Doran sees the officer making a break for one of the hanging boats and calls out, ”Take her down! If she makes it to those davits she’ll be clear, and we’ll be dead!” He darts away from the sailor who has just put Thorn on the deck - making yet another difficult choice, leaving one of his companions down - and strikes out at the Rahadoumi officer. His strike is not powerful, but his precision serves him well, and the blade plunges into the side of her leg as she attempts to escape.
Vrunyar roars as he misses the Rahadoumi officer’s leg. His frustration at being captive and pressed into piracy, of the near death of his companions, and having to shave his beard and head, boil over. He sees the wicked cut Wyn takes but instead of bandaging her, the dwarf chases down the officer, swinging his axe in an overhand chop. Part of him knows this is not rational but he doesn’t care.
Vrunyar roars as he misses the Rahadoumi officer’s leg. His frustration at being captive and pressed into piracy, of the near death of his companions, and having to shave his beard and head, boil over. He sees the wicked cut Wyn takes but instead of bandaging her, the dwarf chases down the officer, swinging his axe in an overhand chop. Part of him knows this is not rational but he doesn’t care.
His aim is slightly off, and wood chunks fly from the railing.
Wyn snarls in reaction to the pain rather than wincing. "Cutting and running, you cowardly c&*$? You started this bloodbath, now suck it up!"
Battle being source enough for strength, Wyn charges after the officer, snagging an end of rope sitting in a pile and flinging it at the officer. It lands, twisting around and weighing down her arms and legs. While she will likely be able to free herself as soon as she catches her breath, it slows her down for a moment and makes it harder for her to defend herself for the time being.
Ollivor almost leaps over railing in his eagerness to stop the woman before her actions arrange for the death of each and everyone of them. An odd snarl tears from his throat and there is a sound not unlike a thunderbolt accompanying it.
Despite the proximity, the spell misses, though it does get a rise out of the officer's hair.
|
::Don't leave me my love... whispered a voice from the darkness. Around him was the crash of steel and the cries of the dying. Men bled their hearts blood into the ocean as death rode upon the waves. Though the umbral smoke and fog, John stumbled. Glancing down he had both of his legs and the pain was gone. "Is this the Boneyard?" John whispered in the darkness, while chasing after the fleeting figure of Alima. On and on the mists swirled around him, seemingly endless. The air was humid but cold and it smelled of peat and salt. Something slashed beneath his feet.
Abruptly the mists parted. He was standing on an ocean. The waves solid beneath his feet, but he could still feel the swells, currents and eddies below him. The water was endless and dark. Hunger lurked below the surface. and . A cold sweat ran along his spine. Rising and falling and then rising again with the movement of the waves, John glanced down. Around his feet were miniature ships each caught in a glass bottle as they rocked against each other, some colliding causing the glass to crack and shatter. To his left was the shape of the Righteous Eagle and the Steadfast locked in battle with the Carrion’s Maw to his right was the Empty Lighthouse, its bottle tiny and dwarfed by the Hellsmouth and a second unknown ship.
Stomping forward along the waves John lashed out with his phantom leg at the figurine of the Carrion’s Maw and the Hellsmouth causing the glass enclosures to shatter in a spider web of cracks and the models of the ships themselves to fill with water and slip beneath the surface. Stepping away, John blinked and when he gazed back upon the ships locked in bottles each had reformed around him, gently clinking in the calm sea. In the far distance John could make out a storm. He could see fins slowly circling him. One of the beasts was larger than the rest and its fin carried a distinctive blue and water pattern resembling the shape of a child’s puzzle.
Eyes frantic, John gulped, his mouth dry. They drew closer and closer and soon they would be upon him in a frenzy of flashing teeth and roiling water. And .::
::Don't leave me my love... whispered the voice again though the ethereal fog. All around him the marine could hear the clash of battle. His side hurt immensely and the red haired man watched as blood flowed from wounds all along his side, dripping into the water and staining the fog red. Fight it John! Hissed the voice of Iakob Steele, momentarily appearing like a half formed phantom, his throat still leaking blood. Don't give up!.
Iakob! John shouted, pushing his way through the wispy low mist, his feet striking more ships encased in bottles. To his left was the unknown ship he had seen before, he knew it now as the Wormwood. Next to it was another.. The Mans Promise. Tiny figures raced along the deck rocking both ships two and fro and a crimson light streamed from a clock tower mounted atop the Wormwood. Fins circled him, drawing closer. But rather than sharks, this time John knew the truth. The fins were Plugg and Scourge... working together, seeking his death. Waiting for the moment to strike.
Suddenly a pistol appeared in John's hand, Iakob's pistol. John fired it into the water below his feet and a plume of ash and fire exploded outward from the muzzle. But the sharks remained, drawing ever closer. John felt cold sweat trickle along his back and down his spine. But then dolphins appeared in the water, the very same dolphins that John had seen at Iakob's funeral. Like arrows they shot towards the sharks, churning the water and frothing it. John shouted into the darkness. The darkness did not answer.::
The electricity shoots out of Ollivor's outstretched hand, arcing from him to the Rahadoumi officer. At first, it seems as if it will miss. The woman is too nimble and too clever. But even the most nimble person will have trouble dodging with a rope tangled between their feet. She tries to sidestep, looking down to watch her feet, when the metal of her armor seems to call out to the lightning. The white-hot shock rushes out and closes the circuit. In a flash, it burns through her skin underneath her armor and rushes downwards along the path of least resistance. The smoking hole on her chest appears immediately, only to be joined by another on her left ankle. The electricity emerges from her body with such force that it launches her foot up, exploding in a burst of burning flesh. She collapses on her right side, limp and smoking. The charred entrance and exit burns sizzle as she closes her eyes, draws her arms inward towards her chest, and lets out her last breath.
