Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Well, Harmony's streak is reversed after the Owlbear encounter. Whereas previously, she had done an excellent job at her assignments, and been too exhausted every day to participate in nighttime activities, for the next three days it's the inverse -- she sucks at her daytime assignments, probably gets whipped for it, but conversely she has the energy to hang out with the crew. Go figure, maybe that's why she ends up having energy in the evenings now -- she's lazed around during the day instead of working hard.
Day 1: 1d6 ⇒ 3
Fishguts' Sobriety: 1d2 ⇒ 1
Fishing: Catching tonight’s supper using the ship’s nets. DC10 Profession(fisherman) or Survival check
Cooking: Assisting Ambrose Kroop in preparing the day’s meal. DC10 Profession(cook) or Intelligence checkDay 2: 1d6 ⇒ 2
Fishguts' Sobriety: 1d2 ⇒ 1
Cooking: Assisting Ambrose Kroop in preparing the day’s meal. DC10 Profession(cook) or Intelligence checkDay 3: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Fishguts' Sobriety: 1d2 ⇒ 2
Bull Session: Drinking with Fishguts and listening to his stories. Able to take an additional ship action during the day
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Gall's days go fairly uneventfully between catching himself a rather heaping pile of fish the first day that he helps gut and prepare. It seems that he is starting to get the hang of this cooking business, even if it is a bit of a new experience. The book detailing all manner of piratical recipes certainly does not hurt, and he refers back to it regularly. As a result, dinners tend to go spectacularly even without Fishguts's input, in Gall's opinion.
The half-giant spends most of his free time during the day digging through the accumulated mess in the galley in an effort to find...something. Honestly, he really is not sure what he is meant to be looking for, but he knows the group needs equipment. Who knows? Maybe Artevious's book is somewhere here. Though, on the third day, he elects to see what Grok has for sale in the shop between Fishguts's stories and his own searches.
In the evenings, Gall enjoys eating with the rest of their little group, though it seems to be growing. If he sees Owlbear, Mila, or one of the other crewmates that they are friendly with, he gladly waves them over to join their table. The more the merrier, after all. After supper has wrapped up, he always takes whatever share of gold he has left to try his luck at gambling. Always on himself, of course. He wants to get something done, so naturally he trusts himself more than any others. Of course, if any of his friends need a bit of his accumulated coin, he gladly shares. They are in this together or not at all, in his mind.
Before bed every night, he steals away to the bilges to check on their rat friend and make sure he has enough food. As the cook's mate, he always makes sure to give the rat bits of the day's meal that no one else wants. In his mind, it could care less, though he is careful to bring clean water for it, as well. Greasy and ill as the beast might be, it is their rat and that is the important thing. Gall is not in the practice of leaving his friends to rot.
Day 1:
Day 2:
Day 3:
People are starting to understand they can't beat Gall in a feat of strength after his bout with Owlbear, previously thought to have been the strongest bloke on board. His odds have gone up, and winnings gone down.
Day 1: Gall finds a good lock hanging off one of the kitchen cupboards.
Day 2: Mid-sneak, Plugg walks in, coming to speak with Fishguts. "What do ye think ye be doin'?" Plugg yells when he sees Gall snooping through the good brandy. "Get yer slimy hands off of those and get back to work, ye pile of fish filth!" Gall will get a lashing at bloody hour.
Day 3: Although not caught snooping like he was the day before, he turns up nothing. Seems someone moved the good brandy. When he goes to see Grok, shrugs. "Depends what you're looking for," she says, scratching her chin. She cracks open one of the wooden chests. "Lets see, I got a few potions here. This one's a cure light wounds, and this one here is a potion of haste. Got barkskin here, too."
After the fight
Cueta grabs Harmony and gives her a warm, if somewhat awkward hug, a little too long and too rough, and collects her possessions, stashing everything in her locker.
When Gall approaches to get his things, Cueta nods, a smile on her lips. "You did well, even if you regret it. Besmara was pleased." Placing her hand on Gall's forehead, Cueta says a quick prayer, and Gall feels the fatigue and bruising from the day's fight fade away. Pointedly, Cueta does no such favor for Owlbear.
Day 7 = Rope and Knot Work
Splicing and belaying rope. Boring work, but necessary, Cueta thinks, squinting off into the horizon. She suddenly, fervently hopes there would be a fat merchant ship there, laden with spoils. Nothing but water.
Eventually, Cueta's loses enthusiasm for her work. Wandering over to Crimson Cogward, Cueta holds out her hand, showing her knuckles. "Broke this one on the back of a drayman's head in Port Peril. Fooker looked at me wrong, like I was his property or something, so I bided my time and followed him out of the bar. Then, when he ducked into an alley to piss, I took the piss out of him! Ha!"
The sailor spends the day reluctantly tying knots and splitting rope, and telling tales with Cogward, each time trying to make herself sound more and more the pugilist.
That night, Cueta spends her time with Mila, learning as much as the woman is willing to impart about Besmara's faith.
Day 8 = Bilges, darnit!
Sighing as she's assigned the bilges again, Cueta heads below decks to find Esmarelda there. "Oy. I've spent a lot of time down here already. Work steady, not too fast. Its too hot to push yourself. Bail like this. Don't lift the pail with your back."
Cueta spends the morning critiquing Esmarelda's work, bossy and nitpicky, but hopefully Esmarelda learns something from it.
Eventually, as is often the case, Cueta decides to call the day's work early. Heading up to her locker, she gets an arrow from her quiver and the bottle Harmony procured from Grok. Then, back in the bilges, the sailor wades around in the muck, looking for the corpse of the rat they killed two days back. Hanging it by the tail from a ceiling beam, Cueta takes an arrow and stabbing the vermin in the throat, bleeds the rat dry. Catching as much as she can in the bottle, Cueta stoppers it and stashes it in her hiding place. When she catches Esmarelda's stare, the woman just shrugs. "It is probably time to remind the officers of the ghost of Jakes Magpie."
Perhaps she should have spent less time hunting for dead rats and more time bailing, as by dinner time it is apparent that her day's work was quite shoddy.
That night, after dinner Cueta spends the evening again with Mila, going over Besmara's scripture. She was going to need something. A paint brush or even a rag. Looking down at her shirt, Cueta smiles. Four days in the bilges had made it soiled beyond use. Tomorrow, she'd go shopping.
Day 9 = Rat Catching
Having heard that Esmarelda is a skilled rat-catcher, Cueta smiles as they are again paired together. It should be an easy day. Sure enough, Cueta has a large bag of dead rats by lunch, and as such she begs off work to visit Grok.
