"Aye, aye, sir, Mister Plugg, sir."
She pulls out an ebony holy symbol, adorned with a skull and crossbones, and rushes to kneel over Sevien.
A wash of positive energy soothes over you all, closing wounds and mending bruises.
Lysandra continues to try and climb as quickly as she can, but she gets tangled up in the riggings for a short amount of time before reaching the top well after the peg-legged brute.
R3 Climb: - 15 ft (37.5)
R4 Climb: - 0 ft
R5 Climb: - 0 ft
R6 Climb: - 15 ft (52.5)
R7 Climb: - 15 ft (67.5)
Mata turns to look at the master scourge staring him down while speaking to Sevien "stop your whining you are a healer aren't you"
Round 1 (15 feet)
Round 2 (22.5 feet)
Round 3 (30 feet)
Round 4 (37.5 feet)
Round 5 (52.5 feet)
Round 6 (No Progress)
Round 7 (60 feet)
Focused on the climb, Xantrius is unaware of events beneath him as he was among the first to make it to the top, although truth be told, it was hardly his swiftest rigging climb.
Glad to see you made it, madam he commented to Lysandra, who had reached the top at roughly the same time as him. Shall we descend?
Mister Plugg looks up, watching casually. He rests one hand on the skulled hilt of his sheathed cutlass.
Lysandra and Xantrius try in vain to catch up with Nakon who, after his initial burst of speed, relentlessly clambers ever upwards.
"Ye call that climbin'?" Plugg hollers. "Ye look like pixies dancin' at a tea party."
When Mata fails to move, Master Scourge plies the whip again but Mata grabs for it.
Incredibly, Mata wraps the whip round his arm, and tugs it free from Master Scourge.
Master Scourge laughs with delight.
"Now what ye gonna do, pig-face?" he asks drawing a handaxe from his belt.
"Are you gonna be dropping that, or do th' sharks be gettin' pork fer dinner?"
After the healing he whispers to Sandara,
I am quite sure madam that I will not make it to the top alive. As much as I would like to play this stupid game, I fear it will cost me my life.
I am also a healer and can be valuable to this crew in that role, can't you talk to him? Just get me my holy symbol back from my gear and I can show him and you.
-
"What am I going to do? I don't need to do anything, you are quite capable of showing yourself to be a incompetent fool without my help."
"Yes sir Mister Plugg, up I go"
With that Mata grabs the rigging and swings himself back, the whip still wrapped around his hand and arm.
There's some nervous laughter from a few of the crew as Mata turns.
Master Scourge is apoplectic with rage.
"You filthy piece o' dung! I'll see you dead at bloody hour."
Before Mata is out of reach, he charges with the hand axe.
He takes the whip back from Mata's fallen form and starts flogging him, still screaming.
"I won't stand fer yer attitude!"
"That'll do, Master Scourge," mutters Mister Plugg still watching the climbing.
As Nakon reaches the top, closely followed by Lysandra and Xantrius, Plugg announces,"We appear to have a rigger. Now get back down here, ya useless pack o' losers."
Scourge composes himself, and stands at Mister Plugg's side.
Plugg continues. "We don't take kindly to thieves 'ere. Narwhal. Syl. Chuck 'im in with t'other one. The rest o' you, line up. We got another little test. NOW!!!"
Two of Scourge's lackeys who escorted you from the hold, a male dwarf with a large, misshapen nose and a human female with a wide smirk and constantly moving eyes, hurry from their jobs and drag Mata's limp form down below decks.
Xantrius descended, shaking his head sadly as Mata was dragged off.
Now is not the time to make a stand you fool.
Nakon grins at Xantrius and Lysandra. Not a handsome sight but there seems no malice in it. He watches from above as the bloody half-orc is dragged below, his eyes flicking from Plugg to Scourge as if marking them.
When he speaks in a mild conversational tone only the two are close enough to hear.
That one will hold a grudge. Will the green one survive it I wonder?
As the others descend, he looks up to the sun, waving a hand and speaking a few words before following.
Xantrius looked over at the big, peg-legged man and shrugged, his voice grave.
My desire for revenge is no less than his, I am sure. Its just a matter of timing. If he survived... he will need to tread even more carefully. The minute he is more trouble than he's worth, they won't hesitate to kill him.
