As the afternoon sun cools and the sky takes on the pink hues of sunset, Doran drops by the galley, where Ollivor is busily preparing dinner for the crew. He wants to be sure his friends know something of his conversation with Plugg, even if he's not sure what it all means yet. As he steps into the cramped cooking area, he see Fishguts passed out on the kitchen floor, and is glad they'll be able to talk undisturbed. "Hey, Ollie! What's for dinner, eh? Smells pretty good, even with Fishguts stinkin' up the place so. Listen for a sec, would ya? I just had a talk with Plugg, about a couple of important things. One, he seems to have taken to me enough that he offered me Kipper's post – but only if Kipper dies in the hot box. And he asked me to spy on John, in case he's planning anything against Plugg. Looks like Plugg's more worried about Rawkins than he lets on. Can you pass that on to the rest of the gang? I can't be seen talking to Rawkins' crew too much, or our whole charade will sink in seven fathoms."
"Eel Soup, of all things, turning out better than the name implies. Cookie's still teaching me a thing or two about things I thought you couldn't make a go of. You can try some now if you like. Also biscuits" Ollivor nods as the subject turns more grim, he knows Doran's been working hard to sow the seeds of future mutiny for them all and at great risk, and whispers, "I don't envy you your choices, Doran. Just becareful. We Andoran have a saying.. 'holds the lash', and it aint' a compliment. It means one who's gone so far that he's become part of the problem. Don't let these hard choices change you into someone you don't want to be, eh?"
Ollivor stops by the quartermaster and speaks to her. She seems busy rearranging items, and she looks over at him. "Sure, you can give me a hand. Gunner Krine sold some of her loot from the last couple ships we've taken. I guess she wants to be ready when we get to port. I need them tagged and logged." The items appear to be a few sets of nice clothing (men's and women's), a crossbow, a pair of swords with matching daggers, some well-oiled boots, a locked book with a plain black cover with no markings, an expensive-looking set of inkwells and pens, several maps detailing the Inner Sea, and a framed painting of Besmara aboard the Seawraith.
"Be happy to change things up a bit," He says, then surreptitiously as he could, he cast detect magic on the lot.
Doran's on his way to the mainmast rigging, aiming to see if he can't get the gaff topsail rigged a little tighter in the following wind they've got, when Wyn catches his attention. Looking around instinctively, to be sure they're not overheard, he smiles and says, "Sure, come give me a hand over here."He steps over to the base of the rigging, pretending to tighten up the knots that hold the ratlines in place. As Wyn steps close to him, Doran asks in a quiet voice, "What's up?"
"I wanted to ask your advice. Sort of." She scratches the back of her head, feeling awkward, as she's not used to asking for help, and begins talking as she takes hold of the rope. "Look, I ended up in this whole situation by accident. An awful, awful series of accidents. I'm a barmaid. In a part of town where I had to hold my own, but still just a barmaid. Long story short, one day I chased a thief who'd stolen from a patron onto a ship, got captured as a stowaway, and then sold to the Hellsmouth. Until we got here, the vast majority of my experience at sea was getting whipped in the rowing galley. I've been out here long enough that I've got some sea legs about me but the fact is I'm still mostly a know-nothing about sailing."
"You're obviously an experienced seaman. If we're gonna survive, I need to be able to adapt as I need to. I... was wondering if you'd give me a few pointers." Tugging on the rope, trying to follow his lead. "I mean, I'm not even sure I'm doing this right."
She pauses, taking another glance around, then continuing to assist him. "Not just with sailing, either. I may be a big oaf of a girl, but I'm actually fair at blending in the background if I need to. But how to do it on a giant crate of floating wood is another matter. Sometimes you gotta fight dirty to survive, and that includes figuring the best way to get a jump on someone."
A quick smile crosses Doran's face, and he nods several times as Wyn is speaking. His response shows how pleased he is to be asked, and to have a good, friendly conversation. "Of course, Wyn, I'd be happy to teach you how to tell a bulkhead from a bulwark. We can start with just namin' the parts of the ship, the masts and sails and spars and so on, so's you know what it means when someone tells ye to do summat. Looks like I should teach you a knot or two while I'm at it, so you don't untie the stopper knot that keeps the shroud anchored in the fairlead, like you're doing now. And I'll tell ya, I had wondered about how you ended up on the Hellsmouth – hell, I wonder myself how I ended up here. But folk don't always want their stories known, so I've learned not to ask too much. At any gate, I'm sorry that your life took such a bad turn, to bring you to this floating hell. Here's hopin' we can all stay alive long enough to get off the damn thing, eh?"
Doran considers a moment, then says, "I'll teach you the other stuff you asked about, if ye want, but you'd better be sure. My little ... errands, over the last couple o' days, have scared the piss out of me, worried I'd get caught every breath I take. But it's true, knowin' how to get the drop on someone will serve ye well in the life we've ended up in – and there may be a time when I need a steady hand who can move about without wakin' the dead. Though to look at ya, Wyn, you're gonna have to convince me that a big lass like you can step quiet, afore we spend too much time on that kind of lesson, eh?" This last remark is made with an affable smile, and Doran's joking air shows how glad he is of a chance to chat with a friend. His smile quickly fades, however, as he changes the subject.
His voice drops even lower, and he looks about carefully before speaking. "Listen, Wyn, talkin' of sneaking about reminds me ... My visit to you-know-who the other night, and a talk I had just now with Plugg, well, it's set me up for a bit of tricky sailin'. Plugg said he'd give me Kipper's spot if Kipper doesn't survive the hot box. And havin' that spot would let me keep an eye on what the senior crew are up to, maybe get into other parts of the ship, even have some pull on how prize crews get picked – it could get us out of here, if I play it right. But it means letting Kipper die. Maybe even helping him die. And he's a bad'un – one I wouldn't hesitate to stick a knife into in a fight, fair or otherwise. But is it right to let a bad man die, so I can maybe help save some good folk?"