"Oy. Grok. I'm looking for a new outfit. This one's skunked."
Changing into her new clothes, Cueta keeps the old outfit in her locker, and then that night, when everyone is asleep, she takes her old outfit and goes down the bilges, grabbing the bottle of rat's blood. Creeping up to the top deck, Cueta uses her old outfit as a makeshift paintbrush to scrawl the following phrase along the keel-line of the ship's deck.
Tossing the bloodied outfit overboard, the sailor makes her way below decks to catch a few hours sleep before the next day.
Day 1(7): Cog seems appreciative of the tale telling and starts exchanging stories about scars and broken bones with Cueta. At the end of the work day, he claps Cueta on the shoulder and tells her if she ever needs anything that he'd be around. Later that evening, Mila takes the time to discuss some of the basics of Besmara's church. "She's the Queen of piracy, strife, and sea monsters, of course. You heard of the kraken? Yeah, she'll set that on you lickity split if you make her mad." Mila also discusses the symbols associated with her, such as the traditional skull and crossbones, and her sacred animal: the noble parrot.
Day 2(8): It's disgusting and smelly (and more than a bit bloated), but with some squeezing and other gross squishing, Cueta manages to get some red-brown sickly looking blood out of the rat and into the vial.
Day 3(9): Although Grok doesn't have anything as fancy or as put together as what Cueta was looking for, she does have a few extra bits and pieces enough to put something together for her. Later, when Cueta changes into it, she notices a little J. M. inscribed in a little bit of extra fabric along the collar. She has no problem getting the message scrawled out (though poorly spelled) without anyone taking notice
fail, but not by 5
As it turned out, myself and the other mates of the Wormwood settled into something of a routine, if it could be believed. I had my share of various tasks as one of the riggers, and I set about them with my usual aplomb.
When there was time, I set about continuing to ingratiate myself amongst the crew members. Initially, I tried chatting up Tilly Bracket during my stint in the crow's nest. That night, I spoke a bit with Giffer Tibs. The next day, I engaged in an interesting conversation with Fipps Chumlett.
All the meanwhile, I kept an eye and ear out for discovering the location of my wayward novel.
Day 1(7)
Cueta returns Cog's slap with a friendly punch in the arm. "Likewise, mate. Always nice to meet a pirate with brawler's heart!"
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Cueta blushes at Mila's mention of the kraken. What could I have done? Or The Pegasus, perhaps? Maybe the captain didn't tip enough booty into the sea?
Day 3 (9)
Cueta raises an eyebrow when she see the initials on the shirt, before quickly shrugging herself into it. A little short at the arms, but it'll do. The Pirate Queen works in mysterious ways. It'll provide a chance to avoid a keelhauling, if I'm caught tonight...
From getting caught mucking around the galley, Gall gets a few more lashes to his back to match the bruises on his face. Still, lashes are better than keelhauling and he does not feel bad enough to ask one of his friends for some healing. Yet, in any case.
After he wins at arm wrestling, he settles down with Mila and Cueta to listen to their chatter about Besmara. At the mention of kraken and such beasts, he wrinkles his nose in distaste and shakes his head.
"Never been fond of them slimy things. On me first long stint out here on a merchant vessel, we ran afoul of some such wee buggers. They were like...snails with big ol' tentacles, but they could take a hold of a man's mind if they got their feelers into him." He shudders at the memory and grimaces a bit, before going back to his story. One hand draws up into a fist to mash into his opposite palm, to illustrate his words as he says, "Only thing to do with 'em was paste the critters 'afore they got near ye. Still, they took a fair few good mates of mine with 'em to the Locker. Always had a grudge against the f+#%ers ever since; and anything what's creepy and crawly like 'em, too."
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When he goes to see Grok, shrugs. "Depends what you're looking for," she says, scratching her chin. She cracks open one of the wooden chests. "Lets see, I got a few potions here. This one's a cure light wounds, and this one here is a potion of haste. Got barkskin here, too."
"Hrm. How much ye want for that Cure potion in there? Oh, and I came across this here lock layin' 'bout. Any chance I could get a touch of coin for it from ye?" Gall asks, more out of curiosity than any real desire to make more money.
With the way that his interactions with Grok have been going lately, he practically expects her to confiscate the lock just on principle. As an afterthought, he snaps out of his deep thoughts and gestures around the shop with one fat finger. "Say, ye wouldn' happen to know who ye sold that book of Arty's to, would ye? He's shy one and can't find the bugger for the life of him. I reckon the lad would be mighty appreciative to know."
When Esmarelda went to Harmony after the fight to gather her stuff, she couldn't help but smirk when she mentioned her mother. "Oh she tried! I just never listened." She answer Harmony as she gathered her things.
Day 7-Work diligently
Esmarelda gave a deep sigh when she got this assignment once again. Still don't know how to sew... well may be it is good for learning. She thought as she climbed her way up to one of the sails. She seemed to have gotten better at least a little because this time the stitch was acceptable. Though from time to time Esmarelda would pause just long enough to look up at the crow's nest, at Artevious, before quickly getting back to work.
Day 8-Work diligently
Esmarelda watched and listened to what Cueta had to say before she started in on the work herself. She found that her advise and know how came in handy! "I must say Cueta, thanks for this. Your teachings have been rather enlightening." She told her with a smile.
Though when Esmarelda watched her bleed the rat with an odd looks she was glad that it was quickly answered. "Oh! Speaking of rats, I think I came up with a name for our little friend." She told her as Cueta filled the bottle. "G.e.a.c.h." She smiled.
Day 9-Work diligently
While Esmarelda didn't do as well as she had the first time she was assigned this task, she still did well enough for the task she had been given.
Night 7
When they got free time Esmarelda went looking for Mila, kapenia in hand. "Hey Mila can I ask a favor?" She asked as she held out her damaged kapenia to her. "I am no seamstress, but I was wondering if maybe you could have something to fix it? Either the skill or maybe a spell? She asked.
Night 8
Esmarelda joins Rosie for a moment smirking. "So that fiddle you got back, you want to play it for us? I'm in the mood to dance but there is no music to dance to. Willing to help with that?" She asked.
Night 9
When the next night came Esmarelda sat down next to Jack. "You make scrimshaws right? What do you charge for a commission?" She asked him.
Harmony starts to work on the crew in earnest. During the three days, she does a little bit of entertaining, but mostly focuses on trying to get into the good graces of five different individuals: Barefoot Samms and Owlbear she has already had some prior interaction with, and for new targets, she chooses the the Mwangi Shivkah, Badger Medlar, and captain's cabin girl Caulky Tarroon.
