Strom tries to get the feathered mans eye as he heads to the hold, tossing a wish to the ether than his fellow prisoners would do alright. Then he enters the frightening world of cutlery and he shifts the worry to it's proper place, himself. Strom might as well be standing in an alchemists lair, for all the sense he can make of the chaos. At the large mans greeting Strom rouses himself, "You know me now Kroop, er... Fishguts -call me Strom. I'll take that drink, and gladly, but what I could really use is a map of this here kitchen, or a guide perhaps?" Strom tries to sound more cheery than he feels, knowing his plight does not look good down here. "Mighty fine chicken you got there Fishguts, your pets?" Strom is careful to keep any scorn out of his voice, himself not a huge supporter of live chickens.
Strom lets the man answer before heading out with a line and net he found on the wall, his experience with fish movements -and lots of luck- getting him a good amount of fish. Heading back to the galley he looks around, noting the many cleavers and imagining using them on some recent acquaintences. Realing he's grinning a bit too broadly he starts chopping and skinning the fish, this a routine he can lets his hands do automatically. Less clear are the spices, and he wracks his brain to remember whatever he can about names and smells trying to make the food in the pot palatable. He tries to engage Fishguts several times, asking for his opinion on spices, seeing if he wants to taste it, asking if his chickens will eat the scraps. At one point he asks, "So who's the overgrown chicken chained to the mast back yonder?" with a jerk of his thumb towards where the feathered man is sitting.
"How's that work then .. catching rats really ... " he goes beneath grumbling away, "Is that any way to treat a sailor ... I don't think so ... "
I'm using spoilers simply to separate the text as needed. Feel free to read others' spoilered text in this instance.
A slot opens in a door near the ovens that you had previously thought to be some sort of pantry. A slender green hand appears through the slot and offers a wave, accompanied by a grunt, before disappearing again.
Kroop reclines before continuing. "Aye, the birds are my pets, but that doesn't keep 'em from the plate; best way to keep meats fresh at sea is to keep it breathin' till it's needed in the pot. This feathered lady on me shoulder is Bezebel the Black-Hearted. She keeps me company while I work, tellin' me which of the others I should butcher next; she's a piece of work, she is. I imagine she'd make a good officer, if the Cap'n needed another." Kroop takes a moment to lift the corner of a cloth draped over a small cage, passing a hunk of stale cheese to whatever lives inside. The man then leans close to you and lowers his voice. You can smell the tum on his breath old, and stale.
"It's poison, this ship, but don't let anyone hear you say it aloud. The hull listens, see, and the Cap'n hears it all. Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core. You'll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap'n Harrigan in all your days at sea, and his crew’s the same, 'specially the first mate, Mr. Plugg. Vicious little sod, he is. He'd take his own mother's liver to the butcher to make pies with, he would. But they leave me alone, mostly. They know I can't 'arm 'em."
---------------------------------------------------
As you prepare the meal Kroop is no help whatsoever, continuing to sit on his barrel and tell lewd jokes to Bezebel. When you ask about the man in the hold he chuckles. "That's Owlbear. He's a bit dim, if you know what I mean. Mr. Plugg keeps 'im around as his pet."
After being told she'll have the job of running around the ship to deliver messages, Šeherzada looks down at her billowing skirt.
This is hardly going to help, she thinks.
Any of you have a dagger? she calls to the crew. I need to make some alterations to my clothing...
Šeherzada begins hacking at the fabric of her skirt. When she's finished, the skirt's ragged edge ends just above her knees, displaying the tattoo-like whorls on her calves for all to see.
Thank you, she says as she returns the dagger to its owner.
She hands the remainder of her skirt to Strom. Can you hold onto that for me? she asks. No pockets, she replies to his quizzical stare.
She makes her way to the quarterdeck , making sure to use the port gangway--while she's not familiar with the protocol aboard the Wormwood, in her experience some captains have been sticklers for maintaining a separation between the officers and the crew. No point upsetting anyone so early...
She makes a snappy salute to Captain Harrigan as she arrives at the quarterdeck. Awaiting your orders, Captain.
###
Lucky nodded his head and clenched his teeth. Stealing from the quartermaster. Kill him. He looked towards the hatch leading up into the ship. There was no other way out. Stealing from the quartermaster. The man wanted to die, and Lucky had a fair guess why. The captain on this ship, this Harrigan, was obviously a cruel bastard, and there was no doubt that some horrible fate awaited the thief.