A quick smile crosses Doran's face, and he nods several times as Wyn is speaking. His response shows how pleased he is to be asked, and to have a good, friendly conversation. "Of course, Wyn, I'd be happy to teach you how to tell a bulkhead from a bulwark. We can start with just namin' the parts of the ship, the masts and sails and spars and so on, so's you know what it means when someone tells ye to do summat. Looks like I should teach you a knot or two while I'm at it, so you don't untie the stopper knot that keeps the shroud anchored in the fairlead, like you're doing now. And I'll tell ya, I had wondered about how you ended up on the Hellsmouth – hell, I wonder myself how I ended up here. But folk don't always want their stories known, so I've learned not to ask too much. At any gate, I'm sorry that your life took such a bad turn, to bring you to this floating hell. Here's hopin' we can all stay alive long enough to get off the damn thing, eh?"
Doran considers a moment, then says, "I'll teach you the other stuff you asked about, if ye want, but you'd better be sure. My little ... errands, over the last couple o' days, have scared the piss out of me, worried I'd get caught every breath I take. But it's true, knowin' how to get the drop on someone will serve ye well in the life we've ended up in – and there may be a time when I need a steady hand who can move about without wakin' the dead. Though to look at ya, Wyn, you're gonna have to convince me that a big lass like you can step quiet, afore we spend too much time on that kind of lesson, eh?" This last remark is made with an affable smile, and Doran's joking air shows how glad he is of a chance to chat with a friend. His smile quickly fades, however, as he changes the subject.
His voice drops even lower, and he looks about carefully before speaking. "Listen, Wyn, talkin' of sneaking about reminds me ... My visit to you-know-who the other...
Wyn smiles in thanks as he agrees to help her--and stops and lets him show her how to do the knot properly as they keep talking.
She nods, and answers as quietly as he has grown. "I'm sure. And well the size is part of it--no one ever expects me to be quiet, but I'm not bad at 'fying expectations. I understand you being nervous--you've prolly put yourself on the line more than any of us--but if I can help, then that'd be some protection for you too. None of us should have to feel alone in this." She nods, giving a pregnant pause to let the last notion sink in--into her own mind, as much as Doran's.
She waits and listens as he describes his other predicament. Wyn chews on her lip a moment before he answers. "Listen, in that fair fight, I'd be wrestlin' you to see if I get to snap his neck before you cut'im. It's the WAY they put people to their end here... and the way they delight in it. And anything you do that they'd do... then the closer you come to bein' them, is the problem. Remember it'd be your hands doing Plugg's work." She sighs, then adds a little louder, "Oh, I loop it twice before I pull it through...
She then continues after Doran responds to the louder question, "I think what I'd do is keep on, and see what happens. The hotbox is bad enough even a well fed man might die. If Pharasma chooses to take him, so be it--but let it be her choice, not Plugg's. He dies, you get promoted. If he lives, remember we might get one if not TWO other allies. And if you get caught by Plugg, pretend you were bringing'im poison--maybe ask the dwarf to give you something convincing to carry with you, just in case."
She finishes the knot. "Better?"
Doran listens closely to Wyn’s advice, and when she says “it'd be your hands doing Plugg's work," his eyes widen and he takes in a quick breath. ”I’ve think ye’ve got the right of it, lass, though I wish I could be sure of it. I’ll think on your idea for how to carry it off, letting the gods decide if Kipper comes through that hell alive, though out here it’s more likely to be Besmara makin’ that call, not Pharasma. And your plan for if I get caught sneakin’ him stuff, well, it just might work. I’ll talk to Vrunyar, see if he can slip me something that’ll pass for poison, even if it’s no’ the real thing. I think I’d rather not have the real thing in hand, if I do get caught. Too good a chance that Plugg’d ask me to show him it’s poison by drinking it down.”
Doran’s shoulders drop as some of the tension in him unwinds, and he turns his attention to Wyn’s knot. ”Hmm, well that double overhand stopper’ll work in this spot, and it’s what a lot of folk would tie here – and you’ve done a decent job of it, for a lubber. No offense, eh? But I like an oysterman’s stopper here – it’s a bit bulkier, less likely to pull through the fairlead when there’s lots of strain on the shrouds, which is just when you don’t want it to fail, eh? And it’s got a nice shape when you’re done. You just make two loops out of a bight, like so, then the standing end loop goes through t’other one, you tuck the tail in and pull ‘er tight. Got it?”
With his plate in hand, Vrunyar sits down next to Giffer, knocking his knuckles on the table. ”Mind if I join you?” he asks. After a few bites, he launches into a story about meeting a gnome back in Absalom, the myriad pranks and diversions he would play upon Vrunyar, and Vrunyar’s failed attempts to reciprocate. They were both students competing for an apprenticeship. The dwarf has about a third of his meals left as he wraps up the tale.
“He won it. It worked out in the end. I made him a stone cap made of tiled marble to mark the occasion. I haven’t seen you play any pranks. Did I miss them or are you not in the mood?”
She snorts but a genuine smile flits across her face. ”What’s the point? At least ‘alf the people ‘ere would knife me. They’d take it the wrong way, y’know? Not saying I ‘aven’t done a prank or two. Just none since you new lot’s been on board.” Find me this evening and I’ll tell you a tale...”[/b] for a moment she loses some of the bedraggled and forlorn edge that is part of her appearance.
