DM Barcas - Skull & Shackles: Freedom of the Sea (Inactive)

Game Master Isaac Duplechain

With pirates, slavers, and Cheliax prowling the seas, there are some who still appreciate - and fight for - the freedom of the sea.


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Liberty's Edge

Male Human (Taldan) Ranger (Freebooter / Corsair) 4 / Bloodrager (Elemental (Aquatic)) 1 / AC 17/11/16 / HP 47/47 / F +9 R +5 W +3 (+2 vs charm and compulsion) / Init. +1 (+2 at Sea) / Perc. +10 (+2 at Sea) / Sense Motive +10

At the Rawlins home...

Watching Alima head towards the kitchen, John sits down in a threadbare chair next to the fire, motioning for Iakob to take a seat next to him on the other chair. Well.. He begins, considering his words. I think that went about as well as it could have, all things considering. The red haired man states, holding his hands upto the fire. Thanks for your help sir.. John says, trailing off. Your a good man. Listening to the crackle of the flames and feeling the heat from the hearth, John thinks to the future. Alima's going to have a hard time chopping the wood. John muses. She's made due before, when I would go on patrols, but still. It's never easier until your underway. At least then I can start counting the days until I get back home, instead of counting how many until I leave. Sighing, John stretches his disfigured leg out, letting the heat warm his bones and loosen the scar tissue, and constantly stressed muscles. I'm going to miss this.. I'm going to miss this a lot.

So.. Iakob.. John slowly says, as if testing the feeling of the mans name. Deepmar.. What did you have in mind? I know your familiar with the island, but a place like that. It must have chelish marines, fortifications, hell, perhaps even a cannon battery. You would know better then me, but for something like what your considering, we would need a lot of resources. Am I right?


Halfling Bard (Sea Singer) 2/Rogue (Knife Master) 3 | HP 34/34 | AC 20 | T 16 | FF 14 | CMD 16 | Fort +4 | Ref +12 | Will +7 (+2 vs fear, +4 vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone) | Init +4 | Perc +12

At the Green Pea-hic! Peash. Green. Green Peash, that ish.

Doran hears the giggling of the lovely Myralle as he turns over in his cot, and he dreams of a dimpled, smiling maiden with the finest, golden curls of hair on her feet, dancing with him on the deck of his own ship. He sighs deeply - though to those in the common room of the Peach it sounds a great deal like a sudden, loud snore, almost dwarven in its sonorous resonance - and tries to curve his body into the cot, unconsciously wondering why his hammock feels so strange tonight.


At the Green Peach...

Round 4, DC 20
Ollivor Fortitude 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Vrunyar Fortitude 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

While Ollivor downs the beer, Vrunyar matches him swallow for swallow. They both finish their drink at the same time, slamming their mugs on the table with a little more force than necessary. They stare each other down, daring the other to surrender or call for another round. The room begins to spin around Ollivor, and he has to close his eyes for a moment. While his eyes are closed, he hears a solid thump on the wooden floor of the tavern. He opens them to see that Vrunyar has fallen off the chair and hit the ground, where consciousness has left him like a flighty mistress. A cheer goes up in the tavern from the small crowd that has collected to watch. The noise causes Doran to stir, turning over in the cot with a mumbled request to keep it down.

Myralle says to the crowd and Ollivor with a smirk, "Looks like we have a winner, and I've got to pay up!" She leans in, giving Ollivor and every other tip-paying patron of the tavern a glimpse of her cleavage, and gives Ollivor a kiss. The kiss lingers, and it is not the beer's fault that Ollivor's head swims.

Okay, let's get y'all back to the ship and get a-sailin'!


At the Rawkins home...

Alima makes a delightful and savory dinner. No one is surprised that it is fish, being the most affordable meat in a fishing village. The fish likely was too small or too discolored to export to the market for more affluent citizens to purchase, but that doesn't affect its taste. The wooden plates are simple and homemade, but it would taste just as good on fine ceramic in a palace somewhere. Alima somehow has a intuitive skill with the application of spices and herbs, making what would be just another piece of fish into a memorable meal. They laugh and enjoy the evening, though there is an underlying sorrow in the air. Farah returns home and partakes in the dinner, insisting on sitting on John's lap and having him hold her hands while she uses the simple utensils.

After dinner and a nice dessert of molasses with fresh sweetbread, John and Alima wave goodbye to Iakob, who heads back home to gather his things before the morning. The streets of Souston - comfortable, sleepy Souston - are quiet in the night.

Okay, say your goodbyes and get to the docks so we can set sail and get this pirate adventure going.


Male Halfling Bard

Ollivor enjoys as he claims his reward, enjoying the kiss as long as it lasts, and figuring he'll be quite happy here as long as he's given a few minutes before he stands up. "Think about what I said, earlier," He says with a wink as he steadies himself when the kiss is finally over.

Unless other...offers, are forthcoming, he waits till he sobers a bit more, then tries to rally his crewmates, "Up and at em lads, a bit of shopping left, and the captain'll be put out right proper if we don't show up in time for work."
Gotcha DM...


On the Wormwood...

@Synthia Plugg tells his brother, "Take her up to the main deck and send her up to fix the rigging that broke last week. If she is good enough, that's her job. If not, you know what to do for lying." With a nod, the silent man leads her out of the store room, keeping a few paces behind her and leading her with occasional gestures and small pushes. She keeps an eye on him, assessing him. Scourge wears a sneer on his silent face, with searching and staring eyes running over her in a very uncomfortable way. Seeing her looking, he smiles and reveals that several of his teeth have been replaced with gold. He has a braided beard, somewhat similar to Harrigan's, and wears a long black coat with many pockets. Boots that seem too large and too heavy clomp over the deck, a bizarre contrast to his silence. She doesn't have to duck her head when she takes the first step of the stairs up to the main deck, though most men likely would have to duck or hit the lip of the narrow staircase.

As she walks up the stairs, she hears the unmistakable snap of a whip and tenses her body for pain out of instinct. She turns to see that Scourge has used his whip to kill a rat scurrying away. She catches a glimpse of fear in his eyes at the rat's presence and a moment of pride when he sees that he has deftly stripped its spine out with the tip of the whip. He looks at her with a look that suggests that she should be impressed by his skill.

They continue over to the deck of the ship. As ships go, the Wormwood is a large one, rivaling many frigates of established naval nations. She remembers a glimpse of cannons poking out of the side of the ship when she made her way on board from the Jenivere, which is somewhat of a rarity. She surmises that there must be gunpowder on the ship somewhere and makes note of the possibilities there. A few miserable-looking swabs, likely slaves, clean the decks with heavy scrubs, getting the saltwater and blood out of the wood. Scourge lightly pushes her forward, towards the rigging, and points to a spot where the ropes have split.

Climb 10 + 5 = 15

Synthia tests the rigging and finds it taut. Nimbly, she climbs up to the spot Scourge indicated. A gnome with a ridiculous purple feathered hat, an eyepatch that doesn't look necessary, and a twisted mustache sits next to the split in the rigging with his legs hooked between the ropes to stay up. When he sees Synthia, he offers her a sweep of the silly hat. "You must be the newest recruit," he says with a touch of sarcasm. "Welcome to the Wormwood. I am Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone, my dear. Would you care to give me a hand with splicing this rigging?" He speaks to her as if he is a womanizer with hundreds of conquests, and more than a little sexist assumption in his voice that she could not capably fix the rigging herself.