On the other hand, what would happen to Lucky if they thought he killed the man? The captain had promised a keelhauling to anyone caught killing anyone else. There was nobody else in the bilge, so the blame would fall on him. If it looked like the man had been killed.
Lucky let out a soft breath, and then put his hand over the man's mouth, pinching his nose closed. He watched the hatch until the body stopped struggling, and then counted to a hundred to be sure.
Strom listens carefully to Kroop, trying to get an idea of what he was in form. He acknowledges those he's introduced to as politely as possible, What a zoo down here, what other oddities will I run into? Once he takes a sip of the rum, and immediately spits out the sip. With a big grin, "Puts hair on the belly!" he says, to cover up his blunder. When Kroop isn't looking he dumps the liquid back into the barrel. When there's a spare moment, "Got many friends on board Kroop? Can I call you Kroop? Friends without feathers if you get my meaning. Strom tries to keep his tone light and conversational.
When Kroop talks about the Captain, and the rotten nature of the Wormwood, Strom lets his hands pause, hardly breathing. When Kroops' story ends, the big man clears his throat, "Rotten eh? I worked the Murky Gull before pulling into Port Peril, Captain Minair was no pastry, let me tell you! Surely Harrigan can't be much worse, eh?"
Mawimbi ignores the taunt, and begins his climb. No day action but diligent work. Does that get a bonus on both the climb and the profession check, or just the profession check?
Night action: Explore the deck. If possible, Mawimbi prefers to sleep under the stars. I take it that his orangutan missed the boat, and won't be sailing along with the crew?
Before you can reach the quarterdeck you're stopped by a human in a chain shirt with a foppish black mustache. "Only officers on the poop deck when the Cap'n's present." The man quickly sends you on your way, but you do notice a cage hanging from the mizzenmast. A parrot is perched atop the cage, and inside you see the sun-dried remains of a body.
Šeherzada quickly casts detect magic to make sure there's nothing untoward in the room, and then, moves into the room as quietly as she can. The Lords will have to wait, she thinks to herself. Shahriyar could very well be headed for a cookpot if I don't do something.
She tries to peer under the cloth to see if she can see Shahriyar, then looks around the room for ideas--if she tries to steal the turtle out from under the man's arm, she would only be one search away from punishment; a turtle is rather hard to conceal. She needs to find a way to get it legitimately--and the smell of rum on the man's breath gives her an idea.
Carefully, she picks up the ladle lying on the bench and dips it into the rum barrel before replacing it on the bench, making a puddle of flammable alcohol for her to focus on from the doorway.
After removing her spell component pouch and secreting it in a nearby crate--no need to provide him with a reason to suspect I'm a wizard, she thinks--and checking quickly to see if she can see anyone loitering around that might notice what she's doing , Šeherzada casts spark.
The ladle bursts into flames, and, on cue, she yelps from the doorway and rushes into the room. She grabs the cloth that covers the cage, and smothers the fire as quickly as she can.
Then she turns around with relief plain on her face.
That was close. Thank goodness I was here to help, she says. The whole ship could have burned down. She loosens a couple of laces on her top and fans herself with her hands as she leans back on the bench. It's so hot in here... I'm Šeherzada, by the way, she says with her best smile.
"Can't say I know much about no Minair, but Harrigan's trouble. Sometimes I find meself wonderin' if he's all human. Maybe got some o' that demon blood in his veins."
The black chicken squawks at your actions, flapping its wings as the sleeping man simply shifts slightly, grunts a little, and continues to snore.
As the sun begins to set the ship's bell is rung and, having been informed at some point during the day of its meaning, you assemble with the rest of the crew on the main deck to witness the "Bloody Hour." Mr. Plugg stands on the foredeck, the mast to his back. Glancing over your should toward the poop deck you notice Captain Harrigan and several of the ship's officers watching intently.
Plugg raises his voice to address the crew. "To survive at sea, to be successful in these waters, there must be order. Betraying one's crew is like betraying yer kin. Stealing from yer kin, is stealing from us all. From the Captain. What fate awaits thieves on board this ship?"
