It's blue. You're swaying gently. The sky stretches out above you and the sea stretches out below you to merge in the haze of a distant horizon. The warm sun carresses your face, salt spray cools your brow and the ocean whispers around you.
You're aboard ship. There's a crack above you as the wind fills the sails. A raven haired beauty stands easily among the rigging, wearing a tricorne hat and an eyepatch. A long blue coat over a white blouse, tight black pants and black boots complete her pleasing visage. She smiles grimly and points to the horizon with a jewel encrusted cutlass. "Storm's a comin'."
There's a crack as the sails fill again and the ship lurches beneath you. A bell clangs and bodies rush around you. The horizon has turned dark grey. The crew scuttle over the rigging, pulling at the sails as the sails pull back. The ship crests a giant wave and plummets down and you're tossed to the ground. Cold spray lashes you and needles of rain cut through you. A flash of lightning illuminates the main mast. It bends unnaturally towards you and there's an almighty CRACK!
Aemilia
Lysandra
Mata
Nakon
Sevien
Xantrius
It's black. Your stomach is swaying uneasily. Hard wood sucks the warmth from your stiff bones. The stench of rotting fish stabs at your nostrils, some foul liquid smears your face and salt stings every tiny cut. There's a distant creaking screaming in your ears and your head roars as waves crash inside your skull.
You're aboard ship. There's a crack above you and blinding light lances painfully into your eyes, smashing inside your skull with the crashing waves. The light sways as loud bootsteps thunder on wooden stairs. It's a bullseye lantern, and behind it line up half a dozen humanoid shapes. Wooden pillars and footlockers lurk in the shadows against the wooden walls.
A tall, thin man steps forward. His body almost looks lost in his long coat and heavy boots. Between his braided beard and red bandana lie a pair of beady black eyes and a sneer filled with gold teeth. He raises a whip in his right hand. CRACK!
“Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap’n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!”
Sevien blinks his bleary eyes. He looks around wondering how he is where he is and why he feels so sick.
Anger starts filling Sevien's mind, he thinks How dare he speak to me in that manner, I will have him fed to the Lemure's...
Yet something warns him...he looks around, what are all of these other people doing laying here as well? The last thing he remembered was being in the tavern and sharing a drink with Zedren then things got hazy and went dark. Where was he?
He had heard of people getting kidnapped or worse, being pressed into service. What was this? By the look of the people laying around him, probably the latter.
He should stay quiet until he can figure a way out of this and take exacting revenge out of anyone who was involved with this.
With a groan Sevien barely rises, his thin body and lack of natural strength making it difficult to stand up. When he finally does, he lurches forward and collapses on the floor in a heap. The embarrasement of the moment shaming him and making his anger boil to the point of eruption...
Lysandra awakes, shaking her head to try and clear her head of the fog she feels like she is in, as she thinks to herself Who is this ill tempered man? I am aboard a ship, but where? Why? The last vague memory the young woman has is that of a man telling stories of some grand pirate adventure, while she enjoyed a drink or two at the Formidably Maid.
Getting to her feet, she clutches her stomach in combination from her queasiness and the foul odors that surround her.
Looking around she see others in similarly poor condition, including one poor soul is unable to remain standing.
Fearfully keeping one eye on the ill-tempered man with the whip, she reaches out to the fallen man to help him to his feet, as she whispers to him, "Come on, if we don't get moving I'm sure he'll have no issue making things worse....not that I have any idea of what is going on here."
Press ganged eh. I can't say this was my plan to acquire my own ship, but at least I can make some new friends among my fellows. Should have paid more attention when I was stood at the docks. I do say though... I much preferred being the one cracking the whip. Its all a little intimidating on this end!
Xantrius groggily rose to his feet, with a muttered aye aye... and helped the frail looking man to his feet along with the dark-haired woman. As he did so he tsked distastefully at his attire; they had stripped him down to little more than rags! He addressed Lysandra but let his confident, optimistic voice carry to the others too, in case they were also confused.
Allow me to explain, madam. We've all been press ganged. This delightful vessel no doubt needs more labour and judging from the brutal manner in which they apparently acquired it- tis no merchantman. Just keep your head down for now, they'll be looking to make an example of anyone who makes too much of a fuss. May as well make the best of things, I always say he explained, finishing with a wink and a wry smile. Come on chap, you'll feel better once you get your sea legs. he said encouragingly to the man they held up between them, moving to do as he had been ordered.
