Lark assumes that Threnody will want this job since she enjoyed the crow's nest on the Aurora's Kiss. He gives Thren a slight nod as he reaches the mast and then begins a steady, safe-ish climb.
Thren starts slow and safe, still not quite awake. She slips as she tries to get started, but seeing Lark get moving grits her teeth and gets moving. Partway up the mast she has a bit of trouble and almost slips, but seeing Lark still ahead of her Thren keeps going. The tiefling catches up to Lark just before reaching the top, but can't quite get ahead of him. They reach the peak together.
As the crew bark insults and cheers, the two mariners begin their climb.
Threnody, perhaps still waking up and getting used to the feel of this ship, has trouble at first grabbing a hold of the mast and getting going, and Lark gets about a 15 foot lead upon her. Thren finally gets going, and when Lark is at a little over 22 feet, he begins to slip and lose his grip as Thren gets a quarter of a way up the mast and starts to catch up.
Lark resumes his climb and climbs steadily, but just as he hits the final 15 feet, he hesitates again, as being 45 feet in the air is a heady experience. Threnody, having hit her stride once starting, never stops moving, passing by Lark. They both reach the top within a hair's breadth of one another.
Far below, Barefoot Samms, Cog, and Tilly Brackett argue over who got there first.
"Come down now!" Plugg orders, and Lark and Thren both decide to descend carefully and get back to the bottom in about a half a minute.
"Both of you are more sluggish lubbers, aren't you?" Plugg observes snidely, "But at least when the fiendling got started she didn't stop. We can't have someone stop and look down when they're nine-tenths of the way up the mast," he ends by looking at Lark.
"You," he points at Thren. "You'll be a topsman from now on. You'll be working with Shortstone doing sail work today."
He turns to Lark. "You remain a swab. We need Fishguts' blood cleaned from the deck, so you'll swab the deck today."
"Get to work!" he shouts to both the PCs and the onlookers who stopped to watch the contest. Plugg takes his post on the poop deck and Scourge begins his rounds overseeing (harassing) the crew.
Shortstone is still wearing his ridiculous hat even in the rigging, and it must be tied or glued to his head, as it stays on regardless of how he clambers about in the rigging.
"Ah, at last, a far lovelier crewmate to work with!" Shortstone says as he joins Thren to work with her. He adds quietly. "And one less likely to slit a man's throat for fun than Syl." He speaks in a normal voice again as he begins to untie a line. "And a lovely voice you have too! I overheard you the other night, but had too good a hand to give up and go listen. I have a fair countertenor myself, if I may say so. Perhaps we might do a duet sometime?"
You are working on the maindeck with Cog and Tilly Brackett, a darkhaired, heavyset woman who performs her work with efficiency. As you begin your work, Cog sings a song under his breath to help him get into a rhythm of work. He is not as skilled as Thren, but not totally tone deaf at least. It seems to involve people dying graphically awful deaths but then going to Pharasma's (the goddess of death's) arms.
Daily action: Influence (Shortstone)
Thren starts the day strong once she wakes up. "They need stronger tea in the morning," she thinks to herself. To keep herself and Shortstone amused with the occasional song.
But as the day goes on, Thren starts getting worn out. She got a full night's rest and still runs out of steam. By day's end, she's definitely tired.
Backtracking
As the crew rouses itself, Lee makes a little time to have a word with Lark and Thren.
"You know, I thought I was starting to figure out this crew, but I'm thinking now that I'm not on track at all. On day #1 we saw a crewman get keelhauled to death on purpose. Then on day #2, a crewman took a whipping that, I'm pretty sure, would have killed me. Like, actually dead killed me. In between, if I try to do my job better and/or faster I get snarked at that I'm "eager to please". Am I the only person on this boat really concerned about getting the skin whipped off their backs? Or getting keelhauled to death? I don't get it. It's like they all have nothing to lose..."
Lee pauses to ponder.
"Maybe day #3 will reveal some new, gruesome information about the ship."
And Muffin goes a-hunting.
Sweet success.
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Shortstone joins in with Threnody on a good old sail-hauling song.
Oh, Sally Racket, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Pawned my best jacket, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
And sold the ticket, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man,
O! Haulee, Hi-oh,
Cheerly, man!
