Come now, Chum! I shan't be assailing the Wormwood without you! Haul that line in and have another go! Together for one! Each for the other!
Grinning despite himself, Chum does so, throwing the grapple hook at the ship.
To his surprise and delight, the hook flies far enough and settles into position with a solid thunk. "Poisson, you have a gift. Let's take that ship."
Krine can't seem to decide whether she approves of Artevious' actions or not, so she merely glowers at him and Chum alike as they prepare to start climbing.
With a long and deliberate exhale, Chum nods to his ally and attempt the climb.
After a good start, he risks a glance at the ship and completely loses his grip on the rope, falling into the sea.
Returning to the jolly boat, he prepares to throw again.
I was prepared to make a go of it. My mind whirled, thinking of the possibilities of daring-do in front of me. Alas, it seemed nothing presented itself except to go hand over hand up the rope. At least with Chum coming along with, we were two targets instead of one.
The pirates begin taking their shots at Chum and Artevious.
I hung on the rope as a particularly wrinkled and warty potato thumped me in the thigh. Come on now Jack! I shouted. I thought I should at least rate a head of cabbage. Or perhaps a leek of some variety.
Chum and Artevious both manage to hang on through the onslaught. They start creeping forward once more... and Chum's hand slips, causing him to drop into the ocean at last.
What the defenders aboard my prize failed to do, I managed to do myself, as the burning in my hands caused a slip. Suddenly, I found myself in the ocean along with Chum.
Together for one! I encouraged Chum as I surfaced. I paddled back to the Jolly and wrung myself out for another go.
Shaking his head at the man's apparent optimism, Chum grabs his line as well.
He works his way up the line, waiting for the onslaught to begin.
Artevious gets out onto the line, but doesn't really get much speed going as he starts his crossing. Chum, by contrast, does much better, making a solid start once more. And then the hurled missiles begin falling once more.
Chum weathers the experience easily and keeps moving. Artevious, though, seems to have provoked his shipmates into the spirit of competition, and they nail him rather thoroughly, causing him to wobble badly.
I weathered the assault quite handily, but again the rope quite confounded me.
The slight half-elf keeps moving. He looks down at Artevious' splash, "C'mon, Storyteller! Don't make me do this alone!"
Although Artevious doesn't manage to get any closer to the ship, the fact he doesn't manage to fall either means he's still a target for the sailors on the ship. Chum, meanwhile, is almost close enough to the Wormwood to reach out and touch it - but that means he's almost in the faces of the two pirates throwing things at him as well.
Unfortunately, Badger Medlaw's aim is a bit too good, and Chum's arms a bit too weak from the climb - within reach of his goal, he loses his grip and plummets into the sea, chased down by Narwhal and Badger's laughter and Krine's curses.
Indeed not, Mister Chum! I'll be there forthwith!
And then, just as I maintained my grip as I was pummeled again by an array of rancid vegetables, my own efforts to move along the rope cost me dearly.
As Chum also was knocked off his perch, I waited for him to get back into the jolly so we could make our third and hopefully final attempt.
"Good show, Poisson! I'll be right up!"
Alas, the half-elf's arm seem to be wearying and he makes no progress if he can even keep hold of the rope at all.
When Chum falls, there is only the cavalier to act as a target for the sailors.
Gritting my teeth and pressing onward, I shook off the one rotted cucumber that managed to peg my shoulder. I moved steady and deliberately, hand-over-hand. It's up to me, now.
Artevious, like Chum before him, finds that he is almost close enough to touch the Wormwood - but the sailors are right there, almost close enough to touch as well. (Although that thought is almost enough to make one want to fall in the ocean, just for the bath...)
I shook off the foul turnip that caromed off my hip. I was almost there. I was ... in the water? That confounded rope failed me again.
I shook my head as I surfaced amidst all the flotsam of the practice battle, and pondered. While I had not once been knocked off my perch by the slings and potatoes of the defenders, I myself was my own worst enemy. I pulled myself back into the jolly, prepared to receive a scathing rebuke by the teacher.
Krine's torrent of abuse once the group returns to the ship is actually so violent, loud and relentless it fades into a kind of tempestuous howl, each insult more like a drop of water in a waterfall's cascade. Several of the other sailors turn to watch in frank admiration, and Rosie Cusswell seems to be repeating some of the better phrases to herself for most of the rest of the day.
Chum, when not otherwise occupied with assigned tasks, practices climbing the rigging. If possible, he will spell the lookout in the crow's nest from time to time, enjoying the breeze.
Things got back to pretty much normal for us on the Wormwood. Chum seemed quite interested in learning the trade of the rigger, climbing up and down and occasionally all the way to the crow's nest whenever he had a spare moment. He especially seemed keen on doing so when the weather was particularly rough, though we didn't get anything like the storm a week ago.
I myself slipped into Grok's supply store to procure that oil of enchanted weapon I had much earlier inquired about. The substance depleted my coin reserve, but the mystical substance would enable my pistol's shot to fly more accurately and penetrate the hide of certain mystical creatures. I felt it a worthy trade-off, knowing I would be prepared for the worst.
I also felt it necessary to show young Master Scrimshaw that I bore him no ill-will for his efforts of defending the Wormwood from our ultimately futile attempt to board her. The lad had a talent for the arts, and he certainly afforded us the opportunity to serve the crew by so skillfully discovering the unusually-sized rodents in the bilges. So I met with him and discussed his vegetable-throwing technique, and basically extended the right hand of comradely fellowship.
