce his own intake, just a wee bit, Ollivor swaps his half mug with Fishguts, and then offers Fishguts share to her with a wink.
Little is said. Tilly winks back, and with surprising deftness helps Ollivor make the switch so easily that if he'd been playing a shell game he'd have guess the wrong shell. She toasts him with her new prize, "You're a bit of alright." and then she drinks.
........
Having helped Giffer before, Ollivor once more sees her looking troubled and overwhelmed as a high wind threatens to sweep some the goods she's carrying right out of her hands and overboard.
He moves to catch it, "Wind, good for powering the sails, but a pain otherwise eh?"
The gnome doesn't say a word, but instead she watches the wind fluttering the sails as if seeing the beauty of how it moves for the first time in a long time. When she gets her things back from Ollivor, she seems to have a lighter step, though it could be his imagination.
..........
Kipper awakens the crew early in the morning with a shout. "Get up! You new lot are all going to learn to fight today..." The short, burned man sneers at them and adds an ominous note: "Or die trying..." He seems positively giddy at the prospect. The former crew of the Empty Lighthouse, plus Beshra and a few others, scarf down a quick and minimal breakfast.
Ollivor is startled. His time at the galley has spoiled him, he supposes, as he tries to figure out just what duty he's been thrown into with the others that doesn't involve cooking for once.
Krine soon makes it quite clear though...
She kicks the chest over onto its side. Its contents spill out of the open lid: grappling hooks with ropes attached. "Any of you morons know what this is? It's a f%+%ing grappling hook, and you're useless to me if you can't throw one. As I said a moment ago, losers, you're going to be the first ones onto the next ship - and if you can't hit the ship with grappling hooks, I'll kill you myself to get you out of the way. Pick one up, and we'll get to practicing here. Once you've got the basics, it'll be time for your final exam. And there's no f~*#ing retakes on this thing, so you either succeed or you take so many lashes that you'll s!@! blood for a week."
It doesn't seem that hard to Ollivor, at least not to look at, so he's pretty confident as he grabs the grapple hook and does a practice throw.
"Don't look so smug, you Andoren ostrich..." She taunts him. Perhaps she knows of the country's love of birds of prey and is comparing him to an exotic one that cannot fly. "... I don't have much hope for your scrawny frame to do much good. Least not as much as a real man."
Ollivor grits his teeth at the insults, and tries a throw
Ollivor's slightly smug look is back as he makes his target.
"Good..." Riars Krine does not sound impressed despite his success, "a pirate that can actually do a job any fool can do. Will wonders never cease?"
Wyn doesn't expect Owlbear to recognize what she did--she just knew if he got in trouble or hurt himself, they'd be down a strong crewman. It wasn't right to leave someone behind if it could be helped, and thanks wasn't the point. She preferred Owlbear's ignorance--which had no guile or cruelty behind it--far more to either the easily hurt pansies who got pissy answering a simple questions, or the sour faced filth who seemed to speak only to abuse those around them.
Still, she spent little time in social situations over the next few days. Her bruised ribs from the barrel made it hard to breathe and her bruised cheek made it hurt to talk, so easier just to stay quiet and do her work. Fortunately the damage was not great and healed over the course of a few days.
And back to abusive, sour faced, filth...
Wyn stands up straight. Her mind seems drifting more and more these days back to her childhood... the road was freedom, and the sea a prison you couldn't escape. But before she had been captured, she'd thrown herself into her own prison, wallowing away in Absalom. Perhaps this is what she deserved. Or perhaps this was fate giving her a kick in the arse to do something about the life she lived.
She was tempted, indeed, to hurl the grappling hook at Krine's yapping skull. Instead she did as she was told, and threw it at the target.
Just like throwing a tankard at a drunken mariner's skull. She stood back, letting herself be satisfied with her work.
Doran grimaces and grunts as Vrunyar works on his leg. The pain is intense, but blessedly brief, as Vrunyar’s skilled hands seem to work their own magic in setting the bone. When the dwarf holds a flask of something to Doran’s lips, he drinks it down eagerly, knowing it will ease his suffering and help his leg knit back together. Vrunyar has mixed an especially potent brew, and the healing magic courses through Doran’s small body with such power that he quickly loses consciousness.
Over the next few days, Doran rests and recovers his strength, amazed and pleased with how well his leg is recovering. He is less pleased with the regular, strangely solicitous, visits from Plugg, but hides his disgust, promising the cruel first mate that he’ll be back on his feet and still more able than Peg-Leg Rawkins even after the accident. Not that it was a bloody accident, but it won't do to tell him that.
