Gameplay now item for dotting! :)
stealth dot
Dotty dot dot.
You went to find the Wormwood (I'm assuming), and on the way there you were ambushed. Men materialized out of the shadows. You tried to fight, but were quickly subdued. The last thing you remember is the feel of a sap impacting the back of your head. Now, you feel a pounding headache, the sickly taste of cheap ale in your mouth, the hard floor, a rhythmic creaking noise, and the feeling of the room swaying, as if you were somehow drunk. Before you can do much more than sit up, however, several pairs of heavy footsteps enter the dark room, and the harsh light of a lantern painfully spears your eyes. You can feel that you are in naught but your skivvies with all your precious gear, including all your weapons, gone save for a pair of brass knuckles that were somehow missed. They press against your back, still hidden.
Once your eyes adjust, you see a tall, skinny man with a braided, black beard; long, black coat; and a vicious looking whip standing at the head of four pirate sailors with saps.
“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!” he bellows.
Along with some people you recognize from the Formerly Maid last night, one other... being... is here with you. He stands an easy six feet tall with obsidian black skin and what look like feathers for hair. Your gaze, however, is unavoidably drawn to his easily seven foot wingspan. As in he actually has Wings of beautiful black feathers. His wings are chained against his body, making them useless unless the chains are removed. His eyes, which are a shining gold and devoid of pupils, appear to be fixed in their sockets and his head twitches like a birds every so often. When he looks at you, however, his eyes do not move, which gives him an unnerving feel, as if he can stare right through you. His feet are slightly clawed and his toes are much longer and more muscular than normal.
Ausk groans, feeling the world rocking. Not a gentle, pleasant rock of sleep, but a hard rocking of....
"By Bes's bonnet...." he groans, knowing the rocking sensation all too well. And when he reaches for one of his axes, he just shakes his head and begins to push off from the hard, seasoned wood, standing up.
I'm on a boat..On a southern boat, and I didn't agree one bit to it. Southerners with not a bit of sense in their heads. They'd know in a proper fight, they'd never take me.." He looks over his fellows and raises an eyebrow at the odd creature in the hold with them.
Still, he grins, despite the odd taste in his mouth. Nutmeg. He'd always hated that taste. Reminded him of witcher woman Elga's curatives. Disgusting things that made you regret ever getting a hangover. But at least he was on a ship again.
And with those thoughts, he's up toward the deck.
Mikael groans as he pulls himself upright, feeling splinters in his back and feet. Splinters? How did I get splinters? he wonders, rubbing his head. His senses slowly come to him, and he realises his clothes are gone - all spare his pants, thank the gods for small mercies. He wriggles his toes, finding them bare. Through the cloudiness of his head, a thought rises.
Before he has time to fully decipher it, a lantern blinds him. He's vaguely aware of other bodies nearby shifting back from the sudden light, sees a dark shape that looks feathery, like something from a nightmare. As the skinny fellow with the coat hollers orders, his feet take over his head, dragging him towards the deck behind an enormous half-orc.
He checks his hips, back and calves just to make certain, before sighing. The girls were gone.
Luke slowly starts to com around, quickly trying to get a grasp on his situation. but all that is suddenly lost as he hears the name of the man he is searching for.
his eyes narrow then the realization of where he was, he went looking for the wormwood, and now he finds himself on board. a fate probably not far off from his brother.
Now is not the time to take action, I must find my brother, then deal with Harrigan.
Luke gets up and makes his way topside making sure the small weapons he managed to conceal remain hidden.
quickly getting a feel for the ship he is no on Luke make mental notes about its layout compared to ships of similar design.
The tall white haired ranger doesn't looks so tall crumpled in a ball on the floor. His lightly colored blue-green pigmentation doesn't stand out in the darkness below and no one really can see the small slits on the side of his neck which could possibly be mistaken for gills. Having spent far too much time at sea, Xavdeyr instantly recognizes the sway of the ship to know he is no longer passed out on the floor of the Maid.
Of all the unforgiving hangovers, what I've gotten myself into this time?
Xavdeyr sways uneasily as he stands too quickly. He grabs the side of his head and groans loudly. "Wha-wait."
Clearing his throat he says a little louder, "'fraid there's been a mistake my friend. I think I must have wandered off onto the wrong vessel last night. I didn't--"
Xav's vision finally adjusts to see the man with the whip and his four sap wielding companions. He clamps his mouth shut as his muscles tense. He holds up his right hand to submit, the slight webbing between his fingers showing to those that can see in this dark hell. He grumbles "I, uh, be taking it up with the captain then. Apologies."
Excellent introduction Xav!. I hope your fellow captives enjoy flayed half-elves.