Oh, Nancy Dawson, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
She's got a notion, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
For our old bo'sun, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man,
O! Haulee, Hi-oh,
Cheerly, man!
Oh, Betsey Baker, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Lived in Long Acre, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Married a Quaker, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man,
O! Haulee, Hi-oh,
Cheerly, man!
Oh, Kitty Carson, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Jilted the parson, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Married a mason, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man,
O! Haulee, Hi-oh,
Cheerly, man!
Avast there, avast, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Make the fall fast, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man!
Make it well fast, Hi-oh!
Cheerly, man,
O! Haulee, Hi-oh,
Cheerly, man!
And his high, reedy voice rings out atop the masts. Between the two of them, even the gruffest of sailors join in on the "hi-oh" and work seems to come along more easily than it should. ()
Shortstone himself is in good spirits from having a fellow singer working alongside him.
Thren sees that everyone is doing things with a bit more of a spring in their step. "We make a good team!" Thren tells Shortstone with a grin.
To Lee: ”Things are more complicated than I expected as well, but I was being naive. We still have some natural allies here, people that aren’t truly happy or resigned.We’ve just got to do the work to convince them of what needs to be done.”
To Lark:
"Agreed. Stay safe out there."
Working at a simple task in the open air is apparently good for Lark. He finishes his share of deck and quietly ducks belowdecks and then marches up to the quartermaster’s store.
To Grok: ”Ma’am! Swabbie Lark requesting permission to purchase some locks for the crew lockers!”
Lee gets to his chores. In short order the dishes are clean as are the fish (blood and scraps saved as chum).
The cleaning project will resume. The feather wrangling will also be underway.
As Lee works, he'll make as much small talk as Kroop will tolerate.
Directly referenced topics will include:
Where is Kroop from?
How did Kroop get onto the Wormwood?
How long has Kroop been on the Wormwood?
Any basic details about the city of Absalom.
Details about Lee's life and times on the Aurora's Kiss.
Obliquely referenced topics will include:
How Kroop is feeling.
How often discipline occurs on the Wormwood.
How often crew members are disciplined to death on the Wormwood.
The fact that Kroop's discipline would have actually and totally killed Lee.
The rum seems 'strong'. Where do they get it?
Congratulations to Kroop on his quick recovery.
Completely off-limits topics that Lee will not bring up and will steer away from will include:
Lee's sorcerous nature.
Lee's relationship with Muffin (aka Pancakes).
Lee's family.
Lee's friends (both on the Wormwood and off).
If Kroop gets into the rum, Lee will have a nip and try to evaluate it for any 'non rum' additives...
...saying that maybe a bit at a time, "...will acclimate me to the flavor..."
Cut-Throat Grok opens the door to the store, having been checking inventory inside. "Hello there." She chuckles. "Quinn sent you, huh?" She holds out three locks (although as someone who's made a habit of *cough* testing the integrity of a lock, you can tell they are not super quality). "They actually come with the lockers, but I think she wanted to be sure you come and introduced yourself to me. She's an odd one, but if a priestess of Besmara wants to see you taken care of for whatever reason, then I wouldn't complain. The scuttlebutt's that you didn't have much on you to even steal when you were brought aboard. I can lend you equipment if you need it, understanding that everything here belongs to the ship, and is expected to be returned."
Incidentally, the store is near the galley, and you hear Lee chattering to Fishguts.
Kroop mentions he is from Port Peril, but he begins to look a bit maudlin at the subject and changes it, asking you instead about Absalom. He seems interested in all the things that get traded there, particularly alcohol and foodstuffs.
Alcohol leads to the subject of rum, and he says they normally stock up in Bloodcove, to the south, but he prefers the rum from Motaku Isle. "Still whatever takes the edge off, right? It's harder than any grog ration on most ships, but it's a sure way to keep the crew occupied."
When Lee expresses is gladness that Kroop appears to have recovered at least somewhat, Kroop shakes his head, "Don't worry, lad, my hide's pretty thick, and it'll take more than to knock old Fishguts down. Your hide will get thicker too--I hope not by the lash, but that or not, the sea itself will toughen you up. Pray you get to serve on a better ship than this godforsaken boat, but even though I'm stuck here, I tell you, Lee: I woke up this mornin' feelin' better than I expected, and I figure whatever hand of fate's helped me out of bed this mornin', I reckon it's a sign things might turn around for us soon. A thought I've not had for a long time came to me: I've survived this tub for three years, and I'll keep goin' no matter what that scab Plugg wants to see to."
