Ollivor smiles back at Myralle in return, fancying that there's a bit more sway to her hips as she leaves just for him. I could be wrong of course, but maybe I'll find out when she'll be done at her job tonight and see if she'd like to go for a walk along the shore if I've the time.
"Aye, Desna opens the door and we have to leap through and risk getting it slammed in our faces.." The young man grins a bit, "If you need advice how to live as a free man Andoran style, why I can help you. Just have an opinion on everything, complain about the very men you helped elect bitterly every time their own opinion doesn't match yours, and then talk with pride how every man in the nation is free to have their all minds while some how missing the irony in the mix of actions entirely."
Vrunyar washes the blood from his hands and pen then the cleans his face. He takes a moment at his berth to examine the scene.The crewman had access to his things, and little time for theft, but his elven roommate Seldalel proved how quickly items could go missing. Of course he returned them, eventually, with a lecture on some philosophical issue.
Repacking his healing kit, the dwarf goes through his possessions. Everything seems to be in order. He picks up the letter from the floor and contemplates the things he wants to do before the ship leaves: finish this and arrange for delivery, get that drink, and get his clothes clean.
His pants and shirt have blood on them, to match his sash. He takes them off and wonders if he should ask Ollivor if he could clean them. Doran’s words about the distinctions between passenger and crew, and then the hierarchy of the crew itself, makes him think about his family’s alchemy school. It has different levels of student, support staff, and professors. His father ran the school, but he didn’t tell the professors what to teach. Different from here, where the captain is in charge. He is an amiable man, and the crew does like him; that’s something to consider.
Dressing in his spare set of clothes, Vrunyar decides that it’s better to take the bloody clothes to a launder now. Perhaps the launders will have some unclaimed shirt or apron that he could buy as well. If he is going to be the ship’s chirurgeon, he can’t get his good traveling clothes bloody. Vrunyar laughs to himself. The captain’s idea is becoming more formed in his head. Regardless of that he can resupply the bandages and tincture of opium from an apothecary. Did Ollivor and Doran say they were going for a drink first or to buy supplies for the ship? Vrunyar hadn’t been listening too closely. If the former he should leave for the Green Peach now. If the latter, he could finish his letter. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth for a moment then pockets his writing equipment and letter, bundles his pants and sash into his shirt, and leaves the ship.
He reads over what he wrote to his sister as he heads to an inn. He can write in the tavern another page or two either waiting for their arrival or after they leave to buy supplies.
With the proprietor of the inn he arranges for his clothes to be laundered. The man grumbles about the blood. Vrunyar grumbles about the price, not bothering to inquire about errant items of clothing. They reach an agreement about time and cost, Vrunyar sealing the deal with a hearty handshake.
It takes a few minutes for Vrunyar to make it to the tavern. He chuckles at the sign. It’s not the peach he wanted, but he will take it nonetheless. Inside he sees the two crewmen from the Lighthouse. The barmaid is just leaving from bringing them their drinks. Despite any future hierarchy that may exist if he joins the ship's crew, and a boundary that exists now as a passenger, for this moment he views these two as brzosdinrhow, intimates bound by an event as keen as an axe's blade. He slaps the table with his hands as he settles into a chair. "I should have asked Grond to come too. If not for his timely retrieval of my kit I doubt we'd be celebrating. Still drinking, yes, but not happily." To the barmaid, he signals for a drink, and smiles at the others. "So did you get your supplies?"
Doran looks up to see Vrunyar approaching their table, and calls out "Myralle, wait, we'll need another drink here!"
The barmaid gets Vrunyar set up with a drink, and Doran says "Ye should have invited Grond? Who's that, then, friend here in Souston? I thought you weren't from here? Oh...you mean Gund? Symon Gund, from the Lighthouse? I thought you were looking to drink with a half-orc barbarian, from the sound of the name. No, that swab's name is Symon Gund, and if I thought drinking with me might be a step down from what ye're used to, an hour at the pub with Symon'd be a good deal more than that. He's a good enough sailor, can hand, reef and steer, but his idea of a social outing runs a bit to the, eh, seedier side, shall we say? He's likely happier celebrating his own way."
Doran takes a sip of his ale and adds, "As to the supplies, well, we thought it'd be wise to lay over here a bit first. And once here, we couldn't weigh anchor until we got to toast yer good health and fine healin' skills, now could we? We'll get 'em sure enough this afternoon. But now - to you, Vrunyar!" Doran lifts his glass and gulps some ale, then says,"I hope you're giving the cap'n's offer serious consideration, we'd all benefit from havin' you on board when things get rough, whether by rough seas or the unwelcome attentions of our fellow men."
Considering Beshra's suggestion, Synthia abandons her search of the room and moves to the door. "Or hatch, I guess," she murmurs, apparently unaware that she is speaking aloud. "They call them hatches on ships."
She leans over and examines the means by which the door is kept locked.
"I think you're probably right about staying put. But I'll just check and see if there's anything I can do with this door, in case we decide we need to go through it. Bastards took the tools I usually use for this kind of work..."
Syn's long, clever fingers go to work, though she isn't confident she'll be able to do much without her picks.
Abandoning the attempt, she leans back from the door and looks at her fellow prisoner. "I can probably get it open with a little time. I wouldn't want to do it while we were trying to escape a fire though. For now, I don't know what we can do besides wait. Unless we find something useful in here."