Ollivor pulls his hand back, it felt good to release the power, but killing with it? That made him feel a touch guilty. Only a touch though, and he wonders what that says of him? Doran isn't the only one who's going to lose something before all is said and done, I fear. What the hell am I becoming? Bronze dragons are noble and good. I'm pretty sure which side they'd join in on in our little fight and it isn't mine. Damn Harrigan, Plugg and his ilk for twisting us as they have, and gods have mercy on these sailors faithless souls.
Carefully removing any look of self loathing from his face after that dead, he turns to Wyn, "My thanks, Wyn."
He looks to the last sailor, "Throw down your bloody arms and play dead, you fool."
The vicious battle turns quickly. In one moment, it seems that the officer may escape: with John down, the Rahadoumi may have a chance to escape. But in rapid succession, Thorn kills one more of the sailors and she makes a run for it after missing Vrunyar with her rapier. She dodges and twirls, hurting Wyn in the process, as she rushes to the ship's boat. One of the sailors brutally stabs Thorn, with the elf staying conscious only through force of will. At Vrunyar and Doran rush the officer, attacking her with knife and axe, while Wyn flings a rope that entangles her for a moment. Ollivor summons crackling electricity to his hands, sending it coursing through her. She falls under the combined onslaught, leaving only one Rahadoumi sailor remaining before the sterncastle is entirely theirs.
As soon as Thorn removed his blade from sailor #11, he feels an all to familiar pain piercing through his abdomen and quickly going numb. Thorn feels himself being pushed across the deck and looks down to see the remaining sailor crying as he continues to drive his blade into Thorn's side. The sailor stops his momentum before he jerks the blood red blade from Thorns side and drops it to his side. Sailor #12 is continues to cry after being over whelmed in the emotions of being boarded, engaging in combat and the loss of his friend. Thorn sways slightly in a circular motion holding his blade in his right hand and watching in disbelief as he tries to catch his blood in his left hand. Staring in disbelief at his hand covered in bright red blood.
Dazed and confused momentarily, Thorn quickly realizes he has been stabbed. Thorn knows his inner rage has kept him standing for the mean time but he is losing blood rapidly and becoming light headed. "I don't have much time, I can't die now? I have to many unfinished tasks, I have to many promises, I must survive. I must finish this fight, I must get my revenge, REVENGE" "REVENGE" Thorn yells out while summoning up all his remaining strength to raise his elven curved blade high above his head, grasping it tightly with his bloody left hand and using all of his controlled rage to strike down on sailor #12. The elven curve blade lands hard on sailor #12's right collar bone driving down and splitting sailor #12's neck from his shoulder like a piece of cleaved meat. Thorn's blade wedges into sailor #12 body as they both fall to the deck. To weak to maintain his balance nor his grip on his sword, Thorn laid motionless on the deck taking slow and steady breaths. The blood steadily pooling onto the deck around the sailors and Thorn.
Atop the sterncastle of the Man's Promise, the six unwilling pirates hold their position. No more of the Rahadoumi make the attempt to get to the sterncastle or to retake the high ground. Vrunyar treats John's serious injuries, pouring a potion down his throat to eliminate the risk of death. Thorn's wound is serious, but not as life-threatening. Vrunyar manages to get both of them stitched up in the remaining time of the battle, though both Thorn and John need rest to recover consciousness. All of them are injured - with the sole exception of the sneaky and nimble Doran.
Wyn and Ollivor carry the Rahadoumi officer's corpse and dump it over the side of the ship with a bit of sadness. Leaving the body and the telltale electrical burns would reveal his sorcerous talent. As far as they know, the only other mage on the ship is Peppery, and there is a world of difference between her fiery magic and his electrical shock. The corpse hits the water with a splash, sinking quickly. The pair look down with a sick feeling as the fins of the gathered sharks dive down to follow. Hopefully the scorch mark on the deck of the sterncastle will go unnoticed along with the tiny chunks of burned flesh and cloth.
Doran stays on the wheel, keeping the rudder from moving aimlessly. He considers heading back down to check on the surrendered and unconscious sailors, but decides against it. Harrigan and Plugg will make their decision about them, and he'd rather not be there for it. His infiltration has forced him into some terrible positions, and he would prefer not to add to that list without necessity.
The fog dissipates, revealing the extent of the violence. Dozens of bodies litter the decks, both of the Rahadoumi slavers and of the pirates. Giffer Tibbs is just one of the pirates lost: Rattsberger, Tilly Bracken, Synthia Candle, and Jaundiced Jape all lay dead, as do Jayce Galligan and Riki Blackburne. The rest of the pirates gather the few remaining survivors while looting the ship of its possessions. Dozens of Mwangi slaves, bound and dirty, are broght up to the main deck. They shield their eyes from the late afternoon sun, unsure of what is going to happen. Captain Harrigan steps forward in front of the slaves and the Rahadoumi prisoners. "I am Barnabas Harrigan, captain of the Wormwood! I own you now. But I will make you an offer: I need new crewmen for my ships, and you will do. Step forward and join my crew, or you'll be sold."
Most of them hesitate, looking at each other unsure of what to do. One of the Rahadoumi sailors - the one who surrendered on the sterncastle - steps forward. "I will accept," he says. He is quickly joined by a rush of slaves and prisoners - to the point that the pirates have their pick of the crew. They select several of the strongest and most able, while leaving enough that the sale of the remainder will fetch an excellent price. With the addition of the slaves and prisoners, they have enough of a crew to sail both ships with skeleton crews.
A cheer goes up with the pirates when Plugg and Owlbear come up from the hold with a chest of gold pieces. It seems that the Man's Promise was between ports, having sold a portion of its human cargo or still having some from a purchase from the Mwangi slavers to the south. The windfall means that there will be hundreds of gold pieces for all of the pirates - after the larger share taken by Harrigan and his senior crew, of course. The distribution of the spoils, combined with the collection of the weapons and armor from the less-trusted crew, starts the party for the pirates. Kroop brings out several casks of rum, getting the crew good and sloshed.