He claps Lee on the shoulder. "Oh, did you see this mornin'? Our new ratter caught at least two rats. He deserves a good sup for that, aye?" Kroop scoops out some of the fishbroth brewing for the crew's supper, adding some of the better bits of chum and the like, and waddles out of the galley, calling for "Pancakes."
*Treat time*
*BoozyFishyProtectorMan*
Lark accepts the proffered locks. ”Thank you, ma’am. Now I’m doubly grateful to Ms. Quinn. It was a great comfort, after getting here as we did, to meet her. I’ve been happy to work with her, but it’s puzzling to see her swabbing decks and not in position to put her gifts to better use.”
”You’re right about us lacking our usual kit, but I’m always optimistic about improving my lot in life. Maybe starting right here - what sort of equipment do you have to loan out?”
Thren does keep her eyes and ears open as much as she can while topside, as she hasn't had much chance to really get a good look at the crew and officers in the past few days. She's not looking for anything in particular beyond "Never let so-and-so in the rigging, they can't tie a knot to save their souls" or "those two are friends".
As high on the mainmast, you get a good look at the crew. You get a general sense of crew loyalty () as to responsiveness to orders. The majority of the crew are competent seamen. You marvel at Barefoot Samms' ability to crawl across rough splintery rope and wood in bare feet. Shortstone actually is pretty awful at tying knots and you have to help him, but has an excellent sense of balance which is probably why he was assigned to the rigging. You notice Fipps Chumlett bullying other swabs and slacking off whenever Scourge isn't looking.
You overhear what sounds like Lark chatting to Grok in the store.
You can look for a few more items if you wish, as you clean ()
She shrugs. "As for Ms. Quinn -- she's been here not much longer'n you and I doubt she wants to draw attention to herself. People who show too much talent or ambition tend to mysteriously fall overboard, usually with Plugg 'coincidentally' nearby. I probably shouldn't even have mentioned what she was, but I figured you knew, and she don't hide that necklace."
As Lee goes about his tasks, he'll keep an eye open for anything interesting (with an emphasis on sorting out his situation on the boat, here)...
...and may have found something vaguely interesting.
Finally, though, the conversation turns to the one really clean and nicely shiny thing in the galley. Lee points up to the grappling hook and asks, "So, if I'm not being too forward..."
"...what is the story behind this?"
You find little other information, but with your eye keen on seeking such a thing, you spot a book buried under several cutting boards. It's sadly not a list of the Wormwood officers weaknesses and secrets, but rather Freddie Farmhand's Taldor Cooking School Cookbook. It's even a pretty nice quality one, leather-bound and only minimally stained, and one of those rare and special kinds that actually describes a system of standard measurement where, for example, you are instructed to add "one cup of milk to two cups of flour" as opposed to "enough flour to thicken and enough milk to moisten." On a pirate ship, few would find it interesting but this book would be a worthy item to trade to an interested collector of the right kind. But more immediate use to you: you expect should you have to do more than scullery and prep work, in the case of severe Kroop inebreity, it may come in handy to be sure the days' meals go out. ().
"Ah! Nice bit of steel-work, isn't it? I won that in a fish-eating contest in Port Peril--that's how I came to be known as 'Fishguts.' Now, Lee, just leave it on the wall there, 'tis just a nice prize. Reminds me o' better days." Kroop leans over to you, and while you have to endure a hint of stanky rum breath as he whispers, "Never misses if you throw it. But don't tell a soul, or Plugg'll take it for himself."
To Grok: ”If you have carpentry tools to lend, that’d be much appreciated. I did some of that on my last cruise. Is that fiddle for sale? I’d take it off your shelves for… let’s say, two gold. How does that sound?”
Grok laughs. "You do know most musical instruments are at least 6 gold right? And this one's a nice quality one--I'd say worth as much as 150. But I am willing to sell it... if you come across something trade worthy, let me know. For one thing, I could," she coughs a bit obviously, "be very happy to store some liquor that's better than the cough syrup Harrigan feeds us."
"Or..." She turns around, unlocks a padlock on a wooden crate, and retrieves a tool box, then hands it to you, "Maybe you can fashion your own fiddle for these. Ask Quarne the Stitchman where he needs any work done, and keep count of any nails you use. Return it to me in a week."