With Badger, Harmony tries to ask a little bit about her past...she's an older woman by the looks of it, so, "Have you always served on ships? Have you always lived here in the Shackles? Or did you come from some sort of other life?" She also makes some chat about Badger's hairstyle, trying to inquire if the shaved stripes have any sort of significance, or if they're just purely an aesthetic choice.
Caulky is a bit of a risky thing. The last thing Harmony wants is to present the appearance that she's trying to slip closer to the captain for whatever reason, so whatever overtures she makes, she makes it very clear that she's interested in chatting to, and chatting about, Caulky herself, clearly delineating the captain as outside bounds. She tries to gauge whether Caulky herself is fully on board this venture, dedicated and interested in all this stuff, an independent woman, or is she a scared slave bullied into service. "What do you want out of life, Caulky? Kids and family someday, or just the pirate's freedom until your last day?"
With the Mwangi ex-slaver, Harmony is maybe a little suspicious and negatively predisposed. How could she befriend anyone who used to be a slaver, considering she's essentially one right now and hating it. But she figures, Shivkah is an *ex*-slaver, right? How come? "Was there some particular reason why you left that line of work? I imagine it paid damn well. Did you end up on the wrong end of it yourself?"
Harmony continues trying to connect some more with Owlbear, taking a passive tack. She spends a lot of time with the large simpleton, trying to let him talk about whatever he wants to, and being a sympathetic ear to whatever the man's concerns might be. Every so often, she makes sure to remind him, however, that, "Owlbear is very good. Very good."
Finally, Barefoot Samms has already received some attentions from Harmony before, and she keeps that up a little bit, trying to let the previous effort not fade away or cool down. She tries to chat about random this and that, life on the ship and sharing some stories about odd jobs she's done in the past across the Shackles.
On one of the evenings, Harmony storytells for the crew again. This time, it's about Gozreh, the god of storm and sky, the goddess of wave and surf. She tells the crew a legend about how some people think the Eye of Abendego -- the gargantuan hurricane raging off the Shackles -- is a wound in Gozreh itself. How the dualistic god/goddess had a hundred years ago battled with the god of humanity, Aroden. How the two had struggled because man had been trying too hard to dominate nature. And how Gozreh had struck Aroden down, but as his last action, Aroden had given Gozreh a permanent scar that we now know as the Eye of Abendego. "Mh", she shrugs her shoulders a little. "Some believe it, some don't. I'm not a theologian. I just tell you people what I've heard."
Day 7, Mila and Gall
Cueta grimaces as Gall tells his tale of the kraken. "There's plenty to hate about them, that's for sure. One sunk my entire ship. I saw its eye, big as me, lift out of the waves and roll around in its socket, while its tentacles crushed the life right out of me. Then, I made a plea to Besmara and she listened. The kraken let me go and sunk under the waves. But if I ever see it again..." Cueta makes a motion as if to draw an arrow back from a bow. "I've got an arrow for that eye. For The Pegasus."
A shudder runs up Cueta's back. For all her bluster, the woman knew taking on a kraken would be the end of her. Though if I were able to put one in Besmara's Chest, well, that would be a tale for ages, pleasing to any goddess of pirates, right?
Day 8, Esmarelda in the bilges
Cueta washes the blood from her hands with the bilge-water. Not ideal, but it would have to do. Soaked through and through, there's little to be done about drying them off, so the Mwangi just shakes her hands a few times, having to content herself with the fact that they are no longer dripping wet.
"I forgot about the little guy. We'll have to get him some lunch. I don't get it though - G.E.A.C.H.?"
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Later, Cueta tucks a little stale bread into her shirt and heads back down to the bilges, where she leaves it atop the grain for their rat.
Day 8, bilges with Cueta
Esmarelda gave Cueta a know-it-all smirk when she asked about the name. "Why, Gall. Esmarelda. Artevious. Cueta. Harmony. G-E-A-C-H." She answered as she looked over to their little friend's hide out. "I felt it was time to give him a name. So I thought why not use ours?"
Day 1: Artevious' silver tongue and golden heart continue to serve him well. Tilly found his witty remarks, lighthearted candor and remarkable story telling prowess a delight. Her usual tough facade came down to some extent, though she maintained a rather brash line of conversation herself. He earned himself a kiss on the cheek by the end of the day. Quite the ladies' man!
Day 2: Giffer Tibbs, the one eye gnome, swore that Artevious' mother's stories had cured his two white hairs (a certain sign of the bleaching, according to Tibbs) and reinvigorated his passions for the sea. of course, once Artevious got the gnome talking, he never shut up.
Day 3: Even Fipps, one of the many resident bullies, wasn't immune to Artevious' charm. Persistence was key with this one, and persistence seemed to be something Artevious had. Though it had initially been a one sided conversation with Fipps offering no more than a few grunts and a nod or two, eventually he strung a few words together and even cracked a smile!
Grok shook the vial with the translucent red fluid inside and hummed. "Last time we were in port these were goin' for about fifty gold. It's a fair price, scouts honor," she said, raising her hand up like a boy scout. At the mention of Artevious' book, she strummed her fingers on the counter. "Hmm, don't sell to many books so lemme think here... Oh! How could I forget! Ol' Owlbear came up with one copper and some pocket lint and asked for some words. Artevious' books were the only words I got so I sold him one."
Day 1(7): Mila took the kapenia in her hands and held it out in front of her for closer inspection. "Aye, I think I got a spell that can patch this up, Besmara willing. She usually is. I don't have the materials ready today, can't get something for nothing and all, but you come back to me tomorrow and I can have something prepared." She handed the kapenia back and gave Esmarelda a comforting pat on the shoulder.
Day 2(8): Rosie has no objections to playing. "F#%! yeah I can play my fiddle. You think this s$*~ is all for show?!" Apparently delighted to have a reason to play, Rosie jumps on the table and kicked over a few people's rum rations off the table. Not that anyone objects, the crew seems scared of her. True to her word, Mila had prepared the components to cast a mending spell, and within minutes Esmarelda's kapenia is back into a state of repair. A few stitches are out of place, but all in all it's a job well done.
Day 3(9): Jack's face lights up at the topic of conversation. "Well, I can't say I've done many commissions, ma'am. Not to many on this boat appreciate art. But for a pretty little lady like you, I'd be glad to make somethin' at a discounted rate. Five silver out to cover the cost of materials. Labor's free for ya."