The two ships remained lashed together as the sun sets. They will likely separate in the morning, as it did for the Empty Lighthouse. Harrigan will decide overnight who will stay with the Wormwood and who will accompany the Man's Promise to its destination. The rumors pass freely through intoxicated lips as the celebration rages. Most think that Plugg will receive the ship - still under the thumb of Harrigan, of course - and select his own crew, but a few have other theories. The more outlandish include that he will give it to Owlbear as a jape, or to Peppery as a marriage proposal. In any case, the night is for a celebration, and questions about the future are for a hung-over morning.
Wyn hands the potion Vrunyar gave her back to the dwarf. "Now it might be time to pour this down John's gullet."
When dealing with the officer's body, Wyn picks up the woman's fine rapier with a look of distaste. She is not fond of the idea of looting the dead, but it also seems a waste to lose it. "They will want it as a prize, and proof that the officer is dead." She hands it to Doran to turn into the senior officers.
"You were right, Ollivor, she was a beautiful woman. We also have to remember she was an officer on a slave ship, probably no better than Krine, even if more pleasing to look at." With his help they hoist her up and toss her over as quickly as they can, as Wyn mutters a prayer to whatever gods care to hear her. "Go to rest, on the waves you lived upon."
She looks up at Ollivor. "I am glad you have your... magic... to help us. But you're right to want to keep it quiet. If anyone asks, we'll say we disarmed her, and when I tangled her with the rope, I tripped her and she fell overboard."
Wyn approaches the sailors who surrendered to them who joined the crew and says quietly. "Sorry about the blow to the head. I hope this place gives you better chances than death would have."
Wyn and Ollivor carry the Rahadoumi officer's corpse and dump it over the side of the ship with a bit of sadness. Leaving the body and the telltale electrical burns would reveal his sorcerous talent. As far as they know, the only other mage on the ship is Peppery, and there is a world of difference between her fiery magic and his electrical shock. The corpse hits the water with a splash, sinking quickly. The pair look down with a sick feeling as the fins of the gathered sharks dive down to follow. Hopefully the scorch mark on the deck of the sterncastle will go unnoticed along with the tiny chunks of burned flesh and cloth.
By the gods, I don't know how long I can keep this ruse up. He nods to Wyn with another showing of gratitude but it's caked under a grim and unhappy visage. Ollivor sometimes glances at his hands. They clean up well enough to the sight, but it's clear that he's certain some of the blood will never completely come off. She fought and then she ran, not so different from the lighthouse crew in that.
"You were right, Ollivor, she was a beautiful woman. We also have to remember she was an officer on a slave ship, probably no better than Krine, even if more pleasing to look at." With his help they hoist her up and toss her over as quickly as they can, as Wyn mutters a prayer to whatever gods care to hear her. "Go to rest, on the waves you lived upon."
"I suppose you're right, but I can't help but think that she fought and she ran, and in that, she wasn't unlike some of my old mates on the Lighthouse." He sighs, "After all, if slaves are aboard, we'll be slavers too. Harrigan is sure to sell the ones that don't sign on." The thought makes him ill.
She looks up at Ollivor. "I am glad you have your... magic... to help us. But you're right to want to keep it quiet. If anyone asks, we'll say we disarmed her, and when I tangled her with the rope, I tripped her and she fell overboard."
Ollivor nods, "Not far from the truth anyway, which is best. I may yet be outed but I won't lose sleep... not over THAT anyway."
......Then come the counting of the dead when the fog clears. Ollivor knew each and everyone of them. You can't help but know folks when you serve them food day in and day out. Some just walk by quiet like, grab the grub and go, others chatter on like you were some sort of priest confessor. And he'd tried to befriend more than one.
With a pang of regret, he remembers that slight smile the normally worn down Giffer gave to him when he helped her. Ollivor was growing to like her, for the ember of light she tried to keep alive in herself despite her despair gave him hope for all their chances. If the clouds could part for her, maybe there would be sun for them all one day, I wasn't of help this time, sorry Giffer. I hope your soul is young and free, and gods above, I hope you're happy at last.
The others? each had a story, even if he didn't go searching for them like he should. He'd chatted with Candle, mostly because she was friends with Beshara. Gods knew friends were rare enough here. No doubt Beshara would be aching for awhile.
Jayce had turned his back on them a bit too fast for Ollie's liking, but he was still once part of the Lighthouse crew. I should have tried harder to reach out to him. The captain would have wanted that.
And Riki, always with the jokes and japes. There'd be a lot less laughter on the ship now, that was for certain.
And they weren't alone. Ollivor could see in the prisoner's eyes that many of them had lost friends as well. You could see it by the way they glanced at certain bodies and then looked away. All men know loss, its one of the things we have in common.
Captain Harrigan steps forward in front of the slaves and the Rahadoumi prisoners. "I am Barnabas Harrigan, captain of the Wormwood! I own you now. But I will make you an offer: I need new crewmen for my ships, and you will do. Step forward and join my crew, or you'll be sold."
Most of them hesitate, looking at each other unsure of what to do. One of the Rahadoumi sailors - the one who surrendered on the sterncastle - steps forward. "I will accept," he says. He is quickly joined by a rush of slaves and prisoners - to the point that the pirates have their pick of the crew. They select several of the strongest and most able, while leaving enough that the sale of the remainder will fetch an excellent price. With the addition of the slaves and prisoners, they have enough of a crew to sail both ships with skeleton crews.
The confirmation that the Rahadoumi were slave traders wasn't that big a surprise to the Andoran, but any solace he would take in their liberation was dulled by the realization these poor sots had just gone from one set of chains to the other. True, those that would be pirates will likely think themselves freer than before, but they'd have to become as bad as the slavers themselves to prosper at it. Ollivor casts a worried glance at some of the women of both the Rahadomi crew and the Mwangi slaves. Fresh meat for lonely men if the officers didn't put a firm hand down against it.
