Perception
Chum winces with each fall of the lash. His eyes scan the faces of the assembled crew. When Evril falls limp, the concern on his face is evident, but he knows better than to approach until the evil work is done.
When they untie the unconscious half-elf from the mast, Chum moves up to assist in carrying him away.
Perception:
Eleuterio prays to Iomedae to give Evril the strength to withstand this punishment, and is only a step behind Chum as he helps carry Evril's unmoving form from the mast. He removes his own shirt - sweat-stained and filthy as it is - and presses it against Evril's wounds, doing his best to staunch the bloodflow.
I think Evril is officially dying from his lashing, so I'll try to give him first aid. If he's not, then there's not a whole lot I can do for him, mechanically speaking. Heal DC 15:
Chum whispers, "Come, my new friend, I can help."
The strip of flame burned and throbbed on my back. Ouch. Perhaps I won't be volunteering for any more lashes. Doesn't look like my gallantry persuaded Mister Scourge, either, I thought bitterly.
As Chum and Eleuterio untie the unconscious and near-dead Evril from the post, Fishguts approaches and hovers rather awkwardly nearby. "Lou," the cook begins as the two men lift Evril up off the ground, "We've gohta get th'shtew fer th'crew; Groksh comin' withth rum rashun in jushta bit..." He looks on with the same awkwardness as Chum and Eleuterio carry Evril belowdecks to the crew's quarters, which is really just a bunch of hammocks (far more than are needed for the current complement of the Wormwood) strung through the lower hold.
Once Evril is settled and resting, Fishguts takes Eleuterio back to the galley, where the two men begin slopping stew into simple wooden bowls for the crew. A few minutes into the process, a young human girl, no more than 15 and perhap as young as 12, appears, and Fishguts introduces her as "the Cap'nsh girl," "Caulky" Tarroon. Caulky gives the paladin a sideways look from under her short curls while Fishguts readies a much more "upscale"-looking meal from among the various pots and pans; these the girl carries back upstairs, to the Captain's quarters for the evening officer's dinner.
Not long after they disappear belowdecks, Fishguts and Eleuterio reappear with trays full of stew that they begin passing among the crew. The food is bland, but filling; as most of you have served on ships before, it compares similarly to other fare you've had under similar circumstances. Once the food is gone, a half-orc woman Eleuterio recognizes as Cut-Throat Grok appears on deck with a tun of rum - she sets it atop a barrel and begins pouring drinks for the crew. "Remember, lads, drink up if you want to stay away from Mr. Scourge's loving caresses!" the purser calls out as she pours the liquor. Most of the crew seem not to need the reminder, as they line up eagerly for their share.
What do I do? Gozreh will allow me to heal him once, but if he's suddenly healed, he might get the lash again, and worse. Or they'll find out it was me and I will go under the lash.
....
Forgive me, friend, but I think it won't do for you to get too well too quickly.
The slight half-elf works to bind the scourged man's wounds with what he can find.
Heal check
Reappearing on deck, he looks at the line for the rum.
Grok is singing a sea chanty in an unsteady, rather sloshy-sounding voice as she doles out the rum.
Ahh, rum! The pirate's drink! I thought. The food, filling if not flavorful, lifted my spirits somewhat after the "bloody hour." And now this rather courteous offer of drink.
I accepted my cup with a smile from the homely green lady. I raised my drink and turned to face the crew. A toast! To the Wormwood's crew! We are flesh and blood upon timbers and canvas, sailing where none but the best sail! I am honored to be joining your ranks!
And with that, I tipped my cup back, and did my very best not to throw up.
Untrained Sense Motive
Chum gets in line, curious what's up. He wonders if there is something in the rum, sniffing and sipping at it before drinking.
Perception
He really cracked his head hard. A person would think he'd have trouble speaking with a concussion like that...
Chum shrugs and drinks his rum, but slowly. I'm going to feel this in the morning.
Sense Motive:
Eleuterio listens to Fishguts' quiet instructions, then looks to Chum. "{b]Take care of him as best you can. I'll do what I can later to help.[/b]" He goes with the corpulent cook to retrieve the stewpot and dole out the evening meal.