Synthia searches the room in the candlelight and comes up fairly empty-handed in terms of weaponry. She could make an improvised club or shiv out of some wood salvaged from a crate in a pinch, but the cargo hold seems to hold mostly junk and food. Several large barrels of rum sit to one side, the worn floor below them indicative of frequent use and refilling. A few rats squeak as she moves crates and barrels aside, looking for items of use. She examines the hidden trap door, only to find that the crate moves away easily rather than being bolted to the door. She checks it and finds that in order to open the door, nearly-invisible tabs from the crate have to be fitted on nearly-invisible grooves in the floor. The cuts ingeniously hide in the grains of the wood, making it very difficult to see if one isn't aware of its presence. When she examines the door, she can tell that it is locked by padlock from the outside. She can hear it thumping on the door as the boat rocks back and forth. They will have to either smash it down, go through the hidden door, or await their captors.
She and Beshra find dry food consisting mostly of tack and fish, an oil lantern with a spare pint, an old deck of cards, ink and paper, a smokestick, a coil of rope, and a pouch filled with pinches of foul-smelling junk - likely a spell component pouch, based on her experience. She finds a few pieces of straight metal that might make a decent set of improvised thieve's tools, though not nearly as good as the set she had back on the Jenivere. Perhaps the pirates took those onto the Wormwood when sacking the ship.
Frustrated with not finding anything inherently dangerous, she heads back to the bloody cuffs. She'll need to jimmy both of them so that they can slip them back on when the pirates come to fetch them. With Beshra holding up the lit oil lantern for light, she tests the springs and catches. Having some extra insight into their workings after Beshra yanked her out of them, she works to make them less dangerous. She strips out the barbs using her fingers and her improvised tools, and shows Beshra the fruits of her work. She slaps it on one wrist and holds it to her teeth, biting down on the edge of the manacles. The pressure makes the cuffs give way, letting her take them off with a few wiggles of the wrist.
The barmaid Myralle brings Vrunyar a thick, hefty mug filled with equally thick, hefty ale. She gestures over to the bar, where the dwarven bartender - likely standing on a long bench behind the bar in order to make the height difference - nods respectfully to him. She places it in front of him with a solid thump and a smile. "Ramlin's cousin Bokken is a retired adventurer who runs a tavern up somewhere in the River Kingdoms. He sent us a few barrels of this a few months ago. It is too strong for most of the locals here, but you seem a hearty type not afraid of a challenge. Are the two of you going to partake as well, or should I continue bringing you something more tame?" She speaks with a wicked grin and a peasant's brogue, clearly goading them in the hopes of getting them drunk and seeing their coin flow as freely as possible. She bends over the table slightly as she does so, letting the cleavage peeking from her unbuttoned shirt drive the message home further. She offers Ollivor a wink as she does so, then waits for his and Doran's answer about the ale.
John's wife Alima emerges from the back of the house when she hears his voice. With exotic dark hair and dusky skin, yet dressed in the Andoran style of a hardy frontierswoman, she is a vision of beauty. She wears a thick coat to ward off the cool air. While it is temperate by Andoran standards, it would be freezing in her homeland. She rushes into John's arms, lightly rocking his poor balance with the force of it. She grips him tightly as if she was afraid she wouldn't see him again. "I'm glad you're home, my love. Was there passage at the docks?" she says. Her voice still maintains its Osirion accent, with sharp hangs onto the letters L and W, with soft lilting As. Having heard the difference between the Katapesh lashers, Osirioni captains, and their slaves, both John and Iakob can hear her slave origin unmistakeably present in her tongue. She pulls away from John, wiping a tear away.
She offers a hand to Iakob. "Accept my apology, sir. I am John's wife Alima. May I take your coat? Will you be staying for dinner?" She takes a second look at him, likely an intentional act of will to suppress her upbringing's impulse to bow the head and not make eye contact with the free. "Wait, I know you. Were you not present with my husband on the day I was freed? Yes, I recall you. You use a --" she searches for the word for a moment, "--a gun, yes? I recall its loud noise and fire. Oh, thank you as well!" She hugs Iakob fiercely, though not nearly as long or as lovingly as she did her husband. "You helped free me, and you helped me meet John. Come in, come in! Let me take your coat!"
Synthia takes another look at the door, then peers through the crack between the hatch and its frame. She lets out a long sigh, revising her opinion.
"Actually, now that I look at it more closely, we're not getting out that way." She holds up the nails, wires, and other bits of seeming trash she'd carefully gathered. "But at least I've got these, now. And at least we hopefully won't have to worry about the manacles."
Doran takes a sip of his ale and adds, "As to the supplies, well, we thought it'd be wise to lay over here a bit first. And once here, we couldn't weigh anchor until we got to toast yer good health and fine healin' skills, now could we? We'll get 'em sure enough this afternoon. But now - to you, Vrunyar!" Doran lifts his glass and gulps some ale, then says,"I hope you're giving the cap'n's offer serious consideration, we'd all benefit from havin' you on board when things get rough, whether by rough seas or the unwelcome attentions of our fellow men."
"Aye. The more folks who know how to help keep folks like me alive on the ship, the happier I'll be." Ollivor means it, though he's in a good mood anyway.
The barmaid Myralle brings Vrunyar a thick, hefty mug filled with equally thick, hefty ale. She gestures over to the bar, where the dwarven bartender - likely standing on a long bench behind the bar in order to make the height difference - nods respectfully to him. She places it in front of him with a solid thump and a smile. "Ramlin's cousin Bokken is a retired adventurer who runs a tavern up somewhere in the River Kingdoms. He sent us a few barrels of this a few months ago. It is too strong for most of the locals here, but you seem a hearty type not afraid of a challenge. Are the two of you going to partake as well, or should I continue bringing you something more tame?" She speaks with a wicked grin and a peasant's brogue, clearly goading them in the hopes of getting them drunk and seeing their coin flow as freely as possible. She bends over the table slightly as she does so, letting the cleavage peeking from her unbuttoned shirt drive the message home further. She offers Ollivor a wink as she does so, then waits for his and Doran's answer about the ale.
