You wake up in the dark. You remember the night before—the ringing laughter of a wild night, the heady joy of excess, the scents of rich stewed meat and perfume lingering in your nostrils. Now, you have a pounding headache, a tongue that feels like it has grown hair, a hard floor beneath you, a rhythmic creaking noise, and the feeling of the room swaying, as if you were drunk. Before you can even sit up, however, several pairs of heavy footsteps enter the dark room, and the harsh light of a lantern painfully spears your eyes.
As your eyes adjust, you see a bearded man with a menacing grin and a whip standing before you. Other men stand to his left and right, one of whom holds the lantern. Around you lie others who also appear to just be awakening. Then the bearded man bellows,
“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!”
Beket's eyes opened blearily as he slowly stirred upon the ground. The world swayed with a familiar motion to him, his stomach churning at the thought. His stomach ached from sitting a club of some sort, one that he grabbed and deftly tucked away underneath his clothing as a voice bellowed loudly to them for them to raise up off of the ground and get to the upper deck.
"Curses..." The large Mwangi man said with a low voice. "A thousand curses upon you for taking me..." Beket wasn't a smart man but he wasn't a fool either; he had been kidnapped and pressed into service. He rose up onto his feet, swaying for just a moment before the natural sailor's gait took over.
I'd like to try to make a Kn: Local roll for who Captain Harrigan is. Can't get higher than a 10 though.
Kn: Local: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15 = 10
Vladimir instinctively covers his eyes as the lantern light pierces the darkness. He's on a ship, that much he knows, and his head feels like he's been hit with an anchor. The whipmaster's speech sets his legs to moving of their own accord before he even knows what's going on. Suddenly, as realization dawns on him, he can't help but smile.
By Urgathoa's festering teats! I've been impressed! Having been on the other side of the truncheon, he can't help but silently laugh at his own predicament. I knew that bloody bar name was familiar. Serves me right fer not remembering me stories. An itchy feeling in his pants leg let him know that his kukri was still on him, cleverly stashed to keep from being stolen.
Well, we'll just see what kind of operation the Cap'n is running here. He don't know who he's just kidnapped. With grim determination, he stumbles up the stairs making for the main deck.
I'll also try a kn:local for any info about this Harrigan if it's available
kn:local: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9HAR HAR, I know less then the fella without the skill
Guillaume wakes slowly, his head pounding, but still recognizes the swaying and rocking of a ship. He struggles to open his eyes as the footsteps approach, only to be met by the glare of the lantern. He raises an arm as the unfamiliar voice booms out. Harrigan? Fishguts? This isn’t the Iron Dolphin. Ah, Hell, I’ve been shanghaied. Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose. H climbs to his feet, noting that his chain shirt and other gear has been confiscated, leaving only the padded gambeson. And, he notices as he moves, the dagger he keeps tucked under it. Good to know. Without further ado, the blue-skinned man follows the man in front of him upstairs, his bare webbed feet slapping at the steps.
Oh Bessie, you KNOW better. But, this ain't the first time you been grabbed by a press gang. Bessie smiled to herself in the dark as she felt the lump at the back of her head. She'd be fine..she thought, at least until the lantern light ate into her eyes, then she wasn't as sure. Oh, Besmara's Blessings... she can feel the healers kit still slung over her shoulder, and that made her feel better. She stands up and looks around her. Cap'n Harrigan, have to remember that, now what have I gotten into here... Is that a goblin and an, I am not sure what exactly... þú öruggur
Then in a louder voice, she crosses her forearms over her chest with her fists up by her shoulders, her right forearm clearly showing a skull and crossbones - the holy symbol of Besmara. You realize with her arms and head she is forming the symbol herself, Besmara's blessings be with us all, and may she sail with us this voyage. once her prayer is offered, she nods to the whipmaster, and heads for the stairs with a simple response of Aye-aye!
Bessie smiles at his reply, and although she turns slightly towards Guillaume, she is looking at the whipmaster.
She tries to discern if the whipmaster speaks Aquan, or even realizes they are talking.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
Rotten rum, shipwreck!