Day 1: Badger doesn't send harmony away when she strikes up conversation, not many people would, but she does seem a bit reluctant to open up. Her answers start off vague and short, but as Harmony asks questions she does start to peel back the layers. "I served on ships in the Shackles my whole life, just like my ma, and just like my pa. The stripes? No real reason. Just like 'em. You're runnin' a message to Aretta? She's up in the riggin', I'll take it up for ya. I remember watchin' you try to climb on your first day..." Later that evening when Harmony approaches Caulky, she's met with an abrupt interruption. "Do me a favor? Don't talk to me." Rather than wait for Harmony to say anything more, Caulky goes on her way, balancing a tray of meals to take up to the officers.
Day 2: Shivkah seems to distrust Harmony almost as much as Harmony distrusts her. Conversation begins awkwardly, perhaps even a bit unfriendly on the part of Shivkah. "Captain pays better. Same work, different venue. Old boss kept getting a bit too frisky, if you catch my meaning." Conversation continues as awkwardly as before, though it seems the walls are coming down between the two of them. Harmony has much better success with Owlbear who already thought Harmony was a nice lady. "Owlbear going to learn reading. Then Owlbear be smarter than all others. No more get told Owlbear not smart! Harmony have glasses? Owlbear need glasses to look smart, too!" He beams with pride as he tells her about how he's teaching himself to read.
Day 3: Samms is more than happy to spend the day chatting with Harmony as she works the rigging and Harmony swabs the decks below her. Topics range from her days as a fisher, to the reasons she doesn't wear shoes (she's got oddly shaped arches and they are uncomfortable), to wear Harmony found make up on a ship like this. In the evening, Harmony's performance went swimmingly and seemed to spark theological debate between several members of the crew. It was deep conversation for them!
Mila listens to the table talk of krakens and raises a brow when Cueta suggests she's going to take one out. "I don't rightly know if that'd please or enrage her. Maybe both. She favors the beasties, but she's a fickle goddess. Ever changing as the tide. Might wanna throw in a chest of gold to butter her up first," Mila suggested with a shrug.
The tumor ridden rat seems to be doing well. He's already starting to put on some weight and it seems no one else has noticed him. Though some sailors do say the bilges are haunted and sometimes at night you can hear the ghost of Jakes Magpie scratching at the walls of the bilges.
Day 7, Mila and Gall
Cueta nods. "Aye, I'd give the Queen of Sea Monsters a proper tribute, that's for sure. And you know more than me of our goddess, that's for sure too. But this I just know - more than monsters, more than plunder, what pleases Besmara most is pirates that go for it."
Day 8, bilges with Esmarelda
Cueta guffaws, a harsh laugh that tapers off into a long, mirth-filled chuckle. "Geach. Its a perfect name. Nicely done, Esmarelda."
Grok shook the vial with the translucent red fluid inside and hummed. "Last time we were in port these were goin' for about fifty gold. It's a fair price, scouts honor," she said, raising her hand up like a boy scout. At the mention of Artevious' book, she strummed her fingers on the counter. "Hmm, don't sell to many books so lemme think here... Oh! How could I forget! Ol' Owlbear came up with one copper and some pocket lint and asked for some words. Artevious' books were the only words I got so I sold him one."
Day 7
The half-giant answers Cueta's comment with a hearty chuckle and a sage nod as he claps her on the shoulder. "Aye, true enough. Ye best make sure the lot of us remember that, lass, as I feel that the future'll involve us taking things for ourselves."Day 9
"No kiddin'. I wouldn't've figured the lad for a reader, but good on him for tryin' to better himself. As for that deal, sounds fair, I'll take it. I don't suppose I could give ye this lock here and say...thirty gold for it? That sound like a fair trade?" Gall asks Grok hopefully as he sets the lock before her and fishes for his sack of cash.
He carefully counts out thirty pieces before pausing to see what she will make of the idea, but has a thought as he looks up. "Ye got something in the way o' saps back there? Maybe some'at else what's not gonna kill a lad if ye use it on 'em?"
Grok examines the condition of the lock and eyes up Gall with mild suspicion. "Somethin' wrong with it? Or ya just bad at pricin'? Normally, I'd take advantage of you, but I like you lot, especially all your storytellers, so I'll give you fair value." Grok tosses the lock in an open crate and pushes twenty of Gall's gold back and hands him the potion of cure light wounds. "Thank you, come again."
"Saps huh? Yeah, I got a couple back here." Grok digs up a coupe saps; one small and two medium. "A gold a piece."
Day 9
"Oh! Eh. Would ye believe right awful at pricin'?" Gall promptly scoots three gold off of the stack of twenty, then snatches the remaining seventeen up to deposit in his pouch. The saps and potion gets snatched up easily in his broad hands and he nods politely to Grok. "Thank ye kindly, lass," he says as he excuses himself to tuck his things in a trunk and get back to work.
Later, before dinner, the half-giant quickly collects the saps and heads to join the others. Once there, he passes the medium sized weapons across to Cueta and Esmarelda with a grin and a wink. "They say a proper lass always loves a good present, aye? For if ye need 'em at some point. Keep it tucked in yer boot or something."
As he rolls the small sap around between his fingers, he glances around at the group with brows furrowed in deep thought. "Got one more, but the bugger's too small for me to use. Ye think I ought to give it to Rosie? Or Conchobar? The lass is a sweet wee thing, but she's fiery as they come. I reckon she can handle herself. Not rightly sure about the wee lad." From the way he talks about Rosie, it seems that the large man might actually have a soft spot for the halfling.
It should be obvious to the rest of the group that Harmony is investing these three days seriously into trying to get in the good graces of some of the crew, but if anyone's paying attention, she doesn't seem to be making any huge headway, maybe a little off her game. With Owlbear, she tries to help him with learning to read, drawing letters for him and matching them with sounds she says, trying to one by one teach him the alphabet. "A letter like this, this squiggly thing, is an 'ess'. When you see it, it means the 'ssss' sound. Remember, *S*quiggly", she emphasizes the first sound, "for 'sss'. Ssssquiggly. Squiggly means sss."
To Cueta, "So you and Mila...you're big on Besmara, right? But you're not like, any crazy zealots or anything, are you? You know...if Besmara isn't my thing, you aren't going to cut my head off or anything? I hope?" Mila may be present while Harmony asks this, or she may not, whatever works best for our illustrious GM. :)
To Esmarelda, "So what about that guy Maheem. Are you plotting anything against him, and do you need help? Or are you letting that thing lie for the time being? I can see how it would be smart to let it go for a while, but I can also see how he was really insulting to you and you might be bristling for some payback."