The rigging is not particularly difficult to splice, so taking 10 on a Profession: Sailor or a Dexterity check should do the trick. However, you may even be able to pocket some of the extra rope with a DC 20 Sleight of Hand check if you wish to give it a try.

@Beshra With Synthia gone, Plugg smiles at Beshra. "I've got a special plan for you." The inherent menace of the words seemingly lost on him, Plugg seems like he is actually trying to charm her. He walks her to the galley, which happens to just be on the other side of the same storage area they were locked in. He opens the door of the galley and strides in when he sees a man laying on the floor. He delivers a swift, hard kick to the man's side. "Get up, Fishguts, you lazy drunk!" With a groan of pain and likely a bruised or broken rib, the man staggers to his feet. The man they call Fishguts is dressed as a caricature of a refined chef, complete with a tall chef's hat made of fish scales. An empty bottle of rum rolls around on the floor at his feet, and a black-feathered chicken clucks its way around the floor pecking at fallen tidbits. "You'll help him cook for the crew. It's an easier job than most on this ship, so don't waste the opportunity I'm giving you. Keep an eye on him." He points at Fishguts. "Hurt him if you need to." That said, Plugg makes his exit with his ever-present scowl still present on his face.

The cook offers his hand to her, despite its bloody stains under his fingernails and seemingly pressed into his palms. He also has two bandages wrapped around two of his fingers, likely the results of being too drunk to properly cut meat. "My name's actually Ambrose Kroop, but you can call me Fishguts if you want. Everybody else does..." Perhaps still too drunk to have sense to what he says, he continues. "This ship's poison, girl. Don't let anybody hear you say it, though. The hull listens to every word we say, and the captain always knows what's said. The Wormwood is rotten to the core. You'll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Harrigan or that vicious sod Plugg. His brother Scourge only speaks when he's in a killin' mood, and he speaks more often than you'd think. Those two would take their own mother's liver for food if they were hungry. But I'm 'armless, so they leave me alone..."

Liberty's Edge

Male Human (Taldan) Ranger (Freebooter / Corsair) 4 / Bloodrager (Elemental (Aquatic)) 1 / AC 17/11/16 / HP 47/47 / F +9 R +5 W +3 (+2 vs charm and compulsion) / Init. +1 (+2 at Sea) / Perc. +10 (+2 at Sea) / Sense Motive +10

Feeling the sun on his face and the heat from Alima laying next to him, John slowly blinks, savoring the moment. In a moment he would rise, and slowly put on his patched and careworn clothes, for now, for this moment all John wanted to do was capture the memory.. to lock it away.. to never let it go. Feeling Alima stir, John lets his eyes take in the image of Alima laying next to him, hair carelessly strewn about her, the dark of her skin, the way she kept her mouth open just so when she slept. Running his hand along her back, she shifts, blinking her eyes. The perfect moment broken next John rolls over and hugs her tight giving her a kiss on the cheek and smelling her hair. I guess its time got up them. John quietly whispers in her ear, before swinging his good leg off the edge of their bed and slipping into his canvas sacks. Why don't you go wake up Farah? John says, the light silhouetting his muscular frame. Leaning down he gives Alima a playful smack on the bottom.

Come on, princess John mutters, chuckling as she stretches. Gods she's beautiful.. and she knows it too. Eyes twinkling, John pulls his wool shirt over his head and begins to make his way out of the bedroom. I'll get the chicory brewing. He says as he leaves the room.

At the docks...
Limping his way down the wooden, sea soaked planks of the Souston harbor, John carries Farah on his shoulders, one hand stabilizing her and with the other he holds Alima's hand. As they come into sight of the Empty Lighthouse, John nods to it. There she is Al-Hubb. John mater of factually states, suspecting, and perhaps rightly so that until last night Alima might not have believed that the ship even existed. Reaching up to his shoulders, he carefully picks up Farah, bringing her down into a hug before he lowers her down onto the wooden planks. Farah, Daddy needs to talk to mommy for a minute. Can you wait right here? Don't run off. We just have to talk about adult things, ok? Giggling, Farah smiles and nods in understanding. Keeping a weathered eye on his daughter John limps over to several barrels fifty feet away with Alima in tow.

Alima my love.. John starts, wrapping his arms around her tiny waist. Sssshhhh. Alima whispers, leaning into him, laying her head on his shoulder and looking up at him with her emerald hued eyes. Putting a hand on his cheek, Alima lifts herself up on her tip-toes and gives John a deep, breathtaking kiss. I believe in you John. I believe in us.. but come back to me, come back to Farah. I.. I can't do it alone.

Knowing that words wouldn't matter anymore John silently, fiercely nods. The moment ended, John gives a long sigh and grasps Alima's hand in his. Right love, he begins, looking over Alima's shoulder to the Empty Lighthouse heart feeling heavy in his chest. Let's go see Captain Jonas about that advance.

Stepping away from the barrels, John limps back to Farah, collecting her and making his way towards the corvette.


Lacedon Monster Info:
AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 hp 13 (2d8+4) Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +5 Defensive Abilities channel resistance +2

Beshra is far from pleased to see Synthia go, it makes sense for them to separated, but that hardly makes it anymore convenient. Her heart lurches as the door swings shut behind what she deems the least dangerous of the brothers Plugg, the pair remind her of the vicious dogs the dockers used to fight and she suppresses a shudder recalling being chased by the creatures as a child their owners calling, "Here kitty kitty!" as the slavering beasts galloped after her straining at their chains,

Rickard Plugg wrote:


Plugg smiles at Beshra. "I've got a special plan for you."

Pulse thundering she tries to keep the terror and rage from her face, but can muster only a brittle smile. He's trying to be charming, its just that he's got all the charisma of a days dead hagfish. Keep it together Beshra!

Following the first mate to the galley, she is careful to hint that she might be open to advances, pushing her hair back, glancing through lowered lashes and other cliched, yet tried and tested tools of allure that are likely wasted on this gibbon. But she takes even greater care to stay clear of his touch, judging that offering such a man too much would be foolish in the extreme. When she realizes where he must be taking her she nods to herself, not the crow's nest, but it has potential and at least I won't be hauling ropes.

She watches Plugg bully the pitiful Chef, expressionless as she takes in her surroundings and orders her thoughts. Plugg leaves before she has a chance to respond to his warning words, so she shifts her attention to her miserable new charge, scowling at his proffered hand, she casts a quick spell and says,

"Fishguts ain't a name its an insult, Ambrose Kroop - not that I'm sure one is not warranted. I don't know about the ship being poison, but I do know you've had enough poison for a life time," she kicks the empty rum bottle for emphasis, "and you are done with it. You see Ambrose I'm in a shark's gullet here and I need friends I can count on. Since I'm stuck with you for the moment that means I need to get you into some semblance of shape. You don't get a choice in the matter."

She chants, "Feltae!" and steps forward pressing her palm against the Chef's injured ribs, sending the last of her healing energies for the day coursing into him.

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 ⇒ 2

"Now first we need to get you sobered up as best we can..." she says, before creating two gallon of water directly over his head.

"Then I need to know when the next meal needs to be ready and what I have to work with. How good a chef are you now? And how good of a chef have you been?"

