Dot, dot, diddly dot!
Here's my dot:
Dot-ted
•
• There's ya black-hearted scoundrels a proper spot!
ready to serve
As memories of the night before fade, you awaken on a hard wooden floor to a feeling like the worst hangover ever: your head throbs with surges of pain, you have a sickening aftertaste of something in your mouth, and the feeling that you need to vomit. The rhythmic creaking noise suffusing the room does little to ease your pounding headache and the feeling of the room swaying, as if you were really drunk, only makes you queasier. You look around and note that there are shapes like other people in the gloom, but cannot make out any of their features. As you sit up, you hear several pair of heavy boots clunk against the floor and a door open. Light from a lantern painfully spears your eyes, causing you to squint. You can make out seven figures standing there, dressed in dark clothing, but it would take your eyes a few more moments to adjust to make out any more detail than that. As your eyes adjust to the light a second or two later, your eyes rest upon a tall man with a braided beard and the garb of a Shackles pirate. He is accompanied by six large men, obviously pirates of some sort, with cutlasses dangling from their belt sashes and holding leaden saps in their meaty hands. The man makes a grimacing expression, which seems to be an attempt to smile made by someone incapable of doing so. He reaches and pulls a long leather whip from his belt and cracks the whip, making a loud popping noise. He then screams Still abed with the sun over the yardarm, on your feet, ye filthy swabs? Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap'n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast! The man stands there, impatient, waiting for you to do as he commands.
perception check
intelligence check
Never accept food for free from pirates again...
Iggy grumbles low, standing up and rubbing at his eyes. Last remembered, there were pretty lasses and massive amounts of rum and fish. Of course, the sea would call him back. Besmara always had some trick up her sleeve to get him back. "Such a fickle Banshee..." If there was sausages to be had, maybe, just maybe it'd get the taste of gods damned nutmeg out of his mouth. Who in the seven seas put nutmeg in their libations. No damn sense in that.
Realizing that angering the current crew is, at best, a bad idea, he stumbles his half-drunken way up to the deck.
Temerith began stumbling towards the top deck
Variziel blinks several times, his eyes struggling to adjust to the light and his brain trying to work through the pain. I just wanted to get a taste of piracy, not whatever in Golarion this is... Where am I?
The half-elf's training kicks in at the crack of the whip. He quickly rolls sideways and pushes himself to his feet... at least, that's the idea. In reality, the rocking of the ship and the hangover--his first--throw off his balance, and he manages to get to his knees before falling over again. After another failed attempt, he manages to get to his feet, where he glares at the men before reaching to draw his sword.
...Except, again, this is only the idea. He glances down at his hip and a small groan escapes his lips as he sees that his sword is gone. He also notices that the weight of his wrist-sheathed daggers is also missing, and of course he has no idea where his pack is. At least I'm still wearing my riding leathers... He sighs and gives up for now, deciding that heading to the deck may be the best option for now. I'll have to find my sword and journal, if nothing else.
Running his tongue along the back of his teeth, trying to get off that taste, Variziel notices the man's face as he passes. "Uh... You. Don't I know you?" He puts a hand to his temple, trying to stem the dull pain in his head. What did I drink to get this? And how much? "Where am I?"
Ignatius chuckles, knowing easily what has happened to them, staring out at the bright sea. "We've been shanghai-ed, no doubt."
Charlotte slowly awakens, feeling sick to her stomach. "Nnnngh... Plus tard, Petite Soeur... J'me sens comme si un cheval m'avait piétiné l'estomac... Oui, oui, je sais, tu me l'avais dit... Ouais, ben c'est facile à dire quand on à pas besoin de manger..."
Charlotte opens her eyes, taking in the sight of the ship's hold. A quick patdown of her waist reveals that her possessions are missing. "At least they had the decency to leave me my clothes, those rats. I hope you enjoyed the fiddling, scum, because I'm certainly never playing for you again."
Knowing better than to oppose a whole crew, Charlotte steps out on deck, shielding her eyes from the sun.