"Oh, you're a wicked one," Ollivor grins, "Sure, I'll give at least one a try. Perhaps you'd join us for it?" Though young, Ollie is not a fool, but on the other hand if one must be a fool, there are worse things to be foolish over than a pretty woman .
Beshra sighs, but examines Synthia's work on the manacles flashing her cell mate a quick grin,
"It may be a small victory, but its a victory. Nice job Synthia. I guess that's it for now though, unless we plan to head through the trap door, which we probably ought to leave for a while. So I guess its time to tell each other our life stories or play cards. Do you want to shuffle or should I?"
Synthia schools her features into a guileless expression.
"I don't remember ever actually playing cards before," she says casually. "I just know there's betting involved, yes?"
With that she takes the deck into her hands, looks at it like she's never seen such before, and then sends the whole lot, one card at a time, flying across from her left hand to her right.
She collects the cards in her right hand, tamps them into an even stack with her left, then sets the deck atop a nearby crate, tapping the topmost card to indicate Beshra should cut.
"I appreciated the water," she says, settling back. "I don't suppose you could magic up some wine, as well, could you?"
"Ha, you wouldn't be trying to rook a girl now would you? Besides what is there to bet? It's not going to be wine though, my magic ai... isn't that handy - I can make the tack and fish a little better by purifying them. but that's it." Beshra says glancing about, for things they might bet.
"How about questions? Winner gets to ask one, we get, say three vetos? It'll pass the time if nothing else."
Synthia shrugs. "If you like. Too bad about the wine, though."
With quick, deft movements, she spins five cards out to each of them, then frowns over her hand in the light of the candle.
When each of them lay down their cards, Synthia says, "My Second through Fourth of Ships and the Duchess of Dragons against..." she smiles. "Against that mess you have there."
She then purses her lips, considering. "Ever kill anyone?"
Beshra snorts as the cards are dealt, and stays quiet for a long moment after Synthia asks her question,
"I've never deliberately killed anyone... But when I was younger I got drunk for the first time and started a fire. People died, my fault, so I suppose that amounts to the same thing..." She says, voice distant.
She swipes three cards from the deck with her tail, but then clucks in disgust at the dross she has in her hand...
Synthia is quietly astonished at Beshra's openness. A feeling stirs in her that she doesn't quite recognize...is it sympathy? She chooses not to say anything, though, just quietly takes her cards.
She places her three cards in the form of a triangle before her. "Lesser Weight of Coins," she says, almost apologetically, then, "Um, any sisters or brothers?"
Beshra chuckles,
"No, most decidedly not. My mother wasn't exactly the maternal type, one child was way more than enough for her. Let's try this again shall we? I'll deal this time!"
Synthia holds her hands wide, her face the picture of innocence, then accepts her cards from Beshra.
Whistling innocently, Syn tips her hand. "Three Ships go Sailing, the Lady waits. Hmmmm... Have a man? Or a woman? Have anybody waiting at home?"
Doran sits in contented amazement as the barmaid pleasantly bewitches his new friend, Ollivor. Doran has never experienced anything like this. He thinks to himself, Is this how people, normal people, have fun? Ollivor’s being pressured to drink this stuff, but only by a smiling lass. There’s no whip, no scurvy-toothed madman with a knife at his throat, no threats of any kind. And he looks to be lovin’ every moment of it, and well he should!
Doran speaks up in a rush, ”I’ll have some too! I’ll have some! A nice tall glass of it, if ye please!
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"You sure about this." he says turning to John as he starts leading the way into his house. "I mean... Your family... I... Hells, John!" Iakob's voice lowers into a hiss and gains in urgency. "Look at me. I've got no one! You. You've got family man. No one will miss me, but you!?.." staring at John Iakob forces himself to relax, adopting a stern gaze he rights himself. "Are you sure?" he asks again.
As John makes his way towards the door left open by Farah, he quietly whispers under his breath. Lukas had a family too sir, so did Thom. They had wife's and children both. That's why I want to go sir.. I know whats at stake. Steadying himself up, John squares his shoulders and walks through the front door. She will understand, she might not like it, but at least I'm not at home drinking the days away.. that's got to count for something.
John's wife Alima emerges from the back of the house when she hears his voice. With exotic dark hair and dusky skin, yet dressed in the Andoran style of a hardy frontierswoman, she is a vision of beauty. She wears a thick coat to ward off the cool air. While it is temperate by Andoran standards, it would be freezing in her homeland. She rushes into John's arms, lightly rocking his poor balance with the force of it. She grips him tightly as if she was afraid she wouldn't see him again. "I'm glad you're home, my love. Was there passage at the docks?" she says. Her voice still maintains its Osirion accent, with sharp hangs onto the letters L and W, with soft lilting As. Having heard the difference between the Katapesh lashers, Osirioni captains, and their slaves, both John and Iakob can hear her slave origin unmistakably present in her tongue. She pulls away from John, wiping a tear away.
Alima.. John softly utters, with the reverence of a prayer.
::It had been blazing hot all day long. It always was the closer you got to the equator. Sun-browned and sweating John stood on the poop deck of the Righteous Eagle. Standing behind Lieutenant Steele and Captain Havershaw, John held his hand up to his face to block out the harsh sun as he peered into the distance. Wordlessly the Captain snapped closed his Spyglass handed it to Petty Officer Rawkins, while nodding with a short sharp gesture into the distance.
As John took the spyglass, he could make out in the distance the long wide hull of a galley flying the unmistakable yellow and green cactus pennant of Katapesh. We have the wind at our backs and all sails rigged. We will be on her by eight bells.. beat to quarters Mr. Rawkins. Promptly stated the captain, with a hint of relish in his voice.