Doran listens closely to Wyn’s advice, and when she says “it'd be your hands doing Plugg's work," his eyes widen and he takes in a quick breath. ”I’ve think ye’ve got the right of it, lass, though I wish I could be sure of it. I’ll think on your idea for how to carry it off, letting the gods decide if Kipper comes through that hell alive, though out here it’s more likely to be Besmara makin’ that call, not Pharasma. And your plan for if I get caught sneakin’ him stuff, well, it just might work. I’ll talk to Vrunyar, see if he can slip me something that’ll pass for poison, even if it’s no’ the real thing. I think I’d rather not have the real thing in hand, if I do get caught. Too good a chance that Plugg’d ask me to show him it’s poison by drinking it down.”
Doran’s shoulders drop as some of the tension in him unwinds, and he turns his attention to Wyn’s knot. ”Hmm, well that double overhand stopper’ll work in this spot, and it’s what a lot of folk would tie here – and you’ve done a decent job of it, for a lubber. No offense, eh? But I like an oysterman’s stopper here – it’s a bit bulkier, less likely to pull through the fairlead when there’s lots of strain on the shrouds, which is just when you don’t want it to fail, eh? And it’s got a nice shape when you’re done. You just make two loops out of a bight, like so, then the standing end loop goes through t’other one, you tuck the tail in and pull ‘er tight. Got it?”
Wyn nods and dutifully reties the knot, doing her best to follow Doran's instructions.
"Besmara..." she mutters, referring back to his earlier statement. "Can't say I know much of her, being a caravanner's daughter. Just hearing the slaves call out her name when they could row no more. Don't think she's actually Quinn's patron though, much as she gives the impression of it. I hope someone knows how to get her favor."
Ollivor spends much of the day helping Cut-throat Grok organize the new items purchased from Riaris Krine. They're mundane and non-magical, but that doesn't stop them from making a tidy sum. Grok explains that she will sell the items for a profit once they make it to port. The proceeds go to the senior crew, but she gets a fair share of it as well. She seems to take pride in her honesty and integrity when it comes to selling the stolen goods.
Vrunyar seems to hit it off with the one-eyed gnome at the tables. She explains that she was a wife and mother long ago, before the Bleaching started. When she first noticed her color start to drain during her domestic bliss, she bade her family farewell and set out for a life of adventure. Her intent was to stave off the Bleaching, regain much of her coloration, perhaps make a fortune, and return to her husband and daughter in their humble hut in the fields of Taldor. She joined a pirate crew, reveling in the new experiences. Battles cost her an eye, but it was a small price to pay. She made gold by the handfuls. Eventually, she returned to find her family - only to find the hut abandoned and a pair of gravestones marking their deaths to illness. Heartbroken, she returned to the life of piracy, eventually finding her way to the Wormwood. But nothing could restore her joy, and every years brings her closer to the Bleaching than the last.
Doran sneaks out again, having slipped a small skin of water and another hard biscuit in his pants. Vrunyar was able to get him a tiny vial of something that would make someone sick. The alchemist spent a while explaining what went into it, but it seemed like he was speaking Cyclops. He slips the starving Kipper the food and water, though the man seems barely cognizant and softly wails when he realizes that the tiny morsels will be all that he receives. Doran sneaks his way back off the deck, noting that the pulsing red illumination of the clock tower seems brighter tonight.
When Wyn and Doran finish, Wyn smiles and steps away--barely making a sound as she goes, despite heeled boots on wood. What worked to keep Gerta asleep--and to sneak past guards on the other ship--might serve her well here, maybe.
As Wyn moves away, Doran notices how quietly she's moving. A smile on his face, he whispers, "Not bad...let's talk again."
As Giffer tells her history, Vrunyar sniffs and wipes the corner of his eyes. Once she finishes, he clears his voice and asks, ”Have you done anything to honor their life? I’m not saying you need to build a tower, but perhaps building or crafting something would make you feel better. Did your daughter have a favorite hobby? Taking that up might bring you some peace.” He pats her hand. ”I gave John a tattoo. I could give you one as well,” he frowns for a moment, ”Though that might be a human custom. Maybe gnomes tattoo others? Ha!”
|
The day after the near death sentence of Kipper, John retired to the deck after another muscle aching twelve hours of pumping the bilge. Plugg knew that John hated the constant labor, and there was no worse job on the entire ship. John knew that as well. That's why he was down there. Plugg was trying to kill Johns spirit one day at a time. Standing on the deck, shirtless, the red haired sailor had finished sluing off the last of the muck from below. The sun was setting. John wished for nothing else but a chance to write another letter to his dear wife, but he knew that Plugg or Scourge would eventually find it. It galled him. Writing to Alima was like a connection back to home. Morosely he wondered if Alima had heard yet about the destruction of the Empty Lighthouse. She might very well think him dead. He hated that. Worrying his family. What had started out as a simply journey to earn money for his wife and daughter had turned into something so much worse. Iakob's death, his friends near slavery, the constant threat of beatings. John wanted off. Normally the days would slip by, but John had far too much on his mind. He had already heard about Doran's offer as troubling as it was. John hoped that the halfling made the right choice. But it was a decision that John would allow the man to make on his own. One day, sooner or later, John would escape this place, and knowing where his friends stood in the face of adversity would be important. Besides, John had told the man to get close to Plugg, he could not fault him if he chose to embrace the roll. Still death was different. He hadn't of considered that when the items were switched, but now he had to deal with the consequence of his actions. That troubled John, not so much the accepting of responsibility, that he was used to. No, what bothered him was how he had so readily accepted such an underhanded tactic. Even now he worried that the boat might be changing him, and not for the better. Sighing John shook his head. This was a war of inches. Like rats, John and the others silently worked against the rest of the crew, biding their time and making the most of any advantage the could find no matter how small, but John was tired and he hated seeing Iakobs pistol being carried around by Plugg.