As her eyes adapt to the light, she sees three men near the trap door, neither of whom look to me in much better shape than she is. "Let me guess," she asks, her voice marked with an accent of northern Varisia, "They got you from the tavern last night too?"
Ignatius nods slowly, exposing both the scar on his left cheek and the mark of Besmara on the other.
"Besmara bless my soul, we're in for a long ride. As sure as 'gulls s%%$, I am seeing a pattern now." the native to the region shrugs slowly.
"Apparently someone must have come to the Formidably Maid looking for more things than just flaunting their money."
"Looks like we're gonna have to play nice for a bit," Charlotte observes.
Suddenly, she focuses on a point about four feet off the ground and just a little to Ignatius' right, with a "don't you dare" kind of expression, before returning to the conversation as though nothing odd had happened.
"Have you found out anything else? Where we're headed, perhaps?"
"Shang...hai'd?" The half-elf is slightly taller than most men, with a lean and athletic build. His smooth skin, aquiline features, bright green eyes, and long white hair are handsome, though he currently looks somewhat disheveled and the worse for wear from the night before. He's wearing simple riding leathers that look worn and functional as light armor. His right hand keeps clenching and opening just beside his hip, as though trying to grab something that isn't there. He moves with agility, though a little jerkily--he's getting used to the motions of the ship, it seems.
Variziel looks from Ignatius to Charlotte, nodding as he recognizes them from the previous evening. "Do you two know what's going on here? Are we on a pirate's ship?"
"That, we are. It's a pretty common practice amongst pirates, grab a bunch of people at a tavern; get them drunk or drugged up, hoist them onto your ship, and force 'em to work. Welcome to the life. You're not from around here, I take it?"
The giggles of a young girl can be heard echoing on the wind.
Then, Charlotte's tone turns somber and more esrious: "Better be on your best behavior, they're not going to play around with their prisoners. If you're useless, they'll get rid of you."
Iggy looks around at the noise and then shakes his head. "The Banshee must be amused at this motley group..."
Iggy wipes at the heavy stubble on his face, his eyes obviously showing a bit of bad sleep from the night before. "The lady has it right. They find ya, they take ya, ya join them...and then..." He leans closer to the group, "if ya be lucky and Bemara blessed, then ya get a chance at a ship of your own."
Variziel exhales. "Brilliant. At least I'll get to learn about it... No, I'm not. I'm from Taldor, actually. But my great-grandfather was a famous pirate, and I've come to learn about him and his life."
"Pirate blood in ya too?" Iggy grins. "Then ya got a lot of learnin' to do, if'n you're gonna show great-gran-pappy proper respect and not die a landlubber. Savvy?"
Variziel rubs his eyes with his knuckles. "I think so. I'm happy to learn."
"At least you'll have something to smile about while they work us like dogs, I guess."
Charlotte looks back into the hold, where the pirates are still hassling the remaining prisoners. In doing so, she catches eye of Temerith.
"So, what about you, beardy? Are you one of their prisoners too?"
Whips and boats ... By the wind and sea, I pray it's not the same as last time
Jesal looks down at his arms, and although the scars from the shackles from his previous slavery are there, the absence of new ones brings a slight relief.
He knucles his forehead to the man with the whip rising to his feet and dusting off his pants, "On me way, sa. Mighten dis one be knowin' ya name?"
Glancing at the others, he whispers, "Methinks ya all here for da same reason Salt is ... ag'nst ya want," he thumps his thumb in his chest. "Lessa be gettin' topside 'n see whaddawe gotten inna."
As Jesal walks up to the group, he can feel something tugging gently at one of his dreadlocks.
"Here's another one of us," Charlotte tells her companions as Jesal emerges. "Did they pick up the entire tavern, or what? Next thing you know, the bearskin rug they had by the fireplace will crawl out of that hold and pick up an oar," Charlotte quips.