Aye sir, beat to quarters. Petty Officer Rawkins returned with the tell tell reply of a proper naval call and response, while carefully closing the spyglass. Taking a deep breath, John savored the quiet before the storm, for in a moment all hell would break loose. John bellowed, his voice breaking over the din of work throughout the ship. And as his voice rang out as a clarion call to all hands, on the quarterdeck, the distinctive rat-a-tat-tat. of a drummer began to be played.::
Smiling, John looks to his wife and then back at Iakob. Aye dear, passage and more. I'll tell you all about it in a moment, but first take a seat and let me get a fire started. You must be cold. Giving Alima another kiss, John shuffles forward with his uneven gait and kneels next to the hearth arranging logs and tinder. After a few moments and a nod of satisfaction John lights the dried bark and moss and slowly breathes air into the flames. Pleased at the slowly building fire, John turns back to the table and takes a seat next to his wife, cupping her hand in his.
::The great lumbering beast bore the name Taskmasters Pride, emblazoned in red across her stern. As the Eagle slowly gained, John could hear the loud *pause* of the oar-masters drum. Sitting on deck, next to Lieutenant Steele, Lucas, Thom and the rest of the boarding team John held his whetstone in one hand, while he slowly sharpened his cutlass. Each time the thud of drum would sound, John would slide the stone across his blade with a keening Shrik!
Hearing footfalls behind him, John sees Captain Havershaw approaching. Moving to rise the Captain waves John and the rest of the team down. Right lads, The captain begins with stern-faced and steadfast tone. You all know what to do. She's a slaver. Get on board and go for the lashers and freemen. Don't attack the slaves unless they strike first. Lieutenant Steele, Mr. Rawkins, take six men and go for the captain. Right then, any questions? With grunts, nods and the occasional knuckled forehead the rest of the team quietly listens to the orders, before rising and making their way to the gunwale.
As the Eagle comes hove to alongside the Pride, the first of the boarding hooks and ropes fly over from the Eagle. Rising to the rail, John grabs a boarding line hanging from the mainmast brace and turning to the Lieutenant gives a fierce grin. See you on the other side, sir! John yells, before he takes a great running leap, rope in one hand, cutlass in the other and swings off the ship towards the deck of the Katapesh slaver.::
Taking the two remaining packages from where he set them under the chair, he lays them on the table in front of Alima. I picked up a few things on the way home. John begins as he motions for his wife to go ahead and open them. Watching his wife pick apart the twine and paper wrapped packages John grins. Now before you get worried about me buying things, I have good news. There was passage at the docks. A little corvette named the Empty Lighthouse. She's traveling to Sargava and whats more, the captain agreed to take me on as crew. I'll work for passage, and the difference he would pay he will give me upfront before we sail tomorrow!
Eyes mirroring the flame from the hearth, John's gaze follows Alima as she finishes carefully opening the first package with her delicate fingers. This is for all of us. John begins, gesturing to the package. I know you love mutton, and its been a long time since we have had anything other then fish. I though.. I though it would be nice to have a good meal for our last night together for a while. Rising from the table John moves over to their small kitchen, opening cabinets. I though you could use those spices I bought you last year. I know you have been saving them for a special occasion.. John trails off, hoping that she didn't have to have sold them for something important, like shoes for Farah.
Turning back from the cabinet John points the third and final parcel. The third one's for you. John begins. When I told the captain I had a family, I told him that "when I leave here, it will be without a coin in my pocket". Unable to find the spices, John hobbles back to the table. I meant every word of it. He says looking at his wife, letting her study his face. Every copper I still have from my time in the navy and the pension they gave me is there.. That, and that scarf you have been eyeing at Mckehelins store for the last three months. Looking away in shame at not having provided for his family, and desperately wishing for a drink, John closes his eye and takes a deep breath before looking Alima in the eye. Its everything we have left, that and whatever advance the captain of the Lighthouse will provide before we get underway tomorrow. Forcing a smile on his face John places one of his large hands on Alima's shoulder. The scarf will keep you warm, and the coin, fed until more will arrive by the mail.
::The smell of incense filled the dusky interior cabin of the Taskmasters Pride. The room was covered in silk tapestries and bedecked with pillows, and the blood of a eunuch guard dripped from down the hilt of Johns cutlass. In the shadows of the cabin the crouching forms of three women could barely be made out in the dimness, while the sounds of their whimpering and crying seemed to echo throughout the cabin. Taking the lead, John cutlass held before him, while lieutenant Steele followed behind him, pistol at the ready.
Careful sir, there might be more of the eunuch's about. John whispered, easing his way into the room. Slowly stalking forward into the enlarged cabin, the pair made their way towards the back of the room. Reaching the huddled forms of the women, John knelt down, while the lieutenant kept his eyes constantly prowling about the room. Cautiously, like one might speak to a skittish horse John was careful to not make eye contact and or any sudden gestures.
We are with the Andoran Navy. John began, more to reassure the captives then for any other reason. We have taken control of the ship, and no harm will be done to any of you. Are there any other guards here? He gently asked, trying to calm the frightened women.
There is.. A beautiful olive skinned woman with black hair began, just as a hatch hidden behind a silk tapestry was kicked in and a roaring studded leather clad eunuch rushed the pair, screaming in Osiriani and wildly swinging a falcata at the rescuers. Turning and with a cool nonchalance born of command the lieutenant raised his pistol and with a loud a bloody crater appeared in the mans chest. Was one more. the green eyed concubine whisperer with dusky voice while gazing up at John.::
Sitting at their small rickety table, John smiled at the first memory of Alima, courageous and strong even then. Even then she tried to protect me.. Golden Lord, I don't know if it was wrong for me to love her. I don't know if I took advantage of her when I rescued her. But I love her and I would do anything for her. Reassured by the memory John smiles and grips his wife's hand tight. Alima.. I brought Iakob with me tonight, because I have something to tell you.. It's important to me and its a debt that I owe my friends. I want you to be proud of me, and I'm not sure I could be proud of myself if I went to work for another country that supported slavery. That's why I want you to hear what Iakob has to say, and hear him out. Giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. John feels something that he hasn't felt in a long time.. hope. Ever since I lost my leg I have been running away from life. I know it, and so do you. Well, today I stop running away..
