You slowly come to wakefulness through a haze of dreamless sleep. Memories of the night before in The Formidably Maid gradually clarify themselves in your mind - the ringing laughter of a wild night, the heady joy of excess, the scents of rich stewed meat and sickly sweet perfume lingering in your nostrils. Your mouth feels woollen - the sickly taste of cheap wine coats your throat and against your back you can feel the hard scratchy surface of a wooden floor. All this is accompanied by the gentle swaying motion and rhythmic creak of a ship at sea.
A splitting headache starts to cut through the fogginess of your thoughts just as a barking shout intrudes into your jagged thoughts... "Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On yer feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report fer duty before the Cap'n flays yer flesh into sausage skins and Fishguts fry ye up fed breakfast!"
Looking up woozily, you see a tall, thin, swarthy man with a braided beard wearing a long black frock-coat and a stained red headscarf barking the orders at you. An expression that might be mistaken for pain but which is clearly an attempt at a mocking smile full of gold teeth bruises the man's face as he screams at you. Six rough-looking sailors accompany him, all armed with saps, with which they threateningly beat their hands as they wait for you to move.
As you wake fully you realise that you've been disarmed, and you seem to be left with nothing more than the clothes on your back, around you, four other figures seem also to be waking.
You remember seeing the face of the shouting man amongst the crowd in the inn last night. You also recognise the faces of the other PCs as having been present.
You detect the strange aftertaste of oily nutmeg on your tongue.
The taste is a clear sign of "oil of taggit" poisoning.
"Oily nutmeg eh? I don't recall drinking anything with that crap in it," Shaeda thinks to herself.
As she rises, she immediately reaches and checks her waist for weapons, and finds none. Taking a quick inventory, and finding nothing else, she tucks some of her brown locks up under the blue kerchief that has her hair tied back. At under three feet tall, Shaeda could be mistaken as a child, but her weatherworn features bely her age. Her trousers (held up by a bit of rope) and blouse are both made of stained sailcloth, with numerous repairs obvious to both. Her leather boots, are also well worn. She has much darker skin than most halflings, indicating either a lot of time in the sun, or some mismanagement of her bloodline at some time in the past.
Surveying her surroundings, she concludes she is aboardship, although what ship remains to be determined. She recognizes several of the faces around her, including the hard drinking dwarf she observed at The Formidably Maid last night. She turns to her brothers and sisters in bondage and quietly recommends, "let's go, this is no time to show weakness, and we can figure out what happened to us later."
She stands and turns to face the tall man and in a much louder voice she responds, "aye aye, and how can I serve this ship? I can run a ratline, or clean the bilges, whatever is needed, but I'd prefer to at least know the name of the ship on which I find myself."
Bellara groans, bringing a slim hand up to rub at her throbbing temple. The smallest bit of white lace trim peeks out at her wrist from beneath the sleeve of her jacket, a velvety indigo affair as rich and deep as a dark night at sea. The lace matches the white of her shirt and the bit of frill at her throat, crushed now from being forcibly taken from the tavern. Amber eyes peer at the the assemblage before her, trying to identify who her captors were. As she gingerly lifts her head, long strands of blonde hair streaked with platinum tumble over her shoulder.
I should have kept a better eye on this group when I saw them last night at the Maid.
Shapely lips smack together repeatedly as Bell tries to work some saliva into her cottony mouth. The look of the men before her and the saps they wield make her sigh inwardly. She forces herself to get to her feet, lacking her usual grace. The motion allows her coat to unfurl, flaring out from her waist. Swaying slightly in her scuffed boots as she takes a good look at her captors, Bell casually plants a hand at her hip, feeling for a pistol that was no longer there. The slight movement nudges her frock coat out of the way, revealing the fitted burgundy waistcoat beneath, the dark breeches, and the empty belt at her hips. Standing at halfway between five feet and six feet, she was a good deal taller than the halfling at her side.
"Bad night to visit the Maid, eh?" she grates out to the halfling through her painfully dry throat. Habit bids her to straighten out her jacket and cravat as best as she could. Being tossed unceremoniously aboard an unfamiliar ship rankled. The act of making herself presentable soothed her.
Bell smacks her lips together again, trying in vain to identify that aftertaste that was nothing like that lovely glass of wine she had last night. The girl had a Taldan look to her, high cheekbones and sculpted features, not to mention the fancy cut of her clothes. That mass of blonde hair looked wrong though to anyone familiar with that part of the Inner Sea.