One Mwangi woman with odd almost amber eyes notices his gaze and meets it. To Ollivor's surprise, there is little fear in it, rather a quiet and dignified resoluteness lingers there. He gives her a nod of respect and then hears cheers.
Gold has been found. Bounty for all! well, mostly for the officers. While folks chatter about what they'll do with their share over the rum, Ollivor forgoes the drink and looks over John and Thorn, making sure no one kills them for being weak or robs them for the same.
"Someone tell me we're still good people." He mutters near John and Thorn, "I don't care if it's a lie. I just would like to hear it right now."
”Aye, indeed it isn’t a moment too soon,” Vrunyar says as he takes the vial from Wyn and pours the contents down John’s throat. Once again he felt fortunate for his recent insight in healing others with alchemy.
As word of the Wormwood’s losses begins to reach the dwarf, he takes a moment to look out to the horizon, ignoring the carnage on the deck, the turmoil in the water, and the groaning from the wounded. Ah Torag, sparks above, sparks below. Giffer. She was a good gnome. Hopefully her spirit meets up with her family’s in some fey afterlife.
=====
After cleaning off the grime of battle, he wishes his conscience could be as easily cleaned. He quickly checks the former slavers, now pirates, for injuries, lice, and general health. Anyone with lice he says, ”Tomorrow, you’ll meet my razor. No complaints.” He strokes his stubbled chin. ”HA!"
=====
”Aye. We’re still good people,” Vrunyar says approaching Ollivor. ”You wouldn’t be here, guarding John and Thorn, if you weren’t a good person. I wouldn’t put it past Plugg to try something with critically injured men. I’ve seen him do it...Here let me wrap your hands.” Vrunyar wraps Ollivor’s hands in bandages, covering the evidence of lightning burn marks.
He laughs without mirth. ”I didn’t mind killing slavers. Indeed, the new recruits seem eager enough for a life of piracy. Ah, but I can’t fault them too much for making the same choice I did. Stealing is better than slaving. But I can’t help thinking that when we get to port and sell those slaves, doesn’t that make me a slaver then? The fact that this bothers you, shows you’re a good person.”
Patting John on the back, he says, ”Rest well. Tomorrow will be an interesting day. I’m going to circulate more, greet the new members of the crew. I’ll let Doran and Wyn know that you and Thorn are under Ollivor’s protection for now.”
He turns back and smiles, ”In a little, I’ll switch places with you, Ollivor. You should meet these new fellows too. Maybe we can find one or two that aren’t rotten to the core.”
”Aye. We’re still good people,” Vrunyar says approaching Ollivor. ”You wouldn’t be here, guarding John and Thorn, if you weren’t a good person. I wouldn’t put it past Plugg to try something with critically injured men. I’ve seen him do it...Here let me wrap your hands.” Vrunyar wraps Ollivor’s hands in bandages, covering the evidence of lightning burn marks.
Ollivor offers up his hands at Vrunyar's request, "Aye, heard about that, and I'll not chance it again." The young cook blushes a bit though. Perhaps he hadn't realized someone else would hear his doubts. Though in truth he's glad the kindly dwarf did.
He laughs without mirth. ”I didn’t mind killing slavers. Indeed, the new recruits seem eager enough for a life of piracy. Ah, but I can’t fault them too much for making the same choice I did. Stealing is better than slaving. But I can’t help thinking that when we get to port and sell those slaves, doesn’t that make me a slaver then? The fact that this bothers you, shows you’re a good person.”
"I was having much the same concern. Some of those ex slaves are signing on because its better than being a slave. I can't argue I suppose, but they could have better still back in any town in Andoran." Ollivor says earnestly, "But now they may think being a pirate equals freedom, and if that's ever true, it's certainly not on the wormwood." As for the talk of him being a good person, it's what Ollivor needed to hear, and it gives him something to think on.
Patting John on the back, he says, ”Rest well. Tomorrow will be an interesting day. I’m going to circulate more, greet the new members of the crew. I’ll let Doran and Wyn know that you and Thorn are under Ollivor’s protection for now.”He turns back and smiles, ”In a little, I’ll switch places with you, Ollivor. You should meet these new fellows too. Maybe we can find one or two that aren’t rotten to the core.”
"Thanks, Vrunyar, for the patch up and the offer of taking turns watching them, but most especially for...well, you know," Ollivor nods, "Maybe you're right. As it stands, I've half got an idea that might have me looking pretty small in front of the others but it might help someone out as well. Something to think on is all."
Doran is shocked and amazed at the carnage aboard the Man’s Promise, and equally amazed that he has escaped unscathed. So many of the Wormwood’s crew dead, many of them budding friends, and a couple of them fellow survivors from the Empty Lighthouse – Riki and Jayce were not close friends, but they were reminders of a brief time in Doran’s life when things seemed hopeful. And to see John and Thorn nearly killed, and all of his friends wounded, is nearly too much. We have got to figure a way off the damned Wormwood. If we don’t get picked as the prize crew for this Rahadoumi ship, we’ll have to try something else, steal a ship’s boat in the night and make our way to land, something…
He has no heart for the drunken victory celebrations, but for the sake of appearances he raises a bottle with any who wish to do so, though he’s careful to only sip at the harsh rum. Like his companions, he’s drawn to check on John and Thorn from time to time, and is nearby when Ollivor asks for a kind word, and Vrunyar generously gives it. After listening to the exchange, Doran comments, ”It’s true, stealing is better than slaving, and crewing as pirates is better than being a slave – so we’re a small step from the edge on a couple of counts, eh? And the fact that we can see that damn edge, and are worried about it, does mean our souls aren’t as black as some. But I’d be a damn sight happier if we were making all sail away from the Wormwood, whether on this ship as a prize, or in a leaking dinghy with naught to eat but weevily biscuit.”