Iakob nods at John explanations. "Very well. But I had to ask.." Iakob wants to say more but stops himself as they walk through the door and Alima appears. 'Some stand to loose more than others, it's understandable is those are more hesitant than others but you, John, don't even hesitate. An Andoran if there ever was.' he muses as John greets his wife.
The dusky woman was just as beautiful as Iakob remembered, more so even as a free woman than the tepid slave Iakob remembered. Accepting Alma's hand Iakob gives it one firm shake and nods, muttering "Mam. A pleasure." and averting his eyes in respect to the lady of the house. Meeting her eyes again as the dawn of recognition comes Iakob feels a small rush of pride as she hugs him. This was what Andoran stood for, freedom, a home without tyranny. They might be struggling, but they were free to love as they choose without the threat of taskmasters and lashes.
Meeting her gaze as she receeds from the short hug Iakob smiles and nods. My honor, truly." he replies and taking off his coat and handing it too her, he un-clips his weapon belt and hands her his pistol and cutlass to store.
Seating himself at the table Iakob watches as husband and wife interact, he see Alima's loving gaze and how John fusses as he's near her, the scene gives Iakob a sense of peace and a smile creeps onto his face as their love for over each other is laid out for all to see. But then John gets straight to the point and Iakobs smile is gone, replaced by a somber lieutenant facing a battle he doesn't relish, thank the gods John is a good speaker and seems to have set the mood.
Shifting in his seat Iakob takes a moment to gather his thoughts before picking up where John left off.
Sighing he decides to start at the beginning. "Well. It begins with the battle where John lost his leg." he starts. "I don't know how much of it he's told you but let me give you the highlights. We'd been chasing The Carrion's Maw, a notorious slaver, for several days. And, well, suffice to say we caught up with it and boarded. We were eager. That was what we had signed up for, battling slavery and the evil of men and the captain, Captain Typhus Scalp-Taker..." he says the name with obvious disgust in his voice, "...he's both, and worse. So when we finally caught them, we didn't hesitate."
::Feeling the course rope in his hand Iakob felt a sense of elation, a sense that only rose as he stepped back to get a running start and peeked as he flew through the air, screaming at the top of his lungs with his pistol leading. Putting a bullet through an ugly face that looked to be waiting for his arrival over the railing, Iakob landed with a grunt and arose with his cutlass in hand, charging the next sailor he saw. Slashing a weaving through the throng.::
"But it was a trap." Staring into the distance Iakob wipes sweat of his brow. "The bastards lured us in, they had us completely duped. Played us for the eager fools we were."
::Rough hands grab at Iakob, his hands are forced painfully behind his back and blows rain on him from all sides. Filthy faces leer in his field of vision, cruel faces, faces without mercy. Taking the blows as they come Iakob knows this is the end, he hopes it comes fast and painless though he knows it's more than he can hope for. His hands are tied behind his back, his arm twisted near braking, and a body presses against his, his head is yanked back by a pull on his hair and Iakob sees the glint of steel before a rough face scowls into his and the cold steel presses against his neck. He can hear his men screaming around him, with nothing else he can do he spits into the face in front of him. Startled it steps back but snarling it raises the blade to strike and Iakob closes his eyes, glad of the imminent swift death. a voice shouts and death is staved off for Iakob. Silence settles on the rolling deck except for the sobbing of a few and the ragged breathing of all. DEATH is too good for them! TORTURE too kind! They shall have no release! We will stifle their feathers, men! We will break their spirit as well as their bones! MEN! We will SELL THEM! They will be SLAVES! And we'll have GOLD along with revenge!" Worse than the cheer is the laughter in Iakobs mind, deep and cruel, following him into unconsciousness.::
"They sold us, those who survived the boarding, to Chelaxians. We bought as a whole, thank the gods for that small mercy, we got sold and sent to Deepmar to work the crystal mines there." Iakob finds Alima's eyes again and sees only determination there. 'Gods! You're brave.' "It was a year before we managed to gather enough resources to attempt an escape. Six of us ran for it, two got away. I managed to get in contact with the abolitionists and got smuggled back to Almas. I told my superiors of Deepmar, they wouldn't listen. I left a dozen men behind, our friends and comrades... I left them with a promise that I'd be back for them, Alima."
"You can see where this is going, Alima. I plan to find a captain who is willing to risk all to save those men and John... John has agreed to join me." he finishes in his blunt manner.
Alima looks at her husband. "John, is this true? What of your family? Is the job in Sargava not safer, not more reliable?" She holds his hand tightly with her own.
Alima is very worried about the possibility of John leaving and not coming back. She is trying her best to support him and stay strong, though.
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Oh Al-Hubb whispers John in Osiriani, "my love" being one of the few phrases he knew from his wife. You never could lie to me. Rising to his full stature, he places his hand on Iakobs shoulder and looks into Alima's eyes. Alima, I'm a terrible liar. Look into my eyes, I'm telling you the truth.. It was pure happenstance that I ran into Iakob today. Honestly.. I thought he and the rest of the men that rescued you that day was dead. I went down to the docks looking for passage to Sargava like we had discussed. I waited an hour for the ship to moor up. When she tied off I met the captain of the vessel. A man named Jonas, and that’s when I ran into Iakob. Holding Alima's hands in his own he looks searchingly into them. I swear it! I'm as sober now as the day that Iakob and I first met you. I have a problem, and I know it.. but I would never abandon my responsibilities to you and Farah. Face plain as day, he blinks the tears out of his eyes at the thought that Alima could think that he would run out on her.