Musical instruments on the average market for about 5 gp, and masterwork ones market for 100 gp.
At long last a day of hard work comes to a close, and you are handed your stew and rum and make your way to the lower hold.
The usual gambling and displays of machoness break out amongst the crew.
Quinn, looking exhausted, leans against a wall with a brush, trying to get some of the stink of the bilges out of her clothes.
To Grok: "Thank you, ma'am. I'll put these to good use."
"I guess I don't know much about musical instruments. My friend Threnody just sings, so I'm not used to them. I didn't mean nothing by that, but I'll keep an eye out for anything you might really like. I'll get out of your way now and go stow these before dinner."
Lark slips down to crew quarters and adds a set of carpenter's tools to locker 19, then applies the new lock. The other two locks he'll hand over to Lee and Thren at dinner.
Thren plops down with her stew and rum, obviously tired. "I forget just how much sail and how much rope there is on a ship some days. Then I remember." She takes a few bites of stew. "At least I had a good partner for a duet." The tiefling looks over at Quinn and waves her over. "Did you get on Scourge's bad side to end up in the bilges, or just lose a bet?" The bard teases, taking a swig of rum. She makes a face. "I could use about two pitchers of strong tea right now."
"I've been on Scourge's bad side from the start. Apparrently when you tell a sadistic a%!!!#% 'Touch me again and Besmara will cause your balls to swell to the size of cannon shot and drag you overboard,' they don't like it," Quinn replies, "But no, this was Plugg's assignment. Reckon he decided he didn't like something I did, but hasn't said what. Could just be random. Get the sense he hates it if a newcomer's competent, but you get the lash for a job done poorly, so you're screwed either way.
"How was your day? You look almost as tired as I feel." She has no tea, but offers you a spare pipe and some tobacco.
Thren shakes her head at the offer of a pipe. "Long day in the rigging, lots of sails. Haven't slept as much as I should since joining the crew. I'll get over it. Thanks for asking though." Thren takes another pull of her rum. "I'll try to remember that there's no winning with Plugg too. Good to know that." The tiefling takes a minute to eat, thinking hard, then mentally shrugging.
"Quinn, I apologize if this is a bit forward, but are you one of Besmara's faithful?" Thren asks in a low voice. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it, some people don't like to talk about their religion, but I'd wondered."
Lehland settles down and pounds through his dinner.
"You know, even if something doesn't suit your taste, working in the kitchen and knowing that the food is clean and nutritious makes a meal more enjoyable."
Lee turns a baleful eye upon his cop of rum.
"But you. No matter who pours you, I'm not liking you a bit..."
And with a grimace the Halfling drains his cup
"...and probably never will. Actually, if I start liking the rum, that's probably not a good sign, is it?"
And Lee turns to his companions for affirmation.
"I'm with you there, Lee." Thren agrees fervently, downing the last of her rum with a grimace of distaste so strong it's almost comical.
Sandara gives Threnody a slight nod and replies quietly but conversationally. "It's not a secret, exactly," she says, gesturing toward the ebony medallion she wears with the jolly roger symbol on it. "It's against pirate code--not that Harrigan or his crew respect much of it--to conceal what your skills are, for the good of the ship. But I'd rather not get too specific with what I can or can't do. I find it's better to leave it to the officers' superstitious imaginations." She smiles conspiratorially, but then her smile fades a little. "I've heard Ol' Bes's song call me to the sea since I was young. Finally got out here and was promptly captured by Harrigan." She rolls her eyes. "But she's a capricious sort, and I take it I'm meant to prove myself here."
”If you enjoy the rum it means you’ve been here too long. I just hope we can change our situation before that happens.”
Turning to Quinn ”I’m heartened to hear you to say that. It felt like an act of providence that you were here when we arrived. Have we given you our story? We three are likely the last surviving crew from the Aurora’s Kiss. It was this very ship and its captain did for the Aurora. We escaped with our lives to Port Peril; only to be pulled back here again.