A resounding cry of "Keelhaul him!" erupts from the eager crew. Plugg nods. "Jakes Magpie betrayed this crew. He stole from the quartermaster. Stole from Captain Harrigan. For his actions he gets the pleasure of kissin' the Wormwood's belly. Bring up the prisoner!" Plugg nods to Master Scourge, positioned at the stairs leading to the ship's hold. Scourge calls something incomprehensible down into the ship, and after several moments a frantic crewman appears and whispers something in the man's ear. A look of dread crosses Scourge's face; he stalks over to a woman in a tricorne hat, taking her by the arm and leading her roughly into the hold. After several minutes both return to the deck, Scourge looking particularly sheepish as he makes his way to the foredeck and speaks quietly with Mister Plugg.
The expression on Plugg's face change from one of annoyance to outrage, and he takes hold of Scourge by the man's collar. "It seems there's been a change in tonight's festivities. Someone told ol' Jakes his fate this morning. Magpie lost any hope he had left, and sought refuge from his rightful punishment at the feet of the Lady o' Graves." Plugg gives Scourge a shake. "It truly is a shame; the Captain was wronged, an' there must be punishment. By warning ol' Jakes, Mister Scourge here has volunteered for a session with the cat!"
Nervous chatter can be heard among the crew as two of the ships officers make their way from the poop deck, through those gathered on the main deck, and climb the stairs to stand on either side of Scourge. They roughly remove his jacket and take one arm each, forcing the man to his knees. You watch as Plugg administers ten strikes with his cat-o’-nine-tails, leaving blood dripping from Scourge's back. During his punishment Scourge's eyes find Lucky in the crowd, and sudden realization crosses his face; Scourge glares at Wilkins until he's released to collapse on the deck. Plugg and the other two officers leave Scourge where he falls, stalking wordlessly to the poop deck where they join Captain Harrigan.
A hush has fallen over the crew, the events of Bloody Hour leaving them confused and hesitant. The mood changes swiftly, however, as Grok emerges fro the hold, the half-orc's arms straining as she lugs a bucket of rum to the deck. She returns to the hold only to emerge once again with Fishgits Kroop, the two of them carrying the fish stew prepared by Strom. The pirates aboard the Wormwood eagerly start in on the offered fare.
On his way up to the main deck after a long and desperate day, Lucky leaves the heavy mace he found in Strom's hammock. He expects it will do him more good in the big man's hands than it would in his own.
He looks pale when he comes on deck, but it could just be from a long day confined in the bilges. He hardly seems to notice anyone, until the 'bloody hour' begins, when his attention is riveted to the actions that transpire. When Plugg announces that Scourge will be punished for his mistake, Lucky sags against the rail, breathing hard as the color slowly returns to his cheeks.
When Scourge's eyes find him, Lucky cocks his head curiously and looks over his shoulder, as if wondering who Scourge could be so angry at. Lucky shakes his head, and mouths "He was dead when I got there."
Lucky forces himself to eat, barely tasting the fish stew as he ponders the results of his actions. He might have conned Scourge, but he's not sure the pirate bought it. He's not at all sure that a belief in Lucky's innocence will stop Scourge from making his life a living hell, anyway. He takes his rum ration in one quick drink, coughing as it burns on hte way down, but showing no serious effects from it.
Spying Strom, he strolls by and whispers "Something for you in your hammock, friend."
Strom watches in horror as the bloody hour happens, noticing Scourge seems to be staring at someone... Lucky maybe? Strom isn't certain but wonders what it was all about. He tries to feel sorry for the dead man, but can't muster up the compassion.
He tries to sit by the others he woke up with when the bloody hour is over. "How'd you all fare today?" he notes some look pretty worn out.
As grok emerges with the fish stew Strom watches with an odd satisfaction as the pirates tear into it, and a little amazement, he wasn't sure it'd go well for him. When the rum is handed to him, his eyes widen, and he looks around at the others, shaking his head slightly if he can catch their eye. Lucky downs his quickly and easily, making Strom wonder if he's making too much out of a little rum, but something about it just seems off. He waits till there's a distraction and silently pours his rum onto the deck, trying to convey it's undesirable nature to the others.
When Lucky makes the comment about his hammock Strom looks curiously at the man, and is sure to check it out later. He tries to catch Lucky as some point, "Was it just me or did was Scourge looking at you while getting whipped, it was difficult to tell from my angle."
Much later that evening Strom goes to see Kroop, trying to ingratiate himself a little more with the worn down cook. "A dead man and Scourge gets whipped, what an evening huh? Are they always this exciting?" He looks around, making a show of making sure they're alone, "So what do they do with the posessions of those they 'enlist' here on the Wormwood?" The big man leans back, apparently relaxing, "So if you had your pick of captain, who'd it be?"
"Bannana's? Who's that? I don't remember meeting anyone by that name. And what you got hiding under that blanket? If it's a woman I think you ought to share, don't you? Ha!" the laugh seems a bit forced. When Kroop makes the comment about the captain having demon blood he leans close, "Demon's blood you say? Got any proof or is that just the most recent scuttlebutt among the crew?"
When Lucky makes the comment about his hammock Strom looks curiously at the man, and is sure to check it out later. He tries to catch Lucky as some point, "Was it just me or did was Scourge looking at you while getting whipped, it was difficult to tell from my angle."
Lucky looks up at Strom and feels his mouth go dry. What if everyone saw Scourge looking? How long until it was Lucky manacled to the mast, asking to be killed before they keel-hauled him? He trusted the barbarian enough to give him a weapon, but this was more dangerous than a weapon. He couldn't risk being overheard, or risk Strom telling the story to save his own hide. He took a deep breath and looked up at the barbarian with a shrug.
"I don't know why he has it in for me. He stuck me down in the bilge all day with a dead man to keep me company. Maybe he thought I'd be the one catching a whipping. Maybe he thought I'd crack." He shook his head. "All I know is that we're in danger, and we need to watch each others backs, before someone slips the knife in."
Kroop shakes his head in response to your question about the Captain's heritage. "My own thinkin', is all. Barnabis Harrigan is one to be careful of. He don't talk much, an' so long as he doesn't you're fine. It's when he takes in interest in you that you run the risk of losin' your neck."
When you ask who he would like as Captian, Kroop takes the ladle from his rum barrel and brandishes it in the air. "I follow the dreaded Bezebel the Black-Hearted, 'til the day I die!" The man starts chuckling, which soon turns into more clucking.
Strom listens intently to Lucky, the answer tickling his brain in just the wrong place. Strom lets lucky finish, and then gives him an even look, and then glances around to see if anyone's paying them any attention, "We grow tall where I come from, but that doesn't mean they grow us dumb." He goes on, "Look you don't know me and I don't know you, and I know you're leaving something out, but you're right on one point, we need to watch each others backs. You don't want to tell me something, fine. But don't lie to my face. Save that for these animals." and he points with his chin towards Plugg, the Captain and the rest. He shrugs, "If you can't do that, then you're leaving yourself out to dry. Me and Sheherzada are already trying to look out for each other. Just think about it." Strom stands up straight again, giving the man time to respond. If no words are forthcoming he turns back to the others in their... tiny back-watching group.
Mawimbi drinks the rum, and changes his decision to try and sleep under the stars, in order to get more acquainted with his fellows despite his sstandoffish nature. After observing the flogging, he realizes that his first goal should be to retrieve his missing symbol of Gozreh, a simple miniature conch shell decorated with tiny druidic symbols and secured with a simple leather strap. To a nonworshiper it would have no value, but returned it could be used to heal those lash wounds.
If possible, the druid will try to barter services with the quartermaster for it; perhaps he has a broken item that could be mended with magic?
Charisma
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Con roll .
Lucky is a thorough ransacker, and after the day's events, sleep seems unlikely. He loses track of time going through the muck, but gets the job done. He also tires himself out enough to actually fall asleep as soon as he climbs into his hammock, and manages a good night's sleep.
He finds Strom's hammock and leans down, gently waking the other man and whispering softly. "You are right. We need to be able to trust each other. I was wrong to lie to you. That's all I can tell you now. If that is enough that we are friends, tell me in the morning."
Then, Lucky creeps off to find his own hammock, quickly sinking into a deep sleep.
As Lucky shakes him, the barbarian comes awake with a jolt of fear, his hand nearest the wall gripping the newly found mace tightly. He listens without expression to Lucky's words, and the watches the man head to his hammock to sleep. Smiling a quick half smile, the big man relaxes again, and settles back to sleep.
