Rising from the deck, Mtumbwi's engorged manhood is still poking into his loincloth, making most advert their eyes.
Bazsil takes in the shipwright's manhood, comparing it to both Lucy I and Lucy II, and finding it lacking in comparison.
Overt displays of manliness, like that of Mtumbwi, are meant to celebrated and enjoyed as Aroden would have wanted.
Bazsil only nods, accepting it for what it is: a display of the superiority and dominance of man...and, as it should be.
Elon and Barley head down to Red Light Hammock District and toss their gear on the floor. Elon searches for some hay or straw and can't seem to find any. "Hmm... We gotta get you some bedding, buddy!" He quickly heads off the ship and grabs some bales, carrying them to the room and sets up a pallet for First Mate Barley.
"There ye go!" he says, pleased with himself as he hangs his hammock next to another one. "Hmm... Who's is this?"
Gado's blood pressure drops when Mtumbwi starts barking orders and generally taking the care of this vessel very personally.
note to self... don't touch anything. He'll either yell at me, or have already made love to it. Gado shudders at the thought.
He does, however, take notes at the shipwrights impromptu basic ship terminology lesson. Later on, he pulls out his journal and begins to take notes and draw sketches of each of the floors. He labels the different areas, notes which side is port and which side is starboard. He draws sketches of the different ropes and sails and rigging points, noting their nomenclature and purposes. If anything, he will be learned by the time he steps back onto dry land.
"Tell me Captain," Gado asks during a lull moment in the busy activity of prepping the ship to set sail, "When do you plan on starting the language lessons? I am quite looking forward to that. And, as the Captain of the ship, if there is any spells in particular you would like scribed, please let me know. I would like to feel more useful on this part of the journey, mostly to take my mind off of that sword-beak that is haunting my dreams..."
"Nelenquessir, is that crow's nest as secluded as it looks like? Mind if I keep your spot warm when you aren't there? I can't imagine there will be many places to get away on this ship... I'm Gado by the way. Lorekeeper, and fan of all things arcane and not of this world. Kind of obsessed actually."
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Agile Pete nudges Bazsil in the ribs as he notices where the man's eyes are looking. "If ye like the sight of a man's bulge, I'd suggest makin' yerself nice'n'friendly with Gavin o'er there. He's been known t'make a man... comfortable... on a long sea voyage. If ye're into such things. Heh."
The slender Nelenquessir stars agog at Mtumbwi. He looks as though he may be having doubts about his maiden voyage with Captain Barbarosa, but keeps them to himself. "Aye, mate," is all he says, inclining his head at Mtumbwi.
"We can start on the language lessons as soon as you like," pips up a voice from behind Gado. It belongs to a middle-aged man with slightly silvering red hair. His beard is very neatly trimmed, and his round spectacles lend a severe cast to his face, "Unless you're as thick as the Plank, we'll have you speaking Azlanti with Polygot syntax in no time. Barbarosa assures me that the language structure I have concocted matches the tongue of the natives very well."
Nelenquessir looks suspiciously at Gado, "The crow's nest is no place to 'escape' the crowd so that you can curl up and read a book. You must be alert and attentive at all times. No distractions. If you can do that, then you are welcome to relieve me from time to time. Be warned, though, it is lonely up there. Most see it as a punishment, and wouldn't go there otherwise unless - maybe - they'd lost a bet of some kind."
Aaron Donal - Interpreter
Aaron has only recently agreed to travel with the ship. He is not entirely sure what he is expecting, but as a linguist, he simply cannot pass up the opportunity to rediscover lost languages. A sizeable purse of gold played a significant part in his decision to come along also. Aaron proves a tenacious teacher, but if the sea is too choppy (or too calm) he struggles to hold down his lunch.
"The Colonel" - Master-at-Arms
The Colonel may once have had another name, but even Barbarosa cannot recall what it was. This crotchety, mustachioed old Taldan man is keen eyed and observant, and watches over the arms and armaments of The Audacious like a hawk. The Colonel is the only member of Barbarosa's original crew to make a return voyage to the Isle of Dread, but he is reluctant to talk about it - or anything. To say that he is a man of few words is to overstate the number of words he is wont to speak. Monosyllabic, single-word answers is the most conversation one can expect to get out of the man.