Squinting at the bright light, and the confusion from the sun, "Oh, ya ... dis one seein' now dat we already topside. Methinks the light bein from the bonk on da head. Issa jes da sun, ya?" Salt laughs at his loss of situational awareness.
Iggy shakes his head, a slight grin coming to his lips. "Oh, I'm expecting every single thing possible to come from the tavern. Besmara has too many strange things in her ship's hold not to have somethin' weird showing up."
Seeing Salt confused by the bright light. "Oh, we're definitely in for fun."
"Weird things coming out of that hold, huh?" Charlotte winks at Ignatius, putting much emphasis on her purple eye. "I think the something weird is standing right in front of you, big guy," she adds, playfully running a single index finger under his chin, letting her sharp fingernail gently rake against his stubble.
"So..." Charlotte asks, stepping away from Ignatius, "Any of you lot have names?"
"Ignatius Hank," the young man chuckles, the movement flexing the skull and crossbones on his cheek. "Momma Esmeralda taught me just enough to know not to do anything stupid till we get the chance."
He rubs the chin and winks. "Besides, I ain't exactly intimidatin' or the Calistrian's nectar with this stuff on my face."
Perception
Alchemy
Int
Janus smiles,Oh what a trick my lord, promise the experience of a new canvas with which to paint your name and instead hand me a new berth for me to practice my art on troubled flesh. He stands to his feet as gracefully as possible given the delicious pounding in his head and the ache in his bones.
His body is criss-crossed with scars. Upon his chest is a giant blue-green skull, missing the lower jaw and having a spiked chain drug through both eye sockets. At first it will seem but a tattoo, but on any closer inspection one will be able to tell it is done all in copper. It was applied in a very painful process in which the original design is cut into the skin followed by quick salt water submersion, every time you are brought up for air a small amount of molten copper is poured directly into the design followed almost instantly by immersion back into the brine.
Sailor
Ignoring the yammering of the others, Janus moves with purpose and speed. Best not to make trouble for this man, he may be useful later... and who knows maybe I can get a kiss of that whip at some point. "Pressed into services hmmmmm. You didn't need the Taggit, I would have joined up without it. By any chance do you need a surgeon? Or am I to be a deckhand for now? Either way let us get this show above line."
Janus looks back at his new companions and favors them with a smile before turning to bearded man once again, favoring him with a wicked smile oozing with the confidence of a man born to privilege. In a sinister rasp punctuated with the thick sibilant accent of a native speaker of shadowtongue"Now my good sir, if you don't mind I will be headed topside to greet the good captain Harrigan and see how he compares to Papa Muerte. By my first impressions of you, he must be a lenient and kind master. Oh how he must be so nice and forgiving of those who waste his time, as you are wasting it now by standing in my way. Be a good lad kindly move. I may enjoy being the one who gets to tend to your wounds after you are given a taste of lash and cat. Oh the pleasures I can show a man such as yourself." At this his voice takes an even lower more sinister register"Oh yes my dear child. Such wonderful things I could teach you. Such... terrible... wonderful...things." Each of the final words are spoken with daggers in his voice, flensing blades dripping with menace and a hint of sensual promise.
Intimidate
"... Speaking of weird..." Charlotte leans in and whispers to Ignatius, glancing at Janus as he steps out of the ship. "Get a load of that one. Freaky."
Then, as though she had said nothing demeaning, Charlotte resumes a neutral stance. "Charlotte DeGivre, maiden of the sea, practitioner of divine magic, fiddler and, if you were to ask my old crew, deserving of the most noble title of 'abyss-cursed harlot.' Nice to meet you all."
Ignatius leans closer, nodding. "Some things are even weirder than what Besmara dreams up. That ain't no Besmara spawn. Befriend him, it, whatever? Kinda like how they say the beast speakers make friends with the sharks, so the sharks don't eat them?" He shrugs.
"Just don't chum the waters." Ignatius seems in the same mindset as Charlotte. "I'd suggest sleeping in groups, far away from him. For all we know, he could be a plant."
