Harrigan smiles tightly at Artevious' reply before dismissing him. (The captain is also apparently a pretty good poker player; it's almost impossible to tell what was behind that smile.)
Belowdecks, Sandara works intently on Samms and Evril; a couple of channels heal their wounds easily, but the poison is a far worse problem. Samms is weak, but still mobile; after examining her, Sandara announces that she should be able to get the other woman through the worst of it by tomorrow morning. Evril, though, takes longer, during which time he mumbles something that is only half-intelligible to Chum as he watches Sandara work; Sandara frowns as well, also apparently not able to translate the murmuring either. Finally, she looks up at the druid and shakes her head. "Worst case of reefclaw poisoning I've ever seen," she tells him. "Must've been a seriously potent dose. Much stronger and it might have stopped his heart. It'll be at least two days before he'll be even close to normal again, even with prayers to Besmara, and maybe three before he's truly over it. Hopefully, though, the Pirate Queen will smile on us enough that he'll be able to do his job tomorrow without giving Scourge another excuse to put him before the post."
Eleuterio helps haul Evril's still form onto the Wormwood's deck. After everyone is out of the drink, crab buckets and all, he collapses to catch his breath. He wipes the brine from his face as his barrel chest rises and falls. After a few moments, he regains his feet, and carries the crab pots and reefclaws to the galley. "So, Fishguts - know any good stews for reefclaw?"
"A'shoor do," Fishguts grins, and although the reefclaw and crab stew is only for the officers' table, Eleuterio and the cook both scoop out cups of extremely tasty stew for themselves before Caulky comes to take it up to the captain's quarters.
"You really have no clue, do you Andoren," she says when she sees your eyes focus on her. "You want to 'spend more time' with me, and you're certainly good looking enough I'm willing to consider it, but then you ask Besmara to be 'more proactive'? Queen's sails, you idiot, you were pressganged! How much more proactive do you want Her to be?
"Look at your friend Artevious. The man's more than a bit touched in the head, but Besmara Herself would probably listen to his ridiculous stories if She were in the neighborhood, just by how much they glory Her sweet trade! You want to know what makes me want to 'spend time' with a man? When he wants to actually be out here! On the sea, with the wind in his hair and a rapier in his hand! Y'know, being a pirate! You think your luck's been bad since you came aboard, but if you want my opinion, it's because you're spurning the gift the Pirate Queen gave you. Yes, Harrigan's the Devil's own bastard, and most of his officers are the same, but we'll find a way around that soon enough. In the meantime, I'd suggest you start taking Besmara's blessings seriously... or she might get really peeved with you." And with that, she leans down, gives you a firm kiss on the mouth, and goes abovedecks without a backward glance.
The next morning, Sandara prays to Besmara for spells to heal some of the damage done by the reefclaw poison. Between the magic and the cleric's more mundane treatments, Samms looks a little pale but is otherwise back to normal, while Evril recovers points of Strength damage. He too is still pale, but Sandara is very pleased with his progress (and gives him an extremely significant look when the spell finishes resolving) and pronounces him fit to resume his duties.
There are two more days of nothing terribly interesting happening, so everyone can take two additional evenings' worth of actions before we pick things up again.
My father was a shipwright, and his made barrels. It is from them that I learned how to shape the wood, to smooth down planks and piece them together so that the vessel resisted the water while moving swiftly through it. Turning towards her and taking her hand, I run her fingers gently along the smooth wall of the hull. The ship must be free to be part of the ocean around it, while being able to pass through each wave unnoticed. It is my duty to see that she can do both equally well, whether that means repairing a spar, scraping barnacles from the hull, or planing a new mast. It's not much in the way of poetry, nor will it fill even a page in one of Artie's storybooks, but it is what I *do*.
The 'Wormwood' is indeed rotten, but it's not her fault, or that of her builder. The rot lies in the hearts of her captain and his fiends, and until they can be pried loose, she'll never be free.
I look the Besmaran in the eyes before continuing. Do I long to stand on the fo'c'sle, wind in my hair and raper glinting in the sun? Would I swing merrily from the guys after finding the map to an ancient treasure? Absolutely! But I cannot do that with a slave's collar around my neck, Sandara. I cannot revel in the evening's entertainment or relax into the blessed oblivion of the nightly rum ration when I know there are many among my crew that have been stolen away from their lovers, spouses, and children. Letting out a deep sigh and looking away, I release the cleric's hand. It may be that I have my own edges that yet need smoothing, but I simply... can't.