He has just begun to move around again on the morning when Kipper summons the new arrivals to show up on deck and learn to fight. He has been testing his leg and is feeling pleased with its soundness, though it is still stiff and sore. Moving in a gingerly fashion up the gangway to the deck, he is not at all confident of his ability to do anything as demanding as fighting. When Riaris Krine gives her venomous speech, he is pleased with what he hears, in spite of the tone. I can toss a line in a howling wind, should be no problem hitting a chest from across the deck.
After Ollivor and Wyn take their turns, Doran steps up, limping slightly but looking game enough. He turns to the two who have just succeeded in their throws and says, ”Not bad. And thanks for the help when I was hurt the other night. Don’t want to try that again any time soon.”
He then picks up a grapple and line and hefts it, giving it an experimental swing and gauging the distance to the chest. He speeds up the swing, making the line hum slightly and the hook blur with its speed, then takes a step forward with his left leg to release. Unfortunately, his newly-recovered leg is not strong, and he stumbles as he lets the line fly. His innate dexterity is enough to land the hook in the chest, but it’s a much closer thing that Doran expected.
Krine’s ring-pierced face sneers at him as she calls out, ”A fair shot for a crippled slip! When I need a coin thrown into, or maybe near a fountain, I’ll know who to call! But you’re gonna need a stronger arm – and leg – than that if you’re leadin’ the attack and don’t want to get trampled into the decking when the real fighters cross over!”
Kipper chuckles obsequiously as Krine laughs at her own remark, then says, ”Yeah, ya couldn’t hit a fountain if you were swimmin’ in it! But maybe we could git ye ‘cross to another ship if’n we put ya in one o’ the long guns, used ya as a lil’ cannon-ball, small and useless as ya are!”
Wyn waves off Doran's thanks. "I'm just glad I happened to be there. That was a rough night for everyone, and I'm glad you didn't have to lose your leg."
Her eyes flash at Krine and Kipper as they heckle the halfling. "Where I come from, the useless folk are the ones that wag their tongues and do nothing else," she mutters, somewhat softly, but if Krine hears her and whips her, so be it. After three months on the Hellsmouth the threat of a whip just feels like part of the daily grind.
Vrunyar, after the end of his work, finds Grok and says, ”Thank you Cut-Throat! Did you hear about Doran? If not for your gift, I wouldn’t have been able to make a curative for him. It helped him immensely. His bones were set fine so he would have healed well enough; maybe a little limp. Who can say at this point? I think he’d enjoy a visit from you if you can spare the time. Tell him a tale or two about the freedom enjoyed in port.”
He scratches his beard and then his head. Grimacing he adds, ”Oh that reminds me. In port, do you go to certain people for supplies? Get any special discounts? I was just thinking perhaps you could introduce me to someone who could help me get a lab. Sure I’d need to find room on the ship for it. While not essential, it would make the creation of thundersticks and tindertwigs easier. Put that wonderful mind of yours to the problem and let me know...and don’t forget Doran.” He smiles and heads to dinner.
”Ah Jack Scrimshaw, a word or two,” Vrunyar says sitting down next to him. ”It’s evident you’re a lucky man. You win at gambling more often than you lose. What’s your secret? Do you have a charm or have a sense of when to bet heavy?” The dwarf violently scratches his head for a moment. ”I felt we were pretty lucky with that storm. I just want to keep our luck strong.”
Scrimshaw laughs. ”Luck is like the tide. It’s always moving from high to low and back again.”
Vrunyar enters the sick bay, scratching his beard. After checking on Doran’s leg and spirits, he says, ”Doctor, I’ve been scratching my head. I thought it was the heat at first, but I can’t explain it.”
Quarne indicates a chair for the dwarf to sit on. Using a thin stick to push aside Vrunyar’s hair, he examines the dwarf’s head. After about ten seconds, he snorts. ”Head lice.” He washes his hands and speaks to Vrunyar with his back to him. ”You should prepare a concoction for head lice.”
Vrunyar sits stunned, looking at Doran for support. ”Head lice? I don’t have anything like that.”
The doctor chuckles. ”Oh? That’s beyond your magical aptitude? Regrettably we’re out of the vermicide I like to use. But there is a solution.” He holds up a pair of scissors. ”I’ll sharpen the razor as well,” he adds with a fair bit of genuine sympathy. ”How many years have you been growing that beard?”