The tall man grins evilly at the small form of Shaeda. "Think a lot of yerself don't ya!" he spits out "Mr Plugg, the Boatswain'll be decidin' what ye'll be doin' on "The Wormwood" and ye'll be quick t' jump when he or I say boo to ye or ye'll feel the cat! Get up on deck now unless ye wantin' t' git a hidin' already!"
The Wormwood is pirate ship with a dire reputation, captained by the notorious free captain "Barnabas Harrigan"
It is said that The Captain took command of The Wormwood after a captured slave killed the previous captain.
He was captured by the Chelaxian navy but somehow managed to escape, it is said he killed more than 30 Chelish soldiers when he did so, but there are at least that many variations on the story of what happened.
Aye aye, on deck it is, says Shaeda as she heads out of the hold, looking back at her chain brothers and sisters, and also memorizing the face of her captor.
Alessandra wakes early, and regrets it; although it's better than the alternative of not waking at all - just.
ugh... Nutmeg? The hell?
The wooden floor and rocking motion take some time to filter through her drugged senses, but she has appallingly embarrasing memories of last night - and the bruising on the back of her head is the final straw. Leaning over into a crouch, Alessandra instinctively brushes her hair back and out of the way as she vomits, wretchedly, onto the deck.
Once there's nothing more to come up, and keeping her eyes closed, the half-orc girl tries to regain her composure; doubtless Tor would have had some dry and witty thing to say to make light of her situation and would want her to do the same. In as light and ironic a tone as she can manage, she observes "Someone (and I've a horrible feeling it's me) is going to be very, very sorry about this." Her voice is shaking too much for it to be convincingly flippant, however. She does though manage to pay attention to the exchanges between her new companions and the unknown captor.
Oh Gods, Barnabas Harrigan - thanks a lot, you Up There!
Finally opening her eyes, she sits up (careful not to stand at this stage) and looks at her new companions. Her coarse black hair is matted and tangled, and she sees with annoyance that her dark crimson leggings and jerkin are badly stained with wine and sawdust, although she has at least managed not to spew all over herself. She can tell without checking that her (bright pink) pocket scarf is empty and her weapons are missing.
Aware that she must (as she has always done) make the best of it, Alessandra pushes her hair back and forces one of her lop-sided smiles, careful not to show her teeth: "Well, mustn't keep the boss waiting, I'm sure there's work to be done." She begins to stand up, but the movement is too much, too soon, and she doubles over, retching helplessly again; although there's nothing more to come up.
Disarmed, disadvantaged, dizzy with nausea, the half-orc girl lets her head fall forward so that her hair covers her face, and squeezes her eyes tight shut. Don't you dare cry - don't you !
Bellara instinctively reaches for the girl, knowing all too well how the rocking of a ship could affect one's stomach. "Let's get you up on deck. That fresh air will feel better, I'm sure." She is prepared to aid the younger woman in navigating the stairs to the upper deck, fearing what the men might do to her if she couldn't. "Come on girl, lean on me if you have to," she whispers.
Biting her lip until blood trickles down her chin (although completely lacking a muzzle, Alessandra's teeth are more like tusks than she would care to admit), the half-orc girl regains a measure of self-control.
Smiling gratefully, if rather weakly, at Bellara she manages to stand up with the Taldan woman's help. At 5 foot 10 inches tall, and well muscled with it, she looms over her blonde companion and tries not to lean on her too heavily.
When Bellara whispers to her, Alessandra whispers back "This ship - it has a BAD reputation. Warn the others ... no messing with the captain ... ugh... Gonna spew again... "
Biting her lip until blood trickles down her chin (although completely lacking a muzzle, Alessandra's teeth are more like tusks than she would care to admit), the half-orc girl regains a measure of self-control.
Smiling gratefully, if rather weakly, at Bellara she manages to stand up with the Taldan woman's help. At 5 foot 10 inches tall, and well muscled with it, she looms over her blonde companion and tries not to lean on her too heavily.
When Bellara whispers to her, Alessandra whispers back "This ship - it has a BAD reputation. Warn the others ... no messing with the captain ... ugh... Gonna spew again... "
All day! - don't worry, there won't be too much to do. Bit embarrassing having such a famous ancestor though. :)
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Rogar wakes, his cheek firmly planted to the floorboards, and drool dripping between his lips. Slowly, he opens his eyes, and feels consciousness returning. Unfortunately, along comes a splitting headache... "Ach, Besmara's bosom.. Me head! Stop yer shouting ye lout! Leave me in peace", the dwarf mutters, turning his back to source of the screaming. He tries to close his eyes again, but the pain doesn't go away. Finally the dwarf becomes aware of his surroundings; the sounds, the people, and most of all the horrible taste in his mouth.
