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There was a flash of black, and a burst of pain exploded behind Ambrose's ear as Master Scourge's whip struck home on the right side of his neck, leaving a massive weal that trickled a little blood behind it. The pirate boatswain looked furious as he yelled, "YE CLIMB WHEN I TELL YE T'CLIMB YE SCURVY...!" Putting one hand on the other pirate's shoulder, Mr. Plugg had an oddly satisfied look on his face and stared a bit at where the whip had struck, running his tongue over bad teeth. "Don't worry yourself, Scourge, he'll be a sad one when he's got to catch rats belowdecks once they're off to work."
With Edgard having climbed faster than all the rest on half a set of actual limbs, Plugg gave him a nod and then focused his attention on Sh'torek, Jagray, and Boldwin. "Which out of the three of you can cook, you lubbers? Maybe one of you round little dwarves, or you, fiendspawn?"
When Dhugal spoke to Master Scourge, the boatswain lifted his whip again and threatened the roguish half-orc with it, clearly seething.
At the blow, Ambrose stumbles forward a step, doubled over. He puts his hand to the weal and a thin trail of smoke rises out of his tear ducts. He bites back on his words and the anger rising in the back of his throat. After the initial pain subsides, he straightens, glowering at the men. "I cook about as well as I climb," he says through gritted teeth.
"I wudn't exactly call it cookin'," Boldwin replies, idly scratching his head. He had even less of a desire to cook than he did to climb.
Observing the lash given to Ambrose, a bit of fire rises within Sh'torek, but he remains calm. "I cannot cook," he simply answers.
Jagray winces a bit as the see Ambrose take the lashing These 'ere ones don' joke around." At the question Jagray shrugs If ye have some spirites I'm sure I could come up wit' somethin'."
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Looking sour until Jagray stated that he could cook, Mr. Plugg pursed his lips and nodded, causing the ponytail of jet-black hair to shake in time with his long goatee. "Well, then, it would appear that we've found our cook's mate, haven't we?" Casting his humorless glance over at Master Scourge, he said, "The others'll do fine as swabs. Get the volunteering dwarf down to Kroop, and the half-greenie to the bilges." With a last smug look at the others, Plugg turned and headed towards the poop deck.
"Well, ye've 'eard 'm, then," Scourge said, "swabs ye'll be!" Pointing to Sh'torek, he said, "Ye'll be runnin' messages back 'n forth 'cross the ship. Mind ye, yer t'never enter either the Cap'n's quarters or th' officers' ones, which ye'll find on either side'a this deck. Other'n that, ye'll be told where t'go, as it's yer first 'n all." Shifting his gaze to Boldwin, he motioned towards a big pile of coiled rope and said, "Yer gonna start knottin' 'at 'nd then run it. Other hands'll let ye know when 'n where they need more, so ye best have a strong back 'n strong hands." Glancing with dead eyes over at Edgard, he snickered. "Quickie-hookie, yer runnin' the mizzen-sail, hop to." Motioning to Jagray, Ambrose, and Black Dhugal, he said, "Yer lot, come w'me, yer work's belowdecks."
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Guiding the three belowdecks, Mr. Scourge looked at Ambrose hard for a moment, seemingly admiring his handiwork with a whip before he said, "Get as many rats, spiders, 'n roaches dead as ye possibly can, 'n maybe I won't have t'lash ye this time. Start 'ere 'n work down from thar." To Jagray, he said, "Yer with Kroop in the galley." Leading the dwarf and half-orc through the middle hold and into a cramped area, Jagray could see the cramped and chaotic kitchen. It held two wooden worktables, several wooden cupboards, and two small stoves against the port wall, as well as virtually every cooking utensil imaginable and a frightening array of meat cleavers. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber; the goats are meant to be caged, but have a distressing tendency to escape their bonds. The kitchen is a madness of dirt, food, and knives. The stoves seem perpetually lit, and large cauldrons bubbled away atop them. A huge array of spices mingle with barrels of rainwater, two tuns of rum, cupboards full of ship’s biscuit and salted beef, barrels of sauerkraut, and a small supply of fresh vegetables picked up in Port Peril.