But isn't that what you're doing? A voice inside of his head whispered. Running out on them, the same way that you ran away from yourself when you lost the leg? Ran away from your responsibilities? Your duties? Hands shaking John sat down at the table, like a sail with its wind taken out. Placing his hands under the table he clinched them into fists, attempting to still the shaking. Shut up! John roared to himself. I'm not running away anymore. I run away from this.
But you could run away from your wife? From your child? From the world? The voice hissed back, a dark whisper from the back of his mind. I.. I wasn't running away.. You can tell yourself that, but what would you have been doing? Working for the Sargavan's? Helping slavers? You would have been aiding a nation who treats the Mwangi no better than cattle.
Taking a ragged breath John tried to steady himself, push the thoughts and guilt away before looking up from the table at Alima. Sargava would be safe Alima. We both know that. But if I went to work for them, I wouldn't be true to the man that I was. The way they treat their people. The haves and have not's. They call it indentured servitude, but we both know the truth.. its slavery. John gruffly responds a hard light appearing in his eyes. When I saw Iakob again today, all of that changed. I.. I wasn't sure if you would believe the story I told you if it was just me. But I have told you about the Maw.. how I lost my leg. I told you that the lieutenant was dead. We were all told that. Alima.. Al-Hubb.. The men that are left there, forced to work as slaves.. they have family's too. I won't lie, it's dangerous, and I know it's almost too crazy to believe, but I swear its all true.
Ollivor grins at Doran's enthusiasm, "At least I won't be braving the danger alone. I hope we don't get so sauced we forget to get some supplies "
Beshra huffs in annoyance, glowering at the offending cards and snatching up the deck again,
"No. Nobody - but it would be a man, if they weren't all either spineless s#@* weasels, or lecherous hulks of stupid being steered by their tiny tillers," finishing shuffling she admonishes, "hands behind your back this time!"
Then, not bothering to see if Synthia complies with her unreasonable request, she chants a quick spell of guidance and deals.
Synthia looks at the cards Beshra dealt her for a moment, then carefully, with one hand, draws them toward herself one at a time.
"Close one, eh?" she says, then rapidly folds the cards back into the deck. "Okay. You want to ask me one?"
Beshra quirks her head to one side, and decides to try cheating at questioning as well as cards,
"Alright then... What have you done for a living Synthia?
”That’s the spirit!” He says encouraging their enthusiasm. He inhales deeply over the ale, practically sticking his nose in the mug. ”Better than any perfume I know.” He drinks half of the ale at once and lets out a contented sigh.
Vrunyar returns the respectful nod to the dwarven bartender and flashes the tunnel-talk sign for “great thanks.”
He takes another swig of the ale. “Ahhh his name’s not Grond!” He says laughing with a shake of his head. ”I will apologize to the man. I’m sure before the voyage is finished I’ll call you DU-ran and you EL-ivor.” He shrugs with a smile. ”I don’t know. Names and I have a funny relationship. Sometimes they just seem to evaporate in my head. Other times the sounds will get mangled, like with crewman Symon. Mostly though, I’ll see a face, know the person, but the name comes out belonging to somebody else. Happens quite a lot with my three younger brothers. I’ll be talking with Rovyar and say ‘Hey, Dormak.’ It can be quite embarrassing, especially where women are involved. It will take a few more mugs of this ale before I tell the story of Lusilka and Dusga.”
Laughing, he shrugs again and finishes his drink. ”Myralle, another please!” he calls out.
Synthia is silent for a long moment. "We should try to find another candle," she says at last. "This one will burn down soon."
She takes the deck and begins to shuffle it rapidly, cutting and recutting the cards.
Finally, she shrugs and says, "I've worked with my hands, mostly. For other people, mostly. If that's not a good enough answer I guess I'll take one of my vetos."
Syn then cuts the cards again and deals out hands of five.
Ollivor grins at Doran's enthusiasm, "At least I won't be braving the danger alone. I hope we don't get so sauced we forget to get some supplies "
Doran sees Ollivor's grin and is excited to think he's navigating this new social situation with a fairly steady hand. He says "Nah, ye'll have yer crewmates at your side in this battle, Ollivor! 'Sides, most of the vittles are already laid in, we're just shoppin' for extra goodies to make it all taste a bit better, right?. And I can handle the ropewalk in my sleep. What could possibly go wrong?"
Seeing Vrunyar finish a glass of the strong, dwarven ale before his own is even served, Doran comments "Ye drink that stuff as if it were spring water fresh from the scuttle-butt! I hope ye can remember your own name, going at it like that! We may get to hear about your two dwarven maids after all, eh?"
Beshra frowns, but nods,
"Veto then. Alright, why were you at sea?"
Synthia ponders the cards in her hand.
"I needed to leave the city. I decided to do some work on my own and the people I worked for—the various people I worked for—didn't like that."
She rearranges the cards, but there's no way to make the hand, or her past, any better. She has to play what she's been dealt.
"I'm at sea because I was fleeing for my life, if you must know."
Alima brushes the tears away from her eyes, nodding slowly as she does so. John can see a determined look in her eyes, the same fierce determination that the slavers were never able to take away from her. "I know that you would never leave us of your own free will. I worry now, just as I did every time you set out to sea, that you will not come back because something has happened to you. You were not there the day the Navy sent a cleric and an officer to this home, to tell me that you were badly injured at the water. I once looked to Andoran sailors as liberators, as hope, but now they are a... A harbinger of bad tidings. If you do this plan, who will tell us if something happens to you? Will we simply stop receiving letters, or will Iakob come with his hat in hand to the front door?" She nods to herself a few more times, drawing strength from inside. "I will not stand in your way. I am happy to see you with hope again, with a sense of purpose that I thought you lost with your leg. Just promise that you will return."