To Gall, "What's up with that Fishguts guy? He looks like he's last been sober twenty years ago. I mean, I notice we haven't died over the last nine days, but is that because you saved the situation, or is he actually a decent cook beneath all that old liquor stench?"
To Artevious, "Did I hear that some book was still missing, or did you get all the books you were looking for? How many books do you have, anyway, and why are you carrying all of them with you? Aren't they heavy? Do you keep reading them over and over again? I assume you've already read them all at least once, so why keep carrying them?"
Harmony
Cueta laughs, her overloud guffaw ringing around the ship's hold. "Zealots? I am, I suppose. I was called by the Pirate Queen herself. It seems I have a debt to pay. But I wasn't much to think of her before my calling, and it seems she's alright with that - send some booty to Besmara's Chest every now and then, and I'm sure she'll have no problem with you. As for me - I enjoy your stories too much to take your head!"
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Day 9
That night at dinner, Cueta gathers her closest friends around. "Tomorrow, there's going to be an uproar. I'd best not tell you more in case I'm caught, but you'll know it when you see it."
Looking around to make sure there's no one to overhear her, she continues. "But, there's more to come. I want the officers unable to sleep. Jumping every time they hear a sound in the night. Afraid for their souls, and angry with Plugg, Scourge, and Harrigan. And that means, we've got to use the locket of Jakes Magpie. Right now, it's in the hiding place in the bilges. What I want to do is, I want to hang it around Plugg's sleeping neck. If I can get into the officer's cabin, I think I can do that easily enough. But, I can't figure out how to get in there. Any ideas?"
"Of course, if anyone has a better idea on how to use that locket, I'm interested in that too. I'm afraid I'm not much of a planner - most everything I do, I do on impulse."
The routine had managed to allow me to get to know more of the crew, and though I tried to remain abreast of the myriad happenings aboard the Wormwood, I had found myself rather preoccupied with the discovery of my lost volume.
Harmony
When she approached, I must have had my concern simply written all over my face since she quite directly asked about my novels. "No, there is still one yet unaccounted for. Of course I don't carry them around with me. The seawater would be frightfully bad for them. They're in the driest location I could find," I told her.
I couldn't help but smile at her inquiries, though. "Indeed I have read them numerous times! I even have large passages memorized, but I still love to return to the pages. Even now that I'm here, in the Shackles, the very waters of my father, to me he resides there, in those books. It's the only way I've ever known him. My mother's words, my father's adventures. So I hope I may be forgiven for wanting to return to the well, so to speak, from time to time."
"What's up with that Fishguts guy? He looks like he's last been sober twenty years ago. I mean, I notice we haven't died over the last nine days, but is that because you saved the situation, or is he actually a decent cook beneath all that old liquor stench?"
Gall cannot help but laugh at Harmony's question and the assumptions behind it. He had many of the same concerns for the first few days aboard the ship. Fortunately, all of his have since been put to rest, so he thinks it best to try to do much the same for her.
"Don't ye worry none about Fishguts. For a drunkard, he's a fine cook, lass. I ain't certain what's given him that manner of reason to want to drink hisself to death, but it also ain't my place to judge. Suppose I'll ask him to share the tale, now that ye put the idea in me head. Though, I will say that I add a wee bit of panache to the kitchen, if ye don't mind my sayin' so." He finishes with a bemused grin and it is clear that he does not completely believe that he contributes much, if at all. But still, he tries and that is the important bit.
When Cueta's talk turns to a far more serious topic, he stows the extra sap he has and resolves to give it to Rosie later. For the moment, he needs to focus on the topic at hand.
"Now, I ain't much for plannin' and schemin', lass. But if yer wantin' my honest opinion, I reckon one'a these three could give ye a proper distraction. Something to keep all eyes on them and away from yerself, if ye follow me. That'd give ye plenty of time to slip in unnoticed. Then ye can hide out there until he comes to get him some shut-eye and that's when ye strike. And maybe, if yer worried 'bout gettin' caught, ye just act as though yer drunk and trying to carouse with the lad or one of his mates."
Harmony
A look of what passes for concern crosses Cueta's face. "There's something else. I. I... always wanted to be able to tell a story. How do you do it? Get up there in front of all those people, and not be scared. Of messing up, of them judging you, of just not being any good?"
------------------
Gall, Day 9
Cueta takes the sap with both hands, customary among the Ijo when receiving a gift of great value, or one from someone who is respected. It wasn't often that anyone brought Cueta a gift, and when it happened, it was usually a shot of rum. That Gall would get Cueta a weapon - well, he had obviously understood what was near and dear to the pirate. "Thank you, friend," Cueta said, her voice wavering. "I'll be sure to use it at every opportunity."
------------------
Day 9
Cueta smiles, a big, toothy grin. "Aye, a distraction could work. I think I'll need to lift the keys off of one of them, though. It would have to be something big, so I can get the keys without being noticed..."
She has to admit to herself, Cueta's impressed. Gall's cover was a much better idea than hers, something to do with sleepwalking and nightmares. "Sneaking in beforehand, that's just brilliant. Much better than what I was thinking. And if I get caught, you're right - I can just rely on my stunning looks and diplomat's personality! Har!"
Her demeanor turns serious. "I'll have to buy some rum tomorrow. It will help to have some liquor with me."
"So, what's a suitable diversion? And does anyone want to risk a whipping carrying it out?"
Harmony
Esmarelda looked at Harmony before she shook her head slightly. "To honest I don't know... half of me wants to make him pay for what he said, mainly by shoving the copper he gave me down his throat, but the other half? Well the other half has friends now and," Esmarelda paused long enough to look Artevious's way. "And may be something more if luck would have it?" She muttered, mostly to herself.
Mila
When Mila fixed her kapenia she was thanked by Esmarelda's arms wrapping around her and hugging her tightly. "You're amazing Mila!! You have no idea what this means to me!" She told her.
Jack
Esmarelda gave a nod as she smiled. "Then I shall return with price as soon as I can. May take me a little bit, would that be a problem?" She asked.
Cueta and Gall
Esmarelda took the sap from Gall and gave it a look over. "You know I'm not completely sure if I know how to use this thing but when you need something might as well right?" She gave the half-giant a smirk before sliding it into her left boot. "If you're giving it to the gnome, I'd let Artevious do it. They seem to be rather good friends." She told him.