On a massive overturned pot sat a paunchy, middle-aged human male with receding brown hair tucked beneath a chef's hat, his white apron completely stained with blood and other substances, and his clothes in utter disarray. He looked up to Master Scourge, Jagray, and Dhugal with bloodshot eyes and hiccupped, saying, "S'not time for food yet, dimwit!" to which Scourge replied in a snide, terse tone, "Here's yer new cook's mate, ye bloody droonkie. Make sure ye serve sommat good tonight!"
Motioning to the staircase down to the hold that they'd initially come out of, he said, "Thar's a barrel down thar o'er a trap-door inna floor. Move it, 'n head down t'the bilges 'n work the pump. Don't try t'come up 'til yer called, or ye'll be sorry."
Pointing to Sh'torek, he said, "Ye'll be runnin' messages back 'n forth 'cross the ship. Mind ye, yer t'never enter either the Cap'n's quarters or th' officers' ones, which ye'll find on either side'a this deck. Other'n that, ye'll be told where t'go, as it's yer first 'n all."
Sh'torek simply nods in agreement, coming to the conclusion it's probably best to say as little as possible.
Relieved that at least one of them could apparently cook, Boldwin stands attentively as the rest of them are assigned their tasks. Well, t'was 'bout time for me to fin' employment anyway. When he thought about it that way, it made him feel a smidgen better about essentially being a lackey. But only a little. The dwarf nods sternly when he receives his task, letting off a little smirk through his beard. I never been no pirate before, but I s'pose it can't be much different from bein' a sailor.
Boldwin's confidence almost proves to be ill-placed. The weeks of unemployment he had spent boozing seem to have taken their toll, addling the ex-sailor's callused fingers as he attempts to knot the rope. He curses loudly several times in frustration, stumped as to how he could possibly suck so much at something he thought he was good at. A few times he almost runs late because of his shaky fingers, but by the end of the day his muscle pays off, proving him better at rope-hauling than at knot-tying.
Unfortunately, the extra effort it takes to account for his failures only makes things worse. By the time he is done hauling ropes, Boldwin finds that his arms have gone sore, and that his body feels heavier than it did before. Perhaps sleep and unconsciousness weren't the same things after all.
I'd better get back into the swing of things fast...
Ambrose says nothing, merely gritting his teeth and setting about his work. He'd been through this before, and he'd learned his lessons the first time around. But as he works, he takes note of the layout of the belowdecks area and keeps his eye out for anything interesting.
Even without his spells, his vermin-killing skills are more than good enough to keep him out of trouble. The simple work gives him time to think over his situation and begin planning. My first order of business must be finding Azrael. He was with me when I washed up on shore... wasn't he? He must have been, he was with me in the tavern. If those curs have done anything to him, there shall be Hell to pay! At the thought of the pirates harming his familiar, smoke begins to leak from his eyes and nose. I shall need to prepare my spells as soon as I am able, especially if it comes down to revenging my familiar. He stomps his boot down as a rat scurries past, trapping it. Reaching down, he twists its neck, delivering swift death. Aside from that, this Dhugal fellow merits my attention. If the Cerulean Society is consorting with pirates to plunder the shipping lanes, they are my only option for returning home. He stomps down again, this time squashing a spider. It seems I shall need to play pirate, at least for the time being.
As the day wears on, Sh'torek does what he's been assigned to do; as efficiently as possible and with the intent to remain as invisible as possible.
After a long day, Sh'torek finds himself not too much worse for the wear. While his legs are a bit sorer than normal, it's nothing to the point of where he's unable to get accustom to it. I've managed through the daytime. Let us see what the night brings. If we are fortunate... rest.
At the top of the sails, Edgar can't help but breathe in and smile wide, his crazy eyes finally finding some resounding peace for once as the salty, cool wind speeds past him. Looking down at the man with a whip, he laughs a bit at the nickname. When ye' been in 'is business's'long's I 'ave, ye' learn a few tings, savvy, whippin' boy? he thought with a grin.