Iggy smiles wider at the "cursed" comment. "Well, they always have said that the Black Lady is the Queen of curses." He points to the most evident mark on his cheek of her...blessing? "A pleasure to meet ya, as well."
"Variziel Dawnshadow, Swordlord-in-training," Variziel says with a doff of an imaginary hat to Charlotte. "Pleasure to meet you all..." He trails off as he looks at the new arrival. "Looks strange, certainly... Maybe he's part of the crew? I don't recall seeing him last night."
Variziel raises an eyebrow at Salt. "Do I... know you? From somewhere?" He blinks and shakes his head. "The pub, of course. Excuse me, I'm still recovering."
lets learn what we can and avoid getting killed, you may know me as Temerith Rhuun.
As you and your fellow captives walk out of the room, the men close the door and walk behind you. You hear the man with the whip call out, Get a move on, ye worthless bilge rats or ye get the lash!
The grim looking man introduces himself, A recruit that finally knows his place! Mores the pity, my lash hasn't tasted flesh in at least an hour! The name's Scourge, Master Scourge to ye all, ye stinking pups!
Master Scourge lets out a cold hearted cackle, Of course ya know me, are ya dense? Me and my boys sent you somethin' special last at the bar. Hope ya enjoyed it! As fer where we are, we be on the fine ship The Wormwood, boy! Don't bother stoppin' to take in the sights though, yer gonna be here for a long time!
One of the thugs accompanying Master Scourge, this one looking to be a full blooded Orc, turns towards Charlotte and speaks in poorly articulated common I see thuh weench haz somthin' in that preetty lil' head O' hurz beezides air! She moight make ah guud sea wife!
Master Scourge growls at Janus, Ye'd best watch yer tongue on this ship before ye lose it! I will not have some worm like ye to presume to threaten me! Although Scourge's words seem tough, the fact that he has not struck Janus shows that the Nidalese man's words have had the desired effect of cowing the man into submission.
As you reach the main deck, it's apparent that you and your fellow captives are on a sizable ship in the middle of the ocean, any land so far away it's barely noticeable. Port Peril itself seems an ochre haze miles astern. As you look around, people cluster around the ship's mainmast, looking up at the higher deck on the stern where two men stand. One of them is a broad, muscular Garundi man that could put an Orc to shame, with a shaven head, a long dark beard bound on golden rings, and an eyepatch across his left eye- clearly the Captain. The other is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a cat-o'-nine-tails which has obviously seen good use.
You notice that you are not the only new recruits, as there are four others standing near you on the deck, probably brought up from elsewhere on board. You can tell they are fellow 'recruits' based on their lack of cleanliness and the uneasy expressions on their faces. A dozen or so pirates mill around the deck and in the ship's riggings, performing sailor duties.
The Captain looks down at you and the other recruits and speaks aloud in the strong voice of a leader, Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for 'volunteering' to join my crew. I'm Barnabas Harrigan. That's Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need to address me. I have only one rule- don't speak to me. I like talk, but I don't like your talk. Follow that rule and we'll all get along fine. Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we're still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There'll be a keelhaulin' for anyone caught killing' anyone! Mr.Plugg! If you'd be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it'll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of 'em
Mr.Plugg, the man beside the Captain, responds swiftly, Yes Captain, right away! he then leaps down to get closer to you all. He looks over you for a moment and smiles unpleasantly, You there, meat, what's your names? His question seemed posed at all of you.
Temerith Rhuun, sorcerer by virtue of the ritual of the "ocean's lost". I assume you require evidence?
Janus walks out into the blinding sunshine, too much time in the hold having adjusted his eyes to the dank darkness below deck. In a manner unlike the rest of the new recruits, Janus seems almost to relish his new surroundings. And here I was thinking it would take me some time to find a new ship beneath my feet. Ahh the feel of wood beneath my toes and splinters in my feet. Hard calloused feet danced lightly on soggy wood and he seemed to sway and pitch with each turn of the deck, always upright and always striding where he meant. One could tell by watching that he had been around a ship or three. An almost blissful smile played a crossed his face, seaming out of place considering the circumstances of your current status, and he began to sing out a snatch of Halyard as he strode forth.