While he is technically also in charge of keeping order on the ship, the Colonel knows that Captain Barbarosa prefers to do so and so leaves him to it. In cases where the first mate has been given charge of the ship, he usually lets them maintain order also, but he does make his presence more well known during such times.
Harlan Sparrow IV - Shipwright's Apprentice
It's a hard and thankless job being apprenticed to Mtumbwi, but given the mortality rate for the last crew Barbarosa wasn't about to take any chances by having only a single shipwright on board. Harlan is hard working, but cowed into silence most of the time. Some believe that he simply has no idea how to respond to his master at times.
Logan "The Plank" - Dogsbody
Logan was hit over the head - repeatedly - as a child. He has been concussed more times than any man has a right to be. This has left him more than a little dim-witted. Still, this gentle giant of a man has a kind disposition and a willingness to help like no other. He has an amazing aptitude for the sea, and Captain Barbarosa behaves in a fatherly fashion toward the man. Logan is often seen to be helping the Colonel with various tasks around the ship. Some say it's because he's the only one who can put up with the Colonel's gruff manner. In reality, though, he's the only one who can single-handedly carry a brace of ballista bolts from the lower deck to the main deck when the seas are choppy.
Logan's nickname "The Plank" is a double-edged one: "The Plank" because he is as thick as one, and also "The Plank" because The Audacious doesn't have an actual plank, Logan will just throw you off the ship. Anyone saying "walk the plank" on board The Audacious is just referring to the nickname for Logan ejecting you from the ship.
Teddy Edwardson - Deckhand
Teddy is small, even for a halfling. He is used to being treated like a kid on board, even though he is well into his thirties. Teddy is an excellent climber, and his diminutive stature is put to good use whenever anyone needs a capable deckhand to squeeze into a tight space.
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After crafting the greatest of hammock forts, possibly with the aid of Wood Shape, Elon happily trods up to the deck as Baszil bonks him on the head and asks about the birds. "Of course! Seagull is a colloquial term that references any type of gull that lives near the sea!" he says with a big smile while trying to live up to the naturalist namesake.
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"Of course! Seagull is a colloquial term that references any type of gull that lives near the sea!"
Bazsil begins to grin widely.
"That is only somewhat true...if we were at sea." Bazsil's hand gestures to Magnimar Bay. "The gulls here are called *bagels*."
Bazsil looks intently at the dwarf for a moment.
"Get it? BAY-GULLS!! Hahahahahahaa!!!" Bazsil walks away laughing.
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"I, for one, would love to start the language lessons," voices Wrigley upon hearing the conversation between the Gado and the middle-aged man with slightly silvering red hair. "You are Mr. Aaron Donal, or am I mistaken and made of fool of myself?" Wrigley asks, clearly excited about the prospect of learning a new language.
"I'm not much of a fighter, as you can see," he adds, looking down at his un-muscled physique. "So I think I could much better serve this crew by learning a new language and by putting that knowledge to work when conversing the natives of the island." With one hand, he pats the slender neck of the stringed instrument on his back.
"I can play one hell of a lute though," he adds with a laugh. "If you were ever interested in lessons, so that I might be able to repay you a little for what you can teach me."
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Hurrying into the room, her hat flying off behind her. "Lessons!!! I haven't missed them yet? I would love to learn ancient Azlanti. Oh, the tomes that I could peruse with the use of that language. Master Donal, you will be teaching me... oh, and Wrigley, too... won't you? I promise I will be the perfect student!"
One could almost see Sebastian rolling her eyes at that. She may not lust for much... especially on this ship... but knowledge and learning is, as she would say it... her one vice.
"Wait! I have something for you!" She runs out of the linguist's cabin, a flurry of silks, barely stopping to pick up her hat from the floor 'I wonder how that got there?' as she rushes back to her cabin.
she yells. The contents of her bags go flying around the cabin, as she searches for the bottles of wine she purchased in Magnimar. She seems to recall drinking more than a few of them, but there had to be a couple left, didn't there? "Where is my wine, Pascal?" she asks, more an order than a question.
Pascal just stands there, looking horrified that he cannot help his mistress. Where did her wine go? Did she have wine? He recalled bringing her bags in, but was afraid to open them lest he damage anything.