Now, maybe the Aurora was lost in a fair fight, but it’s not fair the way Harrigan runs this crew. It sounds like Besmara and Pirate Code might agree with me. Is this what you mean by ‘prove yourself?’ What’s permissible for a loyal pirate faced with sadistic officers that hide murder behind so-called discipline?“
Quinn turns to Lark with a half smile. "Think I heard a story about that ship. Captain Fleetfoot, once brought in a leviathan for bounty. More gentleman than you typically see in the Shackles, from what I heard. No wonder you're a bit shocked at what you see here." She shakes her head. "Shame to hear of the loss, but you've at least seen for yourselves what a powerful man Harrigan is, in influence and in fighting capability."
She puts away her brush, and lighting her own pipe, letting smoke whorl around her and the party. She speaks quietly "As to the code--well, to a pirate, any rule may be meant to be broken mind, and the lure of lucre rules us all--but a good ship runs itself with the good of the crew in mind, and fair share for all. After all, anything that you do that puts the ship in danger--theft, fire--puts us all in danger. But the thing that rings from my mind the most in Bes's book is 'end your quarrels on shore.' Wouldn't work for Harrigan--he'd just floss your teeth with your entrails, but if you take it on your mind--and I recommend as many to have your back with you--to take on certain toads in officers' boots, the best way to do it would be when we're docked somewhere. You don't endanger the boat or crew that way. If that day comes, you can count me in, rest assured."
Quinn sighs. "Dealing with Harrigan himself is a longer game. The only real way to do that would to get your own ship and become a Free Captain of the Shackles yourself---and then challenge him. As long term and hard as it sounds, it would still be easier than fighting him toe to toe."
"My advice is bide your time and keep getting to know the crew here. Lots of folks I've gleaned don't really care to be here. Learn the ropes, literally and figuratively--you know what you're doing, but still have a bit of wet behind your ears, I can tell. Learn what you can and assemble yourself some decent duffle. The sea's unpredictable... we may have to weather the storm for a bit, but at some point clear skies will show the way to freedom."
The floorboards creak, and near one of the pillar berths you see Slippery Syl pass by, giving your group a glare, walking over to Fipps Chumlett and whispering something in his ear. Both of these crew were in Scourge's sap-posse the day you woke up aboard the Wormwood.
Sandara curses and takes a long draw on her pipe, growing silent.
The tiefling sees Quinn's reaction to Slippery Syl and frowns. "Of course, some are loyal to the captain more than the crew," she notes. "And I wouldn't mind one day down the road taking up an accounting with one or two on shore." Thren's tail twitches like an angry cat's at those words.
Lark responds to Quinn: ”That’s some mighty fine advice and I sure do appreciate all you’ve done. I think you described a day of reckoning we all look forward to.“
Turning to include Thren and Lee: ”As long as we’re all here, I’ll give you a quick rundown of where I’ve gotten so far. Along with those locks Grok also loaned me a set of carpenter’s tools. She’s got a wide variety and is very open to lending them. I wouldn’t hesitate to visit her if you need something. Lee, from what you showed us last night the kitchen is another good source of tools.”
”I’ve gone a little ways toward befriending Cusswell, but not as far as I’d hoped. What else should we do? I’m thinking about some after-hours scouting tonight - any thoughts on where I should start?“
"I think the key to winning Cusswell over will be finding a way to give her back her music. I get the idea her instrument's locked up or broken. So you might want to look around and see if you can find it. Instruments are valuable, so I imagine if she had one when she came aboard, it's still here." Thren muses quietly.
"For my part, other than Quinn-" Thren nods to Sandara, "and Cusswell, I found Shortstone's not a bad sort. Nimble dodger in the rigging for sure, can't tie a knot worth spit though. Fipps is a lazy bully, slacking when Scourge isn't there to keep 'em moving and making the other swabs do all the work. I haven't much luck beyond that though." Thren yawns, her twitching tail settling down.
Lee joins in, using his usual 'cup to lip' method of obscuring his words.
"I think, for Cusswell, giving her music back isn't enough. She has to win it back or take it back or something. We need to find out why Grok has her fiddle and how it was acquired. Then figure out some way for Cusswell to get it back and kind of restore her good feelings about herself. AND we need to do that in a way that doesn't alienate Grok."
Lee takes a sip of his rum.
"I can probably get the info we want straight from Grok. She loves this paint thinner called 'rum' but maybe if I figure out a way to make it drinkable..."
And Lee sits back with what his companions recognize as his 'thinking' face in place.