And then Grok returned with the tun. He sighed inwardly. [i]I should have liked to keep my wits about me - I'll have to talk with Grok about getting a hip flask or something. A swig of rum like this might make an excellent bargaining chip between crewmates.[/b] He takes the cup Grok offered, and drinks it slow to best temper the alcohol's effects.
Perception
When he has a chance to speak to either of them in quasi-private, "The cleric got something from Grok for you." He will only pass it over if there's no one watching them, though.
That was strong drink! I thought as my stomach reeled. I didn't feel so good.
But through the sickness, my spirits were elated at the return of my pistol. Thank you, sir! Artevious de Poisson, at your service! I must admit I'm at a loss as to what a 'grok' is, but I must thank the cleric at the first opportunity for getting this from it.
What is your name, sir?
"Chum. I was pressganged same time as you. Grok's the purser, brought up the rum."
Well met, Chum.
Pressganged, you say? How awful! I myself don't remember many details of last night. I certainly don't remember losing my pistol to that Grok. It's quite special. I can't recall why I would even put it up for a wager. Say, I don't suppose you can help fill in the blanks, as it were, about last night? Such as, where the rest of my equipment went?
Chum's mouth drops open in surprise. "I... you... uh... You did strike your head, didn't you?"
Almost comically, the smaller man grabs the musketeer's arms as he speaks in an urgent whisper. "Listen to me. You did not gamble away your pistol. You did not come onto this ship by choice. You are here because you drank some swill spiked with poison to keep you helpless while they took your gear to the purser and your body to the main hold. Understand?"
Realizing that his frustration has caused him to over-react, Chum releases Artevious' arms, brushing them as though he had noticed dust on them and was just helping the man clean up. "Sorry, mate, I lost my head. I had a good thing before they kidnapped me - it's eating at me, y'know?"
Well, that makes not very much sense at all. I came to Port Peril to sign on to a pirate ship. Why press gang someone willing? Though I suppose that's not as bad as someone unwilling. I daresay that would be quite a bit worse, come to think about it.
I frowned a bit in thought, as I pondered the dilemma I found myself in. It may not have been the way I wanted to take up a life of piracy, but at least I was here. Chum, however, was in a different spot altogether. And others here on this ship. It was just like when my father was marooned and had to take up with a smuggling ship undercover lest they realize they held the infamous Pirate Poisson. Of course, that ship's captain had been a saucy wench that my father ... well, she was nothing like Harrigan, and let's leave it at that. My father's solution to his predicament wouldn't work for me here.
So I would need to come up with my own solution. And help those I come across with their problems as well.
Well, I wouldn't be much of a crewman if I didn't put the needs of my fellow crewmates first. I'll help you get off this ship and back where you belong. I'm not sure when that'll be, or when I'll have a say in matters, but you'll be home before you know it. In the meantime, you might just find yourself on the adventure of your life! One that will be found in tales and books...
I realized I had neglected something very important. My books! That Grok woman has my mother's novels for sale then!
In disbelief, Chum stares at his crewmate. "I don't need my old ship. They must have made it known that I was fair to take - they no longer wanted me. The wind blows where it will, the water flows into the containers before it. I will do the same."
"My home is on the sea. This ship will do as well as any other."
Fort save:
"Grok has your books, you say?" Eleuterio says to the abnormally chipper pressganged sailor in halting speech - clearly, the rum had gotten to him. "I'd been meaning to speak with her - I'll see if I can do something about getting some of our things. But first, how's Master Cooper recuperating, Chum? Have you been able to stop the worst of the bleeding?"
"Aye, he'll be fine given time."
zzzz....
Well met, sir! I take it then, based on your reaction this morning, that you too were an unwilling guest of Captain Harrigan? My sympathies, but as we are in the same boat, as it were, I pledge to you my assistance. A good crew looks out for each other.
I was thinking I should see about rallying other crewmates to our cause, if you were thinking of meeting with Grok. Please let her know it's a complete set, and very dear to me.
