Thorn drinks down the grog in a couple of gulps only stopping when the mug is empty. Wiping the excess froth left on the sides of his mouth Thorn lets out a refreshing gasp "AHA, That hit the spot! Nothing like a warm cup of grog to rejuvenate the soul" Watching Doran approach the group he listens to the news he brings.
as Thorn sits up from the deck to join the group. Thorn gives a few quick glances around to make sure they are out of range of any prying eyes or ears "You'll be a Captain in no time, Once we kill Plugg and his brother" keeping a low voice where only the group can hear.
"Let me know what I can do to help. I figure I can be your right hand man similar to Master Scourge is for Plugg. I can manage some of your dirty work for you to help us gain their trust. A new position of power will change a man for good or bad and I am sure this one will go bad once he is Captain." Thorn pauses for a moment "Plugg will be hard on John and since I have a little history of picking on John, allow me to continue to punish him when you are called upon to do so. I will make it convincing enough to keep Plugg satisfied" Thorn looks at John to give him a confirming head nod of trust. "As long as I am giving John a hard time, I can watch his back for any of the crew allied with Plugg looking to carry out any attempts of sabotage or assassinations."
|
Sitting next to Ollivor, John remained quiet. Slowly he raised his mug to his lips and took another long pull. Talmandor's Bloody Claw John thought, listening to Ollivor talk about his brother. Does the lad not know?! Surely it must be the same Colwin Myles.. Oh Ollivor.. Swallowing down the harsh brew, John glanced at the cook. When was the last time you heard from your brother? John began, seconds before Thorn and Doran eased their way over into the group.
Nodding at the pairs arrival, John allowed his face to harden. Smiling at the man you supposedly hated might draw questions. There would come a time for all truths to be revealed, but now was not that time. Now John had to get off the Wormwood. Listening to Doran and Thorn, John nodded slowly. Thank you Doran.. I know the path you have had to walk has been a hard one. But today it was all worth it. You managed to get into the good graces of Plugg and earn a spot on the ship as the first mate. More importantly you were able to keep us together. You did good mate, damn good. Taking a single breath out, that John had not until the moment realized he was holding, he nodded once more. As he did so he went to pat the halfling on the shoulder, before recoiling it at the last moment in fear that it might seem odd. Hold tight and keep us in the loop, this will be over soon enough. I'll make sure everyone else is ready to sail
Turning back to Thorn, John sighed in frustration. You have the truth of it, sure enough. Plugg hates me and Doran has already said he will use any chance he can get to put me down. Once he is captain of a ship.. well things are going to go from bad to worse. Growing silent, John rubs his stubble in though. They already know, or think they know that you don't like me. So it might work. Eventually the blades are going to be coming out and if they think that you and Doran will both be with them then that's more cards in the pocket. Then, catching the second part of Thorns conversation about being a Captain, the red haired marine grows thoughtful in remembrance of his promise to Iakob. If I had a ship, I could make that promise happen. John realizes, the thought suddenly forming in his mind. I could rescue my old shipmates and give the Cheliaxian Navy a black eye in the process. Hope suddenly rising, John sets down the rum and stands up, gazing towards the horizon. I don't have to be a cripple. I can make a difference and help those that my country turned their backs on.
"Well, the family got some letters while I was still in Almas, or so they told me, but once I went to Absolom I definitely lost track of all news of any family I fear. I hadn't actually seen him since I was..gods, 12, or was it thirteen?" Ollivor scratches his chin.
With a grin on his face, Doran takes the drink Wyn offers, raising the mug to her and drinking down a hearty slug of it as his crewmates offer him praise and congratulations for what he’s pulled off with Plugg. For once, he’s not drinking to ease the anguish of life aboard the Wormwood, but actually celebrating a hopeful moment.
”It has been a bit tough, as you say, friends,” he offers. ”But we’ve now got a chance of something changing, or of us being able to make something happen – and it’s helped a lot knowing you all have my back. We fought well together today, and proved again that we’re there for each other.”
When Thorn suggests Doran will make captain, he laughs in response, ”No, not me. Not something I want – I want to feel the rope in my hand and the wind in my teeth, and see the deck far below, and a captain can’t go skylarkin’ about like that. First mate’s a sailor’s job, through and through – it’ll fit me just fine. But your idea of keepin’ up some pressure on John makes sense, Thorn. I’ll get Plugg to thinkin’ that your doin’ it on my orders. Plugg’ll like that and it might keep a bit of pressure off John. We keep up schemin’ like that and we just might win through in the end, eh?”
After a moment, Ollivor asks about a good time to ask a favor of Plugg, and Wyn looks on expectantly for an answer. ”It’s hard to say,” responds the sun-weathered halfling, “for all I’ve had to spend a lot of time with the man, I’m not sure what he’s like when he’s had a few.”
After a brief pause, he can’t help but ask, ”What kind of favor did you have in mind?”
Doran makes his way across the deck, crowded with drunken sailors re-living the battle, acting it out with great shouts and lifting of bottles to honor fallen comrades. Vrunyar catches him along the way and makes an interesting proposal about their future fighting together. ”Show me some anatomy, eh? Meanin’ what soft parts are where? That’d be mighty useful. I’ve learned a thing or two from stickin’ folk, but it’s not been the most thoughtful study, if you know what I mean. But it’d make sense for us to try to work together like you say, it’s always easier for me to get in a good shot with my knives if my target’s got summat else on his mind, you know? And we just might have some time to do that – there’s change on the wind. You’re sailin’ tomorrow on the Man’s Promise, as the ship’s healer, under Cap’n Plugg. And with myself as first mate! We’re all goin’, Vrunyar, gettin’ off the Wormwood. Wyn’s mixed up a fierce celebratory punch, I say you go have a tot of it, then get belowdecks and start packin’ yer potions and powders. It’s a new day tomorrow!”