The goblin wakes up as if from an agitated dream, repeatedly tapping his cheeks with both skinny hands.
Where's Bleepos? - he asks no one specifically, looking around confused. He sits down scratching his immensely disproportional head and his yellow eyes face the others on the same situation as his.
He looks to be somewhat comfortable as if used to have hard hangovers - it doesn't last long, however, because it looks like he's better understanding the situation as conscience "kicks in".
Bleepos in ship. Dragged again! Oh by the fins of tha' bloated shark! - he curses.
Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25 Checking if he recognizes any of the names he heard
Once some of her grogginess clears, Nasifi is aware she's on a ship. That's even before the men show up to so very rudely blind her with all that light. The mystery is why she might be on a ship. She isn't presently crewing one, and she doesn't remember meeting anyone special enough the night before to get her onto one. That would be something for a room anyway, and she really doubted she would have been convinced otherwise no matter how hot they were.
The situation does become somewhat clearer when the men arrive, and the news is not good. She's heard others in the room before, but now she can see there are several people there with her in the same predicament. She thinks loosely in terms of "people". One of the them sort of looks blue?
Maybe body paint? That would be an awful lot of tattooing...
Anther might be a halfling or gnome, but if so astoundingly ugly and with some sort of skin condition or disease. Right size though.
When the man who seems to be in charge orders them to their feet, Nasifi complies fairly promptly. One thing she had learned in the militia is people who give orders tend to do so because they're confident they can. More often than not they're right. It's best to proceed according to the rule of thumb until one finds out differently.
Some of the others protest with curses or ask questions. Nasifi stays quiet. The curses are unlikely to change the mind of anyone who matters right now. Questions are very useful. But, considering the introduction they have just had to the person who can answer them it's doubtful he will, but even if he does it will probably come at a cost to the asker.
Nasifi hopes to get some answers, but she's happy to let someone else bear the cost.
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4 Untrained, max DC 10
My rolls suck in both! :)
Bleepos hisses as the pain of the whip is felt on his shoulder, and runs in all fours as if hiding behind Beket, the biggest guy he sees around. He taps his pocket to feel his small wooden toy, and smiles when he feels it there.
Precious! - he says to himself, in a very low volume.
The Goblin finally stands up, then, and runs to follow the others already leaving.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18
Knowledge Nature-Untrained: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
Bessie hears the crack of the whip behind her, and hears the goblin hiss. So, the whipmaster is a bully, which means he is likely a coward at heart. I need to remember that too. I will check on the little guy when I can.
Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27
Kn: Nature: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Beket would watch the bearded man swing that whip and strike the groggy goblin that was just beginning to welcome. That predatory instinct was there and part of him just wanted to let his teeth come out and sink into the man's flesh. This was not the place or the time though, his eyes flickering over towards Bessie as she gave praise to the Pirate Goddess. There was a scoff from him as he stood up straight and made his way towards the stairs. "The Goddess doesn't give a good g@%~#@n about us, just as we've come to expect." His attention turned towards his fellow captives, his growling face turning in a menacing albeit cheeky grin. "Let us go and say hello to our new captain, mates?"
The little goblin scurries across the ground behind him and Beket seems for a moment to be ready to shout at him before he catches himself. They were both in the same situation and unkindness would not serve him well. Goblins were mischievous, dangerous things; no good would come out of making enemies so quickly.
Beket was a large man for certain, standing at around 6'5 and easily weighing over 220lbs. His clothing was stripped from him; leaving him in just a pair of run-down cloth pants that had patched up over time. There are tattoos all along his body; both Mwangi and more mundane. Yet more unusual were the scars that ran over his body in a Mwangi design, carved into his flesh with what looked like some kind of sea creature's teeth. They all seemed to root around what appeared to be a birthmark upon his chest, whitened to make it stand out against his dark skin. For those that cared; a jolly roger was there but it was no tattoo at all. For those back within the Runetooth clan, they were a sign of blessing from Besmara herself.