Ale, rum, fish pudding, grog, nutmeg... Now wait a minute..., Rogar thinks, smacking his lips. "Oil o' taggit, of course. Ol' trick, and I fell for it"
The dwarf sits up, and exhales loudly. "Mornin' y'all" he nods to the others whom he thinks are sharing his fate. Faint images flash back to his mind, as some faces seem familiar from last night.
Rogar stands up, sways a little, and manages to grab the wall before he falls down. He coughs, snorts and spits on the floor. "'cuse me..", he mutters, wiping the spit off his red, unkempt beard. While average height, Rogar is remarkably skinny for a dwarf. It looks as if somebody took a dwarf from the mountains and left him to dry under the sun. The skin is tan, and weather-beaten, wrinkles all over the dwarf's face. Hiding his hair is a red scarf, which is also most likely the cleanest part of his garment. He wears ragged pair of trousers, and covering his torso is a shirt which might might have been white in some ancient past. "At least they let me keep me clothes... But where's me bag? Hope they got it safe somewhere..."
Then it hits him. The swaying motion, creaking of the waves, the drugging... "Blistering barnacles!! I am the seas again!!! No, no,nonono... This is me past life, I was headin' to t'mountains, I was. Done with the seas. I..." and then he looks at the yelling longcoat. "Uh, yeah... I think I knows how this goes... I'll be coming right with ye.."
Wormwood and Cap'n Harrigan. This might be bad...
Despite her evident distress, Alessandra retains enough detachment to twist her lips into some semblance of a grin at Rogar's protests. When she finds a suitable moment between the waves of nausea sweeping over her, she remarks to Rogar "Feel free to take your concerns up with the management, good Sir, but do bear in mind that a refusal often offends...ugh..." She retches again: her brain hasn't yet caught up with the fact that her stomach is empty.
At least you're not alone in this - there's potential allies, if you can make friends with them. So stop ******* snivelling, you're sixteen, not six! You can cope with this. Taking a moment to lean on Bellara's shoulder for support, the half-orc girl mutters "Thanks - name's Alessandra ... Strathpride." There's a noticeable pause while she searches for that last name; it's clearly not hers. "Yours? ...ugh ... You mentioned fresh air a moment ago, sounds pretty good; where can I find it?"
Had she still been in Taldor, the tall girl's teeth...tusks? would have taken Bellara aback. Here, so far from home, she takes it all in stride. When the girl doubles over to answer to the roiling of her stomach, Bell bends with her, trying to soothe her misery by rubbing her back.
Doing so brought her close enough to the halfling to whisper, "Bí fainiciúil an captaen. Ná fearg air."
"Be wary of the Captain. Do not anger him."
She manages a tight nod back at the dwarf and the requisite "Good morning" in return, though her main concern at the moment is for the other girl leaning on her. Bell locks her recently shaky knees to take the other girl's weight. "Hello, Alessandra. My name is Bellara Aramassio. Pleased to meet you," she replies easily. Unexpected capture aside, manners were still manners in Bell's book. I'll have to talk to her later about that meaningful pause. When she's better.
Mustering up a small smile for Alessandra, she hooks the other girl's arm fully over her own slim shoulders, trying not to grunt at the weight. "My dear, on a ship fresh air can always be found up above on deck. Let's get you there, shall we?" Mindful of the half-orc's condition, she maneuvers them slowly toward the stairs.
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"The name's Rogar, but "Doc" is what they call me", Rogar says, keeping the conversation going. "Ye don't look too good, lass. Best get you up t' the deck. It'll either kill ya or heal ya, 'pending on what these brutes have in mind" he continues, nodding his head towards their captors. The dwarf starts staggering towards the exit, but somehow manages to sway with the ship, keeping his balance.
"Blistering barnacles!! I am the seas again!!! No, no,nonono... This is me past life, I was headin' to t'mountains, I was. Done with the seas. I..."
"Yes, here's the wide, grey sea again..." Comes a chant in reply to the disheveled dwarf's protest. "And the work that takes the souls from men, Shanghaied my dwarven friend!" The man is lying flat on his back, his eyes pressed closed yet still distinct as they have been outlined in ink. His hands are held up by his head, entwined in the wavy black hair, as solemn lips continue: "Yes, yon's the mist they call the shore, and here's the ropes we must haul once more--"
A thin smirk crosses his wide mouth, stretching his cheeks though his eyes remain closed. He continues to lie there, unmoving. "Oh, when I set my foot ashore, I'll drink no more... and I'll sail no more! Shanghaied..." You can see the tips of inky tentacles, sketched beneath his skin, peaking out at his left wrist, and trailing down his right arm where the tunic has been rolled up to the elbow on that singular side.