Plugg walks up a few moments after Doran mentions escaping. Fortunately, he seems intoxicated by the rum and the violence, and does not pick up on Doran's discontent. "Lemme talk to you," he slurs. "C'mere, away from the others." Plugg leads Doran away from the crew to a quiet corner of the Wormwood's deck. "I'm gettin' my own ship. Still got to answer to Harrigan, but I'll be Captain of this rickety wreck. I get to pick my own crew, minus a few people that the Captain wants to hang on to, and fill out the rest with the new captives. Now, I know we haven't known each other very long, but you've proven yourself. My brother's got limitations, so he's gonna be my bosun. You, though, I want as my first mate. Think you can handle it?"
Doran forces a smile onto his face, feigning great enthusiasm for Plugg’s offer. ”First mate! Fancy that! I tell ya, I used to sail with a first mate who didn’t know a cathead from a cat rig – was some Chelish noble son, got the post from his daddy. I had to keep him afloat as the mate without anyone knowing that I was doin’ it. Being first mate, with the crew knowin’ that’s my job? That’ll be a cinch. And I’m honored yer askin’ me, Cap’n Plugg.”
After a brief, considering pause, Doran takes a half-step closer to Plugg and asks, ”Who ye thinkin’ of pickin’ for yer crew? It’d be a fine thing to have a decent cook aboard, and a healer’s always useful, especially with an untried crew of lubbers. But I’m sure you’ve already got yer crew in mind. Who’ll be sailin’ with us, captain?”
But I’d be a damn sight happier if we were making all sail away from the Wormwood, whether on this ship as a prize, or in a leaking dinghy with naught to eat but weevily biscuit.”
Ollivor couldn't help but mentally agree, even as Doran was whisked off by a drunken Plugg. He glances at the others with a glimmer of hope in his eyes Maybe Doran's hard work is about to pay off?
He checks to see if the potion has woken John.
Plugg pulls Doran close to him, leaving his arm around the halfling's shoulders as he sits on a barrel. "Some good points. Fishguts is a s&!! cook, so the Wormwood can keep his drunk ass. Oliver is a better cook by far, and not constantly sloshed. I doubt that the Captain would let me have Quarne, so I guess I get the dwarf. You should've seen his face when I slit the throat of that Andoran... What was his name? Iakob, that's right. Anyway, the rest... Anyone good from that ship you were on? I could use some good sailors there. I don't want to have to train idiots. I know I'm going to hang onto Owlbear; he'll be good for some entertainment if nothing else. Rosie, of course." He elbows Doran in the ribs as if to suggest a coupling between the two halflings. "Oh, and the other Andoran. I want him on my ship. His lazy ass will work or feel my brother's lash. What do you think? Who else?"
Over in the main deck, the group of pirates gets the celebration in full swing. The survivors from the Man's Promise huddle in a corner, apparently wondering what their future holds. When Wyn approaches, the one who she knocked unconscious during the boarding gives her a thankful nod but nothing else. Several of the freed Mwangi slaves - those who took Harrigan's deal - celebrate their newfound "freedom" with gusto.
John and Thorn awaken as Vrunyar gives them a potion prior to Quarne's watchful eyes fall upon the patients. He is busy treating the myriad injuries of the other crewmen, which keeps Vrunyar busy as well. He comes back to check on them, finding the two groggily regaining consciousness. He stitches up their injuries. Thorn's wound is serious and takes a lot of stitches to fix; he will be proud of the large scar it will produce. John's is much smaller, and only takes two stiches to close the skin after getting the artery fixed. Vrunyar knows how close John was to death - if not for his immediate attention, John would have most likely bled to death within ten seconds.
Wyn does not belabor her visit. She's learned sometimes even what seem harmless questions to her provoke others, so the only other thing she asks of the newcomers is their names.
She then goes over to the others checking on Thorn and John's health. She asks Ollivor quietly, "You know of any grog stashed anywhere, Oll? We should probably make at least a show of celebrating."
"Oh sure, Cookie is the one who handed it out after all." Ollivor sighs a little at it. Despite his best efforts, it is still hard to keep Kroop out of the sauce. The man had cut down though, and that was to be commended. With practiced ease, the young Andoran finds the 'usual spots', a bottle stashed where an extra rolling pin would be, a flask hidden in a spare boot in the corner, and his personal favorite, the 'in case of medical emergency' trunk that has a small keg in it, "Take your pick."
Doran manages to keep himself from pulling away as Plugg lays an arm on his shoulders, though he hunches forward a bit, a hand on his chin, as if thinking on the question. "Well, it seems you've thought it through as far as key folk on the crew, and it'll be nice to have sweet Rosie aboard, " he says with a wink and a leer. "But we'll want a few strong backs, that are handy in a fight if need be. Wyn - the tough bar-maid - and that wild-blooded elf, Thorn, they both put up a hell of a fight jus' now, while the Andoran was bleedin' out on the deck. I'd be glad to have them at my back if the fighting gets hot again."
Sitting up straighter and looking around at the celebration, Doran casually mentions a few other names, carefully selecting those who are less hostile toward his friends from the Empty Lighthouse. ”Hmm, who else might be worth havin’? Well, there’s Crimson…I know you had him ‘hauled, but it’ll mean he jumps when you say jump, eh? Samms is pretty handy – ginned up that shark-fishin’ rig when the captain had a taste for it. Shortstone and Jack Scrimshaw, either of them would do, and Jack’ll keep the crew entertained with the cards, give you less to worry about…”
Doran pauses, realizing he’s just given a detailed analysis of much of the crew. He looks up at Plugg with a cocky smile and boasts a bit, ”I told ya I’ve done this before, eh? Can’t help but watching folk, buildin’ a crew in my head. I won’t let ye down, that I assure ye, Cap’n Plugg.”
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It seems as if late that nothing on Johns body did not hurt. The furious combat and put strain on his leg and the wound just above his knee had only made it worse. His arms and back were sore from the combat and he had acquired a scrape at some point during the boarding that he only noticed after the fact. The worst damage, though apparently the most easy to heal was the small puncture to his throat. Even now, John occasionally felt a light headed spell come upon him if he moved around too fast. Vrun had told him that the dizzy spells would pass, but even now, John felt like he was a new salt aboard fresh ship. Each wave caused his head to sway and John had to continually fight to stop from throwing up.