When Cueta began to speak Esmarelda closed her eyes to think. She listed as Cueta and Gall went back and forth. Though when Cueta spoke about getting a hold of some rum, Esmarelda shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. No matter what excuse you give them they will use the fact you where in a place you shouldn't have been." She pointed out. "Which wouldn't be that much of a problem if they didn't hate us. Well Plugg and Scourge that is. Honestly what all do you have? Just the watch?" She asked as she opened her eyes and looked at Cueta.
Harmony looks to Cueta, and her face is thoughtful for a few moments. "Let's put it this way, my dear. How do *you* do it? Trying to sneak into the officers' quarters, hang a locket around Plugg's neck while sleeping, 'and not be scared'?", she mimics the words Cueta herself used a moment ago. "Scared of knocking something over, or a floorboard creaking, or one of them just being half-awake to begin with -- then you get caught, and we saw what a keelhauling does. How do *you* have the sheer guts to even make that sort of a proposal? I wish I could do something like that without peeing my pants." She offers a smile, and puts a hand onto Cueta's shoulder. "Compared? The worst they can do to me is laugh. The worst they can do to you is...well, considerably more. Think about which one scares you more -- death or people laughing at you. And then sit down alone in the quiet for one hour and just think on one question: why does *that* one scare you more? If you can find the answer to that, then I think you've taken your first step to conquering that fear."
Cueta grins. "Esmarelda, the locket is just the next step. It sows panic among the officers, turns the superstitious against the keelhaulers, and hopefully gets that practice stopped for the time being. Word of its appearance around Plugg's neck will filter down to the crew. Then, we kill Maheem. Blame his death on the ghost of Jakes Magpie. And go to work turning the crew against our masters, with well-placed tongues wagging in scared ears."
-----------------
Sighing, Cueta peers into her empty soup-bowl, the calmest she's seemed to be since the press-ganging. The truth was, the how of what she did was complicated, but she'd do the best to explain. Shimye-Magalla knows, she'd thought about it enough.
"My mother's mother was kidnapped from her village in an early morning raid, by a rival tribe. This tribe, the Igba, were known to take their captured to Bloodcove, to be sold to slaver ships, where the enslaved then made their journey north. This is likely what happened to my mother's mother."
"My mother's father, he fought the Igba raiders, and suffered a grievous wound. But when he healed, he too, along with my mother and her sister, made the trip to Bloodcove. Of course, the journey was in vain. My mother's mother was long gone. But my mother and my aunt were too young to know this, and my mother's father too blinded by grief to accept it."
"My mother's father lived with his girls in a shack. He fished during the day off the piers, and sold what extra fish he caught to fishmongers. Day and night, he asked every ship that came to port for news of his wife, my mother's mother. Every day and night, until his death."
"In the meantime, he saved a little money. My mother's sister died in a yellow jack outbreak, but my mother learned to fish alongside her father. Eventually, they bought a large dugout with their savings, and my mother used it to traverse the Fever Sea around the city, catching more and more fish. And so, when she married my father and bore me, I was able to learn to fish and sail. And in a roundabout way, that is how I came to be on this ship."
"You see, slavery leaves holes. Not just in the life of the enslaved, but in the lives of everyone their presence touched. Your enslavement has left holes. My enslavement has left holes." Cueta points around the table. And his. And hers. And his.
"I am here to free the enslaved of this ship, and to send the souls of the enslavers to Besmara's Chest. Harrigan, Plugg, Scourge, Maheem, and on down the line, all that support the capture and enslavement of others. Besmara wants it, but more importantly, I want it."
"My life would be very different if it weren't for those slavers, the ones that took my mother's mother. Or these, that walk about above, that took us. I've always heated slavers, since I learned the story of my mother's mother. Anger is my fuel, and it makes me fearless."
Cueta considers Harmony's last question. "It is true, if I'm not careful, they'll kill me. But they do not have my respect. Nor I theirs. You create respect through stories. It is a wholly more difficult thing than to kill someone, I suspect."
"I'll think about it, why it scares me more. You're very wise and I appreciate your council."
Harmony goes quiet for a few moments, thinking over Cueta's words from several perspectives, and nodding mutely a few times, even after the Mwangi woman has stopped speaking, to some inner thoughts of hers. After a while, she does speak up again, a little more quietly. "It's true, killing is easy." Her eyes stray to the side, and she mumbles under her breath, "Easier than I'd have liked."
"You're more than welcome, Cueta. You've given me lots to think about as well."
Cueta raises an eyebrow as she barely catches Harmony speaking quietly to herself. Although she'd never admit it, Cueta has never killed anyone, unlike, it appears, her silver-tongued friend. Though Cueta plans on changing that. Soon.
Leaning in close, the Mwangi whispers, "I'm sure whatever you did, you did it for the best reason of all - you. And you're better for it."
It was a curious meeting in which I was in attendance. Several of my fellow pressganged pirates were actively engaged in the plotting and planning of means to sow dissent amongst our captors. Their plans continued along the lines of making it seem that the disquiet spirit of Jakes Magpie still haunts the holds and rigging of the Wormwood. It was clever, I had to admit; everyone loves a good ghost story until they have to go to bed alone in a darkened room where the imagination can run wild. But they were now talking about stepping up the ruse -- and risking much, for if caught the reprisal may very well mean joining poor Jakes' fate.
I pondered a bit in silence as Harmony and Cueta spoke and shared a bit of their backgrounds. It seemed to me that I should reappraise my current situation. Floggings aside, I had been generally pleased with my current circumstances -- finally being a part of a pirate crew. But it steadily grew that even though I'd been able to forge some friendships here, the ship's officers were unassailable. Without some way to stand out and make a name for myself, there's no way I would ever rise above my current station. And that was simply untenable.
I cleared my throat to get everyone's attention. "If I may, I'd like to chime in and echo some of Esmarelda's misgivings about this plan. It seems like a lot of risk for very little reward. You say you wish to drive a wedge between Scourge, Plug and Harrigan and the rest of the crew. Well, I daresay their actions are already doing it!"
I gave Harmony a broad smile with a wink and clapped Gall firmly on the shoulder. "Your skilled verbiage, and your fighting prowess, tempered by mercy -- those are what will create the great divide between the rest of the crew and those fiendish villains."
I paused to let that sink in for a moment before I continued. "My father was captured by his enemies on no fewer than four occasions. He had to bide his time, and wait for his foe to make the mistake that would be the key to his freedom. I believe we, too, should keep our eyes open for the opportunity that I am sure will be just over the horizon!"
Cueta sighed as it became apparent she'd get no help today. It was understandable of course - it was a risky gambit, and her friends didn't have Besmara watching over them.