He's the last one to stir it seems, and is in no rush to rise to his feet nor to join the others on deck. As their gracious host spews more threats, however, Diego quietly objects. "I would gladly rise, should my stomache agree. But we seem to be at an impasse. And I do not wish to paint your ship as the tall maiden has already done."
He opens one eye, to watch Alessandra weakly ascend the stairs on the shoulder of the prestigious looking one, and grins sympathetically. "You've carried me this far already it seems as I can't imagine this is where I chose to sleep. Nor do I remember garnishing my meal with Oil of Tagget. So then if you have been my courier so far, why must I complete your task?"
Blinking as she emerges into the sun, Shaeda glances around at the ship, and then recognizing the difficulty that her fellow prisoners might be undergoing, she turned back into the darkness and called to them, come shipmates, I know for some you this is your first time aboardship, but better to fudge and fetter about on deck. As the good dwarf has said, you'll feel better in the fresh air. Alas, I would assist you, but you're all a bit large for that. And with that Shaeda emerges and begins trying to appraise the ship, the crew and it's overall state, while avoiding any lash, and not making eye contact if possible.
And should she spot anything, or however you wish to adjudicate it, bounce it against her Profession(sailor):
The tattooed man rises ungracefully to his feet, one of his outlined eyes still pressed closed, with mere seconds before tasting the lash their abductors. He also looks like he's about to hurl from the tilt and sway of the Wormwood, but manages to close his eyes and swallow the bile as he raises one finger to the air.
He follows the staggering dwarf above deck, fascinated and simultaneously nauseated by the serendipitous manner in which the dwarf sways and falters in time with the ship--as if a stationary figure in a world that topples and rolls around it.
Above deck he is blinded by the light, but slightly refreshed by the salt air. He despises where he is, but can't do a thing about it, so he chooses to chuckle rather than mourn. He paces his way over to where the ragged Halfling surveys the deck. He places one outstretched hand on her shoulder and tries to over a smile, squinting through the midday sunlight. "Just for a moment, sister." he pleads. "Mind's not steady yet, and one only has so many chances at first impressions. I'd prefer mine to be an upright one, at least a little longer."
Shaeda looks up at Diego and appraises his looks. Liking what she sees she states, "aye, you're in no condition for making horizontal impressions," and she gives him a friendly wink. "Now if you're to heave, do it over the rail, so it's one less thing to clean up. Keep at least one hand planted firmly on the rail, always remember 'one hand for yeself, and one hand for the ship.' Ye can call me Shaeda."
Alessandra responds gratefully to Bellara's assistance; she notices the blonde woman noticing her tusks, and murmurs drily " 's ok - I don't bite."
She mutters a swift greeting to Rogar as the dwarf introduces himself, and gives a wry smile in response to his comments on her not looking so good: grey is her natural skin tone (actually, it's something between grey and green, but her long sleeves and leggings make it difficult to see much of her skin in any event). She's currently feeling too sorry for herself to pay much attention to Diego, who is also clearly suffering. Beyond making a mental note to do proper introductions later, she tries to ignore him, as his references to his own stomach and to "painting" the deck make her (even more) queasy.
Between Bellara's and Rogar's help and Shaeda's encouragement, she finally makes it up to the deck - the blast of wind and the salt spray make her wince, but then sheer amazement and surprise take over: "Woooooooh!!!"
The half-orc teenager's experience with the sea has previously been limited to the dockside, and to the grey-green, greasy water there, all set about with garbage, sewage and the stink of rotting fish.
This is - literally - a different world. The sea here looks alive, and it stretches, beautiful and green, endlessly toward the horizon. Alessandra feels the blood sing in her veins, and a sudden, fierce joy at what she sees; the effect is only a little spoiled by having to lean abruptly over the side of the deck to retch pathetically once again. "ugh ...'s amazing..."
Shaeda looks up at Diego and appraises his looks. Liking what she sees she states, "aye, you're in no condition for making horizontal impressions," and she gives him a friendly wink. "Now if you're to heave, do it over the rail, so it's one less thing to clean up. Keep at least one hand planted firmly on the rail, always remember 'one hand for yeself, and one hand for the ship.' Ye can call me Shaeda."
Diego raises an eyebrow and can't help but smirk, in spite of his nausea. No condition for making horizontal impressions... there's wit in this one.
"Heave over the rail then?" He feigns revelation. "That's good advice. I really should be writing this down shouldn't I?" Suddenly he hears Alessandra doing just that, only a few feet away. "Show off." He quips.