Of somewhat limited relief was the fact that the Man's Promise had been a slaver, though John knew all too well that by the time the Wormwood was done with the new crew they might wish a return to their old lives. There were some stains that covered a mans heart, and the ship was poison, just as cookie had said so long before.
Sitting on deck, John ran a bloody rag over his sword, cleaning the last bit of blood from it before taking out a whetstone to smooth a nick on the blade. Keeping your gear prepared was important, and it was one of the first lessons John had learned in the navy. Take care of your gear and it will take care of you. Sighing, John watched as a large, sun darkened Mwagani man carried supplies over from one ship to the next. There was going to be long days ahead. A new crew would be selected. Hopefully the ruse that Doran had placed himself at the beginning of their capture would finally pay off. John and the others had spent weeks building a small but solid core of shipmates and friends, ready to take their freedom. John was relying on that when the moment came. He was sure that one on one he wouldn't be able to take Plugg and his brother and it was not as if the two were alone. More steps needed to be taken. But for now.. now John had to prepare.
Glancing at Grok as she studied the supplies being taken from one ship to another, John suddenly had a gleam of avarice in his eye. So far as John figured he was owed back pay. It might be possible to acquire some supplies from the ships store, assuming the Andoran was selected for the new crew. Luck holding, the missing gear would not be noticed before the two ships parted ways... it was something to consider.
Wyn the tough barmaid examines the bottle, takes what she assesses as second-best. "Now, we've limes to keep away scurvy, yes? Let's brew this with some water, lime, molasses... there'll be enough to go around that way, and taste better too."
As long as Ollivor agrees, she intends to whip up a grog that doesn't taste half bad and keeps them occupied awhile.
If he sees John moving about, Ollivor nods to him, and fills him in quietly of what happened after he went down in the fight.
"Take it from one who's taken a blade to the throat, you can recover," He says with good humor , for the man doesn't need to hear his own complaints and concerns during his recovery, touching his own neck. "Let me know if you need anything."
Wyn the tough barmaid examines the bottle, takes what she assesses as second-best. "Now, we've limes to keep away scurvy, yes? Let's brew this with some water, lime, molasses... there'll be enough to go around that way, and taste better too."
As long as Ollivor agrees, she intends to whip up a grog that doesn't taste half bad and keeps them occupied awhile.
Ollivor smiles, "Thanks for trying to cheer me up, Wyn. I appreciate it. Where did you learn to make a drink like this anyway?"
Wyn shakes her head. "I could do with some cheering up myself, I admit. As to where, the Muddled Fish, dockside in Absolom. Wandered into town a bedraggled orphan, Marta took me in before worse creatures in the city could have their way with me. Learned to make bad brew palatable, knock heads together and keep drunk sailors in line." She looks around. "All in all, not bad skills to have here."
"Shall we bring some to the others?"
Ollivor chuckles at her comment about how her skills gained then had come in handy, finding himself nodding, "I was in Absolom not so long ago to pay a sage for some lore... lord, I must have been in the wrong part of the city for me because it felt like they were charging me just for standing there half the time."
"Shall we bring some to the others?"
"Aye, spreading the good cheer and all that," In a lower tone, he says, "And maybe Doran will catch up to us and let us know the wind has changed THIS time."
"Oh, certainly, it is a rich city, but rich men become rich by making others poor, as you have yourself experienced." Wyn smiles. "'Sides, whereever there's docks, there's sailors who want cheap drinks. And the Harbor Guard tend ignore anything that goes on there that doesn't bother them direct."
She nods. "Indeed, we'll want to hear what he has to say." She adds quietly, "I don't envy him though. He's got to dance with a demon to get where he's going."
"I should have stayed closer to the harbor then... I can take care of myself in a fight, but tax collectors scare the hell out of me," He says wryly.
She nods. "Indeed, we'll want to hear what he has to say." She adds quietly, "I don't envy him though. He's got to dance with a demon to get where he's going."
"Aye, I think he's got the hardest job of us all..." He shakes his head, "Sure, we've all shed blood, but I worry that mask he's wearing on our behalf cuts deep."
Another thought occurs to him, "Wyn, speaking of masks to wear. What if I were to ask for one of the slaves as my share of the treasure? It turns my stomach, but assuming I end up as a cook on the man's promise, I could claim I'd could use the help...and no doubt, if the slave were a woman, Plugg would chuckle and assume I wanted her for something else as well. Then, assuming all goes right, we save someone from a life on the lash and drop her off at a freeport or whatever she likes? She might hate me in the mean time but I could live with hate if it got someone free."
Wyn starts to gather mugs and such, managing to hold a seemingly impossible number in one hand, as she listens.
"I don't think it could hurt to try--only problem I can think of is if they think you're too greedy. I'll back you up if I can. Man or woman I'm sure they'd eventually be grateful anyway."
"Let's find out where we're going first." She hefts the grog in her other hand and brings it over to the rest of their friends, passing it around (to anyone nearby as well).
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As the pirates celebrated their victory and the chance at plunder, John shook his head. Rum had been handed out after the battle and despite his craving for more, John had only taken a single cupfull. With the loss of blood and his injury, John was glad he had not had more. The liquor burned his throat, but Quarne claimed it would act as an antiseptic and the potent brew would clean the throat. Snorting, John took the excuse and drank.
Sighing, John leaned back against a crate. The party on deck was beginning to grow wilder by the minute. This would have never happened aboard the Eagle. The crew was professionals that did the job they had to do. Some men took delight in the bloodshed, but to most, it was the promise of liberty and spreading their counties ideals that bolstered them. It was sad, John thought in his own way as he slowly polished his blade and mended his armor. Sad and foolish. The Wormwood was impressive, John supposed. Impressive in the same way that a Bear was impressive. She was a vicious ship and fast. Discipline was ruthlessly enforced. But it was also lazy. There was no beliefs outside of greed. No priest to tend to the men's spirits. Just a bottle to crawl into at the end of a long, hard day.