Lee has a thought and leans forward into the conversation.
Again, pretending to drink, he asks Quinn,
"I have a 'pirate code' question. Given that it is poor form '...to conceal what your skills are, for the good of the ship...', what if nobody bothers to ask you about your skills? The recruiting process involves gonking your melon and then the job assignments are almost as involved as, 'You, there, slip(just as an example)! Get into (for discussion's sake only) the kitchen and make me a pot pie!' And nobody even asks if you cook. Or what you did on your last ship. No discussion at all at any point. Isn't that just poor crew management?"
"I don't know. Pride is a prickly thing. It might be best for Cusswell to 'win' her music back. On the other hand, giving it back would be a show of friendship." Thren muses.
"Rosie is a good sailor, but they call her 'Cusswell' for a reason." Quinn points to the halfling, who is in the process of trying to goad Cog into an arm-wrestling match by calling his mother unspeakable names until he gives in (which, for the record, is working brilliantly). (Note, she is doing some friendly trashtalking, not being mean for mean's sake.) "You could light tindertwigs with her temper. And Grok's fair, but she's no patience for sass. You could see how things might not have ended well there," Sandara puts in. "But if you're gonna talk sense into one of them, I'd try Grok before trying Rosie. It must be valuable if she's reluctant to part with it--Captain must have eyed it as loot." She shrugs. "Or maybe Grok's got a soft-spot for music."
She looks over to Lee. "The short answer to your question is Plugg's an idiot. Word is Harrigan is soft on him. So he gets away with murder." She rolls her eyes. "Literally." She narrows her eyes at Lee. "But what is it you can do that you think people should--or shouldn't--know?"
"On the other hand," Quinn adds after a moment of thought, "There's been a lot fewer feathers in the stew since you showed up, so maybe Plugg had the right idea of making you cook's mate regardless."
”Grok showed me Cusswell’s fiddle, said it was a fine piece worth well over a hundred gold. She might trade it for something more drinkable than this, as you say, paint thinner. I guess if we come up with a bottle of the good stuff we can work out a good use for it one way or another.
I think we have enough to be getting on with for now. From that look Syl gave us we may want to keep these committee meetings short and sweet. I’m off to see if Tilly is up for a game of cards. If anyone wants to join us just come on over. Thanks again, Sandara.”
Lark ambles off in search of Tilly Brackett. If she’s already part of some game he’ll try to join in, if not he’ll just try to introduce himself. Lark’s goal is to present himself as an affable young fellow looking to expand his acquaintances among the crew. He’ll ask some leading questions and if she’s willing to talk about herself or her history he’ll be all ears.
Lark will try to search the middle deck. In addition to general exploration he checks all the locks - how good are they and how long would they take to pick, etc.
Tilly is a brunette, thickset woman with muscular arms grown mighty from long days of swabbing and hauling rope. She is enjoying a second(!) cup of rum and chatting with the crew, and game for a good hand of cards, and you choose a two man game () to play together, as she's short on cash and doesn't want to join the gambling Shortstone is otherwise trying to get going. She has a good sense of humor and despite the hardship of living on the ship, a fairly easygoing way about her.
"Me? Oh, I've served here about... about a year or so. I served aboard the Dainty Whale before that, which Harrigan captured. He offered me a job amongst his crew, and as the other choice was to be sold into slavery, I figured this was the better deal, eh? Not that it's much more than slavery, but I prefer the devil I know. And the cap'n of the Whale, Mikkel the Bloody, was always drunk and didn't know where he was going most of the time anyways, so it wasn't much better. Harrigan cleaved the man in half!" She shivers. "So I try to not make too many waves and just get my work done. You're a hard worker too, ain't you, Lark?" She in turn asks him some questions about his past as you play.
As you play, you manage to skillfully let her win without her realizing it, and whenever the game ends, she leaves feeling good about herself and a bit more relaxed.
"Quinn, what can you tell me about Barefoot Samms?"
Night action: rest!
Quinn replies to Thren, with a half-smile, "Well, the callouses on her feet are probably tough as a bear's hide, for starters. I've seen her trawl for fish--just a day or so before you arrived--and only time I've seen her look like she enjoyed herself. Think she was captured off a fishing boat, in fact. Too bad fishing'll be Lee's job from now on, as cook's mate--but she's good in the ropes and Plugg probably wanted to keep her there. Besides you three, she and Giffer," she points at an older, one-eyed gnome, "are the only ones who dare to look shocked anymore at the kind of stuff Plugg and Scourge do. Not to say others aren't bothered by it, but it speaks of a certain lack of... hardening. Better her feet than her heart, maybe."