"Sarcasm aside, that second bit sounds wise. And it's a pleasure, Shaeda, circumstances not withstanding. You can call me whatever the hell you please if you can get me through these next few hours. But I answer to Diego if you need somewhere to start."
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"Oh, when I set my foot ashore, I'll drink no more... and I'll sail no more! Shanghaied..."
"Horrible thought, that. If yer 'bout to entertain us wi' poetry 'n prose, I beg ye, speak us more cheerful words. If I ever get me foot on land again, I'll find meself a tavern 'n drink me worries away."
Rogar steps outside and draws a deep breath. Fresh air and wind seems to drive the worst headache away, and the dwarf feels somewhat invigorated. In fact, feels almost good, considering the situation.
"Besides.. Ye look like could use a drink, too. Any chance ye could arrange me n' wordsmith here a mug o' grog?" he says, turning towards the pirates.
"If I ever get me foot on land again, I'll find meself a tavern 'n drink me worries away."
"Ho there Master Dwarf, it seems that behavior is what got you in this situation here," bellows Shaeda.
Bellara makes herself useful, solicitous in how she holds the tangle of Alessandra's hair away from the bulk of her retching. "There. You can't get it in your hair or it will smell sour until your next bath." She sighs wistfully, looking around the rolling deck of The Wormwood. "I can't really tell when that will be on this ship. Thank the gods I was able to squeeze one in before I wound up on this boat."
Catching the exchange between the Diego and the Shaeda, Bell gives the man a good once-over. Despite their predicament, she finds herself smiling crookedly at the tattooed man. Well, if I must be held captive on a ship not of my choosing, at least some of the sights are more than adequate.
Rogar's words cut into her musings. She turns that half smile at the shriveled up dwarf, her interest piqued. "I wouldn't mind a drink myself...Doc. As a matter of fact, I had some jugs of grog in my trunk before I got carted off onto this ship. I certainly hope we aren't permanently parted from our possessions."
As you finally emerge into wakefulness you can tell that the area you have spent the night in ) is probably the ship’s lower hold and crew berths. Sixteen pillars support the deck above, from which hang a number oh hammocks, stowed out of the way for the daytime. On the floor a trapdoor presumably leads to the bilges, and along the walls are several footlockers. Towards the ship's bow (front) a set of steps leads upwards. The tall figure steps back in disgust as Alessandra empties her stomach onto the deck. "A right bunch've 'lubbers we got here boys" he says with a laugh. "Can't see this 'un being much use. But we'll see if we can't whip 'er into shape." The thugs chortle at the man's words. As Diego stirs and begins his little speech the man steps forward and delivers a swift kick into his ribs. . "That's enough of yer lip, boy! he shouts, and spits. "You'll soon learn t' step into line! And you'll address me as 'Sir' or 'Mr Scourge' from now on, unless yer keen on a keel-haulin! Now, Git up on deck yer bloody lubber! Yer hear me?"
Each of you is escorted up the staircase by one of the thugs, through a cargo hold , which is mostly empty, save for 14 pigs in cages. In the forward section, a second flight of wooden stairs climbs upward to the deck. A large imposing man who seems to have bits of tar and feathers stuck to him is chained to the foremast here. He watches everyone warily when they are escorted past him up the stairway. Another flight of stairs in the aft section leads up as well, but the way is blocked by the pirate thugs. Stored near the mainmast are two small ships cannons, two disassembled swivel-guns, and 12 barrels.
You are lead up the stairs through a small cabin with four hammocks tied to the walls and four larger footlockers out of the way along the walls. Two doors lead from the cabin, out onto the main deck .
When you step outside, your eyes are momentarily blinded by the bright sun. Once they adjust, however, it’s quickly apparent that you are on a sizeable three-masted ship in the middle of the ocean, far from any land. Port Peril and the mainland of the Shackles are just an ochre haze many miles astern. Figures cluster around the ship’s mainmast, looking up at the higher deck on the stern , where two figures stand. One of them is a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and a curious brass monocle with a blood-red lens which fixes you in its inhuman gaze. At his waist are two elegant ivory-handled pistols and a cutlass— clearly this is the captain. The other figure is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails. 16 or so other pirates, clearly existing members of the crew, (although four stand somewhat separate to the rest and seem somehow cleaner than the others) stand about on the deck or in the ship’s rigging. As you shuffle into a lose line before the captain he addressees you from his position next to the ship's wheel.
"Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for ‘volunteering’ to join my crew. I’m Barnabas Harrigan. That’s Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. I have only one rule—don’t speak to me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we’ll all get along fine. Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhaulin’ for anyone caught killin’ anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you’d be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of ’em."