She turns to Iakob with a pointed, pleading look. "You must promise me as well. He is my life, and he must watch our daughter grow. If he is to go with you on this purpose, you must promise that you will fight and defend him as fiercely as I would. You must promise me."
Ollivor downs his, and tries not to choke, "Smooth enough to be certain. Maybe the captain would like us to strip some paint off the ship to apply a new coat later? This could do the job." While younger than much of the crew, Ollivor had made a fool of himself over spirits and women before so it wasn't an enterely new experience , though it was the first time he bent elbows with a dwarf
The three new crew mates drink together, sharing stories of the sea and of their lives. When Myralle challenges them, though, they get fairly competitive. With the pretty, shapely barmaid pushing them onward, all three drink down the strong dwarven ale. The bartender Ramlin salutes them as they drink down his cousin's finest ale. Doran drinks heavily and quickly, with the thick brown beer pouring over the side of the mug. He has to use both hands to grip it, and it still nearly covers his head entirely. Ollivor and Vrunyar both drink deeply, though they each believe that their heritage offers an advantage. The beer is stronger than they expect, though, forcing both to shake their heads as they swim. Doran laughs at them, seemingly invulnerable after his quick and easy imbibing of the first mug. With all three mugs empty, Vrunyar orders another round, which Myralle gladly obliges.
Three quarters of the way through the mug of Bokken's ale, which would come up to his knee if he were standing, Doran begins to sway heavily. The ale is strong, and he is not a large man. He drops off the bench they are sitting at and hits the ground face-first like a rock. Myralle rushes to check on him, only to find that he is entirely passed out. She coos over him and picks him up like a child, laying him on a cot a few feet away. He awakens slightly as his body presses against her chest as she gets him into the cot, a small smirk reaching his lips. He watches through heavy-lidded eyes as the others continue to drink. Ollivor and Vrunyar both drink less cautiously than they should. Vrunyar finds himself swaying briefly before reminding himself that he is a dwarf and has a reputation to defend. Ollivor seems to have gotten the swing of the drinking, using the mug to salute the bartender for the delicious drink. Myralle takes their mugs and offers another sultry challenge. "Looks like you're in a competetion! Winner gets a kiss!" She winks again at Ollivor. "Who wants another?"
Doran looks up blearily from his cot, pushes himself up on one small elbow and says "Hey, waitaminnit! Whut about a kish fer me, Myralle? I'm shtill inna competish - hic! Inna compet - hic! I'm still inna comp - hic! Dammit! I kin shtill drink!"
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Holding Alima's hand, John can feel the sweat running down his arms and back. Can I promise this? John thinks to himself as Alima's eyes bore into him. Can I swear that I'll come home?
Shes right you know. Comes the dark whisper of guilt from the back of Johns mind. If you set for sea tomorrow, you may not come back. And just think John.. what will happen then? Without your support, your family will fall into poverty. Alima will do whatever she has to do to provide for Farah, and your daughter.. she will grow up without knowing her father. John.. Alima will do it takes. Let go of this foolishness. Tell Iakob that you can't.. that its not worth it. Gritting his teeth and shaking his head, John looks down at his fists clenched below the table, and feels the ragged urge to have something, anything to block out the voice of despair within the back of his mind.
damn you! I'm not going down that road again. Not here, not now. I might die, but if I do then at least I did it doing something worth meaning. Not wasting away in an alley somewhere, begging coin for a drink. Alima and Farah deserve better. Forcefully, John stifles the urge to take a drink, to run away. Taking a deep breath, John looks away from his inner thoughts, and back to his wife, his worry evident on his face.
Farah, John starts, his voice dry. I.. Recalling what Doran had said earlier in the day, John gives a decisive nod Farah, I stormed a ship to save you. I took a spear through the gut to see you you again. I fought off a shark, and lost my leg, but I never gave up. Even since I was discharged from the navy, I never gave up.. I came close.. but I never did. Tightly gripping Alima's hand, John feels the confidence he once had inside of himself return, like a bolt from the clouds. I swear.. John begins the tenor of his voice deepening, strengthening. By all that I hold dear. By the Gold Lord who protects me, By you, my wife who loves me, by my daughter who relies on me and for my hope of salvation. That not even death itself could keep me from returning to you.
Ollivor's mood was already light, but with his inhibitions increasingly fading, he laughs rather loudly, "Best...Best to hold on, Doran, one of us needs to be sober..and that's you." A wink to the barmaid, "A kiss? Well, I think I'm near the end, but I'll give it one more try for that. Tis going to be a long voyage after all, I could use fond memories."
Beshra nods, and looks Synthia over again,
She could be useful, and I like her style.
We could use her Sweetling, that much is true. She tried to enlist with that bearded bear, and cheats like a champion... Perhaps you might let me talk with her I have ways of ensuring cooperation...
Don't you ever get tired of spewing the same old rubbish Monster? You aren't some power anymore, you are just a voice in my head. And I ain't listening!
"Hmmm, I see. Well since you are at sea how about joining my crew? Its currently, how should I put it, streamlined, but I've got big plans. I've sworn to become a pirate you see, but I'm not going to be like this butcher. No. I'm going to do it with style, be a pirate, a pirate Queen, who is loved by the people even as she plunders fat merchantmen and leaves the navy with their pants around their ankles. My mother was a pirate Captain, and I learned a lot from her, some of it what not to do to be sure, but still lessons. So once we get out of this mess join me in conquering the seas."