Beket didn't wait long though, his tied dreads swaying with his gait as he made his way towards the staircase. "C'mon, little friend, no need to taste the whip's kiss twice, right?" He would make his way on top of the deck and take in the blue sea around them...as well as the crew that had now taken them in.
Bessie smiles warmly at Beket, though she does not know his name, True, the Sea Banshee cares nothing for us...she gives us strife and conflict... for one so blessed, you should know those are her gift - conflicts are opportunities, make weigh matey!
You travel up the stairs to another deck and then get herded to the aft of the ship. It’s quickly apparent that you are on a sizable ship where you take a steeper set of stairs that lead out onto the main deck. Above deck, it becomes obvious you are out to sea, far from any land. The mainland is just an ochre haze many miles astern. Yet, far above the ship, Beket sees a bird circling. 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.
To the side you notice some other new recruits—four others are standing among the crew 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.
“Glad you could join us at last!" the big Garundi says, "Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for ‘volunteerin’ to join me 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. With you new recruits, we have just enough to man her at full capability, and I aim to keep what crew I 'ave. 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.”
He emerges into the sunlight out above deck and Beket can't keep the smile off of his face as the wind that carries over the sea blows upon him. The woman that had spoken to him was right in some degree; Besmara had given him an appreciation of the ocean that few others could imagine. He longed for the sea already but even if he jumped overboard, where would he go? He was upon the Wormwood, a member of the crew belonging to the notorious Captain Barnabas Harrigan. As his eyes scan the scene above them, he catches sight of that bird circling so far above the ship. Perhaps for the first time, the crew would see his face break into a wide, happy smile. "Tha thu an seo. Math. Bha eagal orm." The strange words roll off of his tongue as he makes his way closer to the front.
Beket immediately recognized the captain there, the man with a wicked grin and a strong presence. The druid listened without complaint to his orders, looking towards the man who must've been Mr. Plugg. Licking over his front teeth, he waited for a moment to see what the officer would wish for them to do next.
Bleepos was there, with the others, but being quite smaller than most around it was easy to miss him among all the legs and whatnot. The Goblin seemed distracted, for moments scratching his shoulder and others smiling with hungry eyes at a small roach climbing the rigs.
He paid attention when the captain spoke, though, and looked with curiosity at Plugg, while at the same time he had one of his fingers stuck his left ear pulling out some green wax.
GM, I sent you a PM about extra info to put on the campaign info tab. Cheers!
To Nasifi the crewing of ships in the Shackles is an axiomatic proposition. There were plenty of sailors and would-be's, so an even distribution across ships would result in approximately full crews for all of them, perhaps with a small deficit or surplus.
So, if a ship resorts to kidnapping to crew it, either the officers are intolerably cruel, impossibly incompetent, or engaged in suicidal activities. If this is Harrigan's ship, suicidal is probable, and cruel is likely too.
The trick now, step two of dealing with the problem, is to figure out exactly which. The only solution is getting off the ship, and knowing its flaw will determine how it's done.
Nasifi stays quiet and waits.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
Craft Alchemy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18
K Local (Untrained): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
"Aye, Cap'n." the man with the ponytail says.
At the end of his speech, the captain walks away, leaving behind the man with the cat-o’-nine-tails. Ponytail looks down at the PCs and other impressed captives and smiles unpleasantly. "My name is Mr Plugg and I'll be whuppin' you curs into shape! First, we need to find you each a job." He says and jumps down the steps to the aft castle. [b]"Ye know what the bloody crow's nest is don't ya? Now climb for it, before I have Mr Scourge strip you of your skin."
60' climb, 4 DC 10 climb checks unless you have a climb speed.
Mr. Plugg approaches them and a frown spreads across Beket's face. The man had the kind of face that he wished he could rip right off. His irritation was obvious upon his face but he didn't do anything yet to earn the man's ire. This was their reality now and they would have to do the best they could now. Looking upwards, Beket would move as quick as he could to climb up to the crow's nest. It would be a bad day to disappoint your betters on your very first day.