Vrunyar squeezes his eyes shut for an extended moment, slowly shaking his head. A sigh drops like an anchor. ”I nearly burned it off in school, but I haven’t shaved in at least thirty years. It will be hard to live up to my name of Magmabeard without a beard. Ha!” The sadness in his voice is unmistakable. He takes the scissors and begins to cut his beard.
”Owlbear, huh?” the dwarf says looking over their meager supplies of tinctures. ”I suggest some mint tea with a drop of honey. Ollivor is the one to see for that.”
Vrunyar appears on deck with his sash wrapped around his head, to keep from getting sunburned. He looks years younger without a beard. After watching the others successfully throw the grappling hook he warms up his arm with the hook in his hand. ”Do you want us to hurl it or spin it? Ollivor and Wyn threw it really well. Doran’s technique was interesting too. I can see that each method has advantages. Is it better to spin it overhead or to the side?” he asks as he alternates between the positions. Satisfied that overhead feels more comfortable, he whips the hook into quick orbit above his head.
Kipper is laughing at the dwarf and Riaris’ face is darkening with anger. She shouts, ”I’ll tell you when you can ask questions, bilge-water brain. Imagine all the bolts and arrows sticking you because you’re standing there like the f*&^@# lubber you are! Throw it!”
Startled at her rage, the dwarf aims as best he can and lets the hook goes flying...
Riaris curses the beardless dwarf with promises of what would happen to him the next time he tries her patience. Attempting to keep calm, he coils up the rope for the next participant.
"Just imagine the target as the head of someone you don't like. The technique works for me," Wyn comments to Vrunyar. She raises an eyebrow at the new look but says nothing.
After Ollivor and Wyn take their turns, Doran steps up, limping slightly but looking game enough. He turns to the two who have just succeeded in their throws and says, ”Not bad. And thanks for the help when I was hurt the other night. Don’t want to try that again any time soon.”
"I'm just glad you're well." Ollivor confides, keeping his voice low. He still feels bad not having heard the halfling's need till much later. "Hope you liked the perch with honey glaze."
The other new crew members from the Lighthouse and the Jenivan join in with the throwing of grappling hooks. Some take to it better than others. Jax and Synthia both nearly miss, barely hitting the chest with the hook. Riki, Arturo, and Jayce seem to have the hang of it, tagging the chests with ease despite the distance. Beshra and Hojo, however, have huge trouble. Beshra cannot muster the strength to have the weight get even close, bouncing on the ground a good ten feet or more short. Hojo, for all her skill at patching things together on the ship, seems to have utterly terrible aim; her throw has the distance, but not the correct trajectory. It clatters off to the side, hitting someone else's chest. Krine's mockery comes swiftly. "Ain't got the strength, cat girl? You really are a p*^&y, huh?"
Kiffer quickly joins in, sychophantically echoing her jibes. "Yeah, bet you couldn't lift anything at all!"
Krine turns her gaze onto Hojo. "What's the problem, b@+!+? You think you're too good for this? Better hit it next time or you're going to be the one in need of some repair!" She turns to the rest. "Again! It's not that hard, you f!$*ing morons! I can't believe none of you haven't choked to death on your own tongues yet, you incompetent f@##s!"
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Standing near the Mizzenmast, the sun beat down on John, His muscles were still sore from the previous exertion of the night before and he had ventured above decks to take a breath and gulp down some water. Despite being out of direct sunlight, the bilge was blisteringly hot and every few hours John had to drink in water or he threatened to pass out from heat exhaustion. One bright side however of the bilges was that the smell had kept him at a distance from Plugg. Had John been forced to work on deck each and every day he was sure that the man would have found ways to personally torment him. Not that the man hadn’t already done enough. He had earned a bullet with Johns name on it, but seeing the greasy smile and the way that his brother held his whip made John want to throw himself at the bastard. It was a blessing that he didn’t have to see him because John was sure that if he had he would have done something stupid by now. Instead John kept his anger tight and focused. He would work quietly, gather people to his cause, and then gods willing, he would settle his quarrel on shore… just as he had said he would on the first day he was aboard. Sitting on a crate of spare line next to him was Jayce Galligan, the half-elf rigger John had known from his time aboard the Empty Lighthouse. Nodding a greeting, John hobbled up to the man and waved a greeting. How are you taking to the ship lad? John asked quietly, his eyes sweeping over the deck. Scowling, Jayce glanced at the one legged sailor and stepped away from him. Get the hell away from me John. Everything turns to crap around you and I’m not going to get on Pluggs bad side by being seen talking to you. Do me a favor and leave me alone. Turning his back on the former marine the half-elf started to turn away. Oh and I ain’t your lad, I’m probably older then you are, you red headed idiot.