For pain and for pleasure and dread and for awe.
Pull off me fingers and pull off me toes.
The old bite of steel by hook and by saw.
Pull off me fingers and pull off me toes.
Blood on the waters the so pretty so red
Pull off me fingers and pull off me toes.
Dream of the nightmare still awake in my bed.
Pull off me fingers and pull off me toes.
Drag home boys drag home forever will we roam.
The blood on our lips, lives dragged down in the foam.
And blood we be given to the dark prince of pain.
For every yard given we do it again.
He is halted before his next verse as the captain and his first mate come to see the fresh meat caught in the other nights nets. He waits patiently through Harrigan's little speech, mind alight with the possibility of a new ship filled with new children to minister to.
As Mr. Plugg asks he shouts out in clear voice"Janus Ult, last berth the Dead Man's Hand under Papa Muerte and ships Chirurgeon of the same."
Salt looks at Janus with an odd tilt, trying to come to some sort of internal understanding.
This is a disturbing man. Reminds me of some of the less savory characters on my last ship. Bears watching
Turning to Plugg, "Dis one being called Salt," the Mwangi man steps back after speaking, attempting to deflect attention.
When the Orc comments on her appearance, Charlotte barely supresses a shudder of disgust, but makes a mental note of remembering said orc as a potential pawn in her escape.
Charlotte listens to the captain's speech with much indifference.
"They call me Charlotte DeGivre, although, as of late, 'abyss-cursed harlot' has come up quite often." As she pronounces her old nickname, the planks at some nearby goons' feet creak strangely, without any provocation.
Against her earlier mental promises of never playing for these men again, Charlotte speaks up. "I'm a fiddler by trade; perhaps you and your crew would like some music to liven up the ship. It's great for morale and it keeps the sleepy ones awake."
Would sure beat any kind of backbreaking labor for these dogs, and it might get me my fiddle back.
Variziel stares at the captain during his speech, seemingly enraptured by the man. The Captain! He's the one I need to speak to, the one I need to prove myself to. Though he doesn't seem interested in us... That will have to change.
The half-elf steps up, flexing his hands. Now's as good a time as any...
"My name is Variziel Dawnshadow. I am a Swordlord-in-Training... and scion of Adrian Bloodsword, Free Captain of the Shackles." Hope that means something.
Jesal winces.
Not gonna turn out well for that boy. Should watch him, too. Just to make sure he doeant get his throat cut
Charlotte just barely contains herself, holding one hand over her mouth to keep the laughter in.
Seriously, pointy-ears? You're trying to flaunt your titles to your captor? Bad move, Dawnshadow.
"The heck's a Swordlord, anyway?" she mutters under her breath.
"Ignatius Hank, sailor by birth and trade." the man doesn't attempt to hide the mark of Besmara on his cheek, the information on his face and in his name speaks more than a thousand speeches.
Someday, Scourge...
Staying close to the fiddler, Iggy smirks and whispers, with a hand covering part of his mouth. "Swordlord? I think that might be a nice way to say he knows how to swing a blade but not how to work his brain without it."
Mr.Plugg lets out a chuckle, You think you're the only sparkle-pants who's claimed that? The only one who knows anything about the ritual is Free Captain Aubrey the Bonelord, advisor to Kerdak Bonefist himself and he wouldn't teach it to some dumb git like you anyways.
Mr.Plugg looks you over for a moment, Yes, I've heard of some mad Nidalese sawbones onboard his ship and you certainly match the description. How amusing. You may prove useful, yet.
Mr.Plugg seems pleased with your response, Meek, subservient. You will make a fine addition to the crew indeed.
Mr.Plugg has a wry smile run across his face, Harlot, eh? Even Abyss-cursed ones are a nice change of pace. Perhaps you can fiddle a tune for me, beautiful? Yes, that would be nice indeed... Plugg's words came off suffused with insinuation, though his request for music seemed genuine, at least.