Cecic enters the dim light of the hold, the sounds of skittering and scraping meets his ears from the darker corners, momentarily stopping as his feet sound on the hardened wooden deck. Ailes piled high on each side with sacks, tightly packed. Cecic's eyes take time to adjust to the shadows of the hold, even as the ship gently rocks, movemnt is evident is various sacks and on the floors. Occasional dark and glinting eyes peer from sacks, whiskers splayed above a mouth full of sharp and nasty teeth. Not a time to use his feet, he takes a wooden broom leaning against a supporting beam, and thrashes it ineffectually at those creatures that venture out from the safety of the bags. However, his reflexes don't seem to have their normal sharpness, perhaps its the dryness of his mouth, the thumping in his head, the aftermath of the rum. Despite his best efforts he cannot catch many rats at all, so instead starts to search the hold to see what might be there.
Eventually he makes his way up back on deck, rubbing his eyes as he sees the blue sky above. Well that didn't go well, best prepare for the worst. I wonder he thinks, no that cruel mate don't really like me!
###
Momentarily annoyed, Šeherzada does her best to calm the flapping chicken, then checks the cage to see how Shahriyar is holding up.
Then, she jostles the drunken chef awake.
Sorry to wake you, but I thought you should know--there was a fire in your galley. I put it out. Are you all right?
###
Šeherzada takes note of the woman in the hat who gets dragged down to the bilges. She must have some specific skill that Scourge needed, and in situations like this, knowledge is power.
Šeherzada is stony-faced as Master Scourge is punished. Strange. I would have thought he and Plugg were close. Perhaps there's an angle there that we can use to create division in the ranks? She files the observation away; if any of her new companions are going to get out of this, they're going to need to play the long game.
When the rum and stew arrives, Šeherzada tiredly drinks her rum ration as she eats her stew.
"How'd you all fare today?"
Not too bad--I got the usual leers and jeers from the crew, but that's nothing I haven't dealt with before. Right now, though, I'm so tired I think I am just going to go curl up in my hammock as soon as dinner's finished. Running all over the place gave me a good idea about the layout of the ship, though.
I've also discovered that our possessions will be at the quartermaster's store. That's her, the half-orc. She points at Grok ladling out rations of rum. Perhaps one of us can visit her tomorrow. We might be able to barter for them back somehow.
Šeherzada begins eating her stew. Strom, did you make this? she asks the big man. It's really good. The cook seemed completely soused when I was down there earlier.
Speaking of which, I wonder if you could do something for me?
She lowers her voice as best as she's able, hopefully the distraction of the crew's voluble conversation will help.
Look, there's plenty you don't know about me yet, but if we're going to get through this, we need to stick together. I'm more than a deckhand; I'm a mage. To illustrate, she speaks a few quiet syllables and gestures towards the fish stew Strom is eating. It turns a violent shade of pink. I have a familiar--a turtle, named Shahriyar--who came aboard with me somehow, but now he's in a cage in the galley. I tried to get him back earlier today, but failed. Is there anything you can do to help me convince the cook that he should give him back to me?
She makes an apologetic face as Strom looks forlornly at his pink stew. Sorry, says, and lifts her mug of rum to hide her spellcasting as she turns the barbarian's meal back to its original colour.
###
Šeherzada looks around for the woman in the tricorne hat; if she can't spot her, she will ask around to see if she can find anything out about her.
###
Šeherzada curls up in her hammock and falls into a deep sleep.
Nodding proudly at Sererzada's compliment, "I think I got lucky with the soup, but we'll see. Poor Kroop is in a constant state of drunk." He leans closer as the slight woman begins to speak, turning his head so his ear better picks up on the whispers. His eyes widen as she makes her skills known to him. Turning his face back her direction, "A MAGE? Can't you just waggle your fingers and get us off this floating death-trap?" While he waits for her response, his face pales a little, "Oh no, Kroops says the turtle is destined to be the captains soup! I'll see what can be done to get your magic turtle back." Strom gazes at his stew a little distrustfully after it's recent color changes.
Before the Bloody Hour you all recall seeing Cecic being yelled at by Master Scourge, the man holding a still-squirming rat by the tail mere inches from the halfling's face. Scourge looked as if he was going to use the rat to administer several lashes, but the officer was halted by the sound of the ship's bell.