Xantrius looked Nakon in the eye as he began to speak but switched his gaze to Lysandra mid sentence with a wink.
I do not intend to be the lowest of the ship for long. I propose we three look out for one another and be ready to act to better our situation when the opportunity presents itself. What say you?
Sevien awaits a response from Sandara before inching back away as the Half-Orc is brought to bear. He keeps his mouth shut, hoping the next test will be something more suited to his current meager skills...
Nakon pauses after Xantrius' proposal, evidently thinking.
He chuckles, Every slave knows to look only to themselves. And slaves we are. Yet you two may not be as weak and slow as the others. Nakon will fight at your side when the time comes.
If you live that long.
Xantrius smiled wryly at Nakon's comment.
Here, we're slaves only to the sea. Once they feel they have sufficiently cowed us and we've realised there's no easy escape, they'll allow us greater freedom. They are just trying to break our spirits to mould us into crew right now he explained.
Lysandra thinks on Xantrius's offer briefly before responding, "I suppose that is acceptable. Ceratinly can't be any worse than things are now, and I know I don't want anything to do with the half-orc...he's gonna get himself killed before the sun sets."
Afterwards, Lysandra begins to carefully climb down the rigging, thinking to herself, No sense in rushing down, this isn't a race anymore...
In the rigging Nakon figures you're heading northwest. Looking down he can see the Wormwood is a three-masted sailing ship, 100 feet
long from stem to stern, and 30 feet wide amidships. Nakon, Lysandra and Xantrius head down the rigging, collecting Aemilia from her inexorable climb.
Below, Quinn lets go of Sevien.
She stands and backs away from him. As Mata is dragged away, she waves her Holy Symbol at the half-orc and mutters.
Her actions earn her a lash of the cat from Mister Plugg and she grimaces and heads back to work.
Plugg then wrenches Sevien to his feet and and pushes him against the rigging as the others return to the deck.
"Don't think I missed yer little stunt. I'm savin' yours fer bloody hour."
He then waits patiently until you're all assembled.
Sevien looks down and way from him while imagining a Barbed Devil slowly wrenching the man to pieces as he screams in horror and pain.
Xantrius smiled wryly at Nakon's comment.
Here, we're slaves only to the sea. Once they feel they have sufficiently cowed us and we've realised there's no easy escape, they'll allow us greater freedom. They are just trying to break our spirits to mould us into crew right now he explained.
I see men with whips telling us what to do. But perhaps you are right Funny Man.
Either way they will learn the cost of trying to hold a shark by the tail.
Nakon's final grin is unpleasant.
At the bottom he moves easily, standing next to Aemilia (and grinning if the woman shifts position).
Amateurs with whips, to be precise.
"Right, ya jelly spined pack o' blaggards. Stand straight an' keep still."
He marches past you all, stops turns and marches back, watching you all intently as he does. He sneers in your faces, and prods you each with the butt of his cat-o'nine-tails. He then takes a few steps back and eyes each of you in turn.
"Now, ya lilly livered land lubbin' losers... who can cook?"
Sevien ponders if he should volunteer for this duty, even if it is beneath him...you usually don't beat the man that is about to make your supper he muses...
Nakon grunts when prodded but resists the urge to drive a fist into Plugg's face.
He looks amused at this second test, staying silent.
Lysandra looks back and forth at her fellow press-ganged crew members, waiting to see who will speak up first knowing full well she has never cooked a meal in her life.
Xantrius' silence spoke for him.
Cooking? I've whipped a finer crew than these mongrels to ramming speed! Cooking indeed...
The gentle spray of the sea cools your brow after the exertion of the climb. Waves slap gently against the bow of the Wormwood, their rhythmic splashing breaking the cheerful whistle of the wind. The deck rocks slowly and the warm sun caresses your aching bones. Above, the mainmast creaks as the full sails tug the ship smoothly through the azure seas. A lone cloud scutters by in the crystal sky and a bird screeches in the distance. The mild roar of the ocean fills the long, long silence.
"You! Fatso!" Plugg steps forward and pokes Xantrius in the stomach. "You look like you've eaten well. You’re a cook’s mate now. Get yer fat arse down to the galley and report to Ambrose Kroop, NOW!!!"
"You! Fish-face!" Plugg jabs Nakon in the ribs. "You're my newest rigger. Git over to the mainsail and head to the lowest crossbeam. Touch nothing till I git there."
"The rest o' you lazy bludgers are now swabs. Master Scourge 'll be givin' yer orders and ye'll be takin' 'em or ye'll be joining yer fall guy fairy friend here at bloody hour." He lashes the deck in front of Sevien with his cat-o'-nine-tails then, chuckling, he heads over to the main mast leaving the rest of you with Master Scourge.
Nakon grunts again, doing little to hide his dislike for the pirate but complies.
Not liking the sound of Pluggs remark he says to scourge, What is the bloody hour and what is he referring to when he says "them joining me?"
he says rather indignantly...
Xantrius raised an eyebrow at the role he had been assigned and as Mister Plugg was leaving, he spoke up, posture relaxed but eyes wary for the whip.
Oh gods, not the bloody kitchens...
If I may, Mister Plugg, make a suggestion- I do think that my talents would make me a far greater entertainer than a cook. Alas, Mister Plugg, I fear that I may inadvertently end up harming the crew with my inept cooking; i'm well-fed because my family had a chef in Taldor you see. You've already witnessed my comedy- I humbly admit that I am also a competent orator and dancer. An entertained crew is an efficient crew.
"Now, if I wanted yer suggestion fatty, I'd give it to ya. I don't care whachya think- that ain't yer job and it ain't yer strong point. Now geddown to tha galley!"
Mister Plugg makes his way over to the rigging and starts barking orders at the riggers, including Nakon.
Master Scourge is equally accomodating of Sevien's question.
"Shut yer pie hole, swab. Ye'll be seeing bloody hour at dusk. These here decks need swabbing so ye can all get to work."
As you rattle them, a voice emerges from the darkness.
"Who's that? What's happening?"
Your darkvision kicks in. You're in a small cabin, maybe 20' across and 30' long. The foul smell is the water you're standing in, almost to your knees. There's a ladder leading up to a trap door and a pump at the other end of the room. There's six sets of manacles fixed to the crossbeams above you. You and a male human occupy the two sets farthest apart. He stares blindly into the darkness.
Sevien settles in, swabbing the deck and generally doing as he is told until bloody hour...
Knowledge engineering:
Craft ship:
"The name is Mata, but you call me Obsidian if you prefer as that what it means. What is your name?"
With out a real pause for the man to answer. "Why do you suppose there is such a large empty room on a ship and knee high with water. They don't seem to be even very good sailors let alone pirates. By the way what did you do to get your your down here?"
The man has scraggly black hair, a thin face with a long nose and several days stubble. He leans his head back wearily at your questions. "Yer in the bilges, idiot. Yer not part o' the crew. Where did ya come from?"
Lysandra quietly begins her work, keeping a wary eye out for her surroundings, taking note of anything that may be of use later.
Perception:
Honestly a little stunned that his eloquent request had been denied, Xantrius wisely decided not to press matters further and reported to the kitchens...
Nakon is assigned to mainsail duties and spends the day raising and lowering the mainsail with Barefoot Samms Toppin, a female human who never wears shoes and moves fluidly about the rigging. Another human female darts about the upper rigging, occasionally muttering to the man in the crow's nest, who never responds. The other sails are tended by a halfling male, who constantly dashes from forward to back sail at Plugg's commands. He is occasionally helped out by the male dwarf with the ugly nose and the male gnome dressed as a purple pirate who spend most of their time handling the ship’s ropes, coiling them, stowing them, and securing them to cleats and single and double bollards.
Lysandra and Sevien are given holystones, sandstone blocks, and set about the backbreaking work of mopping the decks and scrubbing them. They are joined by the silent half-orc male and a fat male human with a shaved head who constantly scowls at them.
Aemilia is assigned repair work, mostly splicing ropes. She is with the sour faced halfling woman with the hand axe and a young man. The other two are sewing sails, the halfling woman stabbing them viciously with her needle and the youth pulling out some ivory and carving it whenever Master Scourge is supervising elsewhere.
Two more females, one human and another half-elven, lug ropes around the decks, occasionally working with the dwarf and the gnome rigger. The gnome flashes them a smile every time they approach. They are helped by the bald headed man in the blue bandana who is constantly sneering, but never hesitates to do as asked.
Quinn, the red headed woman, and another female human, tall and graceful but with large ears, run constantly about the ship, carrying messages between Plugg, Scourge and the rest of the crew.
The cramped and chaotic kitchen holds two wooden worktables, several wooden cupboards, and two small stoves against the port wall. The stoves are both lit, and large cauldrons bubble away atop them. Virtually every cooking utensil imaginable and a frightening array of meat cleavers lay scattered about. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber ignoring the array of cages nearby. The kitchen is a madness of dirt, food, and knives. A huge array of spices mingle with barrels of rainwater, two tuns of rum, open cupboards full of ship’s biscuit and salted beef, barrels of sauerkraut, and a small supply of fresh vegetables being nibbled on by one of the goats.
A large black cockeral, perches atop the loudly snoring figure of a human male. He exudes an air of neglect, perhaps even despair, from the bushy tufts of black hair behind his ears, to his rotting teeth, to the stains on his filthy apron. He is draped across a larger cage which has buckled considerably under his bulk and next to his thick left arm lies a half full bottle of rum.
Nakon marks the man in the crows nest. You have my job but not for long I think. I will call you Unlucky...
He uses his natural agility, endurance and prodigious upper body strength to carry out his duties efficiently and easily, showing no impediment from his wooden foot.
Profession Sailor
For the most part he works in co-operation with the barefoot woman silently, showing her he knows what he is about.
After a few hours he throws her one of his crooked and ugly smiles. I am Nakon. We're heading north-west. Do you know our destination?
Nods head towards Lysandra that indicates they should scrub this part away from the others...he then makes sure none of the whip carriers are near,
So, this wasn't what I expected when I woke up this morning. You seem to be a captive as well? My name is Sevien...may I know your name? There are many who would hurt us on this ship...we should watch out for each other.
Despite the difficulty of the work, Nakon takes it in stride. He times the winds right to help lift the sails, picks the lulls to manipulate the mainsail, rocks with the ship to pull the ropes and barely breaks a sweat.
After hours of silence, the woman seems surprised when Nakon finally addresses her. "Oh. Ye do speak. I'm Samms. We're headin' out o' Jeopardy Bay. Probably heading out between Widowmaker Isle and Dahak's Teeth to the Fever Sea. From thar, who knows?"
Nods head towards Lysandra that indicates they should scrub this part away from the others...he then makes sure none of the whip carriers are near,
So, this wasn't what I expected when I woke up this morning. You seem to be a captive as well? My name is Sevien...may I know your name? There are many who would hurt us on this ship...we should watch out for each other.
"The name's Lysandra." she says continuing to pay as much attention to her surroundings as the man she is speaking with. "I'm thinking you're right, Sevien. A couple of the other press-ganged folk are thinking like-wise."
Xantrius looked upon the kitchen- and despaired, if only for a moment. He gave the sleeping man a not so gentle nudge in an effort to wake him up. Xantrius figured that the ship's chef was not a bad man to have as a friend and immediately made efforts to come across as charming as possible.
Diplomacy to change attitude
Well Lysandra...to be honest I am trying to get my holy symbol back. It is my highest priority. With it I can defend myself and others as well as cast healing magic.
I have already been trying my hand with Sandara to try and help me get it back but worst case I could get someone who is handy with woodworking to make me a new one. If you get a chance to talk to some of the other new prisoners it could be that I could get one made.
My miserable attempt at faking injury has made me a target for the moment, I may not be conscious come the evening so any inquiries you could make would be appreciated.
Sevien says little else unless Lysandra says anything else.
Aemilia tries to find a patch of shade from the masts and sails to sit in as she works at splicing the ropes. It's a tedious job and rough on the skin, but the callouses she earned on her last ship ought to keep her fingers from bleeding too badly. It certainly appears to be less strenuous than scrubbing the deck; she glances across the ship at Sevien and Lysandra whispering as they work with no evidence of sympathy.
As her fingers master the repetitive motions of the task, her eyes have more time to roam. They increasingly settle on the young man with the piece of ivory -- and the knife. As the sun drifts across the sky and the ship cuts through the sea, she takes the opportunity to follow a patch of shade a little nearer the crewman ostensibly mending the sail. When Master Scourge has just moved away enough for him to retrieve his project from beneath the billows of canvas, she smiles at him promisingly. "Well met, sailor. What are you carving there? Present for a girl in port?"