The first thing Sabine feels is pain - a dull, throbbing ache behind her eyes. Moaning, she tries to stand, thinks better of it, and slumps down on all fours. Her mouth feels like an oil slick and tastes of nutmeg. That means something to her, somewhere in the back of her mind. She tries to stand again, but the floor rolled beneath her feet. Was she still drunk from last night? No. She was onboard a ship. And it was moving. Anger twists in her gut, or perhaps the cheap ale from the previous night, but she can suddenly place the taste in her mouth: oil of taggit. No wonder she felt so awful, she had been poisoned and kidnapped.
Before Sabine can act, the rough-looking men barge in and their leader demands that she and her fellow captives get topside. Weaponless and outnumbered, the druid silently falls in behind the chatty half-elf.
You are taken through the ship's middle hold and up onto the deck where the sun gleams in the sky. The lantern is nothing in comparison and your poisoned eyes reel at the brilliance. You realize as you take stock that you are on a sizable ship in the middle of the ocean, far from any land. Port Peril and the mainland of the Shackles are just an ochre haze many miles astern.
Figures cluster around the ship’s mainmast, looking up at the higher deck on the stern, where two figures stand. One of them is a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch— clearly the captain. The other is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails.
At this point you also notice that they are not the only new recruits — five others are standing with you (including the bird-man) on the deck, set apart by their relative cleanliness and their apparent unease with their newfound situation. A dozen or so other pirates, clearly existing members of the crew, stand about on the deck or in the ship’s rigging.
Once the PCs are on deck, the captain addresses the crew.
“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 killin’ 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.”
At the end of his speech, the captain walks away, leaving behind the man with the cat-o’-nine-tails. This is Mister Plugg, the Wormwood’s first mate. He looks down at you all and other impressed captives and smiles unpleasantly.
Now then, lets see who's who. Up the rigging to the crows nest, ye rats! Move!
The bird-man springs to the rigging and starts climbing upside down. He is fast, but seems to struggle a little mid way up without the use of his wings.
After a bit of a false start due to his pounding head and sickened body, the highly muscled half-orc scales the rigging at a highly practiced rate, having no problem passing the others as the ropes seem little impediment to reaching the crow's nest.
Luke lets his eyes adjust to the sun as the captain speaks. though only half listening he does take the time to get to know the face. as well as a quick scan of the crew wondering if his brother is among them.
but the check is cut short as Luke must now climb the rigging.
nowhere
nowhere
up about 5 feet
still hanging out just off the deck
hey I found the rope
looks like the others are back down
by the time Luke has even made any progress the others have reached the top. his mind distracted by other things. his effort was enough to avoid harassment or punishment, at least he hopes as much.
at least he did not fall
Xav squints as he comes out into the bright light. After hearing the captains words of his new enlisted profession, he clenches both fists in frustration.
This will not happen again.
He watches the captain walk off and silently makes a vow to kill this man who has ordered him captured.
Turning to the game afoot he sighs and participates out of spite. After missing the first attempt he climbs steadily to the top without fail.
Ausk's sure hands and strong grip serve him well, and he makes the crow's nest just ahead of bird-man. Then Mikael, who looked like he was just getting the hang of things, slips and tumbles nearly 30 ft through loose rigging and lines. The crew roars in laughter as the rest make their way back to the deck.
You, tattoo boy. You're a rigger now, and report to me. Plugg roars above the laughter and jokes.
Once you're lined up again, Plugg walks down the line and examines each of you. Finally, he points to Mikael.
You, Butterfingers, you're our new ship's cooking mate. Report to Fishguts in the galley.
The rest o' you sorry lot are swabs under the care of Master Scourge. He will be giving your assignments momentarily.
The skinny man who so rudely woke you up starts barking orders and cracking his whip.
Tattoo Boy! In the mainsails! Plugg roars.
You! Tien! We picked up a lot of rope. See it sorted and stowed!
Half Elf! The decks are filthy. Get to scrubbin'
Bird-man! Get below decks! The bilge needs pumping!
And you, Girl, make sure our messages get delivered, and don't mess anything up doing it!
Mikael- You report to the galley and find an overweight, older man with a stained apron and a drained rum bottle passed out on a chopping block. There are various bits of food laying here and there, but you'll need this man, "Fishguts", awake if you want to make anything edible of it.
The tattooed man just chuckles and heads for the sails, knowing this wouldn't take much work at all.
The half Orc seems to have no trouble showing the scrawny little whip wielder exactly how a Northerner runs a mainsail, but in the process, his ego definitely gets in the way, and he forgets to pace himself.