After a moment, Ollivor asks about a good time to ask a favor of Plugg, and Wyn looks on expectantly for an answer. ”It’s hard to say,” responds the sun-weathered halfling, “for all I’ve had to spend a lot of time with the man, I’m not sure what he’s like when he’s had a few.”
After a brief pause, he can’t help but ask, ”What kind of favor did you have in mind?”
Ollivor takes a deep breath, and then says in a soft whisper, "It's twisted and sick enough to cause my fellow Andorans to vomit, I know but I was thinking of asking for one of the slaves as my share of the treasure. As cook on the Promise, I could claim I'd need the help. If I get one of the women, no doubt Plugg would think I'd want her for something else as well..." He makes a sour face, "But if all works out, man or woman, a former slave would be free instead of resold. They'd hate me for it until then no doubt, but they could hate me all they like. It'd be worth freeing just one more soul, don't you think?"
Doran sits stunned for a moment by Ollivor's proposal, then a broad, grateful grin crosses his face, his eyes alight with something like joy. "Ollie, I'm sorry you've ended up suffering through a pirate's life on this damn ship, as sorry as I can say. Because you are a good soul, my friend. I can surely ask Plugg to provide you with a slave to help in the kitchen, and if we make it a woman, we may be able to keep her a bit safer than she'd be on the Wormwood. I'm not sure your share of the treasure would add up to a whole slave, but if we get her aboard the Man's Promise by saying you'll need the help, and we manage to take care of a couple of nasty obstacles, we may all be freer than we are today." He extends a hand to Ollivor and gives him a firm shake, then adds, "I'll mention it to Plugg right away. And I thank you for such a fine idea, it feeds the little hope I've got goin', makes it that much brighter. Let's just hope Plugg don't see it shinin' through, eh? Or if he does, that he mistakes it for the effects of celebratin' my new post," he says with a wink.
Ollivor notes the grin, and is somewhat surprised by the reaction until Doran puts it in better perspective. Even then, it still feels damn odd knowing there will be a case made for a 'slave' of their own, or at least wise some might take it that way. He shakes the small hand firmly in return, "You make me sound nicer than I feel. You sure you don't want Wyn and myself along when you make the request? Three might be more persuasive than one."
Wyn nodded. "I said I'd back him up, but you'd be the best judge of how to approach him."
Vrunyar beams at Doran’s news. ”I had hopes. I had hopes, but it’s best to bury them under these circumstances. Third best part of the day is hearing this information. Thanks Doran. First mate, wonderful! I will go pack as soon as I catch up with the others. I’m sure Doctor Quarne will be happy to see me go.”
"You know, if you two want to join me in talkin' to Plugg, that'd be fine," Doran responds. "It'll be nice not to be the only one near 'im, guy can get right creepy at times. And it makes sense for Ollie to be there, he can make a case for a nice, biddable girl to help him in the galley. But Wyn, ye'll want to think a moment on why you need to be there, in case Plugg takes it in his mind to ask you. Mind you, I'm not sayin' I don't want you there, ye just need to have a tale ready at hand should Plugg question ya."
With that, Doran sets off to find Plugg and inquire about a galley slave to lend Ollivor a hand.
Ollivor follows Doran ready to make his case.
|
|
Opening his mouth to chime in John watches as Ollivor follows Doran away to have his conversation with Plugg. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the wounded marine takes the last pull from his tankard and sets the mug down thoughtfully. I'm going to have to have a chat with the boy sooner or later concerning his brother.. but I suppose today is a victory of sorts. best not to bring a storm on a sunny day. Dammit to hell though. Sighing, John puts down his tankard and begins walking towards Rosie who is leaning against a nearby railing. Smiling the red haired sailor nods in her direction. Eh Rosie, glad to see that you made it out of the scrap in once piece. Nodding thoughtfully to the Man's Promise John runs an eye over the ships lines before turning back to her. I hear a crew is being picked tomorrow. Could be interesting, eh?
John chats up Rosie, who looks to be tuning her instrument. She looks his direction in sadness. "I suppose. Does it really matter? Far from free or decent whichever ship we move out on. Stay and watch your friends die for gold, or go and watch your friends die for gold. Do you ever ask yourself what the point of all this is? It's not like I was unwilling to join up, and I can't claim that I didn't know what I was getting into. I just thought that it would have some sort of point, you know? All we get is blood on our hands and enough gold to have a few decent nights when we get to port." She drags the bow against her fiddle, eliciting a mournful sound from it.
Doran leads Ollivor and Wyn to Plugg, who sits with Aretta in her lap. He whispers in the ear of the former prostitute, whose exaggerated giggling makes it seem that her profession is not so far in the past. Doran clears his throat to interrupt them. Plugg looks over at his new first mate with a bit of annoyance. "Yeah, what?"
The traitorous halfling gestures to Ollivor. "This one's got a request for you."
Plugg lays his eyes upon Ollivor. "What? Spit it out."
Vrunyar had told Doran he was going to rejoin their companions before packing, and begins to head that way when he’s suddenly struck by an insight to a formula he had spent considerable time trying to solve, triggered by his thinking about anatomy. He knows he needs to write this down so he descends into the hold, ignoring some of the amorous crew mates, and finds his formulae book.
The dim light doesn’t bother his dwarven eyes as he makes notes, balancing equations, drawing diagrams of humanoid bodies with meridian lines and fields emanating from them. It’s a matter of minor divination. Knowing the body’s position seconds before it is there. Of course! How could I have missed that? he thinks as his pen flows across the page.