Diplomacy with Enhanced Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

Vrunyar wearily rolls over and pushes himself from the ground. ”We’re not on the ship?” he says swaying as stands up, looking confused. Narrowed, bloodshot eyes take in the tavern crowd, Ollivor, and Doran. Leaning against the table, he yawns and fumbles around his vest pockets. ”So I guess I lost,” he says, half-question, half-statement, two eyebrows raised in surprise and incomprehension.

Snorting in amusement, he takes a vial from his vest, unscrews it, and lifts it towards Ollivor. ”Congratulations on drinking this dwarf under the table. To Ollivor!” He downs the contents and immediately appears sober. His posture straightens, his eyes become clear, and he adroitly replaces the empty vial in his vest.

”So, I have one hour of sobriety before my magic wears off and that wonderful dwarven ale affects me again.” he says rubbing his hands together, ”Where to begin? Fresh bandages for my kit and then the letter to my sister. Myralle, would you be willing in the coming days to find a ship heading to Absalom to deliver a letter? From there it can easily get to Highhelm. Of course I’ll compensate you for your efforts. Now where in this pleasant port may I purchase bandages?”


Male Halfling Bard

"You...you can make yourself instantly sober? That... that beats any of my spchells." Ollivor confesses, "Ah, sup plies.. err oh yes, mostly spices and flavorings. We've got the main courses, but I need things to flavor and pres preserve." He nudges Doran again, gently. "Come on, Doran. Vrunyar is our escort for an hour."


Halfling Bard (Sea Singer) 2/Rogue (Knife Master) 3 | HP 34/34 | AC 20 | T 16 | FF 14 | CMD 16 | Fort +4 | Ref +12 | Will +7 (+2 vs fear, +4 vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone) | Init +4 | Perc +12

Doran stirs from his inebriated slumber, sitting up in the cot with a bleary smile on his face and asking “Did I win, Myralle? I’m ready for my kiss, sweetling… Wait, you’re not Myralle. Ollivor, what are you doing? Oh, we’re leaving? Ah, back to duty, eh?”

Doran drops his legs over the side of the cot and climbs to his feet, saying ”Ahright, to the ropewalk and the market, and then back to the Lighthouse by eight bells. Guess you’re right, Ollivor, we better light along.”

Joining his companions as they head out the door, Doran leans close to Ollivor and whispers ”Why isn’t the dwarf drunk? More magic, eh? Gotta get me some of that magic.”


Male Halfling Bard

"Ropewalk and Market...Lighthouse," Ollivor repeats as if ingraining it in his memory. "Right." A last smile at the barmaid, and he heads towards the door

Quote:
Joining his companions as they head out the door, Doran leans close to Ollivor and whispers ”Why isn’t the dwarf drunk? More magic, eh? Gotta get me some of that magic.”

"It's a trick I never learned either if it makes you feel better." He assures the halfling.

Later, it will occur to him that telling even pretty barmaids he's dragonblooded can get him the wrong sort of attention, for now, though he's won the fickle affections of a lovely woman, made friends among two men he'll be working with, and landed himself a job that will get him so much closer to his dream. In the next hour, he'll shop a bit to make himself better at the job, or at least give him more resources.

Life, for the moment, is good


Female Human (Chelaxian) Rogue (Burglar) / 1

"Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone, eh?" Synthia repeats. "Why do I get the feeling you have a nickname you're not sharing with me?"

Syn takes the parted strands of ropes and begins deftly weaving them back together (taking 10 on a Dexterity check). She sits astride the spar with her back to the mast, facing the gnome as she works, trying hard to conceal a smirk at the little man's ill-played lasciviousness. At the least, it's a welcome change from the obvious threat presented by Plugg and his foul brother.

"So what's your place in the crew, Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone?" she asks idly, seeking to distract him. Syn never knew a gnome that didn't like to talk about himself. "Did you volunteer for this crew or were you...otherwise recruited?"

Synthia will attempt to sneak a bit of rope, hiding it in her clothes with her improvised lock picks.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

Vrunyar escorts his two companions to the ropewalk and market area. He points out tripping hazards, like the long, thick lengths of rope stretching along the lane; while keeping an eye out for any cutpurses. Two old men are picking oakum from worn cordage.

”You know you’re both pretty agreeable when drunk. It’s refreshing after dealing with my sister. She can be belligerent,” he chuckles.

”Now, what did you need to get here Doran? And Ollivor start thinking about what spices and supplies you want from the market there,” he points down the way, ”so we don’t waste a lot of time standing there thinking about what to get.”


Male Halfling Bard

"I'm even more agreeable around pretty girls," Ollivor says in faux confidence.

The market provides, even at this later hour, the men find pretty much all they need. Ollivor , at least, finds the spices that flavor the food, and, in even more abundance, the salts and pickling materials that will help preserve them.

Fruits won't last long, unless dried, but he gets a few for the first few days anyway.

He even finds a few long lasting sweets, though it will hardly be any part of a regular course. Truthfully, they make him think of home, which he always wanted to get away from, but true to his contrary nature, he's feeling a bit nostalgic about with the ale buzzing through his blood.


@The Rawkins Home; Iakob nods at John's thanks, not really feeling all that pleased with himself for helping John that this suicide mission was a good, or even necessary, idea. But what was he to do? He needed men he could trust and who were willing to risk all for the rescue and John fit the bill perfectly.

Sitting in silence in the quiet ambiance of the snarkling fire and Alima's food preparations Iakob looks at John as he asks about Deepmar. "Not now John." he says, eyeing Alima. "There will be plenty of time once we set out." and that is the last he says about Deepmar for that evening, determined to let the focus be on Johns family and not on the looming journey.

Enjoying the meal Iakob is picture perfect courteous to the lady of the house as she serves them food but remains distant from the chatter of the loving home, content to watch a scene unfold that is not his own.

As the evening draws to an end he excuses himself and, with thanks to the mistress and a stiff smiled nod to Farah, shakes Johns hand and departs into the night.


Halfling Bard (Sea Singer) 2/Rogue (Knife Master) 3 | HP 34/34 | AC 20 | T 16 | FF 14 | CMD 16 | Fort +4 | Ref +12 | Will +7 (+2 vs fear, +4 vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone) | Init +4 | Perc +12

Doran walks along with his crewmates, still weaving a bit, and ponders Vrunyar’s question a moment, before answering somewhat hazily ”What do we need to get? Hmm. Well, I told the cap’n I’d go by the ropewalk and pick up spices and seasonings ‘n such, and have ‘em laid in the cable tier, and Ollivor wants to buy some hawser-laid line at the fruitseller…”

He pauses to collect himself, shakes his head a bit, and says ”Well, I think I got the things we need right, just not where we’ll get ‘em. And I’ve thought of a thing we ought ta add to our shopping list. There’s a fella in the market that sells powders and oils and such, I’ve heard he’s got somethin’ they call ‘Alchemists’ Kindness.’ Maybe you’ve heard of it, Vrunyar? Perhaps you can even make it? Supposed to make ye feel better the morning after ye drink a bunch of dwarven ale, or other poison. Um, no offense intended, eh? Anyway, I’d like to hunt him up and see if we can’t get a bit of it. Sailing with tomorrow’s tide will go a lot smoother if I can think straight.”

Doran takes care of his business at the ropewalk and helps Ollivor in his marketing. It’s a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon, though he does get a little maudlin as the last vestiges of the ale wear off. As he looks at the faces of Ollivor and Vrunyar, he thinks to himself It’s ready to set to sea I am, and pleased with the new crew members. But will it just end up being their deaths, sailing with me? Gah, we can’t head south soon enough or fast enough, and get to new waters where I’m not known, to man or god. That’ll answer, I hope.