"Well, then, we'll just have to keep our eyes open for that opportunity. Now, who's got a story?"
The last few days have invited grey clouds to the skies and sporadic sprinkles of light rains, but yesterday the clouds truly swelled and darkened, the air thick with the feel of a storm. Off on the horizon you had caught the occasional flicker of lightning from the corner of your eye and the accompaniment of a low rumble of thunder.
Today you awake to the sharp crack of lightning and a tremendous roar of angry clouds. It's early, much earlier than the typical work shifts would start, but Plugg and Scourge are already in the lower decks hurrying people out of their bunks and into the rigging. It's a flurry of activity and hurried enough that neither Scourge or Plugg have time to even give you all their usual glares.
On deck, you are hammered with heavy sheets of rain while the ship is hammered with violent waves. All hands are on deck and each one of them is in the rigging, including all of you.
"What the hell?" Harmony exclaims, bleary-eyed, as the officers come hurrying them awake and out of their bunks, tearing her away from a sweet dream with, of all people, Conchobhar Shortstone. As soon as she starts to realize that it was a dream, and now she's awake, her eyes widen a little, and she blinks a few times. Yeesh. That's one dream I'm not sharing anytime soon. Besides which, I'm *sure* that, uh, it wasn't accurate.
After she's roughly pulled into the real world from her dreams and thoughts by the officers' yelling and the ship's more vigorous than usual rocking, Harmony starts to understand what's going on. "We're headed into a storm, aren't we?" she says to no one in particular, and jumps up from her bunk. Before rushing up to deck, however, she takes a quick glance into the dirty, broken piece of mirror glass that she had managed to obtain from Grok, and does a rushed touch up of her hair with a brush and a quick dab of makeup. Less than a minute spent, just the most crucial parts, but time lost anyway. Then, she rushes up to deck, peering into the horizon to appraise the situation for herself. Just when she does so, a blast of lightning can be seen in the distance, sending a flush of adrenaline through her body. If she wasn't awake before, she's certainly awake now. "People, we're in trouble! We need to get this ship into shape an hour ago. Let's move!" she yells out as if she were the one in charge, and then gets next to one of the masts, to help boost others up into the start of their climb. "There's a storm a-coming, and if we're not prepared for it, we're going to get smashed into bits. Right now, it doesn't matter who hates who, we either work together regardless, or we die! Let's make this an effort to be proud of -- a honed and polished arrow right into that storm's heart! Let's make sure we grit our teeth, take everything it has to dish out, and blast through the other side! Take care of each other! No person left behind!"
Harmony positions herself to Aid Another Gall, Esmarelda and Cueta for their first Climb checks. Can Take 10 be done, or is it too dangerous for it? If yes, she does that. If not, here are the rolls.
After helping the others get started, Harmony had a rough start herself, having trouble getting up on that mast -- although it wasn't quite as pathetic as on that first day, despite the much worse weather. Perhaps she's learned something in the past week plus. But after a while, she seems to get the hang of it, getting a little bit up on the mast...then gradually getting surer and surer until she's finally where she needs to get, and starts to do the rigging. That being a new thing for her, she nearly fumbles, but just barely catches the ropes in time, preventing disaster. Don't look at me like that, I'm doing my best, she stares daggers at Crimson Cogward.
Cueta's up the rigging like an arrow, thorougly motivated by Harmony's speech. The sailor grabs and dragging Esmarelda with her, pointing out the easiest way up. She's less worried about the men, noting they were good climbers on their first day aboard the Wormwood, but Cueta also keeps her eye on Harmony as she makes her ascent.
"Use your hands there! Feet there! Harmony, a little to your left!"
A little too much attention to the ladies at first, and Cueta nearly slips when the Wormwood hits a particularly rough pitch. The sailor grabs the rigging and holds steady for few seconds while the world steadies again, and then makes her way, spider-like, into the rigging.
Once in the upper rigging, Cueta begins frantically securing the sail while the crew below tried to ride the wind out of the storm, yelling instructions the whole time to her friends. The rope is slick and the sail slicker, but Cueta is just able to secure it.
Gall jerks awake at the sound of orders being shouted left and right, blinks sleep out of his eyes for a moment, then snaps into action. Weary or not, he knows that this ship goes nowhere without its crew and that he is not excused from that title. Whether or not he spent most of his days cooking in the galley. Shucking out of his chain shirt quickly, he makes a beeline for the stairs up. The ship gives a lurch as he makes his way to the deck, but at the sight of a storm, he breaks into a bright smile. Flashes of lightning and wind-whipped rain only make him beam that much brighter.
"Ah, what a day. What a loverly day! About bloody time I was able to get me arse out of the kitchen for a bit."
Rather than lay about the deck and enjoy the weather, if that truly is what has him in such high spirits, he makes for the rigging. Best to follow along with his friends and help where he may. Besides, the top of the mast is the best place to feel the wind on your face.
The wet ropes give him a bit of trouble at first, but he quickly finds his footing and sets to work scaling the rigging like a monkey. "Don't ye fret over me, lass, I've had more'n my share of storms to weather. Just ye keep three points'a contact on the rigging and yer gonna get through this right as rain!" He shouts back at the group, making certain to aid where he may. Skilled or not in this sort of activity, working together always makes things go more efficiently.
The rest of the group sorted and well within the rigging, he sets to work on his task of securing the upper rigging. He makes certain to shout out his intent before doing much of anything, lest he foul the efforts of his companions. Hopefully, his work trying to be as communicative as possible gives them a bit of aid.
Unfortunately, despite his best efforts to keep Harmony apprised of the situation, he is a bit too focused on helping the others. Hopefully it will not harm her chances any, but only Besmara knows, at this point.
Whatever expectations I had about the next day, the weather had other plans. I awoke after an uneasy night of pitching and swaying into a fully realized storm on the high seas. Quite the exciting occasion!
No less than working the mainsail was my task that day, and I set to it in true Poisson fashion. As the waves crashed and the wind whipped furiously, I applied my full skill to ensure the Wormwood sailed true. Tough work, to be sure, but certainly my crew deserved nothing less.
When Plugg and Scourge issued all of the crew out of their hammocks, Esmarelda got a bad feeling. It didn't take long for her to realize there was a storm going on, thus followed her crew mates up to the deck."Oh dragi zei, acest lucru nu este bun!" Esmarelda brought her hand to her lips and bit down on her thumb. That feeling was slowly getting worse.
Soon enough that feeling settled into the pit of her stomach when she was given her task: Lookout.