Minutes pass as he gets lost in the math. Finally, he has the answer. The forumula for giving an attack a near certain chance of success. He reads over his work with pride then snaps the book shut with a laugh. Walking back to the main deck, he starts to mull over some of the difficult aspects to the endurance formula he started when Kipper was sentenced to the box.
Plugg lays his eyes upon Ollivor. "What? Spit it out."
"Aye sir,"Ollivor answers, "Doran has told me he's to be first mate under you, and that I'm to be cooking for a whole ship. Fine by me, and I'll be happy to try to serve up your favorites if we have the supplies, the lion getting his share and all. But I am hoping for some help so not to end up swamped and end up in the soup myself for it. You're not a man to cross, and I'm not blind to that. But there's only so much crew to go around, so I was thinking I could beg for one of the slaves to be assigned to me and given for help. I realize it might mean I get cut out of my share of the coin for the raid, but I figure it'll be worth the help in the long run." He lowers his voice in a confidentially speaking kind of tone, "And if she can cook AND is nice to look at, I'd not complain to be sure."
Plugg looks at him with a bit of contempt. "You know how much we can get for a slave at market? I'll give you a clue: it's a lot more than your share of the take from the ship - most of which is tied up in the human cargo right now. The slaves'll be split between the two ships, as the Wormwood ain't equipped to hold so many. Once we get to port - after we re-fit the ship - back in the Shackles, you'll get your share. If you want to buy some piece of tail, do it out of your own pocket." He waves Ollivor aside with his hand and returns his attention to his paid conquest.
Ollivor is secretly pleased to hear that some of the slaves might be on the Man's Promise anyway but he doesn't let it show. Instead he nods, "Understood, sir. If I could use even an ugly one for temporary help before their sold it might be of us, but either way you won't catch no slacking on the galley sir." He looks positively contrite, "Sorry to trouble." and withdraws.
Doran shrugs dismissively and rolls his eyes as Ollivor departs, saying, "I told him he could ask you, he asked you. Hope he can still cook a decent meal without a willing slave-girl to lend a hand, if you know what I mean."
Before Wyn can speak, Plugg has refused the offer. She decides not to add any argument, but as they leave she says to Ollivor, "This still doesn't mean I'm goin' to get roped into scullery if you're short handed."
That would hopefully at least explain why she'd tagged along.
The celebration lasts into the night and well into the morning hours. Most of the crew gets profoundly intoxicated, enjoying the relative freedom from their duties that accompanies the celebration. The former slaves and the Rahadoumi survivors clump in their respective areas, trying to determine their future. The rum flows freely, and the lashed-together ships are far more open to all than most nights.
The morning is cruel, as the pirates are forced to stir in their corners and cots. Most fell asleep where they sat, making the decks of both ships into an obstacle course of violent killers. Those who didn't drink still managed to get little sleep as the noise of dozens of boisterous pirates makes a respite difficult. When the captain's voice bellows through all the decks of both ships, it startles all of them awake. "Everyone on the main deck of the Wormwood in five minutes! Everyone not present will face my wrath!" His clear threat - delivered in a way that no one could miss it, even though it is unclear where he might be - drives them to action. Even those who are still drunk get up and stumble up to the main deck of the ship.
Barnabas Harrigan and Rickard Plugg stand shoulder-to-shoulder as they watch the men and women under their command shuffle into the bright morning light. Both seem pleased, which is unusual and off-putting. The rest of the senior crew stand behind them. "Listen up!" Harrigan demands. "My first mate deserves a ship of his own, don't you say?" A half-hearted cheer arises, either because of the hangovers or the lack of enthusiasm for Plugg getting a command of his own. "This here's the Man's Promise right now. Once Plugg here gets it re-fitted and we meet up in two weeks' time in Port Peril, he will be picking its new name. Plugg, take a knee and make your pledge."
The cruel captain-to-be does so, looking over at his brother with a pleased smirk. "I swear my fealty and the fealty of my ship and crew to you, Captain Harrigan. We will support and follow you wherever you go." He raises and shakes the hand of his captain. Both look proud of this moment.
"Good," Harrigan says. "Now, you have your pick of my crew to take, Captain Plugg." His voice clearly indicates that there are a few who Plugg should absolutely not take, and that Plugg knows who they might be.
"First, my first mate: Doran. C'mere!" As Doran makes his way over to Plugg's side, the newly-minuted captain claps him on the back. "I never met someone with such a knowledge of a ship. Nicer than me, too, so you lot should be thankful." He chuckles at his own joke and his acknowledgement of his cruel impulses. "My brother'll be joining me as the boatswain. As for the rest..." He starts rattling off names: Vrunyar and Ollivor are called near the beginning, specifically mentioning their special skills; Wynifrid and Thorn are selected quickly as well, along with Sandara, Rosie, Hojo, Conchobar, Arturo, and Jax; he picks a few of the Rahadoumi and Mwangi sailors, though he doesn't know their names yet; he selects Aretta, Tam Tate, and Shivikah, likely as an enforcer crew; lastly, he selects Cogward, Owlbear, John, clearly savoring the moment of their selection and the dread it might inspire in them. "Grok will get your gear packed up and sent over. You've got two hours to get your asses to my ship and pick a berth in the crew quarters. We'll be carrying half the slaves, so leave them be in their hold." With the dismissal, the crew breaks up into a flurry of activity.
Ollivor cheers obligingly enough as announcements are made. He also makes a running tally in his head of who might be allied, and who despises them. Aretta, Tam, and Shivikah will be no friends, others formerly of the lighthouse likely will be. Owlbear remains an unknown, poor sot. Scourge is almost as bad as Plugg himself. The odds are more in our favor, but I'm not liking them yet.