Quietly, Sandra Quinn, tattooed and in her tricorn hat, slided up next to John's side. Copper for your thoughts sailor? She asked as she gazed out over the waves. Frowning, John sighed. How much can I trust her? John thought, thinking back to the first truly decent thing one of the others on the boat had done... preside over Iakob's funeral. Dark thoughts.. John muttered, wishing he could take his revenge now gods be damned. Thoughts of revenge. The man said quietly, trailing off.
Mouth quirking up in something almost resembling a smile, Sandra quickly nodded stoically. Aye.. I know something about vengeance.
Eyes snapping towards the woman, John studied her intently. Oh? John asked, letting the words hang in the air. I suppose you would. After all, how could you not after being trapped aboard this vessel?
______________________
Morning rose over the Wormwood as the crew began to file out on deck to the morning orders. Plugg as usual stood at the head of the formation, flanked by his swine of a brother. Normally the other spot would have been taken by Kipper. Poor son of a whore John grimaced. He was bad through and through, but death would have been easier to deal with them the slow suffering of the box. As assignments were called out, John as usual was assigned to the bilges. No surprise there. After all of the morning orders were finished, John started to make his way below before he saw Wyn. Wyn, John hissed, gesturing towards a stack of crates lashed to the deck. Any news?
"Not much to say. I think they've found a way to slip our 'friend' a nip or two, so we'll see what happens. 'F'I hear anything I'll let you know. Hang tight. We don't want to look too anxious."
"Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!"
The clarion cry regarding prey breaks the silence at dawn. The crew, alert and excited despite hangovers and exhaustion, assembles quickly on the main deck. The cool morning sky has not a cloud in a sky so blue that it difficult to differentiate from the sea below. Miles ahead, the tiny outline of a ship floats like a single dot marring the lonely, still sea. Gone are the thoughts of the day's backbreaking tasks or the stupor of the rum rations in the night. Soon, they will engage in the most basic actions of piracy: raiding, murder, and capture.
Barnabas Harrigan stands at the rail of the Wormwood, looking like he has been out there for hours seeking the crew's next target. He turns slowly, looking back out at the crew. He glances up at the clock tower above, which pulses with a crimson glow. "Out there is the Man's Promise, a Rahadoumi merchant ship. They carry treasures, but not treasures of gold or gems. They carry strong men for trade, men who will net us a veritable mountain of gold. They surely see us, and will flee. But that matters little to me. I will have my prize, and you will be well-rewarded upon our return to Port Peril. Man your stations."
Plugg starts assigning the crew to their positions as Harrigan turns back out to face the prey. Gone are the tasks of rat-catching and scrubbing the decks. The whole crew is assigned to some task or another that improves the speed of the ship, whether it be manipulating the sails or working the rigging. A feeling of tangible tension pervades the ship. They will soon be fighting to kill and be killed.
Harrigan orders Kipper to be removed from the hot box and treated, for his assistance to Krine as the gunner's mate outweighs his crimes for the time being. The pathetic man stumbles out, covered in his own waste and sticky sweat. He lays on the ground until Plugg kicks him cruelly in the ribs. He stumbles to his feet and retches with his hands on his knees, but nothing comes out of his belabored heaves. Fishguts silently hands him some stale bread and a flask of water, which he consumes eagerly. He retches and coughs again and again, but should be in workable enough position soon. He fastidiously keeps his eyes off Doran, almost pointedly so.
Krine pulls Wyn, Doran, John, Vrunyar, Ollivor, and Thorn aside. She eyes them somewhat murderously and speaks through gritted teeth. "You lot did well during the training, so the Captain has a special task for you. The ship's wheel should be on the aft deck, just below the sterncastle. When we make contact, you six are going to grapple over the side, kill the guards in the sterncastle, take the wheel, and guard the ship's boats. Kill anyone who tries to get away on one of the boats, and don't move from the wheel until the fighting's done or you hear otherwise. If any of the ship's boats make it down into the water, you'd better get on it yourself and beg for a spot. We clear?"
As the crew works to maximize the Wormwood's speed, the hours fly past. The Man's Promise inches closer and closer as the pirates close the distance. A bit after noon, they can tell that the ship is a three-masted sailing ship, nearly as large as the Wormwood. John, Doran, and the other experienced sailors can tell that it is at least one-hundred feet long. The flag of Rahadoum - a pair of outstretched human hands on a field of gold - flaps to the light wind. From this distance, it is still impossible to tell much more about it, including its moniker; how Harrigan knows its name is a mystery. At the rate that they are catching up, the pirate ship should be upon its prey a bit before sundown.
Vrunyar swallows nervously and answers Krine’s question with a nod. ”Is there somebody in charge of the group?”
As the Wormwood pursues the Man’s Promise, Vrunyar spends time in the infirmary gathering supplies for the boarding party. He mixes three extracts to magically cure wounds and double checks the kit he uses for medical emergencies. Bandages, needles, thread, smelling salts, and painkillers.
Once that’s finished he sharpens his axe, daggers, and the weapons of his companions as they work the rigging and sails.
Doran is surprised to see Kipper released from his torturous imprisonment, but greatly relieved that the man has the sense to avoid any contact. Glad he's got the wit to not rush over and thank me for helping, in front of Harrigan and all. It'd be just like me to to survive this battle and then be keelhauled for helping that bastard when he was in the box.