______________________
Time seemed to blur on the Sea. If you were not a sailor it would be hard to describe. Each day became a blur. It was a common saying that you were only underway for three days at a time. The day you left, the day you sailed and the day that you got back. It was the pattern and the monotony that made things blur together. You woke up, you ate, you worked, you ate, you worked, you ate, you drank and then you slept. It was repeated day after day. So it was with some surprise that John found himself drinking on the main deck after a long day of scrubbing the bilges that he came face to face with the slim, sensuous form of Peppery Chafik. Seeing her dusky skin, sharp aquiline nose and proud stance despite the slips of clothing made John feel a pang of loneliness. It was no so much Peppery that John longed for. He was if nothing else faithful to his vows, but the sight of her reminded him of his wife Alima. It was the way that she carred herself combined with her dark hair. John could swear he could almost feel the heat from the exotic desert on her. He longed to be back home, to hold his wife and daughter in his hand. He thought about Plugg cruelly throwing his letters overboard and it cause the hate in his heart to flare again.
Sipping his jack of rum quietly, the proud desert woman saw his eyes lingering. John went to move away. Andoran, she called, and sighing John turned. She was a ships officer and offending her would only heap more coals onto the fire. It’s not polite to stare.
Running a hand through his hair, John quickly took another burning sip of the cheap rum. It made him feel fuzzy and distanced the ever present pain in his knee. It also gave him a moment to compose himself. Your right, He said gruffly, It’s not polite, and I’m sorry. It’s… its just that you remind me of my wife. She is from Katapesh.
Katapesh? She replied with her clipped accent. That must be quite a story, Andoran and Katapesh are distant.
John shrugged. Not so odd I suppose. Taking another sip of rum the liquid burned its way down Johns throat and filled his belly with fire. She was a slave on galley. Iakob.. John paused, the name of his friend hurt to say. Iakob and I rescued her during a boarding. That falchion I brought onboard with me came from one of the eunuchs I carved through to free her. Remembering the first time John had seen her, so proud, even in her slave wear John felt a pang in his heart. He buried it deep.
Spitting on the deck John scowled. The southern countries take too many liberties away from people. No man or women should be forced to be a slave. I’m not sure if it matters, but I remember what you said when we first came onboard. Shrugging John glanced at a group of pirates that were playing bones on the deck. I raided quite a few slave galleys in my time. Hated the way that the people were treated, it wasn’t right. That the women don’t have to fear unwanted advanced aboard the Wormwood was a bit of a surprise, but one that I was glad to see.
Peppery nodded and her eyes seemed to crackle with the heat of the desert. It almost seemed as if she gave off an inner heat. It was not always this way, but as long as I am here it will be so. Have a good night. The woman said, sauntering away with a half smile. Shaking his head John turned out to glance at the sea. She was hard to read that one, but John felt that he was beginning to understand her. If Plugg hated him, having at least one officer on his side might protect him, at least a little. He would speak to her again.
______________________
It was commonly thought that food aboard a naval warship was terrible, but if John was being honest he had found a new low aboard the Wormwood. John knew that it wasn’t Ollivor’s fault that the food was terrible, there was in fact only so much that could be done with weevil laced bread and month old fruit, still, John grimaced as a bowl of fish soup was ladled out into his outstretched bowl. In front of him Croop was wavering on his feet. He must have gotten into the bottle earlier than usual today. John thought as he took a single sip of the half cooked broth before spitting it out and tossing it overboard. John couldn’t fault the man for drinking, he himself was a bit too fond of the bottle and being on the Wormwood might turn any man into an alcoholic, but still he was amazed that the crew had let it get so bad.
Looking down at the empty bowl in his hands John sighed before chucking it into crate at the end of the serving line. Getting ready to head below deck he stopped. Ahead of him looking out towards the sunset was Peppery who was eating a chicken leg. Shaking his head, John walked towards her. One meal for the crew, and a different one for the officers. John thought. Shrugging the red haired man found next to her. One day if I am captain I’ll make sure the food is the same regardless of position. Haves and have not’s boy-o that’s what riles up the crew.