Ausk grins, as he works, looking over at the shoeless woman working the ropes with him.
"I don't see how you manage, lass, without getting a head first view of the deck. Name's Ausk, by the way. First real bit of time in the South. Never see a women work the rigging barefoot. Very impressive. What's the story of that?"
Mikael blocks out the laughs and jeers, slinking back to the line. He makes eye contact with none of his fellow crew, but stares down Plugg as he paces the line again, raising an eyebrow when his order is given.
The galley, eh? A cook's mate? Cooking means knives...
Upon finding his new overseer passed out on the block, he sighs. Of course, if THIS is my company... He plucks the rum bottle, sniffs it, and grimaces. That done, he sweeps his eyes across the room, checking out what small blades there may be.
After a few moments, he glances back at the unconscious man, sighs, and knocks twice, sharply, on the table.
Above deck and standing under Gozreh's sky, Sabine feels more alert and alive. This is where she was meant to be. In the sun, Sabine's coconut husk colored skin and straight shoulder-cropped black hair mark her for one of the nameless natives of the Shackles, but left in her skivvies, her defining mark was bare for all to see. A dark brown blotch in the shape of a rearing shark runs from the nape of her neck, across the flat of her back, and terminates on her left flank.
She stands impassively during the Captain's speech and tries to scale the rigging to the best of her abilities, although without urgency; she never was the sort for climbing.
After receiving her task for the day, she tries to catch Mr. Plugg's attention. "Are we allowed clothes?" She wasn't ashamed of her near nudity, or of her inauspicious birthmark, but she knew that the superstitious would take it for an ill omen, and who was more superstitious than a sailor?
Regardless of Plugg's response, Sabine spends her first day working diligently, running messages around the ship and trying to keep her head down. The fury of the shark coiled in her gut, but right now she was powerless to act. It was best to get the lay of the land and seek a few allies before attempting anything. Perhaps her fellow shanghai'd unfortunates. She would broach the subject tonight.
Sabine - "Clothes are earned here, as is everything else." Master Scourge spits at you. "Now git!"
Ausk - The woman nods and says, "The name's Samms Toppin. I've been runnin' riggin' since I was wee. Grew up in the sodden lands on a fishin' boat. My feet don' feel right in shoes. Feels... restrictin'. What about yerself? You've clearly been about a mast once or twice" She yanks a knot into place and seems to dance across the loose ropes of the rigging to the next knot, sometimes not even relying on the crossbeam.
Mikael - The cramped and chaotic kitchen holds two wooden worktables, several wooden cupboards, and two small stoves against the port wall, as well as virtually every cooking utensil imaginable and a frightening array of meat cleavers. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber; the goats are meant to be caged as you note a small pen in one corner. The kitchen is a madness of dirt, food, and knives, and finding anything in here requires some effort. At first glance, you spot a beauty of a dagger being used as a butcher knife, but you're sure more must be lost among the chaos. The stoves are lit, and large cauldrons bubble away atop them. A huge array of spices mingle with barrels of rainwater, two tuns of rum, cupboards full of ship’s biscuit and salted beef, barrels of sauerkraut, and a small supply of fresh vegetables probably picked up in Port Peril.
The cook bolts upright when you knock and looks around. He stares at you for a moment before saying in a heavily Shackles accented slurr, Aye! Oooo mush be da nuu gus... ashishtent... boy. Huh. Goooood. Wee needs wee fishes... fishes for steew. He wavers a bit, then shoves himself to his feet. He is a large, some would say fat, man, weighing well over 200 pounds and standing only 5 feet tall. He exudes an air of neglect, perhaps even despair, from the bushy tufts of black hair behind his ears, to his rotting teeth, to the stains on his filthy apron. He walks with a wallowing waddle, particularly when drunk, like now. He staggers over to a pot and sniffs a couple times. Go gimme sum fiish, boy. He orders.
Xavdeyr gets to scrubbing.
He scrubs his arse off until he can scrub no more. The entire time he is scrubbing he is thinking how he is trying to figure how exactly this happened.
Poor judgement, too much ale I suppose.
Scrub.Scrub.Scrub.
I wonder where the rest of these lot came from? Were they in the maid as I?
The the doesn't exactly sparkle, but it definitely has at least one layer of grime removed. Unable to move his hands any more he decides he is finished and ready to eat something. He stands and looks for someone who is not the first mate nor the captain, but then decides he better scrub some more instead.
After another hour of scrubbing he sits down on his somewhat-cleaned deck, exhausted.
Luke realizes that right now is not the time to be causing trouble, not enough information. at least not yet.