After assisting in whatever tedious and small tasks I can manage on the second day after the fight with reefclaws, I do what I can to socialize with some of my friends on the ship.
I soon became aware that Mr. Cooper's rather modest mauling ended up with him becoming near incapacitated from the creature's poison. I caught up with Chum and Eleuterio to inform them of our captain's reward for offering the monstrosities up as supper.
I do believe I now have just the thing for our dearly distraught Evril. Captain Harrigan has proffered us this most potent healing concoction. How we are to share such a potion he didn't rightly say, but since Mr. Cooper is of such a need right now, I say we offer it to him so he can get back up on deck and sailing with us in short order. What do you say?
"I think the cleric Sandara has set him on the road to recovery. Are you sure the potion is for us and not for you?"
I stroked my chin and pondered Chum's words. I suppose one way to look at it was that Captain Harrigan had in fact given me the potion, so in a mercenary way it was mine. But that hardly seemed sporting. "Together for one," and all that.
I suppose that since Harrigan did indeed deliver it to me that he saw that it is mine to dispense. That would be indicative of his faith in my judicious capacity to administer it to the one who needs it most. Or, that he may have intended me to squirrel it away in the event that I fall prey to some grievous injury. After all, I certainly couldn't have my illustrious pirate career cut short by some unlucky cutlass strike by a foul enemy.
I nodded, having made up my mind. I clapped my hand on Chum's shoulder. Indeed. Rest assured, this potion is as much yours as it is mine, as it is Eleuterio's, as it is Evril's, and indeed, Sandara's or Samms's. While I wouldn't expect eagerness of any of us to fall under the sword just for a chance to taste the concoction, whoever has the misfortune to need it will no doubt be the one who receives it. You have my word.
"Save it for someone else, Master Poisson," Eleuterio says. "I'll sooner try to drink the sea and all her secrets before I taste a drop of anything the Captain gives out."
Chum nods at Eleuterio's comment, face completely serious, "Well, that goes without saying. But what does that have to do with the Captain?"
Chum is content to hang among the fringes of the crew during the evenings, speaking if someone engages him in conversation, but otherwise acting the part of a friendly observer.
With the matter of the healing potion settled, I turned to the next issue of importance: finalizing the performance with Conchobar Shortstone and giving the crew a mesmerizing performance. I met up with him after selecting a most exciting, harrowing, and wildly engaging volume of my mother's novels. As he had requested, I enlisted the help of Rosie Cusswell and her fiddle, and before long I'm sure we had the makings of a spectacular performance.
Gathering the crowd once again, I began with the harried missive from my father that began the first chapter of Le Pirate de Poisson: The Uncharted Territories.
My name is Ricardo de Poisson. A tidal wave hit and I got shot through a whirlpool. Now I'm lost in some distant part of Golarion, on a ship -- an animated ship -- full of strange living beings. I'm being hunted by an insane military commander. I'm doing everything I can. I'm just looking for a way home.
I daresay, Miss Cusswell's violin solo following that passage was unusual, but very fitting. I was humming that in my head for some time.
The crowd responds enthusiastically to Artevious' reading and Rosie's accompaniment, and Conchobhar seems genuinely happy with the result as well - for the first time since you've met him, the gnome's face is split by a genuine smile as the night wears on. Once the performance is over, Conchobhar gives Artevious a broad wink as he draws Rosie off to the side of the deck for a more private conversation.
Delighted that the previous night's performance went so splendidly, I took to my appointed tasks with gusto. While going about the order of the day, I happened upon Giffer Tibs, and hailed her. Ahoy, Miss Tibs! How do you fare this fine morning?
We chatted a bit before being again called to our respective tasks.
Giffer seems at first to be in better spirits than she was when she and Artevious spoke previously; the one-eyed gnome smiles a lot more, but as they talk Artevious notes an edge to her words, a subtle, burning anger that he quickly traces to Harrigan and Plugg by the way she reacts whenever her eye falls upon the captain or his first mate. Artevious recalls that she was one of the few who did not suffer Harrigan's lash after the storm, but he recalls seeing her watch all through the beatings as they occurred.
"Wind's changing," the gnome says at last. "Gonna be quite the blow soon." She nods, her eye slipping to the pistol at Artevious' belt. "Lightning and thunder, am I right?" She smiles again.
"Wind's changing," the gnome says at last. "Gonna be quite the blow soon." She nods, her eye slipping to the pistol at Artevious' belt. "Lightning and thunder, am I right?" She smiles again.
I smiled back broadly. Indeed! Thunder! So exciting!
I had no idea what she meant.
Three days after your adventures with the reefclaws - and, if you happen to be keeping track, the end of your second full week aboard the Wormwood - you find yourselves excused from regular duties. Instead, Plugg and Scourge order you to report to Riaris Krine, the Wormwood's master gunner. Krine is medium height and wiry, with sun-darkened skin, a nose that looks like it's been broken at least three separate times, and a peg leg she has had bound in iron and attached a couple of sharp-looking spikes to. Krine eyes you all doubtfully before snapping, "All right, you sorry f&#!ing excuses for kraken fodder, your mothers may have crapped you out during breaks between drinking binges but I have to actually make f#%%ing pirates from you pieces of s$&~. Look sharp! You and you, start getting the f#*+ing jolly boat ready to launch, and if you can figure out where you left your balls while you're at it, that'll make this go a lot smoother!"
(This is probably the least offensive her tirades are all day.)
The purpose of Krine's efforts, you are eventually able to glean, is to teach you how to use boarding hooks to board enemy ships during actual acts of piracy. To that end, she orders Evril and Eleuterio into the jolly boat while Chum and Artevious watch. The boat with the three of them is lowered into the ocean, tied to the Wormwood, and Krine hands each of the two men with her a grappling hook tied to a length of rope. The objective, she explains through a barrage of profanity, is simple: throw the hook so it catches the Wormwood's railing, then climb across the rope to board the ship. However, to simulate some of the distractions of combat, she has also ordered four of the other crew - Jack Scrimshaw, Rattline Rattsberger, Badger Medlaw, and Narwhal Tate - to throw garbage, mostly rotten food, at you as you try to climb along the rope.
Of the officers, Eleuterio had not had much interaction with Krine, for good or for ill, so he approaches the session with an open mind. This quickly shuts after he learns the purpose of the meeting, though her foul mouth reminds him of Miss Cusswell - only without the redeeming qualities.
Once in the jolly boat, he turns to Artevious, testing the weight of the grapnel in his hands. "What do you think of the gunner, Master Poisson?" He tosses the line out to the Wormwood, but his aim is spoiled as a wave rocks the jolly boat. He very nearly loses his grip on the rope, and spends precious seconds recovering the grapnel before it is lost in the briny deep.
...
"I think, Master Seaborn, that we'd best save our reviews for once we've shown we can hit the broadside of a carrack," I respond, slightly amused at the larger man's verbal slip.
After missing my first attempt, I successfully snare the railing and tie-off my line. Taking a deep breath, I begin hauling myself back towards the Wormwood.
Chum watches from the deck of the ship, glancing at Artevious. He mutters loud enough for the flamboyant son of a pirate, "I'd better learn to get around on the ropes soon or they will just leave me to the fishes when I fall off."
I could barely contain my excitement. There we were, learning a true pirate trade -- the ins and outs of boarding an enemy vessel! I leaned forward on the railing and eagerly listened to the instructions of our rather foul-mouthed teacher. She gave us quite the earful of distasteful profanity, and I could only wonder at her uncouth verbiage.
I couldn't help but notice that she wasn't having us swing from the rigging onto the longboat; instead she had it completely backwards. We had to climb from the longboat to the Wormwood, shimmying up a rope in a completely ungraceful and awkward style.
I shook my head when Chum commented about learning the ropes. My father never once had to climb in such a fashion. He was always swinging from the castles to the enemy deck, or climbing up the rigging to do battle while balancing on the yardarm. I wonder when Miss Krine will teach us that.
"Did I say, Poisson? My apologies, Master Cooper. The sun must be baking my brains today." He takes his focus away from grappling the Wormwood, which costs him another cast without success. The third, however, finds purchase, and the paladin tests the line before climbing up, fending off the refuse as best he can.
Evril's cast and speedier departure earn him a small flicker of approval from Krine as he begins to climb, but unfortunately Eleuterio's delay means the Andoren is the sole target of the garbage-throwers as he starts making his way across.
Two of the horrible missiles make contact, and Evril wobbles dangerously on the line.
but needs to roll again for the second.
Hah! You'll have to do better than that, Scrimshaw! I shout playfully as I accelerate my climbing. Don't get cocky, Cooper...
Puts me at halfway, yeh?
Evril continues shimmying along the rope, while behind him Eleuterio finally manages to get the hook caught on the Wormwood's rail and tie it off. With no one else to throw at, the crew continue their focus on the half-elf.
This time, three of the sailors manage to hit Evril, and his grip slackens for a moment...
Young Jack, perhaps spurred on by my taunting, proves his aim as true and lands a dodgy bit of cabbage right in my ear. The sudden jolt costs me a firm grip on the line, and I plummet to the ocean below.
That's more like it, Jack! I sputter after returning to the surface. Cocky, cocky..
Krine's response to Evril's fall will go unrecorded - suffice it to say she is displeased, and vocal about it. Evril returns to the jolly boat to begin again, and Eleuterio starts his crossing once more.
This is not going to go well.
Eleuterio finishes tying off the line, then leaps from the jolly boat to grab up the rope higher, trying to cut down on the amount of space between him and the top.
It's a poor plan. His hands slip from the rope, and he follows Evril into the drink.
Once again connecting with the Wormwood on my second throw, I tie off the line and begin climbing.
Once again, Eleuterio clambers onto the jolly boat. Once again, he ties off the line. Once again, he falls into the drink before he ever gets a good hold on the line.
As Eleuterio splashes into the water with no help from the sailors on the Wormwood, Evril tries to make his way back across to the ship under a barrage of garbage.
C'mon, Master Reis! We spend too much time splashing about, and the boys up top will start throwin' yer actual cooking at us..
Taking my attention off the line to encourage my friend causes me to lose my grip, returning me to the water once again. Shut up and concentrate on climbing, Cooper..
At seeing Evril fall, Krine's anger seems to shoot past profanity into a strange, seething "calm." As Evril swims back to the jolly boat, Krine instructs Eleuterio to wait to start throwing his grapple until Evril is ready as well, and she has both men wait to start climbing until the hooks are set and lines tied off. "Now, go."
I watched the unfurling scene with something akin to agitation. I could only watch as my comrades made effort after effort to assail the Wormwood, and fall short each time.
Finally, I could contain myself no longer. A good pirate looks after his mates. I started yelling encouragements, and watched closely as the defending crew readied their foul missiles.
Look sharp, gents! Evril! Hand over hand, steady as she goes! That's right! You're doing it lad!
Despite Krine's attempt at fair play, the paladin has fallen into the drink too many times already. His hands are slick, and the cold waters have numbed his grip. For a third time, he slips from the rope and splashes into the sea.
As Evril makes his way along the rope, all the many pieces of garbage hurled his way fail to make contact, and the Andoren is able to proceed.
Climbing silently into the jolly boat one last time, I avoid making eye contact with Krine, and reach for the grapple once more.
"Don't. Touch. That," Krine snaps. "You useless f~@+ing wastes of your father's seed are through. I've seen pigs covered in s&+& that stink less than the two of you." She signals to the sailors aboard the Wormwood, and they drag the jolly back to the ship and lower a climbing rope to allow Eleuterio and Evril to board. Once they're up, Chum and Artevious descend, and Krine instructs them to start throwing the grapples.
Eleuterio carefully climbs the rope to return to the Wormwood. Once back on board, he removes his soaked shirt again and wrings out the salt water from it. He mutters to himself the whole while, "Damned time in the galley's turned me as green as a farmhand. And to think I wanted to be a privateer. Hmmph. Look how well that's turned out."
I felt quite the pang of regret for my fellows. Despite my exhortations, they slipped and plunged into the briny simply too many times. Was it truly that difficult? I pondered. Again, it seemed that they were doing it quite the wrong way, and the most prudent method would be to swing from the castles or rigging. Yet, of course, this jolly boat lacked the proper height to get a really good swing underway, and instead we must shimmy up the ropes like graceless monkeys. Where was the opportunity for panache?
Rather than risk another torrent of uncouth verbiage from Miss Krine, I accepted the grappling line wordlessly, though I offered her a wink and confident grin. As I whirled the hooked barb over my head, I shouted across to the Wormwood, Look alive, you scalawags, for Artevious de Poisson means to board your vessel! Heave to and run up the white if you know what's good for you!
With that, I flung the grapple and tied off my end of the rope.
Chum wordlessly accepts the grapple. Watching Artevious' artful throw , he tries to follow suit.
It's with a resigned smile that he sees it fall well short before pulling it back to the jolly.