Leaning against the rail next to the scantily clad woman, John nodded politely before turning his shoulder to her and gazing out to the horizon. As vast and as deep as the sea. John said quietly before looking up. Something a sailor I knew once said. I always liked the saying. Waving a hand out to encompass the ocean, John nodded thoughtfully. I always liked the ocean. There’s a freedom here that you can’t find anywhere else. A chance to make something your own, I suppose that’s why I kept coming back to her. She can be a harsh mistress, cruel and capacious… but her bounty can also be astounding. Smiling at the thought, John shook his head. My wife said the same thing about the deserts of her homeland. That she could be cruel and harsh, but also generous if one knew what to look for. Would you agree?
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Above the din of gambling and the smell of cheep tobacco, John saw Sandra Quinn through the smokey interior of the berthing area. Pushing his way through the drunken sailors, John hoisted his tankard in her direction. Evening Sandra. John said, before taking a swallow of the harsh rum. Grimacing at the too sweet taste of cane sugar John glanced at the woman’s tattoos. Tattoos were as much a story of sailors exploits as they could be about their life. A star for a crossing, a swallow for how many leagues traveled a skull for a death. Many tattoos for many reasons, each one important and together they would tell a story of their lives.
So I wanted to ask you something, John said quietly amid the din of the sailors off watch. You spoke a blessing a few days ago for my friend on behalf of Besmara. I can’t claim to know much about her, But I figured being aboard this ship it might be useful to know a bit more. I myself tend to follow Abadar and Cayden for various reasons, but if you wanted to tell me a bit more, I would be interested in hearing about it.
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Holding the line that was connected to the rusted iron grappling hook, John bristled as Riaris verbally berated his friends and companions. The sun shone on the deck and he felt the sweat trickling down his back. He could feel the sea wind blowing on his face and smell the clean air of the sea. Despite the woman’s vile tongue and the toady behavior of Kipper being out of the bilges for once was a break from the norm.
Taking his turn in line, John began to swing the end of the line in one hand. Well.. well.. well, what do we have here? Riaris yelled glancing at John. If it isn’t Peggy! So Peg’s Let me ask you? When you lost your leg did the surgeon take your manhood too? Next to Riaris, Kipper cackled gleefully. Yea you dumb excuse for a redheaded stepchild did the sawbones cut a little too high? Laughing, Riaris flashed John an evil smile. Now look here half-man. I never forget an Andoran face but in your case I’ll make an exception. Why, I bet that when you were born you were so ugly the midwife slapped your mother instead of you. Slapping his knee, Kipper he-hawed braying. Yea! Slapped your mom! Chuckling to herself, Riaris, pointed to the grappeling hook. We don’t serve potatoes around here boy-o so your all outta luck, but I want you to imagine that that chest is filled to the brim with em, you spawn of a chelish whore.
Gritting his teeth, John focused on the crate in front of him, the grappling hook picking up speed. I’ll image that the chest is your face, Riaris. John thought, seething. Letting it fly the hook arced over the chest and with a quick tug, John had it sunk into the heavy wooden chest.
Jibbing cruelly at the John, Riaris nodded. Well you may be as thick as manure and about half as useful, but at least you can throw something. Shaking her head the woman shrugged. I guess that’s what happens when you cross a milkmaid with a horny steer.
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Ollivor doesn't much care for Krine and Kiffer. He's met the type, the sort who enjoy cruelty but claim their just honest folk. Still, as more throws are required, he gives it another go. Maybe he'll draw the eyes off some of the others.
"Let's see if you can do it again, Ostrich!" Krine sneers, "You got lucky the first time? Wind actually favor you? You've got the stink of herring guts and stale bread about you, maybe the hook is just trying to get away. Ought to throw you in the bilges instead, then the galley'd smell better and the bilges couldn't be much worse."
Kiffer chuckles at that.
Ollivor ignores the jibes. If that's the best they can do, he knew fishermen's sons that could teach them how to REALLY insult someone.
And this time, it IS just dumb luck that the thing hits...it had started to veer too much to the left and another inch further to travel would have missed entire.
"Gods!" Krine snorts, "Where will the next one be? In the eye of a crewmate? Remind me to stand behind you, you pathetic ostrich! A MOVING ship is likely to confuse you!"