With this, Doran hefts a bushel-basket of fresh fruit that Ollivor has purchased and continues on, looking forward to being at sea again, despite his misgivings.


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7
Doran said wrote:
...after ye drink a bunch of dwarven ale, or other poison. Um, no offense intended, eh?

Vrunyar straightens his posture and he slows for half a step. ”No offense taken,” his voice has an edge to it, an odd mix of smoldering anger and brittle pain. He clears his throat. With effort, a quarter smile drags itself upwards. He pats Doran on the shoulder in a comforting manner.

”’Alchemist’s Kindness’ you say?” voice returning to a friendlier tone. ”I may know of it by a different name. I’m interested in meeting this man. And don’t forget I need — ah there!” he points and ambles over to a fabric merchant. He purchases three yards of a green linen after testing the texture of a number of different bolts. "I’ve been thinking perhaps adding some absorbent filler between the first and second layers of the wrap could be of benefit. Of course, pressure is the key to stopping bleeding...hmmmm” the next sentence he mumbles to himself in Dwarven and fingers the end of his braided beard.

”Right, let’s go find three doses of this Alchemist’s Kindness,” he squares the fabric under his arm.


25 Abadius 4713
At the Souston docks...

Dawn breaks over the port town of Souston. The only ship moored at the piers, the merchant vessel called the Empty Lighthouse, bustles with activity as her crew stumbles back from the port call. Most of the crew seems in a good mood with the promise of less-stretched working hours thanks to Captain Jonas's hiring of several new crew members. Symon Gund practically hops back from his shore leave - likely some coin poorer and some disease richer. The new hires line up on the docks as Captain Jonas advances them their pay. The rest of the crew gets things ready on the ship while Jonas gives the others the rundown of their trip. "From here to the Aroden is 600 miles as the crow flies. If that were a straight shot, we could be there in four or five days depending on the wind's favor. We will stop at a few more towns on the Andoran coast to pick up the remainder of the cargo, then make it past Cheliax without stopping. I don't fancy paying a dime in tariffs to those devil-worshipers, so we we will sail straight through the Arch. They don't have a single ship in their fleet than can outrun the Lighthouse. From the Arch to Sargava, it's another thousand miles of rough sailing and hugging the shores to avoid the worst of the Eye of Abendego and the Shackles pirates. If the winds favor us, we will make it to Eledar in thirty-two, maybe thirty-five days. After that, we make the return trip. This will be the last you see your families in perhaps as long as three months. I pay 3 gold per day to my full-time crew, and 2 gold per day to those who help out one-way for passage. True to my word, I have your first month's pay today - and the remainder at the end of the return trip." He starts handing bags with gold pieces in them to the new members of the crew: Iakob and the young man Malakay, who receive 90 gold each as full-time crew, and 60 gold apiece to Ollivor and John. The boy turns to his mother and hands the bag of gold to her, trying not to cry. She holds him tightly and whispers to him.

Vrunyar:
The fare for the trip from Absalom to was 320 gold a head, a handsome fee to pay. His duties as potential surgeon knock 60 gold from that total.

Doran:
While he heard the same speech when he was hired, he still can't believe the wages. A slave in Cheliax sells for a hundred gold unless he is well-trained, and then only up to five-hundred. The thought of making more than that on a single trip, and keeping it all for himself...


On the Wormwood...

@Synthia The gnome - Conchbhar Turlach Shortstone - replaces his ridiculous hat atop his head as Synthia drops the snippet of rope while trying to make it look like an accident falling into her clothing. The piece of rope falls to the deck, where it will hopefully be thought of as just another piece of accident refuse. "Indeed, my friends call me Conch. While I came to Port Peril, an aptly-named town, in the hopes to make my riches upon the sea, I was not quite a volunteer aboard this ship. I was one of the several new crew members taken and press-ganged, which is not a fairly uncommon occurrence there. I take it you were aboard the ship we took earlier today?"

Before Synthia can answer, a woman climbs across the netting towards them from the other side. There is something spiderlike about the way she climbs, and even more inhuman about her look. "Shorts, get finished and get down before I cut your little fingers off. The Captain wants us ready to sail. Says that we aren't heading back to the Shackles just yet, and the rigging needs to be completely done before we take the hard easterly turn. So hurry up and take this idiot with you."

She slithers away, leaving them to finish their task. The gnome spits behind her. "That is Slippery Syl. She will make good on her threat if I give her half an excuse. Her madness helps keep the crew jumpy, so the Captain doesn't reel her in."

@Beshra The cook smiles blearily at Beshra, though he pouts when she seemingly tries to bar him from alcohol. "Once 'pon a time, I was a good cook. No, I was great!" She recognizes his accent as being a native of the Shackles like her. "I ain't gonna lie. I was the head chef at the Lobster's Armor until my problems got me kicked out." He hangs his head in shame. Beshra recalls hearing about the restaurant, being one of the best and most-expensive restaurants in Port Peril. It was known for the place to be when a free-spending Free Captain came to port if you were a doxy, and her mother hung outside there many a night in her youth. "I got swept up onto ship work. Got paid at first, but lost it all to some bad luck in some card games. Eventually, Harrigan won me as his belongin's. It ain't so bad, and he lets me keep my chickens." The black chicken clucks from the floor in agreement.


Male Halfling Bard
Quote:
" We will stop at a few more towns on the Andoran coast to pick up the remainder of the cargo, then make it past Cheliax without stopping. I don't fancy paying a dime in tariffs to those devil-worshipers, so we we will sail straight through the Arch...

Ollivor rubs at his head lightly, but finds a smile escaping his lips as the Captain shows his disdain for the Chellish. I have to admire the man for guts. And we might pick up any dwindling food on the other stops if need be. Course, I'll be fishing almost as much as cooking so meat shouldn't be too big of a problem.

Quote:
He starts handing bags with gold pieces in them to the new members of the crew: Iakob and the young man Malakay, who receive 90 gold each as full-time crew, and 60 gold apiece to Ollivor and John. The boy turns to his mother and hands the bag of gold to her, trying not to cry. She holds him tightly and whispers to him.

Ollivor takes his coin without comment , distracted by the sight of the boy and his mother. Memories flood him...

Memories of his own mother, telling him over and over that he didn't have to go. He could recall he pleading eyes. Her assurances that he didn't have to leave to get control over his power; his assertions that he did, and adding his disdain for the yokels about the place. Of course, he did it as much to buy his mother and father peace from those still grumbling about his magical mishaps. Not that he'd ever tell her that.
No, it would have broken her heart if she thought I had left in part for 'her own good'.

Sighing, he looks away when the mother whispers to the lad.


Halfling Bard (Sea Singer) 2/Rogue (Knife Master) 3 | HP 34/34 | AC 20 | T 16 | FF 14 | CMD 16 | Fort +4 | Ref +12 | Will +7 (+2 vs fear, +4 vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone) | Init +4 | Perc +12

Doran listens to Captain Jonas’ speech with rapt attention, listening closely as if to be sure he hears every word clearly. As the captain winds down, Doran nods to himself with a slight smile on his face, thinking, He said it again! I keep convincing myself I didn’t hear him right. But I could clear a hundred gold pieces on this trip! If I were still in Cheliax, I could well be sold for that amount, and work my life away and never get paid a copper. And now I’ll work, and be among friends, with a decent captain, and the money will be mine. Will a day come when this change in my life doesn’t flat-out amaze me? Well, if I aim to keep it this way, I’d best get back to work.