Climb #1: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Climb #2: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
Climb #3: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Climb #4: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16
Climb #5: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Climb #6: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Climb #7: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Climb #8: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
It takes Bessie a couple tries to get climbing, but once she gets going, she is able to move. Once she gets out of the reach of Besmara's Fingers (Cat-o-nine-tails) she calls down,
I am a ship's surgeon, a healer, if needed! as she continues to climb.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25
Knowledge(Nature): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Noticing an oily substance on his tongue, Guillaum spits a couple of times.
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 3
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 3
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 20
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 10
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 5
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 17
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 16
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 17
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 5
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 2
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 7
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 11
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 15
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 13
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 2
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Climb: 1d20 ⇒ 6
Climbing not exactly being his forte, Guillaume gets off to a slow start, but makes a bit of headway, but repeatedly comes crashing back down the pole. Failing by 5 or more means you fall back down to the deck, right? I might be unconscious from falling damage by now. lol
climb: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
climb: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
climb: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
climb: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Vladimir scampers up the rigging like a pro... which he is. Reaching the top, he contemplates a magical flourish with a cantrip or two, but there was no reason to get showy. One of the first rules aboard a ship: you're part of the crew or you're chum. He takes a moment to scan the horizon, listening to the others attempts to climb. The fresh air always helps clear the cobwebs away. Once the cleric gets a bit higher, he offers her his hand. "Care to join me in the love nest, lass?" he says with a wink and a laugh. Best not to piss off the healer, he reminds himself.
Nasifi looks up the mast with a frown. I'm no spider, and I don't aim to start trying to act like one.
She starts badly. Although she doesn't weigh much, she's not that strong either. She makes It a little way but then gets stuck trying to go higher. Both the Besmaran and a man pass her handily. Nasifi makes a little more progress, but once the ropes begin to thin out higher up, she stalls out again. The little whatsit passes right by her too.
Since she's out of anyone's immediate reach now and getting tired, she stays where she is and holds on tight. Hoping the test will be cancelled and she can just go back down.
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 9
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 17
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 6
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 6
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 17
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 16
climb: 1d20 ⇒ 7
Climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
Climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
Climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13
Climb: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Bleepos go for the mast, once it’s his time, and climbs to the best of his ability. He’s quick to get there and gives Oleg a smile - which reveals a lost roach leg being crunched.
Longshanks climb good too. But Bleepos not a lass. - he replies, giggling.
Vlad playfully punches Bleepos on the shoulder. "You're like a damned squirrel, ain't ya?" he laughs.
Its Bessie, dear Crow; you are in the Crow's nest y'know. as she starts to extend her hand upwards, Bleepos zips through. Below her she begins to hear the repeated thuds of the blue guy. She looks back up, Duty calls... and begins to climb down again.
Doin good! she says to Nasifi as she passes her.
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Once back down she checks on the blue skinned creature.
Heal: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11 I have no clue what this guy is, but lets start with the basics - breathing, bleeding and broken bones.
Mr Plugg does his best to provide encouragement and proper motivation. While yelling out his encouraging comments he routinely scourges the deck with his cat-o-nine-tails.
"Climb you Mwangi lug, don't just hang there like a fruit bat!"
"You climb like a two legged dog blue boy." After Guillaume falls the first time fall damage: 3d6 ⇒ (3, 3, 6) = 12 Mr Plugg offers, "You fell through that rigging like sh*t through a goose. Now get your sh*t off my deck and get up that rigging.
To Bessie he offered"Little girl, you're a healer when I say you're a healer. Now keep your trap shut lest I fill it with somethin' personal."
And for Nasifi"Not the mast you sot, the rigging! Now get movin'!"
Guillaume had just picked himself up off the deck and started another attempt at going up the rigging when Vladimir reached the top followed quickly by Bleepos.
"That's what I'm talking about half-man. Looks like we got ourselves a rigger. The rest of you swabs get down off the rigging and don't kill yourselves doing it. I got another job to hand out.