Setting to work with his usual professional ease, Doran keeps a close eye on the rigging and sails, suggesting a few minor adjustments to keep the Wormwood moving at the fastest clip possible. Catching a brief moment with Wyn in the frenzy of activity, he says in a quiet voice, "Well, is Krine's job for us a chance to make a break for it, or a death sentence? Either way, there'll be blood on the decks today. Good luck, and keep your eyes open."
Krine pulls Wyn, Doran, John, Vrunyar, Ollivor, and Thorn aside. She eyes them somewhat murderously and speaks through gritted teeth. "You lot did well during the training, so the Captain has a special task for you. The ship's wheel should be on the aft deck, just below the sterncastle. When we make contact, you six are going to grapple over the side, kill the guards in the sterncastle, take the wheel, and guard the ship's boats. Kill anyone who tries to get away on one of the boats, and don't move from the wheel until the fighting's done or you hear otherwise. If any of the ship's boats make it down into the water, you'd better get on it yourself and beg for a spot. We clear?"
"It's good to be loved," Ollivor mutters before saying in a normal voice, "Crystal." So, this is where we go pirating. I got no love of the godless but I got no truck against them either. No two ways about it, this is going to get very ugly one way or another.
As the crew works to maximize the Wormwood's speed, the hours fly past. The Man's Promise inches closer and closer as the pirates close the distance. A bit after noon, they can tell that the ship is a three-masted sailing ship, nearly as large as the Wormwood. John, Doran, and the other experienced sailors can tell that it is at least one-hundred feet long. The flag of Rahadoum - a pair of outstretched human hands on a field of gold - flaps to the light wind. From this distance, it is still impossible to tell much more about it, including its moniker; how Harrigan knows its name is a mystery. At the rate that they are catching up, the pirate ship should be upon its prey a bit before sundown.
Ollivor wonders just where does the captain get his information from and whispers to his cohorts, "Anyone else get the feeling the murderer of our captain ain't the only Chellish fellow who has this captain's nose pointed where he wants it?"
Setting to work with his usual professional ease, Doran keeps a close eye on the rigging and sails, suggesting a few minor adjustments to keep the Wormwood moving at the fastest clip possible. Catching a brief moment with Wyn in the frenzy of activity, he says in a quiet voice, "Well, is Krine's job for us a chance to make a break for it, or a death sentence? Either way, there'll be blood on the decks today. Good luck, and keep your eyes open."
"Aye," He agrees. "You as well, Doran." The young sorcerer has the added problem of how much magic to betray. When a fight breaks out, he may not have much of a choice.
"Everything's a death sentence, it's just how long we delay it," Wyn replies to Doran.
When Krine gives them the instructions, Wyn bites her lips, then decides to dare reply, "I understand our orders. But if Plugg said the only treasure is the men to be captured, why are we killing what's more valuable alive?"
The sun creeps down from its apex as the ships draw closer to one another. The hours tick by slowly, the tension growing to unbearable levels. The crew seems bloodthirstier than usual, shouting obscenities from the railing at the fleeing ship. Every hour brings the Wormwood closer; the pirate ship seems to speed up as it grows closer, though it may just be an illusion. The murderous mood of the pirates seems infectious, driving them into a frenzy of bloody violence.
As the ships grow closer, Krine and Kipper set up the ballista launchers, with several other crew members dragging the heavy bolts from the hold onto the deck. While they can be lit aflame, the bolts remain unlit because damaging the valuable ship and its cargo would be counterproductive. They launch several salvos towards the Man's Promise, intending to force them to slow and turn slightly to avoid being struck. Kipper's time in the hot box seems to have changed him little, as he maliciously cheers when one of the bolts "fires astray" and hits a Rahadoumi sailor squarely in the chest.
Peppery gathers the crew by beckoning for their attention. Considering her looks, it is not difficult despite their preoccupation with the impending attack. "Right before we meet them in battle, I will bring forth a fog to shield our attack. I trust that you will meet the challenge." Her tone suggests that no other outcome is acceptable.
The ships draw close enough that the pirates can see the Rahadoumi sailors turning and looking at them. They throw barrels of food and water off the side, trying to jettison as much as possible (without the valuable slaves going overboard) to escape. There is no escape, though. The crimson light from the Wormwood's clock tower pulses with malice as the distance becomes less and less. Barrels bob aimlessly in the ship's wake, thumping off the pursuer and drifting into the sea.
With the ships less than a stone's throw away from one another, Peppery summons a great fog from the space between the ships. It rises up and quickly envelops both ships, blocking the view between the two. No one can see as the Wormwood surges forward and rams the Man's Promise hard. The collision slams them down, knocking the crew off-balance. No one loses their feet, but the impact is jarring.
With a shout, the crew of the Wormwood - including the quietly rebellious six sailors dragged unwillingly into this raid - start throwing hooked boarding planks and grappling hooks over the side. The pirates scramble over, weapons in hand and murder in mind.
With the melee raging around them, the six sailors prepare to make their own crossing. They stand at the poop deck, ready to make the crossing. They must get to the aft deck, up the stairs to the sterncastle, and seize the high ground that contains both the escape boats and the steering wheel. A half dozen Rahadoumi sailors drift in and out of the fog near their landing zone. They have short swords in hand, as well as crossbows. The defenders fire wildly into the fog with the crossbows. The bolts thump into the wooden hull or hiss through the air, with metallic twangs from their origin.
The crimson pulse from the clock tower cuts through the fog like a beacon. It gives the whole scene a bloody undertone, but provides a point of reference amid the fog.
Doran
John
Ollivor
Rahadoumi Sailors
Rahadoumi Officer
Thorn
Vrunyar
Wyn
Doran moves to the rail of the Wormwood and squints through the fog, trying to judge the distance to the Rahadoumi ship, and the shortest path to where the helmsman stands. He plants both feet on the rail and begins his jump across the gap, and suddenly the ships bump hard against each other, then bounce apart. He cannot cross the greater distance, but manages to catch himself on the boarding planks next to him, pull himself up, and hurry across, nothing damaged but his pride as a sailor.