After the speech and orders are given, after picking a spot, perhaps in the galley itself, Ollivor finds a moment to help out Owlbear of all folks. Grabbing loose gear the man mountain might have, and trying to keep him calm.
"A brand new home for us, Owlbear. What do you think of that?" He offers the big man a bit of jerky as they work.
Vrunyar gives Tam Tate a large smile when his name is called. Otherwise he stands fairly stoically as the names are announced. With a two hour time limit, Vrunyar knows he doesn’t have time to lounge around. He hurries to the infirmary to pack what meager medical supplies he can.
Goodbye Dr. Quarne. I appreciate the lessons you provided. I will keep practicing carpentry too. I do see the utility of it. It’s just I prefer stone,” he offers his hand out of respect and gratitude.
After the two trips required for the medical supplies, the dwarf helps transfer general cargo and equipment. As he works he thinks, If I had time to stir up a mutagen I could work much harder. The word mutagen is like a catalyst. From there, a chain of thoughts cascades down to an image of nausea.
I need to make a mutagen first thing.
|
|
Silently John gazed out over the waves as Rosie tuned her fiddle. The mournful sound accompanied her dark mood. The keening of the bow across the strings struck an ominous tone as more slaves were ferried over from the Man's Promise and onto the Wormwood. The men and women hung their heads in abject despair. Had the Man's Promise been rescued by the Andoran's they would have been freed and given a chance to start a new life in John's homeland. Instead they had traded one form of slavery for another.
Looking towards the muscular halfling woman, John nodded and his lips pursed together firmly. Your right, Rosie. John said, while rubbing at his throat to try to ease some of the lingering pain. Out here, on a ship like this, there's no point. The misery and suffering only continue. One ship attacks another, blood is spilled for gold and the weak and helpless are preyed upon. Pausing John pointed towards an older Mwangi man whose back was covered with lasher's scars. It's one, bloody vicious cycle and it kills me that I can't free those men right now instead of having taken part in assisting in the continuation of their enslavement. Leaning in towards Rosie, John tapped the rail. You know in Andor, there are some privateers who carry a letters of marque. They are given full reign to capture any ship who carries slaves, and for each slave rescued a bonus is given? And each slave freed is given a chance at a new life upon reaching port? Eyes settling on the Man's Promise, John studied the ship with the eyes of a man considering his options.
I think, that there exists out here a chance for freedom. A chance to make a difference. If I had my own ship, I would be a curse on the name of every Chelish captain and slaver from the Arch of Aroden to the Steaming Sea. My friend died trying to uphold a promise to rescue some people still held in captivity on an island called Deepmar. My country wouldn't rescue them for fear of starting a war. But if I was a privateer, I could do anything I dam well liked. Face hardening, John whispered to Rosie in a conspiratorial tone. If we want to be free we are going to have to take it though. Plugg thinks I'm oblivious to his plans to kill me. I'm not a fool though. I'll need friends to be at my side and I made sure you would be apart of the new crew on the Man's Promise. What do you say Rosie? When the time comes, will you stand with me?
The role call is made, and John nods his head in acceptance. He let his head drop low. The others would think it was in resignation or perhaps frustration. It was well known among the pirates that Plugg despised John, nearly as much as he disliked Crimson and Owlbear. But no, John kept his head held low so as to not let the brief flicker of a smile show on his face. Everything thus far had come to this point, and Doran, may the gods bless his heart had played his part perfectly by earning the trust of Plugg and influencing the mans decisions on the crew. Thorn too had played an excellent role. The faked hostility between the two had only served to widen the gap between the two groups, further solidifying the belief that the group was weak, where in fact it had been strong. Olliver and Vrun too had earned their spots, both by their usefulness and opportunity. The boy had to John's surprise become extremely charismatic and John knew that much of the groups success in building allies was due to him. Shaking his head, John though back to the first time he had met the lad. He had seemed so unsure and lacked confidence. Now he was working to make life better for some poor helpless slave. The boy had done good. Darkly, John considered the fact that Olliver was now in charge of Plugg's food. That presented several options as well, before shaking off the idea. John was better than that... at least he thought he was.
As the rest of the names were read, John reviewed them in his mind. Shivikah, Aretta and Tam were all firmly entrenched with Plugg and nothing could be done about that. The rest of the known sailors however were either firmly in John's corner, or he thought could be brought around to him. Heading towards the berthing area, John grabbed what few belongings he had and placed them in his seabag before heading over to the Mans Promise. There was a change in the wind and it was beginning to blow favorably.
Wyn rolls her eyes a little when she hears Sandara selected. As far as Wyn was concerned, Quinn was a pompous b%*&$ who took offense too easily, and Wyn was certain she was pretending she was something she was not to boot. But at least everyone else she knew could pull their weight, and there were a number, though not all, who she thought would be sympathetic to whatever it is they would try. She dared still to let herself feel a scrap of hope, if for a moment.
As they depart to gather their things, Wyn carefully rolls up the boarding axe in her clothes. Fortunately in the bustle to move about she can do so without anyone really paying attention. If she can't do such without being suspicious, she will just find a place to hide it when no one is looking--from the sounds of it, they'd be getting their regular gear once they were on the Man's Promise and she would likely not need it anyway.