"Ah, there it is!" she exclaims, grabbing one of the remaining bottles, and running back to the room of her newest teacher.
"A bottle of the finest Jeggare red! Just for you!" she hands him the bottle, panting from the effort. Again, her hat has been lost in the shuffle.
Elon hears the rumble of a few carts. At the head of the caravan, the familiar halfling sits, guiding the beasts. "Oi! Mr. Platonius Lightfoot, Esquire! Over here!" he waves at the man.
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Oi! What's this guy into? This boat is amazing! Platonius remarks in his head as he leads the three donkey-pulled carts up to the ship.
He leaps off the seat and flourishes a bow. "As you requested, Master Elon. 20 casks of Galtan Pale, 10 casks of Gebbite Quadrupel and, sadly, we could only source 5 kegs of Steelkeg after the brewery was damaged in the siege on Trunau." he says as he pulls the sheet from the first cart.
"Per your specifications, 50 days worth of the finest barley from the Keleshite Empire and the freshest wheat from Cassomir's outer farms. 40-60 mix." he says as he pulls the sheet from the second.
"Finally, ceramics, water from the shores of Razmir's lakes and seeds of most vegetables as well as ten white rats and feed for your new pet cobra." Platonius says as he holds out his hand.
"Ah! That is perfect!" Elon says as he rushes down to the shore. "Let's get this moved in to my quarters!" he says with a smile as he tosses the halfling a bag of coin.
The halfling catches it deftly, scoffs and merely leaps back to his seat. He grins at Elon and snaps his fingers. The goods lift up into the air and fall on to the deck of the ship, lightly of course.
"There, that should be good enough." he says with a wink.
"Aye, where you going anyway?" he asks out of pure curiosity.
Captain Barbarosa comes up on deck at that moment. "Did someone say they were bringing rats onto this ship? Who the f*ck is that halfling?"
"Captain Barbarosa, are you sure I can't do anything other than scrub the decks until we get to the Isle?" asks George, already bored with his chores.
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"Great, you had to say my name!" scolds Barbarosa as he turns to whisper to the Plank. When Barbarosa finishes his whispers, the Plank moves forwards with purpose.
"Kind of the reverse of your usual, I know," the captain says to his departing dogsbody, "But necessary, I assure you..."
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Platonious Lightfoot, Esquire - Procurer of Rare Items
Platonious was making a delivery to a customer one fateful day. This customer was one of his best, took all of his recommendations and didn't even mind paying Plationious's additional cut on top of the regular price. Nine Hells, the man had even bought his pet cobra! Then Platonious had seen the face of the dead - surprisingly spritely for a dead man, actually - and then... well, a short, sharp pain and he woke up on the high seas with Magnimar disappearing over the horizon.
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As Mtumbwi walks around the ship barking orders, a fit, slender, well dressed man approaches. The assembled recognize that he is very similarly dressed to how Captain Barbarosa was when they all first met him in the Hall of Wonders, save for a few medals there, a knot or two less on his sleeve. His clothes appear to be freshly pressed, creases straight, and not a spot can be found on him. The only oddity is that than man has no shoes on.
He walks up to Mtumbwi, offering the man a perfectly executed salute. ”You must be Mtumbwi They told me to look for the man with his ….” blushing slightly, the man continues, ”I am Harlan Sparrow IV, apprentice shipwright on The Audacious. To give you the briefest summary of my credentials I am a recent graduate of the Acadame of Naval Operations in Taldor. You know, the Buckler Hard? Well my father, a master shipwright of his own as have the Sparrow men for generations now, had an old college acquaintance who runs a private, luxury sailing operation here. I took charge of the fleet, introduced a new keel design to help stabilize them. Can’t have them spilling that bubbly wine from Galt, now can we?” he guffaws.
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”You must be Mtumbwi They told me to look for the man..”
Who the hell is this dandy? Did Aeslin dress him?
” You know, the Buckler Hard?
No.
” runs a private, luxury shipping operation here”
No no no no no no, Barbarosa I am going to put my foot so far up your …
”now can we?”