At the end of his speech, the captain walks away, leaving behind the man with the cat-o’-nine-tails, clearly Mister Plugg, the Wormwood’s first mate. He looks down at you and the other impressed captives and smiles unpleasantly. Plugg has no time for small talk or pleasantries.
"Alright ye dogs, first thing's first," Plugg says, addressing the five of you. "I needs me a new rigger, see, so what'cher gonna do is climb yer arses up this here mainmast. First one up to the crow's nest is the new rigger, and the rest o' ye'll be swabs. Might spare one o' ye to cook with ol' Fishguts, if ye consider that sparin'!" He laughs menacingly and points upward for you all to start climbing immediately.
Recognizing that "race" means speed, Shaeda started on up the rigging, looking back at the others,come on you lubbers
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With an apologetic glance at Alessandra, Bellara saunters over to the main mast. Looking up to the crow's nest, her goal, she starts climbing with an easy grace.
Alessandra's new-found exhilaration with the open sea dies quickly when she catches sight of the Captain. She mutters a silent plea to whatever Patron may be Up There: The things I've heard about him ... keep him away from me - us; she hastily amends to include her new-found companions. Other than that, she keeps her head down and listens quietly.
Her heart sinks at Plugg's command to climb the mainmast, but she's game to try: she has a lifetime's experience of acrobatics. Moving quickly is a risk, but she has a lifetime's experience of that, too - and she needs to get to the top fast before she loses it again:
The half-orc girl admires Bellara's grace - she's actually better than Alessandra, it's almost a shame to pass her by - but the Taldan lady clearly isn't in for risk-taking. Alessandra loves chancing it. Once at the top, she pauses - "ugh" - to retch again, before admiring the view. She smiles weakly at Bellara and Shaeda as they reach the top: "Sorry Bellara, poor way to repay you for your kindness, but it was your apologetic glance that fired me up for it - I may be at a (hopefully temporary) disadvantage but I don't accept pity... Friends? I really don't bite, you know, and I do appreciate you looking after me - ugh ..." The dry heaving is getting on Alessandra's nerves now: there's nothing left to come up, but the retching is making her stomach muscles hurt.
Once back on deck, she finds Rogar - they haven't spoken much.
Shaking her head at the condition preventing her from doing much of anything, Alessandra seeks out Rogar: "Didn't you say they call you 'Doc' - does that mean you're a priest-healer? Can you do anything for me and Diego here?" She tries not to look too sceptical; being non-human herself, she tries hard not to judge by human standards, but if this dwarf is a cleric she, herself, is a fish-wife.
To Diego: "Good to meet you (given the circumstances), name's Alessandra; the lady looking after me is Bellara - I saw her admiring you earlier, thought you might like to know." The half-orc girl drops a wink; Diego's not to her taste, the others are welcome to him, but he seems harmless enough and right now she'll take that gladly.
OK...
Despite heroically scrambling at top speed, Alessandra has to concede the race to Bellara; whom in any event she realises is the better acrobat. All that is left is to be gracious about it. "Well done, well deserved... ugh ... You look after me AND you beat me at acrobatics, is there anything you can't do?" She gives the Taldan an admiring look.
With a rueful glance at Shaeda, the half-orc girl continues "Guess that makes us the swabs, then, can you show me what's involved? I heard your advice to Diego: one hand for me, one for the ship, wasn't it?"
With a regretful glance around the crow's nest, Alessandra climbs down. Her guts are still churning but she has to admit that the view is beautiful - the sea seems to speak to her in a way that the city never did.
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"Didn't you say they call you 'Doc' - does that mean you're a priest-healer? Can you do anything for me and Diego here?"
"Priest? Mwa-ha-haa!!"the dwarf bursts to laughter. "No, lass. Nothin' divine here, jus' me 'n me bonesaw, if ye catch me meanin'. Well, quite a many o' me patients been callin' out fer their gods durin' the operation. So maybe that counts as a sermon then" Rogar goes on, still chuckling. Then he looks back at the poor girl, and his face gets more serious. "So, that's a no, lass. I cannae do nothin' fer ye now. If I had all me gear, I could maybe mix ye sum' herbs t' keep yer dinner in. But haven't seen me gear since last night, so that's not much help. Best ye could have is rest right now, but I reckon that's not what they're gonna give ye" he says sympathetically, patting her on the back.
