Grak lights Scourge up again.
"Cogward, drop it or I'll eat your liver and make you watch." says Raush, matter-of-factly, as he whirls his quarterstaff again at the blurring figure that is Scourge.
I have a spoon if you need one.
Continues his assault on the soon to be dead captain, Ordrax aimse for the knee.
Veltisiel keeps retreating, summoning minor sparks of arcane energy to try and shock Scourge.
Ravenna waves around her rapier uselessly.
Finally, Scourge loses his grip on the axe as it squirts from his hand.
Scourge take a moment to look around. Owlbear stands apart, glowering at him. Narwhal lies bleeding on the deck. His allies mostly are disabled or unconscious. The rest of you arrayed against him.
"Alright, look, I see that the tide has turned against old Scourge. I'll surrender if you will be merciful and put Scourge ashore as a castaway. Take the ship, leave me behind to suffer. What say you?"
"Does everybody want to be cast away on that desolate place? They'll get to build a city sooner or later."
Raush leans against his quarterstaff. "'f he wants, there's no problem for me. Dead captain or marooned captain -and we've had both- makes little difference once the ship's ours."
Veltisiel glowers, but says nothing. He would rather see Scourge bleeding out painfully in front of him, perhaps as a sacrifice to Zon-Kuthon or something along those lines, but letting him starve to death would certainly please Trelmarixian, even if it were less personally satistying.
Ordrax looks at the others as they stop attacking and then at Scourge.
...say please...
They others may think at first that Ordrax is trying to humiliate the defeated captain but a look at his face tells that there is anger plain for everyone to see.
I want you to say please...I want you to grovel and you better do a hell of a job or...well a keel haul is just too good for you....I say if I am not entertained by your sincere desire to live, then I cut your balls off...
as the last words come out of his mouth, Ordrax pulls forth a spoon.
and let you swim to shore.
Grak pauses at Scourge's request, looking to see how the others respond. He'd like nothing more than to end the man's life now as revenge for the lashing the pirate gave him. "I suppose dead or marooned works for me too," he says agreeing with Raush. They will have the ship and that's what's most important.
Scourge begins to relax just a bit.
"Good, good. Just put old Scourge ashore and take the ship. You'll be on your way, captains of the high seas."
Veltisiel addresses the assembled crew, "Look around at those you are with. Less than a month ago, we were safe on land, until your former captain saw it fit to kidnap us and press us into service. We have no interest in doing the same to you, though we could. So, I present you with a choice. Either stay with us, sailing off into a continued life of piracy. Or, you can stay here- it seems to be a popular choice- and put your survival into your own hands. All we require from you if you want to stay is an oath that you will not betray us, or try to mutiny. And believe me when I say that any traitors will be dealt with harshly, and can be assured an eternity of suffering. So, what will it be? Keep sailing under under a new captain, or leave the ocean forever?"
As the group gets ready to put scourge ashore...
Ordrax looks up at him...
Strip down. Do not worry you will go ashore...naked but ashore.
Knowing the man has no choice at all, Ordrax goes through his things right in front of him, looking for keys. The little kobold then turns and heads off into the ship looking for the ex-captains quarters and other places of stored treasure.
Just before he enters the first door way. He says over his shoulder.
I say you bind him and row him out towards land....then let him swim the rest of the way to shore.
Narwhal, Scourges most fervent supporter, is currently unconscious, so he makes no response to Veltisiel's exhortation. Owlbear, Sandara, Conchobar, Rosie, Barefoot Samms, Tilly, Badger, Shivkah, and Aretta step forward and loudly and enthusiastically proclaim their loyalty. Crimson hesitates visibly before raising his cutlass and declaring loyalty to the new order. The rest remain defiant, leaving you with less than a skeleton crew.
Raush smashes his staff against the deck of the ship.
"Today marks a new start, mateys! Too long have we been ruled by incompetent, power-thirsty bastards whose only merit was to stand on the right side of the whip! Too long have the undeserving oppressed us! That is not the way of the seas, not the way of the Reaver Queen! Tonight, we took what was ours, and tomorrow we sail the seas, with the winds of freedom blowing behind us! We will plunder from the greedy, rob the rich of their ill-gotten gains that they are too weak to defend! And we do this as one, sharing fairly the loot and the danger. No more press-ganging the unwilling, no more undeserved lashing, no more tyranny! That's not to say that weakness, lazyness or malice will be tolerated, no! But we will profit together, from everyone's effort! "
Veltisiel grins internally at Raush's promise of kindness, but calls out, "Okay! Let's set sail!"
You unceremoniously put Scourge and Narwhal, and rest ashore. As the new captain calls out his order to set sail, the small crew works with a new lightness in their step. The realize that the coming days may be challenging and full of difficult work, but for the first time in weeks they feel like they are in control of their own destiny.
As the sails fill with a fortunate air, the ship launches into adventure. In a moment of quiet, Sandara approaches Veltisiel and Ravenna in a moment when they are near the wheel at the same time.
"Captain, it seems to me that as soon as Captain Harrigan hears of our mutiny, he is likely to seek vengeance. In our current weakened state, it might be best not to sail north into the Shackles. There is a port to the southeast called Rickety Squibs where we might find like minded scoundrels who would wish to join our crew. And Rickety himself could refit the Man's Promise to look like another ship. With his help, we could return to the Shackles with a new identity. I doubt that the bastard Harrigan cares enough to remember our faces."
"Good advice, Sandara. We should do just that." Veltisiel agrees, "Let us set a course that way now."
Ordrax collects all the equipment and proceeds to locate what would pass as a secured storage of sorts. once there he goes about organizing the equipment and inspecting the hold.
The weather is fair as you sail, the waves moving past as you swiftly sail East toward the Slithering Coast. This course takes you south of The Shackles proper, keeping you away from the eyes of the Free Captains, who would treat you as so much chum at this point. There should be opportunity for piracy here along the trade routes from the South to the more densely settle lands beyond The Shackles.
Veltisiel, having claimed the captain's cabin as his own, awoke early, shortly before dawn. He climbed out of bed, having slept alone the night before. He wanted some time to himself- the last few weeks had been hectic, beyond compare really. He dresses and makes his bed, the covers tucking themselves in under his guidance. With that so done, he leaves his cabin, looking around for any signs of trouble.
Satisfied that nothing required his immediate attention, Veltisiel returned to his cabin, and snuffed out the lights with a wave of his hand, the curtains drawing shut and the lights snuffing out. It wasn't complete darkness, but it would do. From there, he guided his magic to his fingertips, where it sat, red-black lightning tracing itself up and down his hand. He tapped it against the floor, and the etchings he had made across the boards lit up- while it wasn't a summoning circle in the traditional sense, it would like one to the uninformed. In the center of the glowing circle, his spellbook gently floated, automatically turning to the appropriate page as Veltisiel wished while he underwent the task of preparing his spells.
Once he was done, Veltisiel stood from his position, the arcane thrum of nearly a dozen spells filling him with something between confidence and pleasure. By the time he exited his cabin, most of the ship was already up and about, preparing to set sail once again. He ascended the stairs to be near the helm as he watched the crew- his crew, he thought, busy themselves with preparations.
Once they were actually sailing, Veltisiel retreated belowdecks, getting some of their dwindling rations from the galley, debating whether it was worth trying whatever Grak had concocted for the morning. Once he was done, he returned abovedecks to ensure that nothing had happened in the ten minutes he was below.
Content with what he saw, he returned to his cabin, and spent much of the rest of the day (other than trips to check on the crew) in silent contemplation and reading. He nodded to himself, as his notes, scant and vague as they may be, seemed to suggest he was on the right course. He finally had a method that his ascendancy might just work. He might actually escape the damnable- a fitting term- cycle that Pharasma oversaw. He would become a Daemon.
As the day passes into evening, Veltisiel makes sure he meets with the other officers and get their reports on the day, before eating and overseeing the tasks that required him.
That night, he invites Samms to his cabin. What was the point, after all, of having the only bed on the boat if he wasn't going to make use of it?
Ravenna is running ragged all over the ship - her experience at sea guiding her and driving the crew to the best possible use of the crew, given their relative lack of supplies and their under-strength numbers. She tries to puzzle out the charts, oversee assignments, and suss out the various strengths of crew members. This perforce involves putting herself into the middle of disputes, trying to smooth over tempers and fights over berths, food, or territory - as no crew member can be spared in such circumstances.
The picaroon's mood darkens as the day wears on; the extra duties take a heavy toll. More than once she's forced to leave the wheel to make a scurvy scalawag snap to. Every time she heads back, guiding the ship with clever, quick hands and calling out to the crow's nest for direction, occasionally checking the weather to see when a cloud might move in.
As evening settles in she guides the ship to a spot to anchor and calls to drop anchor. Exhausted from the double-duty, she numbly makes her way through dry biscuits and barely has time to doff her hat before collapsing, wiped out, into her hammock below.
Raush woke up under the table, a raging hangover, tired feet from dancing to Rosie's music and bruises from a spar with Owlbear. A lovely awakening, all in all.
After a salty breakfast to chase the nausea away, he goes around to check that the ship is in good shape, doing small repairs here and there and hammering away. When everything seems to be in order, he takes place in the crow's nest, taking advantage of the solitude to exercise an keep himself in shape. For all that he had dreamed of freedom and self-determination while under the slavers, and then under Plugg and Scourge, it was all a strange thought in his mind. Something he knew how to strive for, but not what to do with.
Thus, he decided to liven up things. That's why, at dinnertime, he loudly brings his quarterstaff against the grub pot, promoted for the occasion to gong.
"Fellows! Don't worry, I'm not going for a speech. I believe that the Man's Promise has an enormous problem: its name sucks. If you look under the nameplate, you'll see it was once called the Motley! And I don't like the name either. So, those of you in favor of renaming it to something else, say Aye!"
Raush's dinnertime speech riles up the troops, many of whom have somewhat drunken ideas about how the ship should be rechristened. Everyone who is paying attention votes Aye!, with no nays and few drunken abstentions.
Conchobar pipes up first, "I submit 'The Salty James.' Tis truly a name to strike terror in the hearts of our prey."
Owlbear submits, in a low and growly voice, "Kill you, ship will kill you."
Rosie Cusswell suggests "The F%*@ing Raven."
Crimson Cogsward, newly converted to your cause, suggests "One cannot go wrong with honoring the Pirate Queen. How about Besmara's Revenge?"
Excited to be in charge of the siege weapons and not having to do the menial work of a swab, Grak was mentally going over what he needed to do to. Initially, he wasn’t really paying attention as the other members of the group decided who would be in charge of what. It wasn’t until he kept hearing that they needed a cook did he begin to pay attention. With all of the major necessary duties filled, he realized that he would have to fill in as the cook until they found a replacement.
Heading down to the galley, Grak surveys his new working space. ”This shouldn’t be too hard. Following a recipe in a cookbook should be like following a formula in my book. Assuming Kroop had a cookbook,” he thinks to himself. He searches the galley and the cook’s quarters for one. When he gets a chance, he asks Vel how he and Kroop prepared meals. He also checks out the hold to see what supplies there are for food. While there, he sees if there is anything he can use to create any alchemical items.
He does his best to make a palatable meal, realizing that the quality of a meal could affect the morale of the crew. As he has the opportunity, he mentions his concern to the other officers and stresses the importance of finding a permanent and capable cook as soon as they can.
At dinner, he agrees to changing the name of the ship and listens to suggestions as he contemplates one of his own.
The night passes in relative calm. There is no foul weather in the air. You are far enough south that you can likely avoid the strange storms thrown off by the Eye of Abendego, and here the weather behaves in a somewhat more predictable fashion.
After a night of rest, you wake to the morning bell. Raush ascends to the crow's nest as Ravenna takes the wheel. Of in the distance, Raush spies the sails of a ship. A barque, three rows of sails. Likely some sort of merchant ship.
[ooc]The opposing ship pilot is at +4, so you will need to beat that to be able to attack effectively amongst the army that awaits.
"Ship ahoy, cap'n!" shouts Ravenna. She calls up to Raush in the crow's nest for details.
"Three master! Merchant vessel! Shall we make to intercept?"
As Veltsiel comes to the wheel to consult she leans toward him, still gripping the wheel, and says in a lower voice, "A quick, early victory and some plunder could go a long way for morale. Not to mention that we could use the food stocks."
Ordrax goes about inspecting the hold that will be use to store the loot and supplies. His eyes roam from one board to the next and everything in between. Rooting out any hiding spot for a secret stash that may have been over looked. Once he is satisfied with the room he walks around the ship inspecting every other room. Every now and then when someone walks by him, they can hear him counting as he walks. He takes time out to inspect the looks on any door or storage container. Once he is satisfied with the condition of the locks he make his way back to the the storage hold and takes the locking mechanism apart and cleans it out. The device works just as well as before but now it is clean of any salt or grim the may cause it to malfunction...or worse break open. He keeps to himself as he explores the ship from top to bottom. When word reaches him about another ship, he makes for the deck to see what the plan will be.
"Yes, bring us in. Let's see if our luck holds." Veltisiel replies, gripping the railing and peering at the distant ship.
Hearing that a ship has been spotted, Grak grabs his equipment and heads up on deck. He inspects the siege equipment on the ship to determine what options they have in attacking.
"Adjust starboard, cap'n!" shouts Raush from the crow's nest, growling as the enemy ship catches the wind.
Ravenna attempts to pursue the vessel, but the winds are not in your favor. Over the course of two days, you follow the prize vessel, but on the dawn of the third day the sun rises to see nothing on the horizon. The ship you are pursuing has disappeared.
Grak's previous inventory found that the Man's Promise has only two ballista, not much for making ranged attacks. Of course, given the right kinds of ammunition, they could be used for fouling lines and tearing sails, or even for incendiaries. Though burning ships you want to raid isn't the best idea.
The crew raises their voices and their effort in your attempt to overtake the other vessel. But Besmara's eye is not on you today, or if it is, she doesn't view you with favor. As your sails flounder in the lack of wind, the other vessel lurches away.
The voices of the crew grow small and dispirited, and shoulders sag as the other vessel disappears on the horizon.
"Feh. Worry not, lads, once we outfit this piece of driftwood properly we'll be inescapable."
Raush too is dismayed as their first quarry escapes, though.
From the bow of the ship comes a voice, small at first and then rising in power as other voices join in. It is the fiery haired Sandara, gazing out into the scintillating blue waves.
"What would you do with a drunken sailor
What would you do with a drunken sailor
What would you do with a drunken sailor
Earli in the marnin'"
Where usually the song is rousing and raucous, she slows it down, turning it into a near dirge.
But as others join in, the song speeds up and regains its more common form.
Soon, Rosie has grabbed her fiddle and Owlbear is drumming on a water barrel.
Sandara claps Raush on the back. "So it be. Tomorrow we can be at Rickety's Squibs. We will get some ale and meat in our bellies and a new wind in our sails."
As Sandara says, it is only another night and day of sailing before you come to a hidden inlet on the Slithering Coast.
Rounding the tall headland reveals a hidden cove at the mouth of a wide jungle river, its sluggish brown waters staining the waters of the blue sea like an ugly bruise. A series of docks has been built upon this estuary, with buildings concealed beneath the overhanging
limbs of the jungle beyond. A wooden watchtower stands upon the promontory of the headland, carefully concealed among the trees to provide a clandestine view of the seas.
As the ship gets closer to port, Grak finds a moment to gather the officers together. "So other than someone who actually knows how to cook and some more swabs, what else do we need from here? I know Sandra mentioned having Rickety Squibs refit the ship but how exactly are we going to pay for that?"
"Put 'im inna longboat till e's sober, put 'im inna longboat till e's sober, put 'im inna longboat till e's sober, earl-aye in the mornin'!"
Raush noisily cracks all of his joints while pondering Grak's question. "Either we take a loan from some unreputable scoundrel who's willing to gamble on us, or we pick up some mercenary work. Dreadfully honest trade, but one that pays good coin."
We put into port and sell of what little we have. Use that to buy needed supplies and maybe recruit some people on a payment after the first job is done type of deal. Granted that will be a very hard sell. I may even be able to relocate a few items...maybe.
"We'll make it work." Veltisiel says, as they approach the docks. Once they get close enough, he teleports ashore to find the harbormaster.
Grak nods. "I see," he says, unconvinced they have a real plan. He glances into his coin pouch with disappointment. "Not enough to do anything with," he thinks to himself. "Why don't I stay with the ship in case someone comes by," he says to the others.
Veltisiel arrives on the dock to find a human woman awaiting him. She has sun dark skin and obsidian black hair. Despite the heat and humidity, she wears a wool coat likely taken from a Chelish soldier with a lighter linen shirt beneath, a pair of breeches and bare feet.
"Ahoy and welcome, traveler. This be Rickety's Squibs, as I'm guessing you know. If you come for a refit, I'll take you to see Rickety himself. If you are just looking for provisions and a port, that will be a bit harder, as we are experiencing a bit of a drought at the moment. We can put your crew up at the Commons House ."