Holding Alima's gaze for moment, almost hypnotized by her intensity, Iakob nods sharply. "Aye, that I promise." he near growls. "And I'll have a dot to prove it, if you will." he says, stroking his left eyebrow to emphasize the ones already there, two promises kept and two not yet fulfilled. "His life, and the life of my men, will be more dear than my own."
With Myralle cheering him on, Ollivor downs another mug of ale with aplomb. He seems to be hitting a stride with the alcohol, or at least Myraelle's motivation has him focused. Vrunyar takes the challenge as well, not about to let the human win this contest. He drinks the supplied mug quickly, wiping it from his beard when he finishes. It hits him quickly, though, nearly wiping him out. He grabs hold of the table to keep from toppling over. Myralle gasps and giggles in a very feminine, intoxicating way. "Another round? I'll up my ante."
Meanwhile, Doran feels the sway of the sea when he closes his eyes in the cot.
Before Synthia can answer Beshra's question, they hear the sound of boots coming down the stairs outside the hold. By the time they hear the noise of someone unlocking the door, they have already gotten back in their now-false manacles and extinguished the candles. Snythia quickly hides all her newly-found items in her clothing, with little sign from the outside of her hidden tools. The door creaks open with the moonlight shining down the stairs. The thin, pale man with the shaved head - now visible is the long black queue of hair running down the base of his skull - stands there in front of them. He speaks to them with a crisp accent born of Cheliax. "Good evening, ladies. I am Rickard Plugg, first mate of the Wormwood. This is my brother, who you shall call merely Master." The second man slips silently into the room, staring at them with a malicious, hungry look. A long whip hangs from his belt. "It has been decided that you will earn your keep here on the ship. The rules are simple: do as we say. Do not try to escape. Those who displease us will answer first to my brother's whip, then subjected to being keelhauled. Now, do either of you have any talents or shall I assign you simply as a swab?" When Plugg mentions talents, both women can feel "Master's" eyes run over their bodies.
Alima seems to accept the promises of her husband and of Iakob. It is not the ideal solution to the family's problems, but it is the right thing to do and will keep both her and their daughter fed. "Very well. Return to us, my love. For now, allow me to give you a goodbye that such a man deserves." She stands and heads to prepare a going-away dinner, leaving Iakob and John alone in the sparse living room.
With Myralle cheering him on, Ollivor downs another mug of ale with aplomb. He seems to be hitting a stride with the alcohol, or at least Myraelle's motivation has him focused. Vrunyar takes the challenge as well, not about to let the human win this contest. He drinks the supplied mug quickly, wiping it from his beard when he finishes. It hits him quickly, though, nearly wiping him out. He grabs hold of the table to keep from toppling over. Myralle gasps and giggles in a very feminine, intoxicating way. "Another round? I'll up my ante."
Meanwhile, Doran feels the sway of the sea when he closes his eyes in the cot.
Ollivor's eyes blaze along Myralle's lush and inviting form, "By the gods, it isn't a barmaid, but a succubus serving us drinks. No no, you owe me a kiss, and besides..." he makes a 'confidentially' hand motion to her, and whispers to her, though no doubt his crewmates can overhear, "I'm a sorcerer... dragon blood in my veins. And dragons,as you know lass, are known for accumulating treasure. Because of that magic, Any girl who beds me finds her fortune with coin increased three fold for an entire moon. Ask the sages in Almas."
Synthia shoots a dark glance at Beshra, then holds her head high and looks the first mate in the eye.
"I don't know what a 'swab' does, but I have a good sense of balance and a head for heights. I've a fair hand with knots and that sort of thing."
”You’re sure you want to continue? It’s really not fair to face a dwarf in a contest like this,” Vrunyar blinks a few times to focus his thoughts, impressed by the human’s resurgence in the contest. ”I’ll tell you what, I’ll drink an extra one...one and a half,” he chuckles waving a finger to indicate Ollivor and Doran. He smiles, satisfied at his logic. ”And if we tie, I’ll forfeit my claim to the prize.” Keeping his left hand gripping the table, he signals to Myralle to get another round while Ollivor whispers something in her ear. He chuckles to himself again, patting his vest’s pockets.
Beshra chants a quick spell to silver her tongue, and then scrambles back into her cuffs heart racing as their captors make their appearance. Need to play this right.
"I can see in the dark and over distances better than any man or woman I've ever known. I see no better than the next man up close - save for in the dark - but put me in the crow's nest and I'll see better and further than anyone. But I'm not strong, I'll be next to useless hauling rope. The woman your Captain killed was trying to train me as a cleric, but I was not suited to that calling. You seem like an intelligent man Rickard Plugg, I am in need of a man... who I can trust. If I could find such a man I am sure our relationship would be mutually beneficial..."
She looks at him with wide feline eyes, lower lip pushed forward the tiniest fraction, chest heaving - and feels wholly disgusted with herself and the lecherous inbred monkeys she is beguiling.
;)
Oh Sweetling, what a waste it is that you cannot immerse yourself in the darker parts of your soul, you have such deliciously deceitful tendencies!
”You’re sure you want to continue? It’s really not fair to face a dwarf in a contest like this,” Vrunyar blinks a few times to focus his thoughts, impressed by the human’s resurgence in the contest. ”I’ll tell you what, I’ll drink an extra one...one and a half,” he chuckles waving a finger to indicate Ollivor and Doran. He smiles, satisfied at his logic. ”And if we tie, I’ll forfeit my claim to the prize.” Keeping his left hand gripping the table, he signals to Myralle to get another round while Ollivor whispers something in her ear. He chuckles to himself again, patting his vest’s pockets.
"I think I held it down better than you... dwarf good, good dwarf," He corrects, "At least on that last round," a smile.