Xantrius Casmirre, press ganged! These buccaneers were fortunate when they pressed me into service, oh yes indeed! Few among their crew will be able to boast a legacy at sea with none other than Jean Coremont! Well, one of his lieutenants really... But still!
Grown used to such rude awakenings, Aemilia's body responds before her mind is awake, pushing her to rise to her feet. Don't know him. Where are the stairs? They've moved. Wrong ship. What's going on? Trying to remember what might have happened since her last memories on another pirate ship makes her head throb. She stumbles toward the stairs before the other man can get to his feet; let the whip find someone else as the last up. Obedience first, revenge later. She glances at the man who woke her appraisingly. Those gold teeth will sell for a handful of coin.
Mata lay still for little resisting the urge to hit man with the whip until he knew the situation and at same time resisting the urge to empty his stomach.
Listening to the conversation. So we have all been press ganged and others might help, that would make 6 of us versus 1 of him, Good odds. There will be more pirates even on a ship desperate enough to press gang for crew but be buggered if I'm going to put up with another bully. Shouldn't be hard to provoke him into starting it.
Coming to his feet and stumbling around "You could have bloody asked you know?! I would joined without all bull crap. would have been more pleasant for us all".
"Oh no..." Mata stumbles towards the pirate and empties his stomach at him.
Mata takes a step and checks to see if the pirate took the bate.
Sevien takes the offered hand, struggling to rise. Thank you, I am not one that wants to draw their ire to be sure. Your assistance will not be forgotten...
Sevien looks down his shirt to see if his holy symbol is still in his possesion...
The six figures behind the light jeer and chuckle as Sevien topples to the deck.
The man with the whip watches as the others help Sevien to his feet and start towards the stairs. The figures step back to let you all through. There's a dwarf, a half-orc, and 4 humans and you note they're all armed with ready saps. None of you have your equipment.
When Mata stumbles forward, the man with the whip takes a step back, but isn't ready for the torrent of vomit that covers his pants.
He steps back behind the dwarf and his whip lashes out at Mata.
The whip cuts through Mata's shoulder, tearing his skin like parchment to expose the sinew beneath.
"Ye useless piece of shark bait. Ye'll be wishin' that was still aboard yer stomach in a few days. Now git up on deck or yer next meal will be at bloody hour."
He readies the whip again, looking for his next excuse to use it.
Armed with the knowledge that he has no access to his unholy powers, Sevien hurries onto the deck as quickly as he can, keeping some distance between himself and the Half-Orc who is apparently looking for trouble...
A troublemaker, Aemilia notes of the half-breed. Useful, for now, to keep the lash occupied elsewhere, but if he can't be broken, they'll put the lot of us on half-rations until we can 'convince' him to cooperate -- or to stop breathing to take the heat off the rest of us. She waits for some of the others as she approaches the stairs, trying not to be the first one up; the pale and slender man seems eager to take that position. She falls in behind him to climb the stairs. The captain's cupboard, she remembers, and the three pirates with the key. We were in Port Peril.... She glances down to see if she's wearing the same clothes she was thrown in the cupboard in. Gods, let it have been the human and not the dwarf....
Lysandra still very much wary of the whole situation, moves up onto the deck as quickly as her groggy state will let. Her eyes dart from side to side, trying futilly to put any sense to what is going on. Seeing the other pirates along with the man with whip, she thinks to herself, Ok Lysa...don't do or say anything stupid, gods know you're already in enough trouble...
The last member of the press ganged fraternity and the last to move is a dusky skinned brute, a mongrel human of indeterminate race.
A shade under six feet, his shoulders and arms are massively over-developed, making him look top heavy. Completely bald, his scalp and neck are covered with crude tatooes of creatures of the sea: a kraken, sea snake and several sharks predominate.
He wears little, a sharkskin jacket lays open across his barrel chest, a rough set of hemp pants cover his legs. Nothing covers his feet. Or more accurately his foot, a wooden plug takes the place of the left one, protruding from the ankle.