As the tall man leaves you find yourself with much to think about. You are about to start into your meal once more when a pair of slender hands covered in ocean-themed tattoos, which seem to extend the length of their owner's arms, gently takes hold of your forearm. Turning you find yourself face to face with the woman in the tricorne hat, the one Scourge led into the hold during the Bloody Hour. She peeks at you from beneath her hat's brim, her face framed by a mane of fiery red hair. She leans in close to whisper in your ear. "That was a foolish thing you did, friend. If I hadn't covered for you, Magpie's punishment would have become yer own. A brave move on your first day, to be sure, but stupid; I think we need to speak."
The woman slowly releases you arm, backing away from you slowly as she retreats into the hold. She beckons to you seductively, but her slate gray eyes remain serious as they disappear below deck.
Fishguts shrugs. "He looks like a strong monkey. Need to be sure he's friendly before letting him 'ave free reign of the kitchen."
Speaking with Kroop, Nighttime
Kroop continues to cluck to himself, too drunk to even care that you're in the room. Bezebel looks at you from the table, the chicken turning her head to the side as she watches you.
You check on your turtle and it appears fine. If you didn't know any better you would think it was a little bit fatter than the last time you saw it. It's munching happily on a hunk of cheese.
The cook awakes with a start, looking around in confusion before noticing you. He asks you to repeat yourself, then leans to the side to look around you at the galley. "i don't see any sign of fire. You must 'ave done a good job, but why are ye here? Is there somethin' I can help you with?"
AFTER BLOODY HOUR; MAIN DECK
You notice the woman in the tricorne hat hanging on to Lucky's arm. After whispering something in the man's ear, the woman beckons him to follow her as she retreats into the hold.
You ask around the ship and the man who gave you the dagger earlier that day provides you with some information. "You mean the sassy one that smokes the pipe? Says her name's Sandara. She was 'recruited' a few days ago, before we reached Port Peril. I've seen her use some magics before, but it's best to keep away from her; she's caught Scourge's fancy, if ye know the sayin'."
NIGHTTIME; SLEEPING QUARTERS
"It would seem I am in your debt, m'lady," he said, with a flirtatious smile, but his eyes watched her every move, as closely as if they were in a knife fight. "As for my foolishness, well, how else was I going to meet you?"
The rest of his trove he stashes in his locker, unsure who will make the best use of the things he found.
You follow the woman into the lower hold, and when you arrive you find her staring at your from atop a crate. "Stow it, swab; I like your style, but this is neither the time nor the place. Catch."
The woman tosses you a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside you find a carved conch shell and a small tome . "Those belong to your friends. Least, you seemed chummy enough when brought on deck this mornin'. Make sure they get 'em; on the Fever Sea it's not what you know but who you know that helps you get by. Friends help each other out, enemies cause trouble. Remember that; it's essential for your survival. 'Specially now."
Lucky catches the bundle and looks within. A shell and a book. He nods, offering a friendly smile.
"May I have your name, at least so I can tell my friends who their friend is?" he said, wrapping the bundle and concealing it under his shirt. "I am Lucky. At least that's what I'm called."
"You're saying I'm going to catch hell for a pleasure I won't have had," he said, and chuckled. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Still, I owe you my life, Sandara. I won't just be watching your back for the pleasure of it."
Lucky returns to the little group on deck, sighing as he sat down.
"That one's playing hard to get, for now" he says, for the benefit of anyone listening. Then he speaks low as he opens the cloth bundle, passing the holy symbol and the spell book to their owners. "Sandara offers her help and healing to us, and these things as well"
Then get the heck out of there asap. If retrieved, find Scourge and offer to help his injuries.
You return to the deck and spot Scourge on the foredeck, surrounded by several members of the Wormwood's crew. His wounds appear to have been bandaged at some point during the evening, and his tattered longcoat is draped over his back. As you approach he hisses between clenched teeth. "What d' ye want, Jungle Man?" Scourge is extremely agitated, and the men around him glare as you approach."[/b]
Stroms eyes narrow a little, "The woman in the hat offers her help? and what does she want in return?"
Without my focus, I can only offer a heal check, which seems like he may already have had.
Jungle man, I be. Jungle man can treat wounds. Who bound your lashes? Are you in pain? Me can treat.
He offers a makeshift long-term care (to help recover more hp).
During the day Cecic gets close to the feathered man chained to the mast, "You crossed the Captain? And you're punished for what?" he asks.
Later he asks one of the crew for a mug to take some water, he drinks some before going to the creature "Water to loosen your throat so I can hear your story?" The halfling sits easily perched on some cargo near the mast, his hair flys behind him, the wind once more catching his straw ponytail. he heat of the day makes the cleric sweat.