Rogar walks, still swaying, to the base of the mast, and looks up at Bellara. "Looks like ye got yer rigger, then", he declares, "She climbs up that mast faster than I run downhill. So 'cuse me if I pass this race. B'sides, I'm not a bad cook, meself"
Rogar walks, still swaying, to the base of the mast, and looks up at Bellara. "Looks like ye got yer rigger, then", he declares, "She climbs up that mast faster than I run downhill. So 'cuse me if I pass this race. B'sides, I'm not a bad cook, meself"
At your words Plugg steps forward and strikes forward which the cat, screaming each time the heavy rope lands on you, his face red with rage. "you'll bloody do what yer bloody told! Now get up the bloody mast before I give you a bloody keelhaulin' yer bloody lubber!
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Rogar knows when his options are limited, and jumps to the mast and starts climbing. As he goes, he mutters a litany of curses in Dwarven.
After the long, hard climb, Rogar's hands become slippery. And eventually, his right hand slips from the mast. Trying to hold on with his left hand and feet, he tries to get back into balance, but the other hand has no better hold. Rogar, like other dwarfes are not made to fly, and the he rushes through the air towards the deck.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGGH!!!"
Where does he land:
Damage if he hits the deck:
"Priest? Mwa-ha-haa!!"the dwarf bursts to laughter. "No, lass. Nothin' divine here, jus' me 'n me bonesaw, if ye catch me meanin'. Well, quite a many o' me patients been callin' out fer their gods durin' the operation. So maybe that counts as a sermon then" Rogar goes on, still chuckling.
Alessandra is not in the least squeamish - any distaste she had fled on the day she vivisected the ******* who killed her mother and sold his organs to an alchemist (made a tidy sum, that - paid for a nice funeral and a headstone too). On finding out that Rogar's a chirurgeon, her eyes almost visibly light up - "Oh, that's handy - I do some practical work that way myself, I'm always interested in where the arteries and nerves are; can I get your opinion on something? My friend said that the best way to cut a throat is to ..."
Rogar walks, still swaying, to the base of the mast, and looks up at Bellara. "Looks like ye got yer rigger, then", he declares, "She climbs up that mast faster than I run downhill. So 'cuse me if I pass this race. B'sides, I'm not a bad cook, meself"
At your words Plugg steps forward and strikes forward which the cat, screaming each time the heavy rope lands on you, his face red with rage. "you'll bloody do what yer bloody told! Now get up the bloody mast before I give you a bloody keelhaulin' yer bloody lubber!
The street-bred teenager winces at Rogar's remarks; she can see what's coming from Plugg almost before the brute thinks of it himself. Nauseated and on unfamiliar ground, she plans to scurry out of sight and not draw attention to herself.
To her mystified astonishment however, she finds herself in front of Plugg trying to plead with him: "Please Sir Mr Mate, you can see he's a dwarf, you know they're earth-people - and he's got a dodgy leg, too, see? Suppose he kills himself falling on his first day here? What would the Captain say?"
What in the name of ******* do you think you're doing, you stupid ***** of a ****?! Are you really that ***** mad that you'll annoy this insane **** of a ************* for the sake of a dwarf you've just ******* met? What the Hell is wrong with you?!
With a crash Rogar plummets from the height of the mast, his arms windmilling through the air as he falls. With a splintering crash and a sickly crunch, his body strikes the hard wooden deck....
As Rogar ldrops from consciousness a pretty young woman runs forward from the crowd of watching sailors as Plugg and Scourge laugh. The woman kneels over Rogar's still body and starts applying some kind of paste to his wounds. "he's bleeding inside, she says, looking up at Plugg. he'll die if we don't get him to Peppery as soon as possible!. Without further words Plugg gives a reluctant nod and four sailors run forward, taking this still form of Rogar below decks.
As Rogar starts to climb the rigging Alessandra steps forward to plead with Plugg. Before she can get out more than a few words, however, he lashes forward at her with his cat, forcing her to join the dwarf in the rigging.
** spoiler omitted **
Shaeda reaches the top, having been beaten by Bellara and just edging out Alessandra .
"Wow, you b*****s can climb! Great job, but it looks like we two are on swab duty," muses Shaeda and nods at Alessandra as she scans the deck below looking for the figure she saw earlier with tar and feathers. Me name is Shaeda, and I propose we stick together to get through this ordeal. As she turns to climb back down to the deck, Shaeda adds, "oh, and the cute one, Diego, with the tattoos... DIBS!"
Shaeda then starts down the ratlines to the deck, hoping to do so with as much dignity as possible, having just been beaten at an event she had hoped to win.
Diego watches appreciatively as the three women shimmy up the mast with impressive grace. He knows there's not a chance of beating them, and turns to laugh with the grizzly dwarf who has also opted to stay below-though the moment is cut short by nine-tails lashing. Diego raises two hands quickly to the air, with a smirk as he bows his head slightly in acceptance. "That was five "bloody"s," he acknowledges, "so I'm thinking you must be serious? We'll climb then..." and with a click of his tongue, "You just enjoy the view."