Eleuterio tries to be as quiet as he can, but his head swims with the strength of the rum in his system. "Aye, I am, monsieur. My name is Eleuterio Reis, and you have gleaned my intent in a matter of moments. We cannot hope to prevail against Harrigan's men directly - we'll have to find allies on board who have no love of the man before we send him to Davy Jones' cold embrace. I've talked for a time with Fishguts, and he seems to have little love for Harrigan's cruelty. This Grok seems to be friends with him, so an ally of his might be an ally of ours. And as she is the purser, making friends with her would be a wise decision in any case.
"[b]What of you two? Have you met any other poor souls we might turn to our cause?"
"Several didn't look happy at the bloody hour. And we weren't the only ones taken the other night - there were four others that looked raw when we came on deck."
He starts ticking off on his fingers, "Your friend the barefoot rigger, the Besmaran cleric, and the cook; the others I don't know them at all - the gnome woman with one eye, a human boy and tough-looking woman - I saw them all swabbin' with Evril and me. And a couple more riggers - halfings, a rat-faced fellow and the woman with the axes."
He shrugs. "I'd start with them. There's a gnome with a carefully-waxed mustache and fancy hat and a skinny human that had a blue Varisian scarf on his head this morning. I think they were 'recruited' when we were, along with the Besmaran and the halfing axe-woman."
He yawns. "I'm going to sleep. I want to stay under the radar, do what I'm told, until I have a better idea of what's what and who's who. But count me in."
"Probably the best plan, Chum. We'll need to make nice with as many of them as we can - and talk as many of the others out of supporting Harrigan when the time comes. And that means getting to know as much of this scurvy-filled crew as possible."
"Probably the best plan, Chum. We'll need to make nice with as many of them as we can - and talk as many of the others out of supporting Harrigan when the time comes. And that means getting to know as much of this scurvy-filled crew as possible."
Jolly good! I said with gusto. Time to win over the masses with the true way of the pirate! I think I'll start with the blue-scarved man. It occurs to me that since he's a swab, I'll like as not get much of a chance to talk with him during the business of the day.
I bade my fare thee wells to my new friends -- mates, in the pirate vernacular -- and headed to the deck where other crew members seemed to congregate. Seeking out the man with the blue Varisian scarf, I introduced myself.
Ahoy and hello and a very good evening to you, sir! I am Artevious de Poisson, one of the Wormwood's recent recruits, as I'm sure you're aware. What a life! To be pressganged upon one of the fiercest vessels of the Shackles! Quite the exciting predicament, don't you think? What's your story, if I may inquire?
The man seems initially unwilling to participate in Artevious' conversational sallies, but the son of Poisson quickly shows that his father's legacy of leadership has indeed been passed on to his scion. After some time warming him up, Artevious learns the man's name is "Crimson" Cogward, and that - contrary to Chum's speculation - he was not pressganged, but in fact did volunteer to join the Wormwood's crew (though he only signed on four days previously, which is why he still looks so out-of-place). Artevious notes that Crimson's favored oaths all involve the Lady of Fates, and he spies a Pharasmin holy symbol tucked beneath the swab's collar. It doesn't take long for Artevious to mention the rollicking tales of his father's adventures, and Crimson asks if the books contain any "really good fight scenes.. y'know, with lots of blood and gore, the way they're meant to be."
Absolutely! Why, one of my favorite volumes, The Pirate de Poisson: Poisson Strikes First, has a marvelously bloody fight between Captain Poisson and the villainous Captain Akbar -- it was a trap, you see -- and the two dueled desperately, while their crews clashed amongst the ruins of the Temple of Ill Fortune. By the end of it, both men were covered in wounds and, well, I'd hate to give away the ending, but suffice it to say, it was a grisly demise involving a cut rope bridge, a chasm, and a number of hungry river lizards.
Captain Akbar -- it was a trap, you see
Crimson hangs on Artevious' words, and when he's done, the Varisian is quiet for a moment. At last, though, he says, "We need to get you those books back."
As Artevious speaks with the Varisian, Eleuterio heads to Grok to speak with her. "It seems I have you to thank for holding onto the Inheritor's symbol after it was taken from me. Did you just sell it back to her, or was it an exchange of favors that brought this back into my hands?"
Sense Motive on Grok: