I'll keep an eye out. You just be sure nothing tries to eat... Vault! A scream from below draws my attention to Sandara as she rushes towards the crumpled form of the paladin that lies sprawled on the deck. Never mind that, I've got to get down there!
Grabbing both of Chum's climbing hooks, I fashion a make-shift harness for myself, looping one set over a guy-wire leading to the deck and hooking the other to the line behind me as a safety line. Climbing over the small railing of the crow's nest, I grip the rope tightly and close my eyes for a brief moment before asking Chum to wish me luck in a falsely cheerful tone. And then I shove away from the railing and begin sliding down the guy.
Chum says a quick prayer to the Wind and Waves, but can't watch. He concentrates on the woman overboard.
The good news, if there is such a thing, is that Sandara is only a few feet away from Evril when he lands. The bad news is, the fall was even farther for him than it was for Eleuterio. Sandara shouts in surprise as he lands, looking between the two broken men for an instant before raising her holy symbol and calling out something to the storm that the wind whips away before it reaches your ears.
Across the deck, Artevious' throw does not hit Rosie. Through sheer luck, however, it manages to land right behind her, and as he pulls it back toward the ship, she grabs on as it trails through the water. The water and waves are too strong for her, and the ship moves 30 feet further away from her as she struggles. She manages to hold onto the rope however, although Artevious has to feed more out in order to keep it from being torn from her grasp.
As soon as I let the length of rope fly, I was aware how badly off my throw was. As it turned out, a timely swell in the storm lent purely unintentional accuracy to my errant casting, and she was able to grasp the line.
A second thud upon the deck behind me sent my heart lurching into my throat. Between the pull of the waves trying to further draw Rosie away from us and my mates dropping like stones from the rigging, this was becoming quite the test of the Wormwood's mettle.
As I spun my head to see Mr. Cooper's broken form upon the deck, the rope just about got away from me. I turned my attention fully to the task of drawing the sodden Miss Cusswell back into our ship, because I caught a glimpse of someone else during my glance.
And suddenly, there it was: a burst of clean, salty air and the feeling of a gently rolling deck for a fraction of a second -- Besmara's gift of healing, thanks to the lady Sandara. My fallen (literally!) comrades were in good hands. Now, I had the fate of another in mine.
I pulled.
Chum, feeling helpless, keeps an eye on Rosie and maintains a steady stream of supplications to Gozreh, scanning the waters for threats to the ship, but always coming back to the swimmer.
Eleuterio stirred as he felt the familiar wave of energy wash over him. He picked himself up off the Wormwood's deck, tipping his tricorn briefly in thanks to Sandara. He was about to climb the rigging again when he saw Artevious straining at a rope over the side. He dashed towards the rope, one arm cradling his bruised ribs, and began pulling. "Put your back into it, Master Poisson! The brine shall not have more than her due this day!"
Since I'm assisting now, Rosie gets an additional +6 to her roll.
Sandara lifts her skull and bones symbol again, and another wave of energy sweeps across you all. . Out in the water, Rosie struggles to pull herself closer as Artevious and Eleuterio haul her in. . The aid of the two men makes a huge difference, and Rosie manages to drag herself about half the distance she needs back to the ship.
"Keep at it, Master Poisson! Heave to!" Eleuterio braces one foot against the Wormwood's rail to get better leverage.
Chum continues to watch and wish he could help.
At Eleuterio's urging, I maintained my steady grip on the line and pulled in time with him. The man was stout, for sure, and Rosie's task of following up the rope was made easier and then some.
Indeed, Mr. Reis! We'll have Miss Cusswell aboard in no time. Quite the bold move, jumping to the deck as you did! You made it look so easy even Mr. Cooper tried it!
You made it look so easy even Mr. Cooper tried it!
That'd be the reason I trained as a ship's carpenter and gunners' mate, Mr. Fish. If I were meant to swing around the masts like a monkey, I'd have been given a tail.
I shake the last remnants of pain from my limbs, and offer Sandara a humble bow of thanks and apology. Taking up a position on the rope in front of the other two men, I add my strength to their effort.
As the life-threatening wounds have been dealt with, Sandara begins casting another, lengthier spell, her worried gaze on Rosie as the halfling struggles against the swells.
Unfortunately, just at that instant, a massive surge of water hits the ship, sending it lurching and all but tearing the rope from your grips. Although the three sailors manage to keep their hands on the rope, Rosie is not so lucky. For a long moment, she disappears under the water entirely, only to surface again with a desperate splash, the rope well out of reach.
In quite the unfortunate turn of events, and just as we had another pair of hands on our end of the rope, poor Rosie lost her grip and was again bobbing unmoored amidst the swells.
Rather than drag the length of rope back in to coil it for another go, I grabbed another line and heaved it. One of the things you'll notice on any ship, there is really no shortage of rope lying about.
Artevious' throw is spot on, and Rosie grabs hold of the rope. At the same time, Sandara finishes her spell and points out over the ocean, where dolphins suddenly appear, surrounding Rosie. It leans against her, trying to help push her to the ship.
The halfling pulls herself closer to the ship again, and things start to look up.
With one last heave, Rosie pulls herself up the rope and topples onto the deck; the celestial dolphin disappears, and Sandara rushes over to check on the soaked and exhausted halfling.
Across the deck, Plugg cracks his cat and shouts, "Enough distractions! Back to work, all of ye!"
This. This is what piracy is about, I beamed. The rescue of a cherished colleague amidst a raging storm, with stalwart companions working in tandem and risking life and limb for each other. I clapped my hand on Evril's shoulder and clasped Eleuterio's hand in thanks for their timely assistance. I looked into the driving rain to give a salute to Chum in the rigging, and then turned toward Rosie.
I bowed low with a flourish and offered her my hand, helping her to her feet. Together for one, I said, sparing a wink and a grin to Sandara, and each to the other.
The moment couldn't last, as Mr. Plugg ordered us all back to work. I supposed it made sense. Unlike the stories, despite the danger to a single crewmate having passed, the storm raged on. A fresh wave crested over the railing, drenching all of us upon the deck as thoroughly as if we had similarly gone swimming with Rosie. I shook my head, sputtered a bit, then affixed my hat back upon my head and returned to my duties. But I couldn't stop smiling.
Eleuterio sighs in relief as he grabs Rosie's hand, hauling her back onto the ship. "Give her some space, she needs the air!" He affords himself a small smile as Sandara rushes to check on her - perhaps Iomedae had a plan. Perhaps he was meant to be here, working with these lawless folk, in order to save those that had a chance at redemption.
The crack of the whip behind him reminded him that there were those that had no interest in redemption, however. He tightened the tricorn on his head to keep the rain out of his eyes as much as possible, and returned to work.
With one last heave, Rosie pulls herself up the rope and topples onto the deck...
"I admire your skill, lass," I quip, helping the halfling to her feet, "but tonight is probably not the best for a swim."
Hearing Plugg bark, I cast him a sideways glance while turning to Sandara. Looks like it's back to the tops. Thanks for patching me up -again!- and I promise not to jump off this time.
The rest of your shift is less eventful than the first part, as no one else manages to be washed overboard, but the storm continues its relentless fury. Helpless in its grip, the Wormwood is tossed and shaken across the waves, and as night falls - known only by the increasing chill and Mr. Scourge's shouts of the hour - the situation remains as tense and dangerous as it was this morning. Fishguts appears on deck and hands around ship's biscuit and flasks of rum (much smaller than the usual ration) to the crew - these are eaten with no ceremony or pause in the work, and Plugg begins shouting orders before half of your pitiful meals are gone.
Artevious is next assigned to the lookout position, relieving Evril and Chum , while Chum has to take over working the mainsail and Eleuterio has to work the lines . Evril is sent back up into the tops once more to work the upper rigging, and much of the crew watches him half-curiously and half-worriedly to see if he falls again .
Chum, happy that all turned out well with Rosie, sets to working on his next task with all the diligence he can muster.
(this requires 5 DC 12 Climb checks, followed by a DC 12 Profession [sailor] or Dexterity check, and then a DC 14 Constitution check[/ooc]...
I simply ran out of words to describe the storm. It was relentless, and continued on into the night and again into the next day. I began to idly surmise that we might have drifted into the Eye of Abednego itself. However, I couldn't quite take up the question to the captain, as I doubt such inquiries would draw me into his favor.
As I was given my task to weather the storm from the crow's nest, I wondered just what I was to be looking out for. I doubted I would be able to see much, and the lightning strikes would likely do more harm than good. Not being able to change Mr. Plugg's mind, I started to assail the rigging.
I managed it at first, making a bit of headway until a sudden pitch sent me careening back to the deck. I shook my head, and managed to get fantastically tangled up in the lines, making absolutely no progress for a while. I began to imagine Mr. Scourge's lash encouraging me on, and I surged up the rigging.
After one bit of trouble, I pushed myself onward and upward into the dizzying heights, at last reaching the crow's nest. I set about peering through the driving rain.
Eleuterio grabs the ropes, raising the sails to keep them safe from rogue winds - one strong gust at the wrong time could snap the mast in two, leaving them adrift at sea. He was never one for vanity, but here he wished he had invested in a oil-treated tunic, for his clothes were soaked to the bone. For what felt like days, he hefted the lines, keeping the Wormwood from capsizing in the heart of the storm.
Finally, a Profession (sailor) test! I've been waiting almost a dozen pages to make one! I'll use my diligence bonus on the second Con check.
Profession (sailor):
Con check 1:
Con check 2:
Eh, fatigued. I can live with those results.
The night is long, cold, and hard, and by the end of it, all of you are suffering from intense fatigue.
Not long before dawn, the rain and wind finally slacken a little, and Captain Harrigan and his sail master, Pappery Longfarthing, manage to get the Wormwood under some kind of control. Although the crew remains exhausted, normal operations return; the weather continues to fight the riggers, and everyone fights their weariness.
Artevious is sent to work the ropes , while Chum is sent to run messages again and Evril to work on repairing the damage done to the ship by the storm and Eleuterio has to make another try at catching some fish .
Evril work's on repairing the damage done to the ship by the storm
Not feeling much like socializing after last night's squall, I focus on my tasks, taking only a moment to find a secluded spot. Though feeling a little better physically, the fatigue finally catches up.
I believe there was more to the storm, but I quite thoroughly seem to be unable to recall it. There was some mumbled instructions, I was sure, but I believe Mr. Scourge lapsed into some strange dialect and I was rather dumfounded at it all.
I had a task, that much was certain. The crew needed me. The crew! It was just like that time when my father had to charm a sorceress who had turned his entire crew into farm animals. I became suddenly worried when I found myself below decks amongst a number of the crew who had clearly been turned into a porcine state. I assured them that I would see them returned to their human state, although I couldn't be rightly sure that they had been in fact human. But I think one of the pigs definitely had a yellowish tinge. Poor Jaundice.
I stumbled around in the hold, and had a thoroughly engaging conversation with Owlbear, though I don't rightly recall his salient and reasoned utterances. I know I made it back up to the deck, because the next thing I remember was the rancid breath of Mr. Scourge as he leaned menacingly close, as I had entangled myself in a very comfortable coil of rope. Line work's done, I offered.
Not sure if I can use the diligence bonus or not - I'll add it to the Con check, but if I can't, just take it out.
Profession (sailor):
Con check:
But, with that roll, it really doesn't matter.
The hours seem to drag on as the Wormwood ceases its extreme pitching, and settles into a far more stable rocking. Though the sea is far from calm, it is at least manageable. The paladin's body aches as he gathers the nets, as the evening's events have drained him of his strength. He sets them out amidships, casting them into the brine.
It is an unfortunate fact of life that fishing is a job of waiting. With little to do while he waits for the fish to swim into the nets, he leans his arms up on the rail. This is a fatal mistake. His leaning grows heavier, and soon his head rests atop one of his arms. His breathing grows rhythmic, and for a brief time, blissful sleep comes to him.
Chum, mindful of his past failure at delivering messages, is careful as he maneuvers through the labors of the deck to deliver messages along the deck, but his limbs are like lead weights and each time he blinks, it is harder to raise his eyelids.
After rushing forward and aft several times, he takes a moment's respite, sitting near the fishing paladin while getting a drink of water from a waterskin. He manages to plug the skin once again and think, On your feet, or it's the Bloody Hour again - and you might not survive the next one!
He doesn't even notice when his mind slips into a dream of friends fallen overboard, barely hanging onto the rope, that he cannot reach, cannot help.
The only silver lining in all of this is that about half the crew is asleep with you. And it perhaps for that reason that Captain Harrigan takes the whip personally in hand to administer the punishments. His thunderous expression is only made the harder by the eyepatch that seems to glare at each of you as you are bound to the mast, and carefully, almost ritually, your crime - dereliction of duty - and its sentence - 6 strokes before the mast - are pronounced. Harrigan's strikes are careful, precise, and brutal.
Artevious' lashes - 1: nonlethal. 2: nonlethal. 3: nonlethal. 4: lethal. 5: lethal. 6: lethal.
Chum's lashes - 1: nonlethal. 2: nonlethal. 3: lethal. 4: lethal. 5: lethal. 6: lethal.
Eleuterio's lashes - 1: nonlethal. 2: nonlethal. 3: nonlethal. 4: lethal. 5: lethal. 6: lethal.
Evril's lashes - 1: nonlethal. 2: nonlethal. 3: nonlethal. 4: lethal. 5: lethal. 6: lethal.
Harrigan's whip lashes your backs as though driven by the hand of the Devil himself, and you each fall mercifully unconscious in short order - but the beating continues, as though Harrigan has forgotten his own rule against killing. Sandara - who looks weary, but managed to avoid falling asleep - uses stabilize on each of you as you are pulled from the post, and once the Bloody Hour is done, raises her holy symbol up to the cloudy, frowning sky and calls out a blessing to Besmara. Keeping the crew alive through Harrigan's fury, however, seems to have exhausted her resources, and all she can do beyond that is help you down to your bunks to sleep.
When Chum's eyes open, the fire in his back makes it clear that he is most definitely still alive. Sitting up carefully, he takes stock of the others similarly afflicted. With a shock, he realizes the Besmaran cleric must have stayed up most of the night trying to help them all heal.
Standing with difficulty, he bows. "Milady, it seems that I am forever in your debt. One moment, and I will aid you as much as our masters will allow."
Moving slowly to where his gear was stowed when he was brought belowdecks, he grasps his holy symbol and chants a prayer to Gozreh. With the scent of a refreshing breeze, some of his injuries are washed away.
If there is anyone who is still particularly bad off among our allies, I will use my other CLW to help them:
Approaching the stairs leading up to the main deck, I encounter Chum. "Good morning! Let's hope today's journey is less eventful, right?" I offer cheerily, clapping the slender man on the shoulder and climbing the stairs by twos.
Chum looks a bit the worse for wear, but cannot help but smile at Cooper's apparent good mood. He will find a place to pray to the Wind and the Waves, asking him once again to provide her blessing in the form of healing spells.
I had received the lash twice now, three times if you counted the time I gallantly offered my back in a show of camaraderie that first day. It was a pirate's lot, at times, and certainly my father had bravely endured as much in his day, during the times he was captured by a variety of enemies.
The simple fact that fully half of the crew had dropped from exhaustion might have told Captain Harrigan something, but he insisted on administering his punishment anyway. I couldn't rightly tell if he knew that we had helped save his ship, and a particularly valued crew member, but it didn't seem to matter. I met the man's eyes while he prepared to lash away, and there was a cruel malice in them that I saw. The eyes of a villain.
I knew he wouldn't care if he killed me, so I knew I had to survive. I summoned my father's strength and bore the blows the best I could. Though I lapsed into unconsciousness somewhere, Sandara's healing brought me back. I helped her carry the limp bodies of my comrades to their berths -- I didn't rightly know why I withstood the lashings better than they, but I saw fit that my good fortune assist theirs.
I paused a moment after our friends were tended to and took a look at Sandara, haggard, weary, and barely holding it together. At the risk of reprisal at a later date -- we Poissons are nothing if not daring -- I took her in my arms and embraced her, holding her tight with reassuring strength. I released her with a tip of my hat, then retired to my own berth.
Eleuterio clambers into his hammock. Sandara's magics staunched his wounds, but they remained open and painful. Sleep would come quickly tonight, but it would hardly be restful.
The next day finally dawns warm and clear, and the usual business of the ship passes without great event. Most of the ship's officers seem engaged in determining the full effect of the storm, including where exactly the ship itself might have been blown to, so the crew enjoys a certain amount of reprieve from the usual tight discipline. The evening's entertainments are unusually raucous.
The following morning, though, all is back to normal, with Plugg and Scourge stalking the deck and Captain Harrigan keeping a steady hand on the tiller. Just before noon, the lookout calls out, "Land ho!", pointing off to the north, and the Wormwood angles that way, tacking slowly closer to what looks like a series of tiny atolls, no more than a few dozen yards across any dimension. By early afternoon, the captain orders the anchor dropped, and for the first time since it left Port Peril, the Wormwood comes to a halt.
"De Pwasson! Cooper! Chum! Barefoot Samms!" Plugg bellows. "Go get Reis from th'galley and get ready ta go swimmin'. The cap'n wants fresh crab fer dinner, and fresh crab he'll have. Yonder's a reef," and he points northward about 200 feet, where a broad patch of water is almost white instead of the usual blue-green, "and there'll be crabs a-plenty there. Here's your pots, and if you don't fill all four, the Bloody Post'll be feasting on your bones tonight instead. Now go!"
Chum actually looks happy to be ordered into the water. Kicking off his shoes and leaving his shirt belowdecks, he quick to the water, where he waits for his fellow crab harvesters.
With the storm finally but a dark, wet memory, I recalled my earlier notion to start paying attention to the bearings of the Wormwood's course. As it turned out, I couldn't just outright ask someone where we were, because it seemed as though no one did. The storm -- blowing and blustering as it was wont to do -- seemed to have placed us somewhere in the Shackles, to be sure, but a precise location was lost to those who were supposed to keep track of such things.
I scanned the distant shores as best as I could, thinking back to my mother's descriptions of the islands, and it occurred to me that she never got very specific with things like geography. I suppose such details wouldn't have impressed the Taldan ladies eating up her words, but it certainly has become an inconvenience for me here. I summoned what knowledge I did have, and applied it to our current situation. I don't think my suggestions were well taken.
The night was raucous, with just about the entire crew letting off the tension of such a harrowing -- and exhausting -- three days, and the emotional letdown of surviving such an ordeal only to be whipped at the post for it. I must say, I was still bitter about that.
I thought Rosie was in an especially good mood, although even a bad mood would have been an improvement over the alternative, and played her fiddle with a passion. I thought a bit about a particularly moving chapter in Le Pirate de Poisson: The Gozreh Adventure in which my father had to survive a massive wave and an overturned ship, but considering what we went through, I decided to hold off that particular adventure for a later date.
Instead, I sought out Crimson Cogward, and asked him about the special items he had hoarded away. He had some time ago mentioned his stash and offered to let me see it, so this seemed like the proper time to take a look.
The next morning, it seemed that I was to be going crab catching! Chum was already in the water, looking quite pleased at the change of venue. I gathered up one of the crab buckets, and put my pistol inside to keep it dry as I lowered myself into the water.
Ahoy, Chum! You're looking quite pleased to be getting the chance to swim! A nice change of pace from the bilges, no doubt!
The slight half-elf looks far more at ease floating alongside the ship than he ever has on deck. He just nods and grins back at Artevious.
He leads you down to the hold and over to his duffle. Reaching into the locker, he removes a back panel - a poorly-made hidden compartment, though it might get missed by an extremely hurried and obtuse searcher - and withdraws a series of items. These include two different potions, a scroll that Cog assures you is magic of some kind, a polished copper wand that he likewise claims is magical, two flasks with a bubbling reddish liquid you recognize as alchemist’s fire, 2 bottles of wine, 2 small silver mirrors, and a smelly leather sack about the size of a fist that Cog identifies as a tanglefoot bag. "If you got something to trade, or a little extra coin," he says, grinning toothily, "you just let me know and I'll get you fixed right up."