He struggles a little bit at the beginning, trying to swing his way upward rather than use brute strength. The higher he gets though, the more rope he has to vault from. It makes for a steady climb, though easily half the pace of the others. Which also means that he reaches the crows nest too late to overhear Shaeda's claim.
"It's beautiful up here, Mr. Plugg!" he shouts down to the first mate, resting an arm over Bellara's shoulder and the other hand resting on Shaeda's to steady himself as he leans over the deck. "This is where you must bring all of your..."
--Suddenly he becomes aware of Rogar's condition. He hadn't seen Doc fall, nor apparently heard the commotion. His bravado is suddenly arrested by the gravity of the situation. He casts a quick look of confusion at the others with him in the crow's nest, eyebrows pressed and distress in his eyes.
"Damn, Diego. Pay attention." he chides himself quietly, before swinging over the edge of the platform and descending quickly. The motion is far too much for his stomach, and he is unable to reach the deck before Rogar has been carried off. The blood on the maindeck still remains.
As Rogar starts to climb the rigging Alessandra steps forward to plead with Plugg. Before she can get out more than a few words, however, he lashes forward at her with his cat, forcing her to join the dwarf in the rigging.
The blow catches Alessandra across the face, making her eyes water. Gritting her teeth (she thinks of them as teeth), she climbs the rigging at double-speed, but her nausea prevents her catching up with Bellara; eyes still watering, she doesn't quite beat Shaeda either.
She nods back at Shaeda, and accepts the compliment: "You run across as many roofs as I have, you get pretty good at acrobatics. I'd be happy to stick with someone who knows (as I surely don't) one end of a ship from the other. I heard the advice you gave Diego (you can have him, by the way, not my type) about one hand for the ship, one hand for me - sounds good. Any more advice like that, a girl would appreciate it... What is a swab, anyway?" She breaks the conversation off as Diego arrives. "What are you " she snarls as he insults Plugg even more. Grabbing the man, she digs her nails into any convenient soft part of his anatomy and hisses: "This is the - it's a pirate ship with the worst reputation and they will do unspeakable things to you if you **** them off. Don't you know -"
A sudden scream distracts her: horrified, she watches Rogar lose his grasp and fall; but there's nothing she can do, she's as powerless as when Tor broke his neck. She makes a private vow that one day (hopefully soon), Mister Plugg's thumb-bones are going to find their way into her collection.
She will enjoy that.
Alessandra crawls as hastily as she can (not very) back down the rigging, asking whatever Patron might be Up There to keep the dwarf alive. She thinks about Tor, what he would tell her to do now: bide her time, not do anything irretrievably stupid, and pay attention. One matter she is paying attention to: the half-orc girl is uncomfortably aware of Bellara's blonde hair, amber eyes, and figure (and her kind nature) which make her an obvious target. It doesn't quite make up for having lost the race, but at least the Taldan woman will be out of sight and reach of the crew while she's up in the crow's nest. One less thing to worry about. That still leaves Diego; does he not realise what ship he's on?
And since when did you start worrying about other people? Seriously, what is ******************** wrong with you? First the dwarf, then the woman, now the man - get a grip... You're part orc, you can't ************ worry about other people - they surely won't worry about you.
Alessandra is no longer sure that this is true. Suspended in the rigging beneath the crow's nest, with only the wind for company, she permits herself a small - a very small - sob; before dropping back down to the deck and awaiting whatever lies in store - "ugh" - and to be sick, yet again, over the side of the boat.
Hearing Alessandra's request for more advice, and having just beaten her in the race up the rigging, Shaeda offers, "Remember that 'I don't have to outswim the shark, I only have to outswim you.'" She adds, "and survival is the goal, so don't balk, or whine, just do as your told. I was a slave for many years, and I learned a thing or two about sailing and surviving. Bide our time, and survive, and we'll get out of this.
Alessandra grins, weakly; a lop-sided smile that doesn't show her teeth. "Right now, I'm not sure if I could outRUN a shark... A slave, hey? What were you before? Wanna tell me about it?"
Shaeda grins, "We can swap girl stories later, best we get back and see what nastiness Mr. Plugg has planned for us now."
Shaeda grins, " best we get back and see what nastiness Mr. Plugg has planned for us now."
Alessandra snarls at Shaeda's remark. "If that tattooed nitwit of a boy has landed the rest of us in trouble..."
The teenager makes a 'chopping' gesture with her hand, and glances sideways at her companion. "How ... mm ... intact do you need him to be for your purposes?"
Ummm, mostly?