”Listen boy. I know this is going to be hard to hear at first, but trust me, this will ne the best for all involved. You don’t touch a timber on The Audacious until I say so. Take the shallop on the back of the ship, ones the landfolk call the row boat. You can take one of the specialists if you like. Heard the dwarf with the reindeer has been on a boat before. Check it out, make sure it floats and everything is running smoothly.”
” You don’t touch a timber on The Audacious”
Why does he keep touching his dick. Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. Damn. I looked at it
” Take the shallop”
Really you a#&@#~*? The shallop. I could have done that when I was 9.
”Absolutely, sir. But If I may, so I took the liberty of performing some calculations. It seems The Audacious. She measure 57 and 3/16 from prow to stern, beam comes in 19 5/8. She looks to displace about 40,833 pounds of freshwater, and about 41,813 pounds of saltwater. So if you see in my notes here, if we decrease the curvature of the …”
” She measure <blah> from prow to stern, beam comes in <blah>. She looks to displace about <blah blah blah>”
”Shallop. Now.”
”Aye sir.” Harlan salutes, a bit less enthusiastically then before, and heads off. ”Anyone want to check out the shal …. Rowboat?”
Agile Pete nudges Bazsil in the ribs as he notices where the man's eyes are looking. "If ye like the sight of a man's bulge, I'd suggest makin' yerself nice'n'friendly with Gavin o'er there. He's been known t'make a man... comfortable... on a long sea voyage. If ye're into such things. Heh."
Bazsil smiles.
"Ah, yes! That is good to know!" Bazsil eyes Gavin appreciatively, thinking and speculating. "I understand completely."
"Please ask him to bring me some cool drink. Something iced! Then I'll need him to hang my hammock," Bazsil replies after some thought about what would make him comfortable. "Admittedly, I didn't think we'd have a full service on a boat this small, but the Captain clearly understands our worth."
Bazsil flicks his curls, waiting to be waited upon.
learning a new language! Gado shakes with excitement, and can barely think of anything else as he goes about the ship, keeping himself busy until it is time to shove off. He doesn't even think about the awkward conversation with the navigator.
Forced to take watch from losing a bet? I wonder who would do something like that...
Gado passes the new apprentice shipwright as he makes his way across the deck. His eyes stare at the ground in front of him, just far enought to see where he is going to put his foot next, and so doesn't see the Colonel before running into him, smashing his face to the side on the mans strong shoulder.
"Oh dear. I am so sorry. Pardon me please."
"Hrmmf"
The stout man looks down at the scrawny thing that just ran into him, his face scrunched up into a scowl.
"Yes, it is Aaron Donal," the interpreter says, a little overwhelmed by the eagerness of his future students, "Well start lessons as soon as we are underway. Such enthusiasm will put you all in good stead, I am sure!" He runs a hand through his red curls, "Ah, I had best get belowdecks then and make sure all of my teaching materials are in order."
When Gado smashes into the Colonel, he stands to his full height and towers over Gado. He glowers at the smaller man for a good long while before finally indicating over his shoulder with his thumb. "Git!" he demands in a gruff, gravely, seldom-used voice.
Before the boat even sets off, Gavin arrives in Bazsil's quarters the Hammock District with a cool iced tea. "Pete told me exactly what you wanted," Gavin says in a low, sultry voice, "It's Vudrani. Some of the best." When Bazsil looks up from his hammock, he sees that the only thing covering Gavin's manhood is the iced tea.
Gavin waits patiently for an invitation.
"Are you ah... The Colonel? Pleasure to meet you. My name is Gado. What is your name, master... ah.. sir Colonel sir?"
Koney flaps and flies away as Gado fumbles over his words, clearly expecting a reaction, but getting nothing from the stone faced master at arms.
"Colonel." He says, then spits the toothpick he was chewing on over the side of the railing, his arms crossed. He reaches into a pocket and grabs a pipe and starts cleaning it out, no longer paying attention to the little lorekeeper.
"Right. Actually your na... you know what. Never mind." Gado smiles. He reaches up and wipes the drool from the shoulder of The Colonel that transferred when he smashed his face.
"Pleasure to meet you sir. Hopefully next time I will keep my face off your... ah. shoulder. yes."
Gado scurries off in another direction, completely forgetting where he was going in the first place.
When Gado smashes into the Colonel, he stands to his full height and towers over Gado. He glowers at the smaller man for a good long while before finally indicating over his shoulder with his thumb. "Git!" he demands in a gruff, gravely, seldom-used voice.
"Nooooo!" yells the halfling as the menacing man swing his sap into his poor cranium.
Hello darkness my old friend...
Elon watches from the deck of the ship. "Well, that's not very nice. We probably could have just asked him to come with us." the dwarf reasons, sad that his second best friend was just press-ganged into service.
Oh well, at least I have three friends on the boat now, maybe more!
---
Hearing his name after stowing the unconscious halfling in another hammock in the Hammock District, Elon jumps with excitement as he grabs the apprentice shipwright and tosses him into the shallop. Elon jumps in too and begins to pound and shake the thing with vigor. "Gotta test it for seaworthiness! My last one was beauty until the sea monster ate it..." Elon says with a frown.
"I'm Elon! The best sailor that I know!" he says as he extends his hand to shake with the apprentice.
"Well met, sir. I have taken the liberty of making a few measurements." He withdraws a knotted rope, before slapping some black substance on the oarlocks. "If you wouldn't mind rowing at a constant pace, then when I yell 'port', only pull with you left hand, then when I yell 'starboard', just row with your right hand. A shallop like this should have a turn radius of less than 68 degrees, and a speed of 4 knots.
"You know when Barbarosa told me I would be serving under Mtumbwi, well he is a bit of a legend in the ship building community. Didn't know he would turn out to be such a dick." Flushing red, Harlan Sparrow the IV tries to cover it up quickly, "Um, let's just keep that between us. I should never talk about my commanding officer like that, and judging by his attire, well, poor choice of words I guess." he laughs without humor.
Gavin waits patiently for an invitation.
Bazsil takes the wine and dismisses the man with nary a glance, his attention going back to the (returning?) rowboat shallot shallop.
As he drinks his refreshing tea, Bazsil takes his time to orient himself to the crew and the various positions and duties held. He notes that not all the help go naked, but understands little of shipfolk and their ways yet.
Luckily, this was going to be a long voyage and Bazsil plans to learn as much as he can about the various aspects of sailing. This was another type of human endeavor for him to master...and that excited him.
Deep in the belly of The Audacious, Gratum's cheeks have already become rosy as he peruses the lab/workshop.
Soon enough, Bored George, comes to join him.
"Ahh! Lad! I'm glad you joined us." Gratum says as he loosens up his tung. "I bet you're still wondering why.
"Well you see I used to be a bit like you, not so tall, mind, but I had some skills like yours. I've not used them for anything like that in a long time, more or less... I'm no thief! As I think you'll understand. As he has been preparing to sail he rambles on for quite a bit longer as he pulls down tools and moves them to where he wants them in the workshop, most oblivious to the dulled gaze of George, eventually he gets to a point.
"I borrowed this from the captain." He says as he grabs one of the pouches off his belt and opens it up to reveal a very large, red gemstone. "I do hope the museum doesn't mind that they have the lesser of the two from his last trip to the isle... But my point is, if ye get one of these for this voyage, you'd not have ta grab poor fools' purses for at least a year."
At saying that Gratum watches George for his reaction: shock, or incredulity. A test to see if they boy just grabs shiny objects or knows their worth.
Taking his cool tea, Bazsil sips it, looking for Aaron Donal.
"You there," Baz approaches and claps the man on the shoulder, 'gently' helping the man assert his full gaze on Bazsil. "You speak many languages, yes? Does that include the language of Aroden? Azlanti?"
Bazsil smiles, his left hand flicking back his curls.
"Then you and I shall be friends, because you will be teaching that language to me. We should start immediately," Bazsil says, eager and excited and leaving no room for the man to refuse.
"Speak to me in the tongue of the First Man."
Bazsil frowns, clearly disappointed in the man.
"You are half the man you should be. What good are you?" Bazsil asks, wondering why the man is allowed to even exist on this boat.
George eyeballs the gemstone with a mixture of awe and jealousy. His mouth hangs open a good while before he simply nods at Gratum. Any words he could possibly say at this point would be moot at best.
Aaron Donal looks up at Bazsil with his keen blue eyes. "Well yes, of course I understand Azlanti, and more besides," he answers nodding sagely, "Though I would hardly call it the language of Aroden. While it is true that he spoke the language, he has no more ownership over it than Aspex the Even-Tongued has to Taldane. That they spoke it is simply a matter of their heritage. Both languages existed far longer than any of those two."
The translator seems to realize that he has taken Bazsil's assertions a little too literally, "Ahem. However, I have been tasked with teaching you the hybrid of Azlanti and Polygot that Barbarosa has taken to be the language of the native folk of the Isle of Dread. I am afraid that it is that language you must learn in order to speak with those to whom we have been tasked with communicating. If you study hard, though, I'm sure I could guide you in the right direction..."
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Ciaran ducks into the workshop.
"Do you mind if I join you here for a while? Barbarosa doesn't seem to need my services as bodyguard until we get to the island - 'Stop floating around like a dead fish' was the actual phrase, I think. Bazsil appears to be trying to seduce one of the crew by playing hard to get, and the others have all either gone on a rowing holiday or are in a classroom."
He extend a thumb at George.
"Who's this? Your apprentice? Excited to be heading away from Magnimar, boy? I remember what leaving Mendev was like. The Silver Axes, the mercenary band was called. Most of them died in the Goblinblood Wars in the first Chitterwood campaign. Some of them might still be undead in Gillamoor for all I know. Bastards, most of them, but no one deserves being stuck in Isger for eternity."
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A few hours after seeing The Audacious for the first time, all crew members are called to the main deck to make ready for the off.
"Thank you everyone for coming on this journey," Captain Barbarosa begins in an authoritative voice as he ascends the stairs to stand behind the wheel, "This journey will change your lives. We are traveling to the center of the Eye of Abendego and to a land forgotten by history. We are going to travel into the heart of the biggest and most persistent storm in all of Golarion, then to the Isle of Dread where we will uncover its secrets. Death is a real possibility. Glory, however, is a certainty! Now, if you have a station, get to it! If you do not, get out of the way! Mtumbwi, cast off!"
The anchor is raised and The Audacious starts to move forwards. The specialists look around to see the regular crewmen working what look to be winches at various places around the ship. The boat is propelled forwards by something unseen below the waterline. Slowly, The Audacious winds its way around a few short bends and through some massive steel gates. The gates close ponderously behind the ship with a massive thud, sealing the ship off from the canal and tunnel it came from. For a while, it seems as though nothing is happening. Gradually, though, the water level rises and The Audacious travels upwards through circular opening in the ceiling and continues for some time. Another set of enormous steel gates greets the crew at the top of the shaft, but the water does not stop rising.
"Underwater mode!" orders the captain.
Suddenly, each of the masts collapse like a spyglass and the railing seems to expand and grow. A protective ironwood shell envelops the upper deck of the ship. Barbarosa is outside of the shell, however, and those above note that metal tentacles grab ahold of his feet and a shimmering bubble appears around him when he stands at the wheel. Moments late, the shell pulls together and surrounds the ship.
Just before ceiling of the shaft would crush the newly converted vessel, it sinks into the water in flurry of bubbles. The gates open and the crewmen rotate the winches furiously. The Audacious travels forwards once more. The underwater scene visible outside of the portholes is nothing short of incredible. Mtumbwi speaks a command word, and the winches begin to spin of their own accord. The crewmen return to their regular stations, making sure the integrity of the ship's extended hull is maintained.
Faster and faster, The Audacious ploughs through what must be a series of underwater caverns leading out of Magnimar. Soon enough, only open ocean is visible outside. Fish swim past and the whole scene is strange and surreal. Minutes later, Barbarosa's voice can be heard whispering in everyone's ear, "Prepare to surface!"
There is a lurching sensation and then suddenly, it is over. The protective canopy pulls back, the masts raise. Men scramble all over the deck and unfurl the sails. In a matter of minutes, The Audacious is skipping along the waves leaving the City of Monuments slowly sinking below the horizon behind it.
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During the sea voyage, Wrigley does his best to remain useful to the other though he always questions how useful he truly is. The halfling is not the best at climbing, nor possesses a great or even moderate strength, he even knows very little of the sea or charting courses across the ocean. Even so, he does his best to talk with the others and learn about them, wanting nothing more than to know the others well and to become one with them. The halfling wishes to show that even though he may be less skilled than the rest he is still more than willing to help.
Wrigley also spends hours upon hours pouring over notes from each class and lesson on the new language. During each session he takes dutiful notes and when not learning from Mr. Donal, he reads, rereads, and rerereads his untidy scrawl. At times, when standing and pacing the deck, he plucks the strings of his lute filling the air with strange experimental music, or more precisely, unrehearsed music created off the top of his head. As he plays the instrument he speaks the new phrases and words he has learned in the hybrid language, hoping to keep the sounds quiet enough to not annoy the others.
Gado stares in wonder and amazement as the ship morphs into this unseen marvel of engineering and magic, submerging into the depths. He is nearly frozen, and just takes in the moment as the ship passes through the waters. He purposely avoids looking at Mtumbwi, wondering of the man is climaxing at the activity.
Even when we know what to expect, it is amazing to see what this ship can do...
The lorekeeper settles in to the routine of ship life rather easily, much more easily than he would have thought. Turns out hours of pouring over books, notes, and learning isn't much different in a library or a ship, only the scenery changes. He is grateful for his ring of sustenance which allows him to study late into the night, scrawling and copying scrolls well into the morning hours, and still waking up refreshed each morning.
Everytime he passes by the cooks quarters he stares lovingly at his ring, grateful all the more that he does not need to worry about the slimy fish stew they crew has been subjected to far to often.
While his enthusiasm for learning this new language is great, including learning the ancient language of humans, it pales in comparison to Aeslin. He has always born the ridicule of the teacher's pet while growing up in his schooling, but had Aeslin been in any of his classes, he might have been able to get by unnoticed. He constantly chuckles at Mr. Donal's exasperation in dealing with the woman.
In his spare time, Gado tries very hard to speak exclusively in the new language, as that is the method he has used in the past to learn a language more effectively, through total immersion. He even helps Wrigley compose a new tune in the new language, finding his artistic methods of composure interesting.
"Though I would hardly call it the language of Aroden...However, I have been tasked with teaching you the hybrid of Azlanti and Polygot that Barbarosa has taken to be the language of the native folk of the Isle of Dread."
Bazsil's grip on the man's shoulder gets a bit tighter. Not painfully so, but noticeably firm as Bazsil's anger rises.
"Maybe you need to work common a bit more, because it sounds like you did not understand me," Bazsil smiles very intently. "I do not wish to learn any gutteral polyglot. I wish to learn Azlanti...the language of Aroden. You *will* teach me to speak as he did."
"I think we understand each other, yes? GOOD!" Baszil claps the man on the back in agreement, assuming the man is very clear on what Bazsil wishes. "Now, when do we start?"
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"Underwater mode!"
For the first time, Bazsil gets a worried and scared look on his face as he tries to understand the words that were just spoken. They sounded like the words 'underwater' and 'mode', which do not comprehend to Bazsil...for ships float on the sea, you see.
Bazsil grips a railing, looking for rope, and holds his breath...his eyes wide as the ships goes...underwater. Bazsil, being a strong man, eventually recovers as he is not dead, nor drowning. He begins to enjoy the undersea experience for the time it lasts. He is most intrigued on how the boat finds forward propulsion, without oar or wind to aid it. He minds himself to ask the Smart Little Man later.
As for his first month at sea, Baszil focuses on learning Azlanti and ignoring Polyglot. He seeks to learn the language enough to eventually write poetry in the tongue. In preparation, he reads and studies his poetry books.
He also spends much of his time practicing with Lucy, with his other weapons, and even with his hands. He tries to keep himself in top physical shape despite being cooped up on a boat. He is very dedicated to his personal training, almost as much as to learning Azlanti.
* * *
@Gado: "Smart Little Man," Bazsil corners Gado at some point in the first week. "Tell me, how does this ship go forward when underwater? You know of such things. Explain to me."
@Ciaran: "You there," Bazsil approaches Ciaran. "You are not as weak as most on this ship. You look like you know how to fight, much like me. And fight angry, much like me. Perhaps we should train and spar a bit. I do not think anyone else would suffer a chance blow from Lucy very well, but you might." That last sentence would be considered a complement coming from Bazsil.