Doran then walks over to where Malaky is saying goodbye to his mother and says, ”He’s signing with a good ship, ma’am. We’ll see he’s well-fed and learns his trade, and he’ll have a fine life as a sailor, sendin’ money home to his ma and seein’ the world. Come on, lad, we’ve got to flake the mooring lines, and then I’ll show ye how to tie a turk’s head, impress yer brothers and sisters when ye come home.”


Female Human (Chelaxian) Rogue (Burglar) / 1

Synthia watches Syl move away, taking note of the instinctive way her hand reached for a shortsword that wasn't there as soon as the slippery woman spoke her threat. Is there anyone on this wretched ship who isn't some kind of dangerous freak? she wonders.

Aloud, she says, "It sounds like we'd best work faster, eh, Conch? Wouldn't want to disappoint any of our kind and loving superiors."


Female Rakshasa-Spawn Tiefling Oracle 1

Beshra sighs,

"Right, so like every other drunkard the booze ruined you - too much to ask for a little origniality I suppose. Good news is the only way is up - or dead. You take a few more years of living like this and your are going to end up dead in your own vomit smelling like the chum bucket on a hot day. Harrigan might own you, but there's a deal of difference between being a prized possession and a beaten cur."

She moves about the galley opening cupboards and equipment, and routing through them, taking any booze she finds. Frequently turning to check up on the drunkard.

Takes 20 searching the cabin for a 21.

"Now we are going to make the best meal this poorly sinking shed has ever seen. I'll purify everything you use and help you, both with my hands and a little magic. We'll make you irreplaceable, and if its not enough to do it for yourself do it for Feathers here."

Beshra plans to aide another, taking ten, and use guidance on Kroop frequently, purifying all the ingredients, etc..


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

Vrunyar shakes his head in wonder tinged with disbelief as the captain discusses the next part of the journey. Most of the others seem glad to bypass Cheliax. He did want to check at least one port, to see if some of the things he’s heard were true. Another time.

Thirty-two, maybe thirty-five days. It’s a good thing he was able to finish the letter to his sister. Perhaps he could do one letter to his parents before the last Andoran port. He casts an eye at the rigging and sails, attempting to imagine the Eye of Abendego tossing The Empty Lighthouse around. Swaying a little, he knows he’s too inexperienced to know what that will be like.

Pirates! The thought comes to him after a moment. What if Yennard’s family attacks the ship? That will be like finding the ore you want in your neighbor’s tunnel.

He watches the men receive their bags of gold. He wonders how many of his 320 gold pieces are distributed in those bags. ”Captain, do you have a moment? the dwarf asks as the final preparations are underway. ”I gave your offer considerable thought. I would like to provide medical care for the crew. At least for the outbound voyage.”

Forumlae for the day are one polypurpose panacea and one cure light wounds.

.


Male Halfling Bard

Ollivor is glad to see Vyrunyar signing on for certain.


On the Wormwood...

Synthia and Beshra attend to their assigned tasks over the course of the day. Beshra's work is not difficult, though she spends most of her time trying to keep the alcoholic chef from his drink. Fishguts, for his part, grows resentful when she finds and takes away a bottle of rum he has secreted away in the back of a cupboard. They both know that he cannot be denied his share of the nightly rum rations, though, which keeps him from growing outright hostile to her. Together, they make a halfway decent set of biscuits and stew - not altogether terrible, and likely better than usual bland fare. Beshra sees Synthia again at the nightly mess, after the sailing for the day is completed. The ship continues moving forward under the watch of the night skeleton crew, but the majority of the pirates are belowdeck.

The crew of the Wormwood, exhausted from working under the threat of Scourge's lash, quietly falls upon the food. The rum rations go fastest, with Fishguts handing out the grog. He mixes the rum with some nutmeg, sugar, and enough water to make it last longer. (Beshra notes with some impotent disapproval that he takes more than a few sampling tastes as the night wears on.) Once the rum - bumbo, the crew calls it - begins to brings the sailors' spirits up, they begin to gamble and fight. The officers who are belowdeck with the crew do little to stop it, apparently content to let them police themselves.

Synthia's hands ache from the splicing and tying, and her legs ache from keeping herself up in the netting. Scourge stopped by a number of times to check up on her, silently watching from the deck as she worked. She and the gnome pleasantly chatted most of the day, enough for her to figure that he is generally harmless and will most likely get knifed by a real pirate in the next few months. The two women find themselves sitting together on the edge of one of the tables, far enough from the others that they could move away should another fight break out.


On the Empty Lighthouse...

The water of the Inner Sea gleams blue in the morning sun as the cutter slips easily through the calm waters. The winds seem fairly favorable to them, and the crew's spirits keep the sails at the perfect angles to get the maximum thrust. This likely will shave some hours off their next stop to port. Off to the starboard side of the ship, the Andoran coast remains barely visible to them. Captain Jonas stands at the bow, hands on the ship's large steering wheel. Occasionally, he turns to examine the crew's efficiency and finds them to be working together quite well. Largely, he seems content to let the ocean wind rush across his face and to enjoy the smell of the sea air.

One of the non-working transit fares who boarded in Souston, a handsome young Andoran man named Soloumon Trangue (pronounced "Trang," he says) wanders around the deck of the ship, taking in the sights with wide eyes. He likely hasn't seen anything like it before, being from far inland, and seems to be drinking in details of the ship and its crew.

Vrunyar, Cap'n Jonas accepted your offer and refunded part of your money.

Liberty's Edge

Male Human (Taldan) Ranger (Freebooter / Corsair) 4 / Bloodrager (Elemental (Aquatic)) 1 / AC 17/11/16 / HP 47/47 / F +9 R +5 W +3 (+2 vs charm and compulsion) / Init. +1 (+2 at Sea) / Perc. +10 (+2 at Sea) / Sense Motive +10

On the Souston docks...

Hobbling up to the moored corvette John motions for Alima and Farah to wait for him to collect his advanced pay from Captain Jonas. After several moments the gruff red haired sailor John gives a nod of respect to his new captain and with the coin in hand returns to Alima.

Cupping his wife's hand in his, John presses the pay into her hand, closing her fingers around it. Leaning in close John gives Alima a fierce kiss while he runs his hands through her dark tresses. As he breaks away he whispers to her that the coin should last for six months or so and that he will have more sent by the banks of Abadar as soon as he can. Promising to write to her, he stoically steps away from her embrace. Kneeling with his good leg he picks up Farah and gives her a strong and lasting hug before he returns her to her mother. Finally, his good byes made and knowing that there is nothing else to be said, John hefts his Seabag over his shoulder and crosses the brow onto the Empty Lighthouse.

On the Empty Lighthouse...

They say that a man can choose to be married to a woman, or married to the sea. That might have been a load of dung, but John couldn't deny that there was something about being on the water. Feeling the deck sway beneath you, smelling the salt air and the sun on your face. Work was hard on a ship, something that John was intimately aware of. The days were long, and the food often poor. Yet despite all of that John had missed it.