Once in discource with the man, Cecic asks if he is injured in any way, perhaps he can make the man more comfortable, for a consideration of course. If the man responds, Cecic looks at the mans health, determining what ails him most
Before eating the meal and drinking the rum, Cecic prays and blesses his food, "My lady Pirate Queen, know that to follow you with emptiness inside is a sign of your displeasure, I ask you to make this food and drink wholesome, that we might fight for you pleasure." During the meal, Cecic enters a discourse with Strom, "A fine meal that, who taught you to cook like that?" He offers what help he can to ensure that the vittels served to the Captain and his officers is of sufficient quality to keep Strom from a beating.
During dinner Cecic looks at the bloody welts covering Scourge's back. In the evening he approaches the man. "Mr Scourge, that beating, it seemed harsh just because a man died in the bilges. I take it the captain is always quick with the punishment? Is there anything I can do to relieve your pain? When I was on the 'Crimson Sun', some of the crew used to come to me let my warm hands ease their hurt. I could try and see if such would aid you, if you desire? Lets just say, you can look out for me in return eh?"
The man laughs loudly when you ask about being punished. "Not punished. I'ma 'elper. I'ma guard!" The man looks pleased with himself. He shoves a meaty hand into a large pouch at his side, and several small crabs squirm in his fingers when he pulls it out. A few of the creatures fall to the deck as the man shovels the rest into his mouth. He chews happily, his mouth open, the sound of his teeth crushing the crabs' shells echoing through the hold.
When you offer the man water he readily accepts the offering, using it to wash down his snack. "T'ank you." He doesn't say much more, though he demonstrates spontaneous bought of laughter. He shakes head to indicate he's uninjured, and just smiles when you ask about making him more comfortable.
Evening Before Turning In
Scourge glares at you. "Harsh, ye say? Ye 'ave a lot t' learn if ye think what I felt was 'harsh,' ye stupid fool. Ah did nothin' wrong, an' I still got off easy. Anyone else woulda' suffered the kellhaulin' meant fer Magpie. Woulda' be a splendid show!" Scourge laughs at the thought before turning away from you to sulk some more. "Get ye gone, ye worthless swab."
Strom looks around carefully, "I've never cooked a day in my life, well, except on a spit, heh. I got lucky." He says the last with all the assurance of a man who knows all men know how to cook from a spit. It's a primal thing, women wouldn't understand. "If you ever have the chance to stop in to make sure I'm stirring enough, I'd appreciate the help. How'd the rat stomping go? I'm not sure how I can help with that but I'd be happy to do what I can." Strom sits back suddenly, remembering something, "Speaking of the price of tea in Tian, have you heard that Kroop has some kind of monkey in his room? Apparently they found it snooping around the docks and decided to bring it along. A monkey of all things, I hope I get to see it sometime!"
At the mention of ratcatching, the halfling's eyes look down, hie eyelids closing slightly. As his shoulders slump, Cecic answers Strom, "Well, you see they were hiding in the sacks and even with my eyes the deck was dark and dim, hardly saw any at all. I mean I'm sure given the right conditions, I'd be more than capable of squishing the red eyed black faced vermin. Nasty littled fanged mouths, I wanna do it right when I kill one you know, one clean blow, don't want their poisonous little teeth drawing my blood. You know what I mean. Such evil looking little beasties and I bet they're eating our supplies, so I really do want to rid the ship of as many of them as I can. So next time, I'll be really successful, you'll see." As the others look at the halflings diatribe on the rats, he becomes self-conscious and stop hi witterings. A twinkle quickly returns to his eyes as he changes subject.
He continues in a lighter vein, "Hope the monkeys got webbed feet, it'll need to swim as well as climb the rigging you know. Eh Strom. Is it really Kroop's, what does he use it for. I wonder if it is trained to do tricks and stuff, you know like those monkeys I saw once. What was it, oh yes 'The Maxima Trundheisti Circusisma", they had must be .. oh must have been hundreds of monkeys performing tricks in thir show, climbing, tumbling and even stealing the hats from those brave enough to sit in the fron row. yes they could really perform. The halfing smiles as he exaggerates the performance and its size. "So do you think Kroop tell us all, where does his monkey hail from, does it perform or is it just his little pet?"