Shaking his head, John wondered what Lord Havershaw would think, seeing John on the deck, keeping alert and maintained. The former marine hoped it would be pride. Then again, John mused it might have been anger. Old Ironsides had been a hard man sometimes and this was not the first moment John had wondered this very thing. Glancing over his mug, John spied Plugg alongside his brother. One thing was for certain John knew. Havershaw never backed down. John had seen the Captain make a fighting retreat once or twice, but once he had his target, he never forgot about him. Having finished mending the knick on his broadsword, John turned to his standard naval cutlass and began to sharpen it. Either way a reckoning was in order. Him and Plugg... the day was coming.
Glancing up, John watched as Wyn and Ollivor approached him, and the sailor raised his mug in a salute. Grab a seat if you like. Plenty of deck to go around.
Finished with examining and bandaging the crew, the dwarf pushes through the throng of celebrating pirates to grab a cup of grog. He sniffs it and chuckles in defeated resignation. He downs half of it then shakes his head. It’s not going to do for today. Passing between a group playing cards and another group arm wrestling, he gives the rest of his drink to one of the freed slaves who is about to race up the rigging. ”To freedom!” he shouts, slapping the man on the back.
Intending to read the captain’s log, Vrunyar approaches the captain’s quarters of the Man’s Promise only to find it guarded by Tam.
”Here to steal from the captain’s quarters? You’ll have to go through me first,” the ugly dwarf cackles.
”As if I could! HA!” Vrunyar answers back. It’s just as well Tam hated him. He had a feeling that if he knew Tam better he wouldn’t like him. ”Just stretching my legs, trying to get a feel for this ship. I have a feeling you and I are going to be finding a berth on board. Is that the phrase?” He begins to walk away, almost singing ”A berth, a berth, a berth...ha!”
Ollivor listens to Wynifred's advice, and finds himself nodding once more. He can't argue that they need to learn where they're going before they put any other plans to rescue someone in motion.
Glancing up, John watched as Wyn and Ollivor approached him, and the sailor raised his mug in a salute. Grab a seat if you like. Plenty of deck to go around.
"Well, if you can hoist a mug, then you're definitely on the mend," Ollivor says with a bit of a smile. Between friends helping him when he was down, and seeing John awake, he's feeling much better than he did. Mind you, that didn't keep worries from eating at him here and there, but better is better.
He takes a spot near the man, "The crew seems in fine spirit."
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Oh aye, John said sourly, eyeing the undisciplined revelry as it was starting. Not much of a choice though. Enlist with the crew or be sold at the next port as a slave. Spitting over the railing. John tried to force a smile on his face. But we lived, and some slavers died, so that's something I suppose. Eyeing the Mans Promise speculatively, John frowned before taking another sip and lowering his voice. Vrun told me what you all did to save my life. I heard it was a quick thing and you risked something precious of yourself to help. Holding out a hand in a shake, John nodded. Your a good man Ollivor Myles. You remind me of someone I knew once. Got the same look about you. Served with him in the navy, name was Colwin. Good man.. Eyeing Ollivors hand, Johns voice lowered again. Course he couldn't produce a set of claws on will.. but I guess we are all entitled to our secrets. Releasing the young mans hand, John nodded one final time before taking another sip of the throat searing rum.
Ollivor is ready to point out that Vrun himself probably deserves most of the credit, but then he hears the rest,"Colwin, Colwin Myles? Gods, what I wouldn't give to see brother and know he's well." He shakes the hand, [smaller]"And that secret can't last much longer but we'll see."
"Good choices," Plugg replies to Doran. "I see that you've given it some thought. Shows ambition. Shows me I'm making the right choice. Some folks'll b&%!@ and moan that you ain't been with us long enough, but I got your back. Have a pint tonight, and we'll set sail in our ship in the morning with our new crew."
Doran nods confidently to Plugg, ”I think it’ll work out fine. You’ll have my back, and it won’t take the crew long to learn that crossing me comes at a price. I’m off for some grog and a couple o’ last-minute preparations – and to tell a few folk off before we part ways,” he says with a harsh laugh. He heads down to the crew quarters of the Wormwood, relieved that his friends from the Empty Lighthouse will be joining him as they part company with Harrigan. We’re a step closer to getting free of this hell, maybe setting up with a ship of our own if we can get rid of Plugg – and his thrice-damned brother too, I guess. Have to think hard about how to make that a sure thing, we won’t get a second bite at that apple. Gathering his sparse collection of gear, he stows it in his kit bag and ties a distinctive knot, so he’ll know if anyone’s been messing with it.
As he finishes packing up, an idea strikes him, and he heads out to look for the quartermaster, knowing she’ll likely be keeping a close eye on her supplies with so many of the crew drunk with victory – and rum. Once he tracks her down, he approaches her with a request, ”Ahoy, Grok! Quite a day, eh? You’ll be a good bit richer for it, with your share of the prize. I wish you joy of it! I wonder if I could ask you to check your lists and see if you’ve got any musical instruments aboard? I’ve been thinking a little music – maybe a harmonica would do – would be a fine thing to have of an evening. And sorry I am I won’t be sharing it with you, but I’m to sail with our new prize in the morning – as first mate!”
Thorn wakes to the sound of loud cheers and goblets clanging. Thorn watches as the crew is celebrating their victory. Thorn realizes he is not in chains again and he is still on the Wormwood so he cant be dead. Thorn see Olliver and Wyn talking and watching over him. "Thank you friends, What has happened since our last encounter and what have I missed?".
His business with Grok done, Doran thinks for a moment about where to head next, and slaps himself in the forehead as he realizes what he's done: Damn me! I haven't told the others the news! Too focused on gettin' meself ready to set sail in the mornin'! I'd better get to it.