He rises smoothly enough to his feet after the others though, apparently shaking off a similar grogginess while trying to avoid being blinded by the lantern.
As the half-orc takes a lash and some of the others start to shuffle forward, he chuckles, his smile wide and showing off a mouth with somehow too many teeth.
Ahh so you are a mighty warrior then Goldteeth! A master of the lash I see.
He grins even wider.
Nakon killed the last man that lashed him. Let him bleed out into the sea. Will we repeat I wonder? The time of the Change is close, I feel it.
Still smiling, he moves up and past the man.
Mata tries with limited success not to react as the whip cuts into him. So there are 7 of them, and all but one of my companions are cowards dancing to the crack of the whip. Odds are looking much worse, might be better to wait get my revenge later.
Grinning he turns turned to the tattooed man "He's no great warrior, getting his short friend to whip an unarmed man."
Mata goes to follow Nakon towards the stairs, but expecting another lash of the whip.
Xantrius all but rolled his eyes mentally as the two humanoids postured and brought punishment on themselves.
Were they trying to impress their fellow press ganged or the crew? Surely they did not think to start a fight- their presence here indicates that they were likely already overpowered once.
They must be lacking in judgement to compensate for those bulging biceps... the Taldan thought critically to himself, wincing as the top heavy human all but made a death threat.
Must be friendly with the pair of them Xantrius mused, already seeking to win himself friends aboard the vessel. I'll need muscle, that's for sure. He swept his eyes over what would likely be his new home for at least some time, wondering idly what had become of his gear and clothing.
Then, he turned his attention to the task at hand. He flashed a winning smile at the man with the whip, pointing at Nakon.
He's a funny one isn't he, this one! Ha! In fact, this whole situation reminds me of a joke I heard back on the docks he began, hoping to have diverted attention to himself with his confident posture and camaraderie with the Master Scourge and his men.
Aboard one of the Lion of Taldor's privateer ships- a fresh faced recruit has recently become part of the crew. They've been sailing for some time, and this recruit is scrubbing the deck with an old hand, a couple of weeks in. He asks him- "Mate, when do we next get into port? I'm itching for a soft wench"
His mate replied- "Probably not for weeks yet. No idea, really."
"Well, its been ages since I dropped my anchor in a lovely harbour, if ya catch my drift" the recruit replied.
Xantrius' wink made the innuendo clear for those slow on the uptake.
"By Cayden's codpiece, what do you do here on board for all this time?" he continued. The old hand turned to the young recruit and with a paternalistic air, put a hand on his shoulder as though to impart some great secret. He said- "Lad, there's a salt-pork barrel- its got a hole in the side for you to spank the dolphin with. Just talk to the bosun, he'll hook you up".
Seeking relief, the young recruit discretely visited the bosun and inquired if he could book the barrel for Wealday. The bosun shook his head sternly as he said "Can't do Wealday. You can have it on Oathday if you want."
"Why not Wealday?" the naive recruit asked. The bosun grinned as he eyed the young man like a shark circled prey. "Wealday's your day in the barrel son!"
Clearly a fan of crude humor, Nakon slaps his sides with laughter.
HA. HA... your day in the barrel.... Pretty man is funny.
He doesn't take his eyes of the man with the whip though.
The seven figures remain grim and wary as the new recruits file up two flights of stairs and through a large cabin but most of those with saps laugh uproarously as Xantrius finishes his joke. Their laughter dies quickly with another CRACK! of the whip.
"Some of you have quite the tongue in yer heads," sneers the man with the whip. "Well, that won't last long, will it Jape?" he sniggers to his half-orc companion. The half-orc glares and shakes his head grimly.
You all stagger out onto the main deck. After the dark of the hold, the sun is blinding. Haloed figures cluster around the mainmast, and as your eyes adjust, the figures come into focus as the pirate crew. Mostly human, there's also a couple of gnomes, a halfling and a half-elf. They look up astern on the higher deck where two men stand unmoving. The first is a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch— clearly the captain. The other is a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails.
The six of you are shuffled towards a small group of four slightly apart from the rest of the crew. The first of these four is a woman crowned with a mane of fiery red locks under a tricorne hat. She wears black boots, black pants and a white short sleeved blouse which reveals arms covered in tattoos. There's a feather stuck in her hat and a pipe stuck in the corner of her mouth.