Mr.Plugg's face seems to be an odd mixture of awe and contempt, Blood of the Bloodsword in your veins? Impressive, but not enough to save you from duty, 'sword-lord'. We don't like your kind in these parts, you fops playing at being warriors. In the Shackles, Swordlords are nothing but ponces mistakenly given a blade. You'll find I will not make that mistake.
Mr.Plugg seems unnerved by you, A sailor, eh? Something about you makes seem a bit more than that. And that name seems... familiar.
A muscular female Halfling with curly, shoulder-length brown hair dressed in a pirate's outfit and wearing a red scarf, steps forward until she is face to stomach with Mr.Plugg, looking up at him with fierce brown eyes, The name's Rosie Cussell, ya f@<kin' spankbucket and don't ye forget it! And don't even think of touching me axe or ye'll lose your pieces of eight, ye slack-jacked wh@reson! Yer men left well enough alone after one of 'em list a hand and I suggest ye do the same!
A foppish looking male Gnome with long, wavy black hair and a bejeweled eyepatch in a purple outfit and a wide brimmed hat steps forward, Let me apologize for the lovely lady's frustration at our current predicament. My name is Conchobar Turlach Shortstone, Esquire. I have no illusions of escape, but will trade service for my life, honororable sir.
A rough looking Varisian man with a small patch of beard on his chin and wearing a red sailor's outfit with dark blue scarf tied around his shaved head, steps forward, [The name's Crimson Cogward, but just call me Cog. I'm good in a fight and I pray to Pharasma for me crew, that's all ya need to know mate.[/b]
A beautiful pale-skinned Human woman with a mane of fiery red hair, deep blue eyes, arms covered in so many tattoos that the regular skin underneath can scarcely be seen, and wearing the form-fitting, bust-revealing pirate garb popular among female pirates these days, complete with a tricorn hat, steps forward with a light smile on her face, The name's Sandara Quinn matey, pirate and priestess of Besmara! Though I am not fond of being shanghai'd, I do love the sea and it gives me the chance to live me dream as a pirate, so you won't hear any complaints here! Well, except for that repulsive barnacle, Scourge over there... Sandara shoots a cold glare in Master Scourge's direction.
Mr.Plugg seems amused, Let's have a little contest, shall we? We need two more sailors to help with the riggings, so everyone of you pick a rope and start climbing. The first two to reach the top will work on the rigging. Oh, and you fall and break a few bones, you better be prepared to work with them, because we will not tolerate any laziness from you lumps of refuse. You there, sawbones! Janus, was it? We are in need of another surgeon. You are exempt from this little game, but if anyone falls and breaks something, you will set their wounds so they can get to work and be useful. Ignatius, you seem like you can handle yourself in a fight, so you have pest control duties in the bilge. This makes you exempt from this as well. And Charlotte, go to the Quartermaster Cut-Throat Grok and tell her I sent you to retrieve your fiddle. We'll see if your music compares to your... other assets.
Ah... so the sailor is a little sweet on this damsel, I see. This could come in handy.
As instructed, Charlotte follows Mr. Plugg's direction towards the Quartermaster, keeping an eye on the climbers.
"Mr. Plugg sent me to retrieve my fiddle. This ship's pretty silent. It's about time she and her men heard some music."
"Ezmeralda Hank was my momma, Master Scourge. That's the name you're missing." He waits on that last bit till the whole group is up on deck before he releases that bit of information from his lips. Seeing Quinn, he smiles and salutes her, for several moments longer than the rest of the group.
As he passes by Quinn, he makes sure his mark is the side that passes closer to her, his voice low. "Besmara's blessing to ya." The inquisitor then heads for the bilges.
Janus smiles and readies himself for the worst."Oh yes, it would be simply awful if somebody were to fall. Yes, we wouldn't want that now." He takes an almost predatory glee in the proceedings.