He hurries back to the celebration on the main decks of the Wormwood and the Man's Promise, and spots Wyn and Ollivor chatting, while Wyn does a respectable impression of a maid in a dockside bar in Absalom, seeming to hold an honest dozen mugs in one of her brawny hands. Taking a quick look around to be sure Plugg and his brother are well out of sight and earshot, Doran saunters across the deck and says to Ollie and Wyn, an unexpected ring of hope in his voice, "Well, mates, I've some news! I'm to be made first mate on the Man's Promise - though Plugg may call her something different, as he's to be her cap'n. We sail on the morrow, and I think I've convinced him he should take all of us on as crew on his prize - you two, Vrun, Thorn, even John. 'Course, that last was easy, since Plugg wants to work John to death, or just kill him outright."
Doran pauses as he senses someone approaching, then realizes what clued him in was the rhythmic thump of wood on the deck, Ah, that'll be John, I can tell him too. He turns to greet Rawkins, saying, "Good news, John, though we'd best keep it quiet 'til the cap'n announces it hisself - I'm made first mate on the prize! Though it's under yer best mate, so we're not in the clear quite yet." Again, a note of hope can be heard in his voice, a light in his eye that his friends have not seen in some time, "But this could be it, crew. We'll be off the Wormwood, away from Harrigan... We'll have to sort out Plugg and Scourge 'fore we're done, and there'll be no joy 'til that day's come, but we've got a chance. Between now and then, though, I may have to treat each and every one of you a bit sharp - and you'll have to dance to my tune, so Plugg thinks he made the right choice in giving me the post. But I think we'll have a crew of folks who're loyal to us, at least some of 'em, and a chance to steer our own course if we play it right."
Not wanting to be spotted telling tales, Doran cuts off the conversation, "Well, I'd better get cracking, make sure the prize crew knows who they are and has their kit together at six bells in the morning watch. Tell the others, would ye?"
Thorn wakes to the sound of loud cheers and goblets clanging. Thorn watches as the crew is celebrating their victory. Thorn realizes he is not in chains again and he is still on the Wormwood so he cant be dead. Thorn see Olliver and Wyn talking and watching over him. "Thank you friends, What has happened since our last encounter and what have I missed?".
"A great deal, my friend. We managed to win, obviously. Slavers and slaves alike of the Rahadoumi crew have signed on with Harrigan, those that haven't are likely to be sold at port," He frowns "We lost some folks...Giffer, Rattsberger, Tilly, Synthia, and Jaundiced Jape,Jayce and Riki Blackburne." the young man sighs at the loss. Only a few of them were friends, but he hadn't wished death on any of them. "Coin there was a aplenty on board, mostly going to the officers to be sure, but it put folks in a fine mood. And there's some celebrating going on. And Doran is being seen to by Plugg, could be its about the Man's Promise" He offers the man a drink if he likes.
Then Doran himself shows up
"Well, mates, I've some news! I'm to be made first mate on the Man's Promise - though Plugg may call her something different, as he's to be her cap'n. We sail on the morrow, and I think I've convinced him he should take all of us on as crew on his prize - you two, Vrun, Thorn, even John. 'Course, that last was easy, since Plugg wants to work John to death, or just kill him outright."
Ollivor nods listening, "Is this a good time for a man to ask Plugg for a favor? While he's in his cups?" He knows Doran is in a rush, but he figured he might have time for that.
Wyn pours Doran an extra drink before he goes and looks around to the others "Congratulations." She gives him a long look, knowing this still puts Doran at great risk and puts a constant expectation on him to behave like a scoundrel. But she still means it. "You've worked hard for this," she says truthfully, "And this puts all of us where we'd best be."
She looks over to John. "Even you, but it won't be easy for you."
When Ollivor asks Doran about the favor, she pays attention, knowing he's going to ask Doran's advice on his plan.
”Doctor, a question for you!” Vrunyar corners Quarne at some point during the festivities. It’s hard to tell if he’s influenced and liberated by too much drink or by the exuberance of surviving combat and the many stresses of the day including the loss of some companions.
”Why don’t we collect urine? It’s valuable. Many uses for alchemy. To not avail ourselves with this resource is a mistake. A mistake, but not a crime. How can there be crime with no law? Ohhhh yes there is the Captain’s law. But I’m not asking him about urine. You’re in...you’re in what? A ship! HA!”
The dwarf waves a hand to dismiss what he’s saying. ”Yes the smell would be very strong. Sailors would complain. But you know, sailors appear to complain about nearly everything. Just something to think about this day.” He stomps his feet in a brief jig and leaves.
Vrunyar goes looking for Grok with a question for the quartermaster. He sees Doran leaving.
”Hey Gruk, how are you? Hope you don’t mind, me digging into your valuable time, but does the ship have any empty pots? A lot of pots. I mentioned it to the doctor, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to let me collect urine for alchemical research.” Vrunyar bends over in deep laughter. It’s like an avalanche, gathering force and power the longer it continues. Crewmates in the area turn their heads and look curiously at the dwarf.
Eventually, he lets out a long breath. He wipes away the tears from the corners of his eyes as his laughter sputters into brief bursts.
”That felt good. I sometimes think laughter is the best medicine,” he says calmly, catching his breath. ”I’m not too serious about collecting urine. At least not the entire ship’s. Maybe I can convince the doctor for just a few gallons a week.”
He leaves Grok after performing a stomping jig and heads over to find his usual companions. Doran’s about five yards from Ollivor and walking away. Vrunyar intercepts the halfling.
”Doran! It’s been a tense day. Too much fighting. Too many deaths got me thinking. You and I might have complimentary styles that could really do some extra damage if we can coordinate our attacks. Maybe get a few hand signals together so we don’t have to yell at each other in combat. I could show you some of the more vital areas if you’re interested in anatomy too. Let’s work on something when we have time, yeah — aye?”