Stepping as lively as he could John followed the lead of the veteran sailors, working lines and reefing sails. The key to life at sea was to fall into a routine. If you set your habits right then the days would slip by, unnoticed like two darkened ships in the night. Knowing that by the end of his first day the crew would have made up their minds weather to accept the new swab or not, John threw himself into his work, rarely complaining and following directions.


Female Human (Chelaxian) Rogue (Burglar) / 1

Synthia gratefully takes the evening meal and the rum as well, watered down and overly spiced though it may be to her taste. When she's reasonably sure they won't be overheard, she relays the mostly banal events of her day to Beshra, making special mention of how dangerous Syl seemed, and admitting her affection for the hopeless gnome.

"I'd say he might be an ally, if it came to it, but I doubt he's worth much in a fight." Syn drains her mug, winces, and sets it on the rough-hewn bench that serves as a table.

"I don't suppose being in the galley gave you any clues as to how many are serving aboard this bucket? Or more to the point, how many officers?"


On the Souston Docks.

Iakob sits on a dock post feeling strangely calm as the sun comes up over the Souston docks. Having given up on sleeping after the second time his dreams had woken him up he'd packed the remainder of his things and made his way here well over an hour before the sunrise.

His mind had been in a roar after the dinner at the Rawkins house, images of Alima and Farah had prevailed in his thoughts as he sat and stared at the hip flask in his hands, not feeling like taking a sip. He knew all to well how thin his so called plan was, and now he'd recruited John to it, and with near no effort either! Was it fair? Could he really ask him to share in his own doomed promises? Deepmar was a well fortified keep, stone walls with towers at the corners and by the gates surrounding a small valley with the pit at it's center. Guard quarters and the armory were in the complex at ground level along with the only viable access to the pit; a pair of chain bucket lifts going fifty feet into the ground to the prisoner cages hewn into the rock walls, spiraling even further into the earth, gaping rock mouths lead from the prisoners section at various intervals to the crystal mines them selves, sharp stalagmites everywhere.

But the complex was built to keep prisoners in. Though it was strong and fully capable of defending itself from an external attack it wasn't built to ward of infiltration. A small group of determined men could wreak havoc, let alone two or three such groups, 'An attack from sea, feints with cannons, should crown out the plan!' Iakob though, eyeing the hip flask as he brought it away from his mouth after the third sip. Frowning at it he didn't recall thinking as he took the first two. Putting it away he'd tried going to sleep.

After a fitful rest he'd given up. Cleaning himself and dressing he'd made his way to the dock before sunrise.

Watching as the crew gathered in the growing light Iakob rose as the captain spoke to the gathered men, grinning in satisfaction at his jibe at the chelaxians. Accepting his coin Iakob gave a last pained look at the Rawkins family and made his way on board.

At The Empty Lighthouse.

With a spring in his step he hadn't felt in a long time Iakob takes instinctively to the roll of the ship as it carves a path through the waves. Finding a spot to fill Iakob takes a hand in every job he can see needs doing, he wasn't the strongest sailor nor the most dexterous one but he was willing, able and capable in near every job on board and so, with a grin on his face, he found a slow and steady rhythm as he partook in what was at hand.


Halfling Bard (Sea Singer) 2/Rogue (Knife Master) 3 | HP 34/34 | AC 20 | T 16 | FF 14 | CMD 16 | Fort +4 | Ref +12 | Will +7 (+2 vs fear, +4 vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone) | Init +4 | Perc +12

Doran thinks back to how his day started, awakening before dawn on the Lighthouse, and fearing he had overslept, thinking. We must be at sea, and some way from land, by now, the way the ship sways! And a strange crosswind is blowing, to make her weave and kick so!

Looking up, Doran saw that the other sailors in their hammocks were not swinging on any waves, nor did he hear the thrum of wind in the rigging from his imagined crosswind. Hell’s ditch! he thought, it’s no chop and wind I feel, it’s that dwarven ale. I do hope that powder Vrunyrar found at the market is the right stuff, else I may fall overboard today just to end my suffering.

With trembling hands, he opened the folded paper square containing the “alchemist’s kindness” and poured the powder into his mouth, following it with a mouthful of water from the skin hanging by his hammock. He swirled the mixture together in his mouth and swallowed it down, shuddering slightly as his stomach objected to anything entering it. Doran then dropped into a tailor’s sit, holding his head in his hands, waiting and hoping for the cabin to hold still. After a few minutes, he was able to lift his head and look around without fearing he’d tip over. Several minutes later, he stood up, not completely himself, but feeling fantastic in spite of that, like a man who’s had a death sentence lifted.

Now, with a great grin on his face, Doran enjoys the cracking pace the ship has achieved and sets to his work. He playfully chides Symon Gund about the sloppiness of his reef knots, and jokingly tells Rawkins, who is clearly working hard to prove his worth on board, that his wooden leg is no excuse for idling. He thinks happily back to the captain’s speech of the morning, looks into the wind and takes a deep, free breath.


Female Rakshasa-Spawn Tiefling Oracle 1

Beshra sighs and throws back her rum - she refuses to think herself drinking anything called Bumbo - feeling the sudden raw heat of it in her belly and shaking her head,

"I've been trying to get that drunkard cook into shape, I was hoping to make an ally of him, but I fear his chicken would be more useful. I have been stealing his booze "for his own good", so I'm building up a little something for bribes. Beggar's can't be choosers I suppose. And no, and no - they all seem to eat the same slop anyway. Our best chance to gather that kind of information is probably to do it discreetly now. Do you see Sandara anywhere?"

Whenever she found booze at hand she went to pour it out, and instead attempted to slip back into their original little cell and stash it under the trapdoor.

Let me know if I need to make any rolls for that DM! Hoping to stow a couple of bottles if possible.


Male Halfling Bard

Ollivor has been on a ship before, but he's no sailor and once more finds himself adjusting. The lingering affects of whatever the hell that ale was cause his body to occasionally remind him of his foolishness all for a woman's kiss.

I'd do it again he says in defiance of himself.

Returning to the galley, he starts up on something easy for the breaking of the fast. Soon, there is a sizzling of bacon, and the sounds of fruit being sliced.

Cooking check if needed. 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

He smiles as he finds a good rhythm to it, a mix of still fresh fruits and meats that might seem to belong more in a full inn than just a ship. A bit of batter and flour with oils and butter complete the meal. It might be a bit heavy, but nothing a few hours of good honest labor won't go through anyway.

One jowly sailor pokes his nose in, visibly sniffing.

"Not yet," Ollivor says as he puts his finishing touches on it.

"Smells good, mind if I..." A hand reaches towards some the food that isn't available yet.

Ollivor raises a brow, "Sure, you try for that before I or the captain tell you. Ship's surgeon probably has lots of hooks he can put in its place."

With a sulk and a grumble, the seaman with the exaggerated jowls retreats.

He doesn't have to wait long, as Ollivor rings a bell and lets the crew know "Meal's prepared!"


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

Vrunyar spends time on the deck, enjoying the wind and the motion of the ship. Smiling he watches crewmen tie various knots, shift sails to catch the wind better, and scramble about doing tasks he didn’t quite comprehend. He runs his hand along the rail thinking it could only get better with stone.