The girl beside her is in fact a fully grown halfling woman with a sour look. She wears green pants, a brown vest and a red silk scarf and has an immaculate hand axe tucked into her belt.
A bald headed, stubbled man, lean and sinewy with a blue bandana stands nearby with his arms crossed. His eyes fix on Nakon as you approach.
The last figure is a handsome gnome who wears a foppish purple hat, an eye patch, and a white silk shirt, and carries a dandyish cane. His appearance is that of someone pretending to be a pirate, rather than a true buccaneer.
Bright blue sky stretches in every direction and a few white clouds gather on the horizon far behind the ship. There's no sign of land in any direction, let alone Port Peril.
Lysandra looks on confused as the two large men continue to press their luck against obviously poor odds.
Listening in on Xantrius's story, the young woman tries to contain her laughter while almost blushing at the punchline of the story.
With the story out of the way, the realization of where she is hits Lysandra again, as the momentary amusement quickly leaves her face.
Perception:
Knowledge (Nature):
Lysandra tries to place the odd taste left over in her mouth, muttering to herself quietly, "Nutmeg?" then the young woman's eyes light up, understanding what has caused the taste in her mouth and the queasiness in her stomach. "Oil of taggit...they must have put it in the rum last night...."
Sevien continues to say nothing, choosing to learn about his new enemies rather than give them an excuse whip or otherwise abuse him.
He also takes the opportunity to appeared cowed which was not far from the truth...often when someone underestimates their captive, that person let's their guard down.
dot for interest
Xantrius grinned and took a bow as he finished his joke, but did not push his own luck. He was the very model of a co-operative press-ganged and winked in a friendly manner to the crewmen who had enjoyed his joke. While he slowly regained his senses, he took the time to drink in the sight of the various women aboard the vessel, whether they were freshly press ganged or apparently existing members of the crew.
Thats one thing to be said about Taldan fleets; far, far too many men.
Mata takes note of the other half-orc for later and climbs onto deck. Reflexively he shuts his eyes against the sun light and spits out a little residual bile onto the deck.
Perception:
Perception
Knowledge
Still chuckling a little from the joke, Nakon walks confidently past the men and on to the deck where he looks around casually, eyes also lingering on the women he gives Aemilia's curves a good leer before locking gazes with the bald man in return.
He stands at ease, flexing his hands and waiting for the speech.
Feeling the eyes of the peg-legged man on her, Aemilia shudders a little and puts as much space between them as she unobtrusively can. Better the dwarf than that one.... So there are women on this ship, she eyes the red-head and the halfling warily. The crew of the last ship had thought it bad luck to have women on board. Not hostages who they thought would bring a large ransom, of course; those were always lucky. They'd gotten rid of her at last, and she'd brought at least three of them some coin, she supposed. When the captain found out who'd stolen his keys and his captive, he'd have it back in blood; if the three who'd sold her were smart, they'd be plotting against each other before they drank their profits, figuring out who to pin the crime on and leave with a slit throat and planted evidence. It amused her briefly to imagine the human getting one over on both the dwarf and the half-orc, but he wasn't clever enough for all that. Pity; he was her favorite of the three, in the sense that he was the one she'd take the least pleasure in seeing dead.
Sevien quietly looked over the other captives trying to determine which ones he could use.
The tattooed brute had promise. His obvious lack of intelligence would make him easy to manipulate, although hard to control.
The women who helped him, she seemed nice. Probably not an asset here, but most likely not a threat and would continue to help him unless they break her.
The other female. He was not sure what to make of her yet. She was a rare beauty, which means the other pirates and men would be fawning over her or possibly stay busy with her. Sevien, despite his hatred of most people, shuddered at the thought. He saw too much of that as a boy in the streets of Korvosa during the riots. But she was potentially a useful distraction non-the-less.
The half-orc. Another brute, possibly looking to get himself killed. He would find a use for him in his plan for revenge against this scum even if it was on the end of a pirate’s sword.
Finally there was the braggart. He could feel his soft manipulations already. This one could be of the greatest use for the moment. He would help him get in good with the crew if he could. The type that makes easy friends could help get him his holy symbol back and open an opportunity for the rest of them when it came. Now just to determine whose side he was on. Would he mosey up to the captain and become a danger to the rest of them by becoming part of the crew, or does he have bigger designs or a wish for freedom.
Of all of the deals for souls he had seen over the years one thing had always held true...everyone wants something...
As you look about the crew you realise that about a third of them are female, mostly human with a couple of exceptions. None of the crew look at you and a quiet settles about them as the captain takes a single step forward and addresses you.
“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. Mister 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 Mister Plugg with the cat-o’-nine-tails.
Perception
With most of his attention on the bald man, Nakon still noticed the woman's movement, processing it instinctively like most everything else. The captain was speaking but he wasn't really listening after the first bit. He moved his foot, feeling the rough wooden plank with his toe and enjoying the sensation. Something had changed from last night to this morning. Not his return to captivity although that was obviously part of it. Possibility had been unleashed, evolution a smarter man might have said. For years he had stood frustrated on the cusp of something special. The Change. There but always just out of reach.
The pathway was open now, the blockage removed. He could feel it. The ship was the way, the people on it. He felt it very strongly. The woman or the other one, Funny Man, the weakling, the green-skin.? It could be any of them or perhaps the pirates? It didn't matter though, finallly it would happen. Perhaps not today or tomorrow but soon. He would become what he was meant to be. Or maybe he would die and Change that way.
The captain turned things over to the other. Did they really think to make him afraid with whips. Him? His jacket covered the scars on his back but he felt them with every movement. Besides, the only thing he remotely feared was behind him now.
He smiled wider, humming a little to himself.
Soon.
Ma... Make pirates out of us? I certainly didn't go through that procedure on the vessels of the Lion of Taldor. Best get this over with then... Xantrius thought to himself with a little trepidation as he stepped forward first, patting Sevien reassuringly on the shoulder as he did so.
Reporting for duty, Mister Plugg he exclaimed enthusiastically.
I think I might regret this decision...
Lysandra looks on, silently and nervously awaiting Mister Plugg's orders
So they are still short-handed, guess the captain picks challenging targets. Good, that make him and the survivers stronger.
Keelhauling for anyone caught killing, guess I'll just have to be careful not to get caught then.
Taking a step forward "Begging you pardon Mister Plugg, how hard can it be to be pirate? Give me back my whakatangata and I show you I know how to kill. Once the other person is dead I don't think it'll be too hard to take their stuff."
Aemilia is starting to think that staying out of trouble is going to be easier than she thought, between the belligerent men challenging the pirates and the handsome one too foolish to keep his head down and mouth shut. She glances across to take the measure of the other two who are staying quiet and cowed: a woman, and a pretty one, looking as frightened as Aspexia had been when the pirates took the vessel, and a pale, fragile-looking man, the artist-type, perhaps a poet, the type Aspexia would sigh over and moon about the depths of his soul. Neither one of them look any more fit for hard labor than she does, although she has already gained calloused hands and tanned skin from the time she spent working on her last ship. 'Short-handed': It must be so, if they are desperate enough to press such unlikely crewmen.
Mister Plugg looks down at you and the other impressed captives and smiles unpleasantly. He glances at the rest of the crew.
"Whaddya all lookin' at? Get ta work ya lazy swabs. Yer settin' a bad example for th' bootlickers."
There's a flurry of activity as Mister Plugg makes his way down onto the deck.
He jabs at the top of the mainsail mast, sixty feet up, from which hangs a cascade of rigging.
"The rest o' you, top speed, up to th' crows nest. CLIMB!!"
Xantrius did as ordered. It was not his first rigging climb and he was a reasonably skilled climber.
BTW before we get started I wanted to change one thing on my character sheet if possible. I was thinking it doesn't make sense to him to have a rank in intimidate yet and it should be diplomacy. It has to do with him talking people into signing contracts for their souls with his master vs. threatening them.
I think Asmodeus' preferred route is them doing it of their own free will. Let me know, I was planning to take the intimidate maybe at 2nd or 3rd.
Sevien pales even more at the thought of going that far up.
Master Plugg, I am a healer and academic. Some of the others are much better suited to climbing the rigging than I. Shirley I could be more useful fixing people's wounds or keeping them healthy than with my neck broke from a fall?