He goes bout the task of sorting and organizing the ropes. at the same time gauging their size and their usefulness.
Though he is not actively shirking his duties nor sneaking off some where, Luke keeps an eye out fro his brother, wondering if he is still even on board.
Boy?! Mikael bristles, but bites his tongue. The man's drunk. Doesn't know what he's saying.
"Right away, Fishguts," he says with a grin. He pulls his eyes away from the dagger on the table, finds a net, and nearly trips over a chicken on his way out. He stumbles back into the sun, squinting for a few moments until his eyes adjust.
That done, he finds a good spot to fish - or what he hopes is a good spot, anyway. After briefly pondering the life choices that led him to this moment, he casts his net and prays.
"Well, that explains a fair bit then. I think I'd be in trouble bare footed. I'm from the Steaming Sea, myself. Sailed on the Dwarven longship Stormsails. Swore after the Captain there that I'd never become a slave again. And yet...here I am, somewhere I did not agree to be..But, the winds change often on the seas. Good to meet you, Samms. You been here long?"
A fair bit, as have most here. We took on a few others a few weeks ago. Most of us got here by the oil so don't feel too bad.
He just shakes his head, trying to shake out the tiredness.
"So it was poison...Explains the odd taste. Wish it'd been a bit more fair of a take. But that's life, I guess. Anything I shoud know or watch out for?"
Arsk - She thinks for a moment. Just keep your head down. You'll see all you need to tonight. She then swings off to fix some rope on the upper sail.
Mikael- You get lucky and catch plenty of small fish.
Evening comes, and the crew gathers for supper. You all hear comments on how something called "Bloody Hour" is supposed to happen next, but there is only speculation add to why the schedule had changed.
Hard biscuits, fish stew and a ration of rum are the menu of the day. Mikael's catch improves the fish considerably, but even with the help, the fish is just barely palatable.
The bird man emerges from below looking angry and limping. The chains are off his wings, but they remain tightly tucked against his body.
Luke- While your brother is nowhere to be found, there is subtle evidence that he was here. Some of the less used rips are stacked in the fashion of your family instead of the pirates way and you spot a small carving above one of the hammocks that turns out to be the old symbol of your family's order. That is worrying. He would only carve this if he was dedicating himself to the deadlier, darker forms of your family's past.
Supper time at last!
Xavdeyr is absolutely famished when supper time is announced. He's so hungry that he was about to start gnawing on the wooden crates. When he takes a bite of the fish he decides it is the best fish he's eaten all week.
Ok, perhaps not the best. But it's edible at least
"Well done to the chef, it's absolutely delicious!
He continues to shovel the food into his mouth and quickly cleans his portion, looking around for more.
The half-Orc grins as the food is provided and tears into the ship bread and the stew. He chuckles as his belly is full of food, even as he grimaces at the awful burn of the rum as he sips on it.
Trying to settle in, he sees Mikael and walks over, plopping down.
"So...you managed to do a good job in getting us all here."
Sabine remains quiet throughout the day, only speaking to fulfill her role as ship's messenger. She was vulnerable here, like a wounded animal floating in shark-infested waters. She didn't want to give any member of the crew a reason to dislike her, not yet. Not when she didn't know who to look out for. She resolved to keep her head down and her eyes open.
By the end of the day, the druid had also managed to 'collect' a surprising amount of plunder. No one thing of significance, but an assortment of minor valuables, lost or forgotten. She intended on visiting the ship's quartermaster a quickly as possible and trade for some clothing. She didn't relish another day of stares, lustful or suspicious.
Before Sabine could do that, however, it was time for supper. The stew was nearly inedible, but she thanked Gozreh for the fish and wolfed it down as best she could. Thinking that now would be an opportune time to speak to one of the fellow captives, she takes a seat next to the platinum blonde half-elf. Unfortunately, she realizes too late that he had a tendency to blurt out the first thing that came to mind.
"Will you be silent?" she hisses. "Or is it your intention to annoy one of them into sticking a knife in your belly?"
After the day's fishing, Mikael is exhausted. He sits down for his meal, chewing slowly and trying not to think about what could have been in the stew. The galley had been an absolute shambles. Best not to think about it, he decides, sipping his rum.
His eyes roam over the crew, picking out the other captives. The strange feathered man. The half-elf who seemed too eager to profess his enjoyment of the meal. The small Mwangi girl with the unusual birthmark. The quiet, broody fellow. And... hey, there's a familiar face!
He shifts to make room as Ausk approaches, quickly glancing away when the half-orc speaks. "A good job, you say? I'd beg to differ - given our lack of possessions, I'd say this is another of my habitual streaks of misfortune," he replies grimly.