Descending into the hold, he inventories the small sick bay, finding a small block of sulfur, a bucket of sand, various medical instruments, common herbs, salves, and tinctures, and a finally book recording patients’ diagnoses, treatments, and results. Vrunyar is reading this to ascertain the most frequent problems he will encounter when he hears some of the crew reacting to the cook’s call to lunch. Snapping the book shut, he proceeds to the galley and gets in line for the first of Ollivor’s meals.


Male Halfling Bard

"Greetings, Vrunyar. How are you liking the ship?" Ollivor says as he puts a helping of the meal on the dwarf's plate when its his turn. Ollivor seems mostly over any hang over by now.

The others who've already received their food are wolfing it down happily and making jokes about how this food tastes better, but won't be nearly as useful for building material.


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

Vrunyar holds his lunch in one hand and a spoon in the other. He inhales the food’s aroma deeply then takes a large spoonful. A mixture of surprise and delight sweeps across his face.

The dwarf greets Ollivor’s question with a bellyful of laughter. ”Not much different other than the food and how I spend my time. I boarded in Absalom! As a passenger no less. So I’ve been here a bit. Long enough to know lots of sailors have nicknames. Are we going to call you ‘Chef’ or ‘Cook’?” he laughs again. ”Perhaps you prefer another name?”

He takes another spoonful. ”Mmmm — glad we were able to find those spices after our drinking.”


Iakob is midway up the main mast, checking the knots and the taut ropes as the sail billows in the wind, propelling the ship forward, as the call to grub comes. Grabbing a rope he swings hand-over-hand down to the deck and takes his place in the forming line.

Seeing John he nods and smiles and when his turn comes up for a plate he accepts his portion eagerly, finds a spot to lean on and wolfs down his food.


Male Halfling Bard

"Ollivor will do," He grins, "But we'll see. Cook or Chef is probably better than Ollie."

Liberty's Edge

Male Human (Taldan) Ranger (Freebooter / Corsair) 4 / Bloodrager (Elemental (Aquatic)) 1 / AC 17/11/16 / HP 47/47 / F +9 R +5 W +3 (+2 vs charm and compulsion) / Init. +1 (+2 at Sea) / Perc. +10 (+2 at Sea) / Sense Motive +10

Following up behind Iakob, John steps up in line and eagerly awaits lunch. Fresh food while underway was a treat not to be taken lightly and the last few hours of hard work and been more difficult then John was willing to admit after months on shore. Hearing the banter between The dwarf and Ollivor, John can't help but intrude.

The common term is Cookie. John begins giving a nod to Ollivor. There's other terms, but they are usually reserved for those that serve slop rather then your fine fare. The red haired man chuckles. [b]Some cooks also go by the name Jack, as in "Jack-o-the-dust" but you only tend to hear that one on the larger three and four mast ships, since the Jack was in charge of the dry goods. Giving a nod of thanks, John takes his meal, and grabs a seat next to Doran and Iakob.

As he hurriedly eats, John takes a moment and listens to the quiet chatter in the galley as the other deck hands are constantly coming and going, relieving those that are still on deck so that they can eat in turn. I had my doubts when I first saw her. John thinks to himself. But I'm impressed by the way that the Captain keeps her running. The crew likes him and he seems a fair man. Alima and I could have done far worse. Truth be told if I hadn't met Iakob on the docks yesterday I might be considering signing on with the captain full time rather then going to work for the Sargavan's.

Realizing that his food is done, John rises, shifting around as best he can with his peg-leg before hobbling out of the tight galley and up the ladder well up to the main deck. On his way out he grins at Doran and respectfully nod to the lieutenant. That halfling will make a dam fine bosun one day. John thinks to himself as he reaches the top of the ladderwell and feels the sun on his face. Relaxed for the first time in months, John takes his place on deck and turns to.


M Dwarf Alchemist (Vivisectionist/Chirurgeon) 5 HP 39:39 | AC:17 T:12 FF:15 | CMD 17 | F:+6 R:+6 W:+3 | Init: +2 Per: +7

”Cookie? That’s a fine name! But I’ll call you Ollivor for now,” Vrunyar says taking another bite as he stands chatting with the ship’s cook. He nods and smiles to John as the crew mate goes to sit with Doran and Iakob.
”I never knew nautical terms could be so varied...and specific. Nicknames depending on the size of a ship? What a marvel! Jack-o-the-dust,” he chuckles, finishing his meal.
”Thank you Ollivor! That was delicious,” he says punctuating his comment with a slap on Ollivor’s back.

”I’ll be in the sick bay for a bit, but don’t be surprised to see me later crawling below looking for fungus. There’s a block of sulfur — oh you probably know all that. Probably know more about my expected duties than I do. Ha!”


Male Halfling Bard
Quote:
The common term is Cookie. John begins giving a nod to Ollivor. There's other terms, but they are usually reserved for those that serve slop rather then your fine fare. The red haired man chuckles. Some cooks also go by the name Jack, as in "Jack-o-the-dust" but you only tend to hear that one on the larger three and four mast ships, since the Jack was in charge of the dry goods. Giving a nod of thanks, John takes his meal, and grabs a seat next to Doran and Iakob.

"Cookie eh? I've been called worse," Ollivor says as he tries to recall the redheaded man's name. " John was it? Thanks for the news, and hope you like it."

Quote:
”Thank you Ollivor! That was delicious,” he says punctuating his comment with a slap on Ollivor’s back.

Ollivor sway a bit from the good natured slap, "Most welcome, Vrunyar. I can't promise it'll always be like this though. More fish and less fruit as travel is extended."

Quote:

”I’ll be in the sick bay for a bit, but don’t be surprised to see me later crawling below looking for fungus. There’s a block of sulfur — oh you probably know all that. Probably know more about my expected duties than I do. Ha!”

"Fine, it's my current mission in life that none of your patients come your way because of anything from my Galley." the smirk is wide.

Ollivor is already thinking ahead. Fishing will be a good way to spend hours between the meals.


31 Abadius 4713
On the Empty Lighthouse...

The days pass quickly on the sea under Captain Jonas's guidance. The ship still isn't quite fully staffed, but the Captain gladly jumps in to fill in wherever needed. He doffs his weathered brown leather tricorn hat whenever he works on the ship, and no task seems beneath him. The crew seems to truly enjoy working for him, and Ollivor's cooking keeps them in good spirits. They hop along the coastline, stopping in small villages nearly nightly. On their final night, Jonas buys the crew crab, which Ollivor steams and butters - much to the delight of the crew members.

The small crew gets to know the newcomers well, and vice-versa. Counting the newly-hired crew members from Souston - Iakob, Ollivor, Malakay, and John - and a few more from other villages, the ship's crew counts thirteen plus the Captain. by the time they leave Andoran's water. Most had already met Symon, who spent most of his gold on loose women and anti-disease tinctures. Over the course of the trip, he approached Vrunyar with requests to examine a rash, then a blister. Bucky Sabors, a scruffy human with a mouth that would make other sailors blush, minds the stores of goods. Jayce Galligan, a feisty half-elf with constantly-shifting ambitions and dreams, repairs the rigging and the sails. Kabek Stanshon, a quiet young man with a bit of a temper who was hired in the second-to-last village they visited, swabs the deck. Riki Blackburne, a prolific practical joker who once took pains to loosen Symon's cot on one of the many nights he spends on the shore, helps as a rigger. Jax Tannga, a steady-handed wheelman with a laconic humor, keeps the rudder safe when the Captain is off. Tibbs Torsin, a simple man from another Andoran village, seems perfectly content to a swab's work. Arturo Dakalen, whose thick accent makes him nearly impossible to understand, is one of the hardest workers despite being a swab. Hojo Amzuki, an inscrutible woman from Tian Xia with little patience for foolishness, is a ship's carptenter with a nearly magical way over the wood. Riki has yet to make her crack a smile.

The crew gathers in front of Captain Jonas, who shouts over the waves. "We are leaving the land of the free now! We are going to sail straight through Cheliax as quickly as we can, and don't think for a second that we're stopping for taxes! I need everyone on the top of their game this week! Who's with me? Aye? Aye!" The crew members and passengers - just Vrunyar and Solouman - clap and cheer the captain's plan.


Iackob sits and smacks his lips as he's cleaned off his plate and looks around the faces of the crew. The smiles, jokes and general good cheer of the crew raise Iakobs opinion of the captain a great deal. Running a ship could be hard toil, let alone a ship like this that looked ready to give up and sink, yet sailed the ocean with a hidden grace. It ran on spirit it seemed. Running his eyes along the deck Iakob's eyes come to rest on the captain, holding the helm, almost casualy, with a small smile on his lips. Glancing at John, Iakob stands up and makes his way to the helm, slight trepidation in his stomach.

'Why not?' he asks his doubting mind. 'John came over easily enough.' he tries to reassure himself. Captain Jonas had displayed a lack of regard for cheliax on more than one occasion, maybe he was just the captain Iakob was looking for.

Coming up to the helm, drawing a raised eyebrow from the captain, Iakob assumes an at-ease position by his side, looking over the deck and the crew. "Cap'n." he says by greeting.

Standing in silence for a bit Iakob is grateful for the captain to allow him time to gather his thoughts but a sideways spit from the captain tells Iakob to get to the point.

"You know me an' John are ex-navy Cap'n, you know John got his leg bit off by a shark an' got himself discharged for medical reasons, but do you know why I got discharged?" he begins in a low voice for the captain's ears only. Waiting a bit Iakob takes the silence as a sign to continue. "I got myself caught by slavers, Cap'n, the same ones that drove John into the sea as shark bait." Glancing at his toes he looks back up firmly.

"You've made some japes, cap'n, but tell me this please, if I may, what'ya think about privateering?"


31 Abadius 4713
On the Wormwood...

Life aboard the Wormwood is long and cruel. Hardly a day goes by where some poor sod doesn't feel the lash of Master Scourge. Both Beshra and Synthia seem fairly well-protected from the lecherous advances of the crew members, thanks to the more "gentlemanly" approach taken by the brothers Plugg and Scourge. They climb into their shabby quarters that they share with Sandara at the end of the hard day, as the covetous gaze of Plugg and his brother don't make them immune from hard work. Beshra finds it difficult to keep the cook from hiding his drink, as close an eye as she tries to keep on him. Synthia managed to keep Slippery Syl from killing her at least once, when the lunatic cut a rope that she was hanging from and tried to call it an accident.

As the boat rocks in the evening, after most of the crew has already gotten drunk beyond oblivion, the trio of women sit and talk. Sandara whispers in a conspiratorial tone, as hardly more than a thin door separates their 'cabin' from the main berths. "We've stopped just outside the Arch of Aroden. Try as I might, I can't seem to find out why. I don't think that Harrigan is dumb enough to run the blockade, but I could be wrong. The Chelish Navy controls the sea between the Arches, and they usually have enough ships to head off the bigger, slower ships. No force has broken the blockade since a fleet of Ulfen raiders in '04, but that doesn't mean that a quick ship can't slip through. Most of the slower ships have to face an inspection, which means tarriffs and taxes and perhaps even confiscation if the ship is not perfectly in order. I don't think that Plugg knows why we're waiting here, though he's definitely the type to pretend that he does."


On the Empty Lighthouse...

His speech fading into the sea, Captain Jonas puts a friendly arm around Iakob's shoulders and pulls him to the edge of the ship's brow. He takes off his weathered hat and holds it against his chest for a few long moments before putting it back on. "Let me tell you who I am, Iakob. I've seen you with the crew and I know that you're a man with your heart in the right place. Privateering may not be for me. For many years, I went by a different name: Jonas Markhorn. I was a pirate in the Shackles, and I sailed with a rough crew aboard a ship called the Cutthroat. We raided, and we killed, and we pillaged. The ship's captain died, though, which was the best thing that ever happened to me. My conscience bothered me, and I wasn't going to continue being a pirate. Barnabas Harrigan, the first mate, was a vicious bastard, though, and I needed to do something to set the sails right. I helped Catelyn Sweet and Kerith Windblown, friends of mine aboard the ship, take over the Cutthroat and maroon Harrigan on an island in the Shackles. The two of them weren't much better, but it was something. I left, changed my name, and tried to change my past. I am an honest businessman now, with a little smuggling on the side. I fear that there's no way to set the scales right for me, so I'm just doing my best to keep one step ahead of my past."


Female Human (Chelaxian) Rogue (Burglar) / 1

Synthia passes the days learning her new trade and trying to learn the culture of the ship. She keeps a careful count of the officers and crew, making mental notes of names and faces, and trying to subtly learn who might be amenable to mutiny or an escape attempt.

On the night Sandara reveals their location, Synthia nods, and thinks.

"Maybe Harrigan isn't waiting for a chance to slip in. Maybe he's waiting for someone to come out. His next target, maybe."


Female Rakshasa-Spawn Tiefling Oracle 1

Beshra slumps wearily upon her bunk, frustration and impotence wearing upon her. But Sandara's words are like a tonic, giving her something to turn her mind to the barest hint of a chance,

"I could see what Harrigan has on his mind, but I'm inclined to think its probably not worth the risk, not with that one. Perhaps if a situation arises where there is a good scapegoat who we don't mind becoming ventilated? I don't doubt you are right about Plugg Sandara, I would not trust that bloated weasel with anything of import in Harrigan's place. And that ain't a bad thought Synthia, if he has some prey in mind that might provide the chance we have been looking for."


On the Wormwood...

Sandara brushes aside her red hair as she takes her tanned leather boots off. "Maybe. I've been working on something, though. Unless we can tip the favor of a battle and sneak off into our savior's hands, we aren't going to escape anytime soon, and Harrigan won't attack a ship that he doesn't think he can beat. However, once he takes a new boat, he always sends some of the crew off with it. If we can staff the crew with the right people, we can strike when the time is right and escape with our lives. The key is that we can't seem like this is the plan. We've got to make him decide that it's his own plan. That's our best chance at getting out of here."


Male Halfling Bard

Ollivor does indeed get to know the others in the crew. As cook, it turns out almost everyone comes face to face with him at least once. He and Jayce either get along terrifically or not at all, depending on if their moods match up. One day, he pulls one iron skillet, only to find almost every metal pot coming down with it because someone had twined them all together. Rather than get mad at Rikki, Ollivor got even... putting enough pepper in the rigger's next meal to set even a kelishite on fire.

Hojo, being one of the few women on board, captures his attention, but when he tries to flirt with her, he finds himself given odd jobs carrying supplies, and he gives up, which maybe just what she planned.

When the Captain made his speech, Ollivor cheered as loudly as anyone else "We're with you, Captain!" He can't help notice that Iakob and Captain Jonas have a bit of a talk after that, but it's clearly private so he minds his own business.

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