Diplomacy
Unfortunately for Sevien, the request comes out awkwardly and fails to impress...
If ordered to go up or threatened with the whip he will try...
Climb
Sevien is barely able to lift his own weight up the rigging...it takes him about 5 minutes to gets about 10-15 feet into the air before the ship sways and he tumbles to the deck, injuring himself...
Arrrgh, Mister Plugg, I think I may have broken my arm?
Sevien shows him the huge bruise quickly forming where he tried to brace himself.
Not in many, many years had Sevien felt so humiliated and so angry...it was all he could do to stop the flame from coming...the flame that would burn Pluggs face beyond recognition and bring Sevien satisfaction...
Lysandra quietly responds, "Aye." as she quickly begins to climb the rigging.
Climb:
No threats, just orders and people obeying.
With a small shrug Mata begins to climb pausing during the larger swells to hang on.
Mister Plugg looks distastefully at Sevien. "Master Scourge, if you please."
From ten feet away the man with the whip lashes at Sevien.
Sevien's shirt oozes a bright stripe of red.
Xantrius and Mata take to the ropes and pull themselves upwards, taking care with their movement, neither of them particularly rushing.
Lysandra leaps onto the rigging and scampers up.
"Faster, ya slimy slugs! I've seen turtles climb better'n that!"
Lysandra continues to climb, attempting a faster pace to avoid the whip...
Climb:
After being whipped and then falling, Sevien lays on the deck, barely conscious clutching his arm...
Aemilia looks up at the rigging, her face going grim and pale, but she moves past the complaining poet without hesitation. Looking for special treatment, are you? she wonders. Make your appeal to the redhead, then; she might have a soft spot for the scholarly type. Even if Mr. Plugg's proclivities lie that way, I don't think you'd care to awaken his tender sympathies.
She takes a deep breath and swallows hard as she grabs hold of the rigging. A few months ago, the rough rope would have torn at her soft skin, but long days with a mop and a bucket had calloused her hands. There were no doubt some people who would view a broken neck from a fall as a swift and merciful fate compared to being torn by the lash, but Aemilia hoped to avoid both, especially now that Mr. Plugg had the poet to toy with.
Mata glanced down at his fallen companion. A weakling, maybe this will do him some good. Then over at the Master Scourge. But no way I'm going let that man have his fun.
Mata jumps down and throws Sevien over his shoulders "Hold on." and starts climbing again, more slowly this time.
Sevien groans in pain...he is unable to fight the stronger half-orc, but he is able to insult him as he is carried up without his consent...
What is wrong with you people????
Its not like he is going to let me climb the rigging on your back every day! You should leave me...
"Well bloody climb then. It will make you stronger, conflict does not have to against other people."
Mata pauses for moment to let Sevien climb up over him.
Paying little attention to the others and revelling in the physical activity, Nakon lopes toward the mast, grabbing a handful of rigging and launching himself upwards with his powerful arms in place of using both feet. Whatever his mental state, he is clearly a skilled climber with experience negotiating rigging.
15
30
37.5
45
52.5
60 success
It takes him about 20 seconds to make the top and he looks back down at Plugg and his captain with a grin on his ugly face.
"Well bloody climb then. It will make you stronger, conflict does not have to against other people."
Mata pauses for moment to let Sevien climb up over him.
You big oaf, my arm is broken and I can't even lift myself, how am I supposed to climb 5 feet let alone 50? Leave me on the deck...
(
Nakon, having hauled himself easily into the rigging, surges past Lysandra, his peg leg doing little to slow him as his arms and other leg casually find ropes and purchase.
Lysandra puts on a burst of speed as Nakon overtakes her, keeping pace with the tatooed brute.
Aemilia steadily, carefully grabs each swaying rope, pulls herself securely up, then reaches for the next.
She is ignored by Mister Plugg and Master Scourge as Sevien starts climbing, only to collapse heavily to the deck, rolling in agony.
Mata jumps down to Sevien's aid but as Sevien feebly protests Mister Plugg nods gently at Mata.
"Master Scourge."
"Ye not understandin' the word CLIMB, pig-face," screeches Master Scourge
Plugg looks round contemptuously and his eye catches the red headed woman nearby.
"Quinn! Put this lazy wretch back together again, before 'e misses the fun!"