Her gaze turned upward to the crow's nest, sixty feet above. Her legs buckled slightly before she followed after her friends into the rigging.
Her friends where able to help her up though the rigging, that is till she was almost to the crow's nest. When Esmarelda looked down, a big mistake. Her head spun, her grasp became a death grip. Move... She thought, but her body defied her. She was frozen just shy of her goal. After a few deep breaths she forced herself the final distance and into the crow's nest. "This was the worst call they could have ever made!" Esmarelda said before she stood up and began her task.
The day's work in the rigging is long and laborious as the storm beats down upon The Wormwood and it's crew. The icy rain stings the cheeks and wet clothes make moving uncomfortable if not a little more challenging. No breaks were to be had, no reprieve from the day's tasks. Time was almost impossible to tell with the dark clouds blotting out the sun.
The cry was almost drown out in another boom of thunder, but enough was heard. Leaning dangerously over the railing was Conchobhar, shrieking and pointing at little Rosie being tossed about in the waves below.
When Harmony notices Conchobhar's shrieking and Rosie in the water, she grimaces hard. If she started to climb down, everything would be over by the time she got back to deck, so instead, she tries to urge someone, anyone, who is already at deck level to do something. Whether Cueta, or Samms, or even the dastardly Maheem -- but stopping short of actually trying to convince an officer to do anything. Any crew member that's in a position to help, Harmony tries to urge them to do so. "Throw the rope! Throw her the rope!" she shouts, trying to be heard over the howling of the wind, flapping of the sails and the roar of the waves. Ah, hell. She's not even sure if anyone heard her. Taking the chance, she starts to climb downwards as fast as she can.
When Harmony has gotten more than halfway down from her previous position (from 50' high to 20' high), she deliberately lets go of the mast, dropping through the air toward the deck.
"OW! F---!" Harmony cries out in pain as she hits the deck, and something in her right leg gives way, causing her to crash onto her side against the deck. Now, significantly closer to the people on deck, she repeats what she was yelling from high up on the mast. "Throw the rope! Throw the rope to Rosie!" she shouts, rolling around on the deck, clutching her knee and grimacing in pain.
Soaked and cold, teeth chattering, Cueta works the rigging. It seems she's almost stuck in time, repeating the same tasks, in the same darkness, the sun blotted completely out, the sea a roiling mess all around. A thought occurs to her, and the sailor begins laughing hysterically, yelling to her companions. "I wished for a bath many times these past days, and now I'm getting it! No more bilge on this deckhand! Ha!"
Despite the heaving in her stomach and the vertigo inducing pitch of the ship, Cueta begins whisteling as she works, happy at the thought of being clean at the end of this storm, if Gozreh doesn't sink them, of course.
And then the call goes out. Man overboard. Fook. Moving as quickly as she can, Cueta scampers down the rigging, when a particularly violent pitch sends the ship sideways, and the Mwangi's feet swing out from under her. About twenty feet up, Cueta waits until the deck lines up again under her body and then drops the remaining distance. Landing with a grunt, the deckhand looks for nearest rope, intending to tie it to herself and jump overboard towards the flailing halfling.
My father was no stranger to storms. Indeed, there was rarely a novel my mother wrote in which he didn't face rough waters of some sort. So I knew such would be something I would have to weather in the quite literal sense.
My mother's words had always been able to convey the harrowing danger and desperation of the storm, but it never quite occurred to me how dark, cold and wet the whole affair was. Worse still was the fatigue. The work was difficult in the best of circumstances, but add crashing waves, pitching decks, the screams and yells of the officers and crew, and it became exhausting.
When the calls came, that someone had been washed overboard, my strength surged briefly. I cast about and saw that Conchobar was pointing off the railing. Rosie! With a large number of my mates up the rigging, I knew I was in the best position to throw a line out to our crew in need.
I gathered a coil of rope and heaved it out to the bobbing, thrashing form.
Cries of "Man overboard!" sober Gall up almost instantly and he quickly ties off what he is currently doing. The seas were a harsh mistress and an even more vicious adversary; he had no intention of leaving anyone to her cruel embrace. He makes for the rigging right behind Cueta and follows her lead of hauling as much ass as he can.
The half-giant snarls in pain as he lands wrong and feels fire explode through his ankles, but he catches himself on the deck. There would be time to be hurt later, now someone needed help. He shoves himself up to his feet and makes for Artevious.
"Good on ye, lad! Let's get the lass back up here, aye?" He waits until the rope has sailed out as far as it may before seizing the end with the swashbuckler. Whether or not she has taken a hold of the rope, he aims to reel it back in as quickly as possible. He would just much prefer if she were attached to the other side.
"Come on, gents, no time for muckin' about! If yer hurtin', let that fire fuel ye! On yer feet, we got a job to do!" shouts the thoroughly soaked half-giant, waterlogged braids flailing.
Cueta can see that the sea is rough, clearly requiring a strong swimmer to manage to stay afloat. Rosie seems to be struggling to keep her head above water. There's tons or various ropes hanging around the main deck, locating one is simple.
Artevious's quick thinking and position allows him to make a dash to the edge of the deck, grabbing one of the ropes nearest the main mast. He manages to get the rope out to Rosie.
Artevious manages to get the rope out to Rosie who immediately clings to it, however despite the extra aid, she's still having a hard time keeping her head above water. It seems her small size is easily tossed around by the waves! She drifts another 10ft from the ship, however this extra distance pulls the rope taught, meaning so long as she can hold on she won't drift further.
"Well met, Gall!" I shouted as he joined me at the railing, limping slightly. The rope had pulled taught as Rosie was being swept further out to sea, so I held fast to the lifeline I had thrown her. Now the effort to reel her back in was at hand. Thankfully the sturdy form of Gall was nearby.
I extended the rope to him, thinking that the mountain of a man would be the best to brace against. As another wave crested the deck, I resolved to lend my strength to Gall's. "I'll help you pull! On one! Ready? One!"
Gall quickly narrows his eyes and tries to spot her out through the pouring rain, to see how she is faring in the surf. Maybe she is wise enough to start pulling herself in with the rope, as well.
"Aye. One," he roars in unison as he hauls steadily on the rope in an effort not to wrench it out of Rosie's hands but still reel her in quickly. He is glad of Artevious's help, but still hopes the others will join in soon. The more hands they have in the efforts, the sooner the halfling will be out of danger.
He gives it his level best, but has a feeling that only Esmarelda can tell how well they really doing. If nothing else, he hopes his efforts are not in vain and she does not lose her hold on the lifeline.