Ollivor has to smile as the fog rises, after all. Now he'll be a bit freer to use his magic, at least he hopes. Then it's time to board. He's not as quick as the others, but once he gets going he doesn't hesitate to do his best to cross as rapidly as possible.
While he fares a bit better than Doran, he doesn't quite make the cut either as the planks wobble and he must repurchase for a moment, slowing him down.
Wyn steels herself and on the mark makes her effort to swing across.
The unwilling pirates charge across the fantasy planks. It is the first time since the day the Empty Lighthouse was captured that any of them have been trusted with weapons. Grok issued them their original armor and weapons that they came with. Wyn and Thorn were offered their pick of basic leather armor from her stores, and she received a scimitar and dagger. Each gets one of the grappling hooks for the ability to board the Man's Promise or escape back to the Wormwood if necessary.
As the ships get closer, with his companions waiting to board, Vrunyar passes one vial to Wyn and another to Ollivor. ”I wish I had one for each of us, but neither of you have the quick reflexes of Doran nor the armor of John, so I thought you should get these. They’ll heal you a little. I give them to you now in case I fall into the sea.”
Round 1, initiative 19
Sweat already dampening the sash tied around his head, Vrunyar bolts for the hooked plank as soon as the ships are joined.
Despite the fog and swaying ships he’s able to make it onto the Man’s Promise with a fair amount of grace. As he’s about to step onto the slave ship, he sees a Rahadoumi sailor approaching the plank. Vrunyar leaps down and swings his axe at the man.
”First blood!” he calls hoping that is a good omen.
Wyn nods thanks to Vrunyar, and tucks the vial carefully into her belt. She might object that her reflexes were fine enough but she won't look a gift healing horse in the mouth.
Once she lands on the other deck, she begins moving for the sterncastle.
The crew of the Man's Promise consists of sailors, not warriors. Unlike the marines of the Hellsmouth, they are undisciplined and sloppy. Most of them attack Vrunyar and Doran, the first pair to cross over. One of them takes Vrunyar's slashing strike with his axe, crying out in pain. He lashes out, cutting Vrunyar in return, while the sailor next to him joins in. The alchemist keeps his feet despite the pain, knowing that he will have to down his potion quickly to mend the deep cuts. Two others attack Doran, but the careful halfling keeps his distance and dodges the attacks. The fog swirls all around the group, while the din of battle from the rest of the ship rolls over them. Two of the sailors - barely able to make the approaching figures of Wyn and John through the fog - make ill-advised shots with their crossbows. One of the bolts flies through the spot where Wyn's head was; a dense spot of fog blocked the sailor's sight for just a brief moment before he launched the missile, preventing what would likely be a fatal wound.
Wyn lands and sees her comrades already being attacked. As both hands had been on the rope and she had not yet drawn her weapon, she simply steps forward to kick the blade out of the hands of the sailor that attacked Vrunyar.
Eyes closed and face calm with a slight grin, Thorn stands behind his fellow boarding party gripping his bow in hand and his sword at his hip. Thorn lightly plucks the bow to feel its vibration again as in disbelief "Am I dreaming or is this really happening" Thorn thought to himself. "Erastil, you have truly blessed me today for placing my bow back in hand. MY BOW! I will not let this blessing go to waste."
Thorn slowly rolls his neck in a counter clock wise circle and grasps at the fog tightly, cracking the knuckles loudly loosen the joints in his grip. Thorn slowly opened his eyes and peered out through the fog at his fellow boarding party. Thorn can feel the energy rising as he knows they are about to ram the Man's Promise. No stranger to the ramming tactic he slight bends at the knee and leans forward to brace for the impact. Thorn watches as Doran is jolted after miss timing his jump, but is able to recover with the aid of the boarding plank. Ollivor miss steps as well but is only slowed down by the jolt of ships colliding. Wyn and Vrunyar make their jumps with ease and enter combat immediately. Vrunyar draws first blood but receives a similar welcome. Wyn quickly aids Vrunyar by kicking and disarming their foe.
Thorn with bow in hand takes aim at sailor #5 who is firing a cross bow bolt at Wyn.
Thorn quickly fires in haste, failing to not take aim and causing his arrow to sail over his target and into the sea.
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As the ships neared, John watched silently from the railing of the Wormwood. He felt the distinctive weight of his breastplate upon his chest weighing him down, but it felt good in a way.. solid. He held his old, weathered falchion in his hands. Grok, true to her word had kept it in good shape. Even his armor, with its rampant Anodoran eagle had been maintained. He was coming to respect the gruff, scarred woman, there was no question about that. First the tarp, string and needle and the way that she had remarked on Pluggs behavior and now this. Shaking his head, he wondered what forced her onto a ship like this. Sighing, John stared out at the sea. Like all of the pirated aboard, fate or happenstance had drawn them together. Biting down on his lip, John looked to his right where Plugg smiled like a wolf before a chicken hutch. Yes, fate had drawn them together, and fate would send them apart. Gnashing his teeth, John tried to concentrate. You were supposed to settle your quarrels ashore, but for the men and women aboard Rahadoumi ship, there would be no quarrels ashore today... sadly just death.
Casting a weathered eye towards the two ships locked in chase, John frowned. He felt the wind on his back and watched the crest of the ocean. Something, was not right. John couldn't explain it, but the way the Wormwood moved through the water seemed at odds with how it should. First the strange light and clock, then the way that the hull repaired itself and finally the way it moved though the waves. Giving a shutter, John thought back to what the cook had said about the ship itself being poison. Perhaps it was true... John thought.
As the two ships neared its short, but inevitable conclusion, John nodded to the others gathered around them. The orders had been clear and concise. Take the Sterncastle and prevent escape. The orders seemed clear... but battles were a messy thing. All sorts of accidents could happen during combat. John knew he needed to stay on his toes. Drawing his friends in close, John spoke up so the nearby pirates could hear him.
As some of you know I served in the Andoran Navy. When I was younger I sailed much of the world and I witnessed a amusing occurrence while I was in the city of Azir also known as Port Godless to us "Believers" Anyhow, as you know the Rahadoumi are merchants above all else, and while I was in the market I witnessed an Rahadoumi merchant approach a Cheliaxian and his female companion. The merchant was carrying fine silk's for trade and for several minuets he impassionately attempted to barter with the Chelixian for a to buy his wares. After yielding no results the merchant asked the man where he was from and the man replied "Cheliax". Looking at the mans consort, with her dark hair and olive skin, the Rahadoumi responded. "She's not from Cheliax." "Yes I am." replied the woman. The merchant aghast, looked at her and asked. "Is he your husband?" "Yes." replied the woman. The merchant then turned to the husband, and said... "I'll give you one hundred camels for her." The man looked stunned, and there was a very long silence. Finally I saw him respond. "She's not for sale." After the merchant left, the somewhat indignant wife asked her husband "What took you so long to answer?" Then the man replied with "I was trying to figure out how to get 100 camels back home."
Face turning into both a scowl and a bit of a grin, John shook his head. Bastards all of them. As he tells the story, John leans in to his friends. Right, look, when we go over there is going to be a lot of fog. Stay together, watch each others backs. If one of us goes down the others cover while our sawbones see to him, savvy? Right then, good luck, and may the Golden Eagle and the Drunken Hero see you right. Eyes growing distant, John digs out a coin from his pocket and throws it over the rail. And a blessing to the Pirate Queen. Gods know I'll take what ever sort of luck I can get right about now.
As the ships come together, John rushes forward over the plank, but his peg as usual is nearly the death of him, slipping as the plank sways, John barely dodges a crossbow bolt as it sails through a patch of fog that he just occupied.
The skirmish in the fog between the defenders and attackers draws blood quickly. Two of the sailors nearly cut down Vrunyar, the first person across the gap. He delivers a vicious blow with his axe to one of them, but he needs reinforcements quickly. Doran, Wyn, and Ollivor all make it across the planks quickly. Wyn even knocks one the blade out of one of the sailor's hands to keep him from attacking Vrunyar again. John nearly falls through the gap, grabbing the side of the Man's Promise and clambering up to join the combat. Thorn remains on the Wormwood, launching arrows at the Rahadoumi despite the fog. They respond with crossbows of their own, but the two ships can barely see one another.
Doran dodges through the crowd on the deck, maneuvering to get into a good spot for a strike on one of the Rahadoumi crewmen. He dodges nimbly past his foes, positioning himself behind the lightly-armored sailor that Vrunyar has already wounded. He hits the man in the lower back, digging his blade in deep, and the poor sod is dead before he hits the deck.
Round 2
Vrunyar reels from the attacks. He steps back, against the ship’s railing and drinks his single healing extract.
He feels a little better. He knows he needs to be more cautious.
The morale of the sailors begins to break down as Doran's dagger plunges into the back of one of their number. The one that Wyn disarmed backs up and pulls out a crossbow. With a powerful twang, he fires the clever weapon but misses the mist-shrouded Vrunyar by less than an inch. Two of them attack Doran, but he stays low near their knees and uses their height advantage over him to his own advantage. One of the sailors tries to slash John as he climbs over the edge of the ship, but he sinks his blade deeply into the railing between the Andoran marine's hands. The last of their numbers aims at Thorn, but has to end up firing the crossbow nearly blind through the mist; it sails through the air with a hiss, but sails over the Wormwood entirely and likely lands in the water somewhere a few hundred feet behind.
Wyn draws the scimitar Grok handed her and steps toward the crossbow wielding sailor, intending to finish what she started.
Unfortunately, still getting used to the new weapon, she miscalculates and harmlessly strikes the horn of the crossbow.
Ollivor now across, with fog protecting him, takes the moment to cast his protective spell with a low draconic hiss.
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John bellows as he sees through the fog shrouded deck the dwarf wavering on his feet before stepping back and downing a potion. Hobbling forward on his pegleg, John points at the Rhadoumi sailor who managed to wound the dwarf. Fog swirling around the large man, John steps into the gap that the dwarf just occupied and swings his massive blade around to ward the man off and draw attention away from himself. Shaking his head in anger John sighed. The Rhadomui were faithless slavers who thought anything could be bought for a price, but that doesn't mean that he enjoyed killing on the bloodthirsty orders of the captain of the Wormwood.
Get the hell away from my friend! John roars again before the fog swirls around him and the man is momentarily lost from sight. Cursing, John looks to the left and right. Find some cover Vrun! John orders, sword flicking through the fog in a defensive pattern.
Thorn narrows his eyes in anger after the rare miss. "Calm yourself and concentrate" Thorn tells himself. John roars out a rally cry for Vrunyar causing Thorn to look in Vrunyar's direction. Thorn sees the Dwarf swallowing one of his potions while recovering to a knee and favoring two large gashes to his torso. Thorn rushes to Vrunyar's aid by leaping across the ocean expanse separating the two ships and landing gracefully on the deck of the Man's Promise. Thorn quickly and effortlessly draws another arrow from its quill, knocks it to the bow string while pulling the string to his cheek in one fluid motion. Thorn takes aim pulling the point of the arrow even with the sailors chest before letting loose. The arrow pierce the guards upper chest near the left shoulder.
The attacking crew comes to Vrunyar's aid, allowing him a brief opportunity to down a potion. As his wounds start to knit themselves shut, Doran plunges his dagger into the back of one of the sailors threatening the dwarf, killing him. The defenders are largely ineffective, stymied by the fog and their own inexperience in battle. Wyn steps between the sailor who she disarmed and Vrunyar, while John steps beside her and directs attention towards the crossbow-wielding slaver. Ollivor summons an arcane shield to protect himself, safely ensconced in the fog away from the fear of others seeing his magic. Thorn deftly leaps from one ship to another, launching an arrow into one of the sailors as he does so.
Doran is inspired by John's strategic advice, and his own desire to take down as many of the Rahadoumi sailors as possible, before they do the same to him. Seeing that one of them is distracted by trying to put a crossbow bolt into Vrunyar, Doran takes a couple of nimble steps behind the unsuspecting man, daggers whirling as he does so. Though his first strike fails to connect, his second nearly hamstrings the man, wounding him badly.
For the second time in as many heartbeats, Doran's daggers bring down one of the defenders. Between the arrow from Thorn's bow, Doran's vicious cut through the muscle of his leg, and the sheer effort of trying to survive Wyn and John's combined efforts, he collapses to the deck in a bloody heap. The sailor is alive, but his consciousness slips away with the pain.
”Thank you!” Vrunyar calls out as his companions arrive to aid him. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a mutagen vial, one he specially brewed to make him more hardy. He drinks it, feeling his body grow bulkier, tougher, as his features take on an aspect of granite. He laughs and takes a stride or two hoping to outflank a sailor.
Desperation kicks in among the slavers of the Man's Promise. Two of them cautiously move forward (away from the deadly Doran) towards what they think is easier prey. One of them slashes upwards with his blade at Wyn; he telegraphs his move like a drunk, and the former barkeeper easily moves out of the way. The other one attacks Ollivor, opening up a crimson wound along his right side. The shielding spell keeps it from piercing his chest directly, but the blade finds a spot between his ribs to run down.
The other two remaining sailors maintain a decent distance, backing up towards the sterncastle stairs as they do so. One of them fires his crossbow at John, hitting him a few inches above his peg leg. Fortunately, it misses the artery, but the bolt sticks out of his flesh like a branch off a tree. The second sailor fires the crossbow at Thorn again, cursing as he reloads because the mist seems to be intent on cloaking the elf.
Towards the stern of the ship, a giant explosion lights up the fog. The cry of pain from Rahadoumi lips suggests that Peppery has entered the fray with her fire magic. It's impossible for any of them to tell if they are winning or not, thanks to the fog, but they can easily hear that the battle continues to rage.
Stepping in to engage the sailor who swung at her, she returns in kind with a simple slash, cutting deeply into the man's arm.
"'F'I were you," she mutters low, "I'd run."
Thorn hears the whistling of the bolt zoom by his head causing part of his long hair to flip up briefly. Thorn turns to watch sailor #6 curse the fog and reload his crossbow while backing away with sailor #5. Thorn calmly shoulders his bow with a confident smirk on his face. "Lady Luck shines her favor upon me tonight!" Thorn slowly removes his sword and makes a couple of quick slashes through the fog. The blade flashes in the moonlight cutting small slits in the fog momentarily before the fog quickly fills in the partial voids and provide its thick veil again. This fog is a blessing and a burden for all. It's to thick for ranged attacks and I guess that means its time for me to get up close and personal" Thorn's smirk turns into a wicked grin as he takes a crouched fencing position facing sailors #5 and #6 as they back up the sterncastle.
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Blood welling up from the crossbow bolt embedded in his thigh, John roars out in pain. The sudden wound causing a flash of furious anger to spark in the marines eyes. Until now he had been trying to protect his friends. John did not wish to kill anyone except for Plugg, and to fight these men at the behest of a band of drunken pirates galled him, but now blood had been spilled and his anger came upon him like a surging tidal wave.
John shouts, feeling the blood trickling down his knee before stopping at the blunt end of the peg. Dam you all! Stepping forward, John pointed his blade at the frightened sailor. I didn't want to have to do this, but by god if your going to try killing me, I won't back down! Opening his mouth again, John started to yell before cutting himself off, not wanting to tarnish his country's name here in service to these bastards. Thinking quickly and trying to rally his friends, John hacked his massive blade down on top of the man in a spray of blood. John finished, feeling his anger and adrenaline pumping itself though his veins.
Ollivor curses as he is bloodied, and badly, "Fine then, I'll take your own, and raise you two." And claws extend from his finger tips, and he slashes with both trying to work the sailor's side in hopes growing claws isn't something the man expected.
Doran takes the opportunity presented by Wyn and John, slashing away at the sailor that they have surrounded. As he hits the ground, the other sailors back off and attack Ollivor and Wyn. Ollivor takes a stabbing injury from a sailor's sword, but he responds by growing claws and rips a ribbon of flesh out of the man's side. That defender cries out in pain and terror, apparently mentally unready for the possibility of Ollivor growing claws. Wyn uses her scimitar to carve a slashing cut in his arm; when she advises him to run, he looks at her sadly and says, "To where?" Thorn prepares to engage the two sailors standing by the stairs to the sterncastle by putting away his bow and taking out his elven curve blade with both hands. John takes a crossbow bolt to his already-amputated leg. He hobbles over to the man who fired it and brutally cuts him down, leaving just the three in the fog (and only his terrified mate guarding the stairs).