The dwarf winces when Beshara makes her throw. He knew she was weak, but he feels bad for her. ”Here, try this,” he says taking a grapnel hook and standing next to her. ”I think you’ll have better results if you spin the rope, rather than just trying to throw it. Stand like this with your back foot on the end of the rope...angle your left foot — there. Fine. Now, the hook will be spinning right? So, when it gets about here,” he indicates the approximate space in the hook’s orbit, ”Release. Now step back, let’s see how I do, then you take a turn. Who knows, maybe a beardless dwarf will bring you some luck. HA!”
He positions his feet like he showed her and begins spinning the hook. ”Just spin it fast enough to keep the rope taut. Don’t waste your energy making it go fast. And when you’re ready, release.”
A resonant thud comes from the chest as the hook hits it. He gives Beshara a grin as he rubs his shaven cheek.
Beshara looks skeptical as she takes the hook, but she does as Vrunyar instructed her. She spins the hook four times and release it...
Riaris and Kipper swear when Beshara’s throw strikes one of the chests. ”So dwarf you think you’re some S(^(&^@#@ F(*&@ Absalom B@^#$ professor!” Riaris says, scowling. ”You’ll pay for her mistakes too in the next lesson of the day.”
Thorn Grabs the Grappling hook and rope with both his hands and slowly coils the rope as he gauges the ropes length and the grappling hooks weight. Thorn slow spins the grappling hook watching it gain speed as he makes short, circular wrist rotations while staring at the box. Thorn flicks his wrist while releasing the grappling hook from his hand.
Krine points her finger at Wyn. "And what are you doing standing back and yapping? Do it again, you gutless cow, unless you're waiting around for the slaughter."
Wyn stares hard at Krine and picks up another hook. She follows her own advice, and pictures Krine's face on the target.
"Yep, seems to work just fine."
Riaris Krine verbally lashes at the crew as they try to throw the grappling hooks with some degree of precision. She saves most of the venom for those without the martial skill required to hit the targets - Beshra, Hojo, and the like - but she still manages to say some truly vile things about the rest that would make a Calistran cleric blush. "What are you trying to do? Your wrist is limper than your manhood," she shouts at Ollivor at one point. Kiffer simply giggles and repeats her words.
After a few dozen throws, Krine stops them. "There's no point trying any more. You lot look like a blind man at a Katapesh pleasure market... Wouldn't know where to put it if there was a sign. Pathetic!" She doesn't seem to acknowledge that most of the crew seems fairly competent at the task. "It's one thing to sit here on the deck and hit a target when you've got all the time in the world. But a boarding is different. It's fast, it's bloody, and you cowards are going to be s@$*ting your pants. Boarding's necessary because the ship and the cargo are worth gold, and you worthless s#+~s are only as good as the gold you bring on board."
Krine continues to lecture them while walking to the sides of the ship. "There's two types of boardings, and you're gonna be proficient in both. First, there's ship-to-ship, where you come off the Wormwood directly onto the target. We'll mainly use boarding planks for that, but you'll still use grappling hooks sometimes - but you'll have to aim high and swing, unless you want to be bouncing off the ship's sides. Maybe the impact would do some of you idiots some good, jostle your brains. Swinging's only a decent idea if the boarding's already underway. You don't want to be the moron that gets surrounded and cut to pieces." She demonstrates the boarding planks to them, including how their hooked bottoms catch the edge of the enemy ship's railing. "If you're too dumb to figure out how this would work, there's no hope for you and you should kill yourself now. The grappling hooks and boarding planks will keep the ships together. If they're close enough, you can actually jump over ship-to-ship."
She hustles them over to one of the two smaller ship's boats carried by the Wormwood. It is large enough for a handful of sailors to stand while a few row. She points to John, Doran, Wyn, Thorn, Vrunyar, and Ollivor. "You lot, you're in this boat. Everybody else, in the other one. You're going to row out a hundred yards, then approach when you see the signal from me. You'll get side-by-side, then use your grappling hooks to climb up the side of the ship. Two things: we'll be throwing junk at you to keep you off. Be thankful that it isn't arrows. Second, I'll be chumming the water, so don't fall. Last group that gets all their men to the deck gets scrub duty." With a final dismissive wave, she sends them down into the sea on the row boat. It lowers slowly into the water, carried by pulley system powered by the muscles of several of the other pirates, who seem to be helping mainly for the opportunity to knock them into the shark-infested waters.