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Lark waits for most of the crew to retire, most of them conking out in their hammocks, tired from a long day's work and relaxed by the rum. He sneaks out quietly, although as he steps on the narrow stairs up, the wood creaks, and Quarne up in the lower ranking officers' berths snorts and nearly wakens, but then seems to fall back asleep.
Lark comes to the middle hold--the main cargo hold, plus Kroop and Grok's room, and the galley and store aft of the ship.
A gentle rumble alerts you to the fact that Owlbear, the huge man who guards the hold, sleeps on a pile of hides and hay underneath the stairs to the officers' quarters. The positioning is rather strategic, however uncomfortable it may be for Owlbear--anyone under the stairs would be very likely to hear footsteps upon them. As far as you can tell the hatch is not locked, but of course you are aware probably Plugg, Scourge, and Riaris Krine are probably all sleeping just above.
Likewise the hatch to the main deck is not locked, but if you opened it, you would probably be noticed by the night shift above.
You also see stairs that surely lead to the Captain's quarters closer to the galley end of the hold, but it takes no infiltration genius to see that the hatch is trapped, a crossbow bolt's tip clearly angled out of a niche near the door should one open it. If you were remarkably lucky, you might manage to disable the trap itself, but whether you could manage Harrigan above is a better question.
As you pass by the door to Grok and Fishguts' room, either two small and flatulent, asthmatic dragons have overtaken their berths, or they are not quiet sleepers, to say the least. Their bedroom door is locked. Near the bedroom door is a small washbin, containing old clothes and a contentedly sleeping Muffin.
The cargo hold area itself is largely uninteresting--the ship clearly has not picked up much loot in awhile, save for what must be stored in the quartermaster's store. Housing for the chickens is set along one wall, the birds sleeping within. The most interesting contents of the area are two light ballista--there are narrow hatches (carefully designed with an inner and outer casing to prevent water coming in) that open so that the ballista bolts can be fired out on either side of the ship, although the ballista are not set up to be fired. There is also a disassembled catapult. 12 metal kegs, carefully contained behind fencing, contain oil. There are barrels of drinking water, and yards of canvas and sailcloth are stacked about, as is extra rope.
Moving further back brings you to the galley and quartermaster's store that you visited earlier today. You espy something a bit off--and realize that even though the store's door latch is technically locked, Grok--perhaps distracted by an evening drinking session with Kroop--did not pull it all the way shut, and you could enter the store without showing immediate signs of tampering, if you wished to do so.
Thren will eventually turn in for the night and get a good night's rest, unless Lee has something else to say or do with her.
Backtracking a bit...
Lee listens to Quinn's advice and then turns a studious eye towards Grok...
...and says, "So you say Grok is "fair, but she's no patience for sass". I can work with "fair". Maybe I can do this as a two step process..." And with that the Halfling heads over to where Grok is talking.
Waiting for a lull in the conversation, Lee asks her to step away for a bit.
"So, I've got an idea, but I need to keep it on the down-low until some things come together. It's about this."
He says, indicating his partially full rum cup.
"It's terrible. I don't want to get the reputation of being a too-weak-to-enjoy-his-rum candy-ass or being to 'refined' to have the rum straight, but I think I can do something to improve this stuff. But I need some help. First, I need to free up some kitchen 'resources' to experiment with recipes for rum additives. Second, I need some taste testing with a person who drinks the rum, but doesn't love the rum (like Kroop does). I was hoping you could help me with both things. And keep this secret. And here's why the secret. I don't want this plan getting into the crews' heads until we have something that works. Then we can take it to the captain with per-drink cost estimates and everything. Then let him decide if it's a worthy effort. If it is, the captain announces it and it's the captain's big deal. If it's not something he wants to fool with, we abandon the idea and go back to business as usual without stirring up a bunch of discontent. So..."
[dice=Selling Grok on "The Plan"]1d20 + 5 + 3[/dice]
"...what do you say? Is this something you are interested in? If you say 'no', I'm dumping the whole thing without even starting."