Bessie finishes the climb, taking Vladimir's hand. The others make their way off the rigging slowly after having so much difficulty with the shifting rope netting. When all are down they form a rough line.
Mr Plugg gives a derisive smile, "Half-man, go see Mr Tate on the forecastle (front of the ship), you're our new rigger. The rest of you layabouts are swabbies except for the lucky one who can cook. Which of you is it?
It takes Vlad several moments to realize 'half-man' is directed at him. He logs that away for later. Eventually, he and Plugg are gonna have a 'discussion'... a painful one. Nevertheless, he'd rather be rigging than swabbing. Down is easier than up and he climbs down the rigging to head to the fo'c'sle and Mr. Tate. If he's as pleasant as Plugg, I may have a problem with the Capt'n's 'no killing' rule. He gives Plugg a nod and grunt as he passes by, internally picturing ways he can maim that man with his own whips.
Bleepos is happy to climb down and go down off the rigging - this kind of ship is infested of rats and insects, and he couldn't wait to "meet" them. He was, however, still intrigued thinking about the "squirrel" Vladimir mentioned - and imagining roasting a good squirrel tail, or its crunchy cranium.
With his mouth watering, the Goblin kept his silence and looked around for the people who would volunteer as cooks. Those were the ones to be friends with! He wishes he knew how to cook, but imagined that even if he did... People probably wouldn't let him close to a kitchen, or fire, at all. Longshanks were boring! He knew already he couldn't play with fire on ships. Or maybe he could? He forgot - hmm, the thoughts of that squirrel!
Climbing had never been Beket's specialty, he didn't belong in the damn air. The water was his home and dancing from rope to rope seemed so unpleasant. He never needed to do so for one reason; his family had taught him an awfully useful skill when he was a young lad that had served time and time again upon the ships he traveled on.
"I can cook, Mr. Plugg." He'd look between the line of them at Nasifi, arching an eyebrow at her. Competition? How unfortunate.
When someone else speaks up about cooking as well, Nasifi looks to see who it is. She meets the an's gaze and gives him the best "there are reasons why you want me to do the cooking" look she can manage.
Beket sees the woman's glare, the intention to get him to back down away from the challenge. There is only a momentary raise of his eyebrow at that look, as the Seascarred tries to decipher it.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9
He recognized that the woman wanted the position for some reason or another, possibly just to have an advantage over the others. They hadn't even learned each other's names yet though and Beket knew the benefit of being the cook's assistant; less awful work up on the deck. Beket had cooked for years with his clan before the awfulness of everything came to pass. Their lessons still stayed with him though, how to take the worst parts of a fish and make it into something enjoyable.
"Back at Port Peril, Mr. Plugg, my family used to live. They taught me how to make a meal from what the sea would give. I think I would best the best one for your cook." Maybe they would have time later to discuss whatever it was that the others had planned. He could see the discontent in some of their eyes and it brought a mirthless grin to his face; where would they go even if they could make a mutiny happen? They'd be fresh blood in the water.
Nasifi groans inwardly. Admittedly she can't give him much to work with, but the big fool is running in the opposite direction of where he needs to go.
I'll just have to play it his way then.
"Not only can I cook, but I can bake. I was the best in Sargava. When's the last time this ship saw hot, fresh bread, or sweet rolls? My pastries are good enough to unlock" (she points at Plugg's chest with a smile) "even the most cantankerous hearts."
Nasifi puts a special emphasis on the word "unlock", hoping the big scruffy man would get her point, while Plugg would see nothing more than a come-on for a special job.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Beket's frown would seem to deepen even more so now, the woman was engaging in flattery and flirtation now to try and win over the officer. His knuckles cracked for a moment and if anyone was really looking at him, they might've seen the fact that his eyes got darker, as if the abyss was bleeding into them. He calmed himself down though, now was not the time to reveal that ace in the hole quite yet. Beket's stare would turn towards Mr. Plugg, his heavy shoulders shrugging as he spoke up once more.