I take the opportunity to try and get to know some of my fellow swabs, particularly Badger and Shivikah, a little better. I also take a few moments to compliment Ratline Rattsberger on his aim.
As I approach Shivikah, I get a sudden flashback to my first day aboard the Wormwood, and the furious beating Lieu and I received at the hands of this woman and her cohorts. Rather than risking another brawl, I turn my attentions to Narwhal Tate.
Badger Medlar greets Evril's initial attempts at friendliness with an unamused rebuff, but Artevious has more success at reaching out to her the next day, and with his usual charm quickly has the rough-edged woman all but eating out of his hand in no time.
On the other hand, Evril does find his outreach to Rattline Rattsberger bears more fruit. The halfling rigger reveals himself to be an isolated soul, unwilling to throw his lot in with the toadies and cutthroats surrounding Scourge and Plugg, but until Evril's attempt also seeing no sign that the "resistance" wanted anything to do with him either. He seems almost relieved that Evril has allowed him to choose a side and pledges his aid to the Andoren and his friends should any be needed.
Unfortunately, Rattline's plainspoken approach to discussing the social divide on the ship comes a day too late to stop Evril from approaching Narwhal Tate. The broken-nosed dwarf eyes Evril with a deadpan expression when he attempts to start up a conversation, and only after a few moments of silence does he speak. "Listen close and listen good, swabbie," Narwhal says, showing his yellowed and rotting teeth. "Scourge and I go way back, and we've known ye and those others we 'ganged are trouble since ye first stepped aboard. Best look lively, stay out a my way and cause no trouble or ye might find ye've tripped and fallen on my cutlass some night in the dark. Do ye get me, swabbie?" He places a hand on the hilt of his weapon and stares up at Evril with violent intent.
Seeing that the Andoran has made some headway with Rattline, Eleuterio heads over to finish what the other man had started.
Taking 10 with the Diplomacy nets me a 16...
On the morning of the third day after your abysmal performance at "boarding school," Mr Plugg surprises Eleuterio and Fishguts by appearing in the galley shortly after the start of the day watch. "Mr Kroop," the sneering first mate says to the cook, "I think our stores of sea turtle meat are dangerously low. I'd like to see your cook's mate set to hunting. Every day." He smiles nastily. "Until our stores are replenished, at least. See to it, then." He turns and leaves, but not before sending a sharp glare at Eleuterio on his way out.
Above, Artevious finds that he has been given orders to work in the tops, while Chum is set to run orders around the ship and Evril is sent to the bilges. The exact same orders are given on the next day, and the next. Artevious, still only an uneven hand at scrambling up through the rigging, has several near-falls, while Chum and Evril both find themselves worn out at the end of their shifts (Evril with the additional benefit of also being attacked several times by bilge spiders as well). Eleuterio wrestles, as he has each time before, with the unfamiliar fishing equipment while his time spent studying cooking with Fishguts goes to waste - fortunately, though, Fishguts remains sober enough to stay on top of things during that period, even though he begins complaining under the breath about "wha'm shposed t'do with alla theesh tur'l meat anyhoo..."
I seemed to have quite the run of chores up in the highest rigging. I wondered idly about why my name seemed to come up for such tasks so commonly, but really didn't see much point to voicing a concern. Clearly, the job needed doing. And it was just the thing for me to practice my hand at staying upon the ropes should the next mission occur. While I can't rightly say I got much better at it, at least my tasks within the rigging were not being performed whilst being pelted by rotted vegetables.
The days began to bleed together, and though I continued to entertain my crewmates with tales of my father's legendary adventures, I couldn't help but think that something new was about to come upon the horizon. Indeed, my presence up in the rigging during the waking hours caught me staring at the passing islands, wondering when we would come upon an opportunity to do something piratey.
Unexpectedly, the fourth day's chores see a change in two of the assignments - Evril is set to scrubbing the deck with the scraping stone, while Scourge and Plugg both come down to the galley. "I need him in the bilges today," Plugg snaps to Fishguts, pointing at Eleuterio. Fishguts looks like he wants to protest, but deflates before he can do much besides move his lips a few times. As the two men drag Eleu out of the galley, they stop for a moment and search him thoroughly, removing all his weapons. "Ye won't be needin' these, paladin," Scourge sneers. "Not fer a good honest day's work as a pirate." Barking a laugh, the two men shove Eleu toward the ladder down to the bilges and wait to see him descend before turning away.
Below, Eleuterio discovers there are two other pirates - the broken-nosed dwarf named "Narwhal" Tate and "Slippery" Syl Lonegan - working the bilges with him. Both give him hostile glares as he joins them in the blast-furnace heat of the bilge.
Eleuterio maintains a sharp glare as Scourge removes his weapons. "An honest day's work as a pirate, eh, Scourge?", he says, his voice dripping with derision. "That shan't take long then. Fishguts, I'll be back in a few minutes." He descends belowdecks and heads to the bilges, noting Tate and Lonegan there already. "Gentelmen," he nods in greeting to both, and gets to work.
Despite Eleuterio's diligence, a few minutes after he joins the other two, Narwhal and Syl exchange glances, then Syl approaches him. "'Ey! You! You're slackin' off, leaving more work for us!" she says, shoving his shoulder. "Me an' Tate, we've decided we're not goin' ta carry your dead weight - 'less it's actually dead!" The two produce knives, and lethal intent is clear in their eyes.