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"Welcome to the workshop Ciaran! Let me pour you a cup." Gratum says, tying the pouch back on his belt, before filling a new mug to the top for Ciaran to imbibe.
"I remember what leaving Mendev was like. The Silver Axes, the mercenary band was called. Most of them died in the Goblinblood Wars in the first Chitterwood campaign."
phtew Gratum spits on the floor and steps on it with his boot. "Goblins!" He shouts, "Never met one that I didn't prefer dead!" and with that he downs the rest of his mug, then fills it with more ale...
Unawares of the activity that takes them down below sea level, and later up to the surface, Gratum seems currently unperturbed by being on a boat, and is content to be in the dark belly of the boat with his ale, and boasts to his new comrades about all the wealth they will soon be securing on the isle.
"I do not wish to learn any gutteral polyglot. I wish to learn Azlanti...the language of Aroden. You *will* teach me to speak as he did."
"Mister Grimalkin... I am giving group lessons. I will be teaching Azlanti vocabulary, it is true," begins Donal, "But the grammar I am teaching is Polyglot. I have sufficient Azlanti texts for you to be able to teach yourself the sentence structure if you like..." The man seems nervous about Bazsil's reaction, but stands firm. There is a lot of material to get through in just one month, after all.
@ Baszil: "Ahhh my friend," Gado replies to Bazsil during one quiet moment on the deck. "I know a few ways a ship could be propelled, and I suppose some of them could be used underwater."
"There is a spell that creates a current of water, and takes whatever is caught in it the direction you would like to go. The version I know only works on creatures, not gigantic ships. Barbar.... pardon me. Captain Barbarosa is quite enterprising though, it wouldn't surprise me to know with Lord Krinst's finances, he had a special, more powerful version developed."
"Then there is another way, which I would think far more dramatic, and fun. To enlist the aid of a powerful water elemental. One who could propel the ship with great speed under the water, perhaps even combined with the aid of a slipstream styled spell. Next time we do that, I will have to pay more attention. I have always wanted to see a huge elemental up close. That is part of why I spent so much time learning all of their languages."
"I suppose there could be a mechanical explanation for the propulsion, but Gratum would be better to ask in that arena. If I had my way, I would stick to the arcane. Far more reliable." Gado smiles, hoping his answer was sufficient for the curious anthropologist.
Aeslin spends as much of her time learning the bastardized language that Donal is teaching, and when she hears of books about the Azlanti language, she practically swoons. She spends almost all of her time reading his books, and learning as much of the language as she can.
"Damn it, girl!" yells Donal at the last, "give me some rest! You'll have plenty of time to learn the language, you do not need to do it on the first day!"
Unabashed by this, Aeslin asks, "But Master Donal..."
"Just Donal, I said..."
"...Master Donal, won't you please grade this pop quiz I gave myself? And the paper that I wrote on the differences between High Azlanti and this 'Isle Tongue' that we are learning. My word, this is an interesting subject."
Finally giving up, the scholar says, "If you promise me that you will not bother me until at least lunchtime tomorrow, I will do that. Break that promise, and it will be the end of your instruction! And it is JUST Donal!"
"Oh! Thank you, Master Donal! Thank you1 Thank you! Thank you! I will go keep myself busy elsewhere. Maybe I should go see what all the racket was up top!" In a flurry, she starts grabbing her things, which were starting to take over the linguist's small cabin. "Pas-CAL!!! Come get my things, and set out my sailing outfit!"
"Mister Grimalkin... I am giving group lessons. I will be teaching Azlanti vocabulary, it is true," begins Donal, "But the grammar I am teaching is Polyglot."
Bazsil beams at the news.
"That is excellent! With you giving group lessons to others, you'll have more time to personally instruct me in Azlanti. We shall meet after morning exercises?" Bazsil claps Donal's back stiffly in agreement with the man' plans. "Two hours with me, then you can teach your group class. This will be excellent."
Bazsil looks Donal in the eyes, quite excited by the man's agreement.
"This is great because I only wish to learn Azlanti. You understand, yes? This will be good. Indeed. I'll see you tomorrow. "