"The Wormwood's crew don't seem like a crew eager for...pastries or whatever. I know I can cook and I can do it well enough to please you and the Captain." His eyes skirted back towards Nasifi, watching her again before another nonchalant shrug left him. "Your pick, sir."
Guillaume stand by mutely, bruises making his blue flesh even darker than normal. I could do with a dip in the sea right about now. They’d probably think I was trying to get away, though. Better not chance it.
Bessie listened to the two discuss who should cook. The longer these two debate who should do the cooking, the longer it is before I am cutting chum or swabbing the deck, either way, I am happy for the break.
Beket gave a shrug at the Mr. Plugg's comment; at least the officer wasn't a damn fool. He'd back away and wait to see what his first orders would be. "Just like the Queen to not let me do one of the things I'm good at. One day, I'll burn this mark right off my flesh in thanks to her little gifts of -opportunity-." He thought quietly to himself, waiting there with his arms behind his back.
Aye, Mr Plugg. Bessie says, acknowledging the statement as a command. She awaited Mr Scourge's orders with the others.
Hopefully our new cook can get a look at the supplies and determine how long a trip the Cap'n has planned. And hopefully tonight I can help the goblin and blue man with a little healing.
Bleepos followed the others bubbling his head as if his neck didn't have full control of it. His brain would hardly keep track of all those names being thrown at him, but he remembered well the faces of the officers... And he knew that given the chance, would bite them off.
Each of you meets with his or her new boss.
Vladimir finds Tate to be extremely unfriendly and less than helpful. Ratline Rattsberger, a halfling on the rigger crew, at least shows Vladimir the basics. For his first day of duty, Vladimir finds himself doing what they call rope work. Handling the ship’s ropes, including
coiling them, stowing them, and securing them to cleats and single and double bollards. DC 10 Profession (sailor) or Dexterity check
Those assigned as swabs get direct attention from Master Scourge. He puts everyone to swabbing the decks. This is backbreaking work mopping the decks and scrubbing them with sandstone blocks called holystones. requires a DC 10 Strength check or DC 12 Fortitude check. Failing either check results in being fatigued at the end of the shift
Nasifi meets Fishguts. He is partially drunk, fat, and unkempt.
"Well howdy do, lass, can I help ya?"
After introductions, Fishguts shows Nasifi around the small chowhall and then they begin cooking. This is relatively simple, Fishguts cooks and Nasifi does what he says, this includes fetching water, cleaning fish, mixing biscuits, etc.
In the discussion tab find the list of daytime actions and nighttime actions. You may take one action during the day, one during the night. You may also attempt up to two actions during midwatch. If you do midwatch actions you must make a Fortitude check DC 12+ 4/action or be fatigued the next day.
Beket works hard and fast to do what he can, mopping the deck and scrubbing them with the holystones. All throughout, the scowl on his face remains as clear as the sun is bright. He works with experience though, obviously use to using this terrible stones and doing this horrendous work. He isn't unkind to anyone in particular, just generally gives off an unfriendly vibe towards everyone around. Every so often, he is shouted at by Master Scourge while he is staring up into the sky above.
Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
When the work has mostly been done, Beket seems no worse for the wear. The strong muscles upon his body are drenched in sweat regardless. When he has a chance though, he looks over the poop deck carefully. Seeing as they are going to be upon it for quite some time, he might as well be sure as to what is there.
Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27
Any hopes Vlad had of Tate being any more reasonable were quickly dashed. Well, it'll make it easier I guess if I have to gut him. This isn't the first time he's done rope work, just the first time on this ship. It certainly helps that the slip is willing to show him around.
so if I'm interpreting this correctly, he'll work diligently (so +4 bonus) and try to influence Ratline
prof:sailor: 1d20 + 5 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 5 + 4 = 18
Once he has an idea where everything is stowed, it's an easy enough job if you're paying attention. Since he's not a complete novice, he has time to toss a few dirty jokes to Ratline to see if he can get a friendly response out of him. Any information this guy can give me will be information I can use in the future.
diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17
He tries to get the little fella to at least engage in small talk (no pun intended).