It takes the whole two hours allotted by Plugg, but the new crew of the Man's Promise - its new name pending a decision by Plugg - gets their gear packed up and brought over to their new ship. Grok and Scourge watch over the process, ensuring that no weapons or armor granted for taking the ship remain in the possession of the crew - except for the senior crew members. Grok seems quite saddened by the split, as she came to care for many of the group that now constitutes Plugg's crew. Doctor Quarne gives Vrunyar a handshake of a colleague, which is a respect that the dwarf would not have expected at the chilly onset of their relationship. Kroop gives Ollivor a sloppy hug; he may have been drinking early or may have been drunk from the previous night. Kipper offers a very quiet thanks to Doran. Samms hands some fresh-caught fish over to Thorn, telling him to eat some more so he won't be so skinny. Peppery acknowledges Wynifrid with a nod of respect as she leaves, a tacit acknowledgement that they have much in common; in another life, they may have been friends. The only person who seems to care that John is leaving is Grok, who quietly tells him that she very much respected him giving Iakob a proper funeral.
With their goodbyes said, the two ships part without further sentimentality or circumstance. In the last moments, Plugg pulls off a plank from the bow of the ship and gives it to Harrigan. As the ships sail away from one another, Plugg stands at the front of his ship with a prideful smirk on his face. He turns to set his eyes on the crew, settling his malicious gaze upon them. "Well, then. Get to work."
Wyn returns Peppery's nod with an equally brief one, and presumes the strange sorceress will remain largely a mystery to her, but she would not forget her standing up for her when she had first arrived.
Wyn hoists up whatever gear handed to her and helps get the Man's Promise loaded, and claims herself a hammock.
Ordered to get started, Wyn goes off to look for a mop and bucket--there would be a good deal of blood to clean up amid the normal chore of swabbing.
As the two ships are preparing to part company, Doran accepts Kipper's thanks with a quiet nod, and great misgivings in his soul. Poor bastard thinks he owes me his life, but he only ended up in that damn box 'cause of me. I've a hell of a debt to work off there, though I don't expect I'll get to repay him direct. But I'll make a point of payin' it forward, once we can get clear of Plugg and his company.
When the Wormwood is sailing away, and Plugg is puffing up with the pride of a new captain, Doran sets himself to starting things off on the right foot. He aims to get the crew formed into a well-oiled machine, ready to fight and sail with the best of them. This will not only serve them well in whatever challenges they face, but will give Scourge far less cause to live up to his name. "Right, then, lads and lasses! Let's make all sail and see what she can do! Cap'n's got a new ship under his hand, and we need to put 'er through 'er paces. Make fast them deadeye sheets! Masthands, ready to make sail! We're a proper crew of fightin' hands, not a bunch of lubbers transporting'slaves ta market, let's act like it, eh?"
The assertive little halfling then approaches Plugg, bobbing his head a moment and asking, "Where'll we take her, Cap'n? Got a course in mind for her maiden voyage? And if I may ask, what'll ye be calling your ship? Have to tell the Wormwoods what they are now, eh?"
"Haven't decided yet," Plugg muses. "The name, that is. Thinking of Feathered Harlot. What do you think? Bah, it can wait. We won't pick a new name until we've refitted the ship at Rickety's. That's where we're headed. Maybe we can unload a few slaves there on the island."
Ollivor says farewells to those he grew to like, and who grew to like him, but aren't coming along to the Promise. While he's happy to be moving to a better chance for freedom, he's going to miss more than a few, much to his surprise.
Especially Kroop, the man was a drunkard, but Ollivor could see that the man just used drink to hide from the ugliness of his life. He wished the cook would take another path to do so, but damned if this place didn't make him want to take a nip himself now and then. When sober, Kroop had been a wealth of information on how to cook eels, shark, even octopus and more exotic fare of the sea. Ollivor hadn't asked for a new mentor, but he'd gotten one, and he was twice the cook now than he was before he came on board in no small part to the man.
Kroop gives Ollivor a sloppy hug; he may have been drinking early or may have been drunk from the previous night.
Gods, you could set fire to the ship if you held a lit candle near the man's breath. He smiles and returns the hug, "You're a good cook, Master Kroop and I think a good man. Don't you ever forget that. Gods willing, things will turn out better for you soon."
With their goodbyes said, the two ships part without further sentimentality or circumstance. In the last moments, Plugg pulls off a plank from the bow of the ship and gives it to Harrigan. As the ships sail away from one another, Plugg stands at the front of his ship with a prideful smirk on his face. He turns to set his eyes on the crew, settling his malicious gaze upon them. "Well, then. Get to work."
And then he's off to the Galley of the Man's Promise. Fortunately, he'd already gotten something of a head start, and what's more, when alone, his covert use of the prestidigitation spell means he can clean in minutes what takes most men hours. Ollivor looks over the galley for other things as well, nooks and cranies where man can slip a bottle or a package and none else be the wiser. Unlike Kroop, he won't be sneaking a nip now and then, but with the skullduggery they've planned, He needs to know this galley like the back of his hand.
Ollivor walks into the galley of the Man's Promise. In a way, all galleys are the same: oven, workspace, cupboards, and pans piled together in a narrow space. This one doesn't have a Chelaxian spy looking to gouge his throat out, though. He spends a lot of time acquainting himself with the galley and its accoutrements. He rearranges things more to his liking, as an unfamiliar kitchen is a difficult one to work. He gets started on the crew's coming meal, combining the more exotic Rahadoumi fare already on the ship and the mundane foodstuff given to Plugg by the Wormwood. He checks and logs the barrels of water and heavily-spiced rum that the Rahadoumi sailors were living off of. All while he performs these duties, Ollivor stays on the lookout for hiding spots; he finds a few holes out of the way that might get overlooked, but nothing so interesting as a false cover. Perhaps he could make something with the help of a carpenter.
|
|
Things... things are changing.. John whispered to himself. The heartfelt consolidation from Grok had surprised John, but not so much as he supposed it should have. She was one of the few that had truly seen the pain that John had felt in the moments after he learned of his friends death. She had been kind to him when few had been. He would remember her. Sighing, John hefted his seabag and crossed the brow over to the Mans Promise. Some things changed, and yet some things always remained the same. New ship... same rules.. John guessed, running a hand along the railing. One thing that would be different is that without Harrigan, Plugg had nothing to hold him back from enacting his hated on John. Yes, things were changing.. perhaps for the better in the long term, but short term, things were going to get rough.
Pushing his feet one after another, John looked back towards the Wormwood..
::John stood on the dock, waiting to muster along with the rest of the men on the Righteous Eagle. Alima stood behind him. She was showing the first signs of pregnancy. She thought it would be a girl. John smiled and placed a hand on her belly. He doubted that he would make it home to see the birth of his child. That hurt him. He sacrificed so much, gave up so much so that others could be free... so that his wife and child could be free. But a selfish part of John wished that something might happen to him so that he could remain behind. Perhaps a broken leg or a torn ligament. Nothing permanent, but something bad enough to prevent him from being taken away from his new wife. The old salts said feelings like this would pass. John wasn't sure. He loved her and the idea of being away from her was strong in his mind.::
::Ready to go Rawkins? Lt. Steele asked him quietly, nodding towards his wife and tipping his hat in a flourish. Glumly, John looked back on his wife. She had tried to remain strong for him, to show that she understood that he had to leave. That feeling sorry for herself would change nothing, but John still felt like he was abandoning her. He hated himself for it. It was not right. But he had to provide. Looking back, John leaned into Alima and gave her a long, lasting kiss, before kneeling down and kissing her belly. Standing up resolutely on two strong legs, John nodded with a sigh. Aye sir, ready. John stated before marching up his way on the gangplank with a sad smile.::
I love you, Alima.. John whispered to himself looking back at the Wormwood. And may all the gods hear me.. I will make it back to you. The damned shark didn't kill me. The Carrion Maw didn't kill me... Plugg won't kill me. I swear I will take this ship and return to you.
The first day under Captain Plugg is about what would be expected: discipline depends on his moods, which change more rapidly than the winds. The winds themselves seem to have picked up a bit and pushed the Man's Promise forward more quickly than expected. Doran recommends pulling back the sheets in a more conservative fashion, but Plugg ignores his advice and presses forward. The zephyr keeps the ship moving at a very brisk pace, skipping against the waves rhythmically. Each smack of the hull against the water jostles the crew, making a few of them sick - especially when a cross-breeze sends the ship into a slow spin that Plugg takes too long to recognize and correct.
The sky grows overcast as the day grows long. The wind picks up and slows down intermittently. The cool wind drives the temperature down lower, almost to the point of freezing. The crew shivers and huddles as they do their work. Extra layers of clothing help some, but only for those fortunate enough to work down in the deck. Crewmen find their way often to the galley to take part in the sole source of warmth on the ship. Plugg gleefully orders John into the soaking and freezing bilge, while he sends Crimson up to the main deck in the biting cold wind.
For his part, Plugg seems to have taken over the Rahadoumi captain's quarters. He leaves the door open when they load up; nominally, it is to air it out, but everyone on the ship knows it is a boast of sort. The luxury entails what appears to be a source of flameless heat, a large matress affixed to the walls with wires like a cot, and several paintings of buxom wenches. He lounges in these new quarters, occasionally calling Doran and some of the others in to issue his orders.
Doran keeps his opinion to himself, but any who have sailed with him before - which means all of the crew from the Wormwood - would know what he thinks of the seamanship Plugg is displaying. Not only a bastard, but a poor sailor to boot! I'll have my work cut out for me, keeping the ship afloat 'til the fool's moods drive the crew to scuttle her on the open sea, just to be shut of 'im. And this weather's not helpin' none.
The weathered halfling is kept busy, keeping the hands at their tasks and trying to minimize the ill effects of Plugg's sailcraft. Damn, this lot are runnin' me ragged our first day afloat! Hardly have a moment to keep an eye out. Well, hopefully I'm not missin' anything important today.
He takes a moment out of his day to catch up with Wyn, asking if she's handling the cold okay, mostly just to make conversation, as he knows she's tough enough and then some. And he makes a point of dropping by the galley a few times, as much to warm up as to roust out whatever hands have made their way there and set them back to work. After one of these visits, he waits after the crew has cleared out and chats with Ollivor, "Looks like you'll be a popular man on board, Ollie. Good for you. And remember, you can use it to make allies, eh? I hate to have to keep thinking that way all the time, but the sooner we can have our way aboard, the sooner we can just live our life instead of watchin' our every move, ya know?" He stamps his feet a couple of times and holds his hands out to the iron cookstove, then says, "Back to work for me. See you at supper."
Ollivor made a note of the niches that could later be expanded. Gods only knew where he'd get a carpenter with the time and tools to do that, it certainly wouldn't work while Plugg still lived, but it was something to note.
He finds himself doubly grateful for his position as cook for when it comes to heat, he has it. The wind slapping the ship along is annoying enough, but the chill makes him want to set himself on fire half the time. A kindly soul in his way, Ollivor makes sure to serve food that helps warm a man's innards. Soups and stews that heat the belly are the norm for a bit. He takes the crowds with overall good temper, though if he finds anyone pawing about in the galley with his gear he warns them that if they don't behave, they'll find cold food in their bowls instead of warm. Those that respect his authority in the galley get treated right and then some.
In his spare time, he tries to win over the new sailors and yes, even the slaves. The latter often under the cover of serving them food. He tries to keep an eye out for those that seem to have the most spirit, who might WANT to be free. They may bear him no love, but they might also be willing to pick up a sword if given a chance and end Plugg's reign. Perhaps he'll get things wrong, but he will try to win at least one over and he might as well start now.
Should he see any slave particularly cold, he'll look about and make sure no members of the crew are about, and use a minor warming magic on the poor shivering prisoner. Hopefully none of them are educated enough in spellcraft to realize magic is in use.
When he returns to the galley, he finds others about again, "Yes yes, I can't blame you all for wanting some warmth but clear way, I've work to do too you know?"
He looks about Something foul about this weather... reminds me of something.
. And he makes a point of dropping by the galley a few times, as much to warm up as to roust out whatever hands have made their way there and set them back to work. After one of these visits, he waits after the crew has cleared out and chats with Ollivor, "Looks like you'll be a popular man on board, Ollie. Good for you. And remember, you can use it to make allies, eh? I hate to have to keep thinking that way all the time, but the sooner we can have our way aboard, the sooner we can just live our life instead of watchin' our every move, ya know?" He stamps his feet a couple of times and holds his hands out to the iron cookstove, then says, "Back to work for me. See you at supper."
"Heh, they love the oven more than me, but aye. I'll do that."
Then he remembers the storms by the shore where he grew up. Ships coming in half covered in frost, "Doran, wait... this weather. I think it reminds me of something another sailor told me of once. The winds, overcast sky...then comes a calm...then the next day came a winter storm damn near killed a crew because they didn't work to avoid it proper. This what that feels like?"
Wyn passes by John as she gets used to the lay of the new ship. "Psst, John," Wyn whispers, as she sees John muttering to himself, staring off into the distance. "Don't let'em see you talking to yourself, he'll make you work a double shift, or quarantine you for madness. Don't blame ya for daydreamin' of another place, but now's not the time." She gives him a quick smile, then moves on.
===
As the first day or so passes, Wyn tries to make note of who's who on the new ship and where they are working. She takes particular note of the newer seamen from the Man's Promise, Shivikah and Aretta. Both seem ill-tempered and unlikely allies, though she does try to get a sense of what they're like, observing them when she can without being noticed.
Wyn eyes the pair of dangerous crewmen. Aretta was likely once a pretty woman, though her looks have faded prematurely with a rough lifestyle. She works with a perpetual scowl; her laziness is apparent in the way she haphazardly slides the mop across the deck. Shivikah, on the other hand, is a vigorous man. He stands at close to seven feet tall, with skin the color of the ocean depths. He moves with a purpose and a danger, but his eyes seem filled with hate and avarice every time he looks at people. Wyn sees him checking out the slaves appraisingly; not surprising, as she heard a rumor in the Wormwood mess hall that he was once a slaver. Scrimshaw had been clear that Shivikah was not a slave trader; he was a catcher of slaves from their native lands who sold his own Mwangi people to northern traders.
Thorn heads down to the galley to warm up after spending an hour or so walking around the top deck. Thorn needed to feel the cold and wet wind against his face once more. The biting cold burned his face numb turning his nose and cheeks rosy. Thorn could feel the heat rushing up the stairs from the galley as he made his way down. The heat began to slowly thaw his face and he could feel slight tingling around the numb areas.
Thorn watched as the crew huddled together and the slave did the same but in separate areas. Thorn could see Doran and Ollivor talking with each other across the galley. Thorn began to walk in their direction when he spots Master Scourge standing at the base of the stairs staring in Johns direction. Thorn continues down to the base of the stairs and slaps Scourge on the shoulder "That's a fine whip you have there, you wouldn't happen to have another one handy? I sure would like to learn its secrets and I figured who better to teach me to whip up on our old mate stumpy over there, than you!" Thorn points at John in the bilge while leaning on Sourge's shoulder.
Scourge looks over at Thorn with murder in his eyes when the elf claps him on the shoulder. The mute follows Thorn's gaze as he speaks, though, and softens his glare. By the time Thorn finishes his request, a faint smile ends up on his lips. He shakes his head, indicating that he won't teach Thorn at the moment - but that he appreciates the impulse towards cruel violence.
As Doran heads out of the galley, Ollivor stops him and points out the now-obvious signs of the looming storm. He slaps his forehead and exclaims, ”Besmara’s breasts! You must think me the worst sort o’ lubber, Ollie, to miss what the weather’s doin’! Lemme get back on deck and take a look about, maybe I can talk Plugg into trying to outrun or outsmart the storm, if it’s not too late. You say the crew loves yer stove, not you, but you may have saved a bunch of lives, and yer stove didn’t do that!” He darts out the door, off to find Plugg and try to avert disaster.
He walks about the deck for a few brief moments, eyeing the rigging and sails and gauging their readiness for a big blow. He shakes his head, a look of concern and some frustration on his face, then sets off to speak to Plugg. When he reaches the captain’s cabin, he knocks on the frame of the open door and says, ”Cap’n Plugg, a moment of your time? I know you’ve had a lot on your hands, getting the new crew in proper shape. But I’ve noticed a bit of a change in the weather, and I’m thinkin’ we might do summat about it. Sky’s getting dark, winds are kickin’ up and down, it’s lookin’ a mite threatening out there. I think there’s quite a blow comin’ on, and if we can outrun it, we oughta, right quick. And if we can’t, we should get ready for it, get gear stowed and lashed and sails reefed, so we don’t blow over.” He pauses a moment to gauge Plugg’s reaction so far, then continues, ”You’re a seasoned man of the sea, Cap’n. What would you have us do? You want me to lay a course to try to outrun the storm?”
Plugg listens to Doran's complaint with a smile on his face. He stands up, staggered by alcohol, and shuffles across the swaying deck to the door of his cabin. He looks out at the sky, squinting to see. "Aw, you're worryin' over nothing. This'll blow over quick. I know storms, know 'em in my bones. I can feel 'em coming, and this ain't one. Maybe a little rain, but nothin' that we can't handle. Besmara ain't going to send me a squall on my first day as cap'n. Tell you what, if it'll make you feel better, you can get everything stowed and ready - but you gotta get it all back to normal by morn'n so we can get to Rickety's quick." He scoffs at the clear indications of danger, ignoring them entirely. He claps Doran on the back with a foolish, inebriated grin and heads back into his cabin. This time, he shuts the door behind him.
As Doran heads out of the galley, Ollivor stops him and points out the now-obvious signs of the looming storm. He slaps his forehead and exclaims, ”Besmara’s breasts! You must think me the worst sort o’ lubber, Ollie, to miss what the weather’s doin’! Lemme get back on deck and take a look about, maybe I can talk Plugg into trying to outrun or outsmart the storm, if it’s not too late. You say the crew loves yer stove, not you, but you may have saved a bunch of lives, and yer stove didn’t do that!” He darts out the door, off to find Plugg and try to avert disaster.
"Hells bells, Doran, you're the one who TAUGHT me sailing. Just growing up in shore towns I saw a bit of weather myself, and a few ships come in frosted. You've just been distracted is all, doing your job and half HIS as well. I leave it to you then," Ollivor seems more at ease now. After all, Plugg would have to be an idiot to ignore his first mate's warning.
Doran's stunned silence goes completely unnoticed by Plugg, and as the door closes, the halfling's face takes on a fatalistic look. Should have expected he wouldn't listen. I knew on the Wormwood he was a bastard, but I didn't see what a damn fool he is. Could get us all killed because he can't be bothered to pay attention! But my standin' here fuming about it isn't makin anyone a whit safer either. Got work to do.
He heads quickly back to the deck and issues a rapid, fluent stream of orders to the crew, "First watch, wake the second watch, then both watches are to secure all cargo above and below-decks. We've got a blow comin' on, and I don't know what'll be worse, having your food wash overboard or the cap'n's fine vittles, but either way, you'll pay for it. Once everything's dogged, you'll take shifts in the bilge to keep us high and dry. Dog watch, double-check all the backstays, then lay aloft and check that all reef-lines are in good shape, you'll be reefin' sail within the hour, I'd guess, so check 'em quick and be ready. Pass the word for the carpenter, be ready with tools and spars, we may have some damage to repair in a hurry. And tell Ollivor to have hot drinks ready on hand. Nothing keeps a crew focused like a chance of a wet, windy death, and a hot drink shared lets 'em know they're all in it together."
His immediate task complete, Doran stands amidst the gradually increasing flurry of activity, eyeing the masts and sails, silently cursing the fact that he knows next to nothing of how this now-nameless ship handles in a storm, and how this unformed crew will react to the challenges they're about to face.
Wyn approaches Doran, knowing he is busy directing things. "Doran, during the last storm we were in, Owlbear was driven mad by it--went near catatonic, hiding under the officer's deck, and lashing out if you tried to move him. While we're thinking of how to secure things, we might need to come up with how to secure him too."
After talking to Doran, Wyn sets to work helping tie down cargo. She is especially careful making sure barrels are secured.
Doran pauses in his whirlwind of activity, trying to do ten things at once and make sure that the crew is doing eleven. When Wyn approaches, he braces himself to confront a crisis, as that's what the day seems destined to bring. Instead, Wyn has raised an issue he hadn't considered, that could save him a lot of trouble if addressed now. The halfling's rapid movements still, his shoulders drop a bit, and he says, "Good thinking, Wyn. Nice to have others coming up with ideas and figuring things out, reminds me that I'm not alone in keeping us afloat, which is tough to remember sometimes. Let's do this - you take one or two hands of your choice, tell 'em it's on my orders, and you're to secure Owlbear before the storm gets here. You decide how best to do it. Maybe take 'im to the hold, tell 'im he needs to guard things down there, and shut him in? Tie him up, if you can convince him, in case we need to get in there during the storm."
His eyes shift left to right quickly, assessing who is nearby, then he takes a step closer to Wyn and says in a low, sardonic voice, "Or you could shut him in the cabin with Plugg for the storm, see if the big fella can't solve a problem for us all..."
She smiled ruefully. "If I could come up with a good reason for it, I would." She then nods and replies. "Olli's good with him, if he's not doing anything else for you, I'll ask him to help me, maybe Crimson too."
Presuming that's alright with Doran, Wyn seeks out Ollivor and explains the situation, reminding him of what happened with Owlbear last time. "I don't want to scare the poor guy, but we need to coax him, and you're good at that."
... And tell Ollivor to have hot drinks ready on hand. Nothing keeps a crew focused like a chance of a wet, windy death, and a hot drink shared lets 'em know they're all in it together."
When Ollivor gets word they're preparing for the storm, he looks baffled and wonders We can't just change course? but nevertheless he starts to do his part wanting to make sure hot drink will be ready in the plenty.
Presuming that's alright with Doran, Wyn seeks out Ollivor and explains the situation, reminding him of what happened with Owlbear last time. "I don't want to scare the poor guy, but we need to coax him, and you're good at that."
"Doran's got me slopping hot drink, but I can try if you think there's time."
"I'll help you with the drink if you help me with this. I don't think it'll take long if he's cooperative. But I'd rather deal with him before the storm than during -- I still remember a few blows he gave me and I can take a punch; we can't guess who he might lunge at this time."
"Well, let's find him then," Ollivor has his doubts on how 'good' he is with coaxing, but Wynn doesn't ask for favors often, and given how Ollivor has often felt like he's got it easy compared to the others, he sure can't complain now. "Frankly, I wish I had something that would help him sleep."
When they find Owlbear, he tries to assess the big man's mood. Maybe he feels the bad weather coming