Hearing the man, he began to do what he'd been told to, for certain. It was his first day on the ship, and while he did have plans on taking the whole boat over, he wasn't about to step on any toes. To kill a man you've gotta get on his good side, eh? Right? He looked down as he lowered and raised the sails, curious about what everyone was going to do... He looked down at the tiefling with a scowl, and shared a glance at Dhugal. "'em boys won't last long, but ye' got 'ta admire their spirit, eh?" he said with a laugh.
He would raise sails diligently for the remainder of the day, taking in what went on around him the entire time. Wormwood, eh? Gonna 'ave to change the name. he thought.
As night fell, Edgar considered what he'd do, and he found himself wanting to do only one thing... Gamble. A chit chat with the crew and a lovely bit of gambling, yes, he'd love that, wouldn't he?
When Jagray has some time he will try and look through the various supplies, and cabinets or drawers trying to get a good feel for what all might be in the kitchen, and seeing if there may be anything of use for a later need.
Dhugal, resigned to his fate, begins the bilge work. He will give the appearance of working hard, at least while Scourge is within earshot. When he thinks that he is alone, Dhugal will abandon the bilge work to explore his area.
Strength Check:
Con Check:
Stealth Check:
Perception Check:
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Boldwin
The day passed relatively uneventfully for Boldwin as he threw his best effort into doing the task that’d been assigned him. With the extra amount of focus that he applied to his tasks, he managed to slip into a decently effective routine, and was left more or less unmolested until the bell rang at dusk, signaling the end of the working day for the swabs, riggers, and everyone else.
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Ambrose
The task of clearing out the vermin belowdecks was more than a bit laborious and tedious, but Ambrose managed to push through it just fine, and in the process, evaded any real scrutiny in terms of exploring the middle level of the ship. Nudging an unlocked door open, he revealed a small room near the galley as he heard the cook and Jagray speaking with one another, and since he was unobserved, managed to get a relatively good look at the inside of it. Two rough beds were sandwiched inside the small room, and a single porthole cast illumination inside. There were twin lockers, one at the foot of each bed, and a large, black chicken clucked in a fashion that eerily sounded like “Ahoy!” before meandering past him and into the galley.
The sound of tiny, flapping wings was audible for a moment as a small thrush, a cockroach clutched in its beak, landed on Ambrose’s shoulder and nuzzled up to him affectionately. A few moments after he moved back out of the room’s doorframe and went back to work, he could hear the click of footsteps, and a woman with short, sleek dark hair wearing a red tunic with a corset over it, a long coat, and sailing boots, an eyepatch over her right eye, snorted, “’Bout time somebody did a ‘alf-decent job cleanin’ up this wreck,” as she breezed by and headed into the galley area. Soon afterwards, the bell rang, and it was time to retire from work for the day, something he noted as everyone else headed up to the galley save for Master Scourge, who walked past him brusquely as he headed down to the bilges, passing Ambrose with a sneer.
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Sh’torek
While he kept to himself, Sh’torek’s duties had him running all over the ship, and while he never really had time to get a very good understanding as to what was in any particular area, he certainly was afforded an opportunity to stretch his legs and avoid having to be hunched over a deck or cutting board all day breaking his back. The sun was beginning to set as he heard the sounds of the ship’s bell and saw the other crew members heading to the main deck, and thus, he was able to do the same.
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Jagray
As the dwarf was sitting and shooting the breeze with the ship’s cook, Kroop leaned in conspiratorially and said, “Whatever ye do, jus’ be careful. Ye see, it’s poison, this ship, but don’t let anyone hear ye say it aloud. The hull listens, see, and the Cap’n hears it all. Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core. Ye’ll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap’n Harrigan in all yer days at sea, and his crew’s the same, ’specially the first mate, Mr. Plugg. Vicious little sod, he is. He’d take his own mother’s liver to the butcher to make pies with, he would. But they leave me alone, mostly. They know I can’t ’arm ’em. Make sure they think the same of ye.”
While the two were conversing, a tall half-orc woman sauntered down into the galley and said, “What’s this, Kroop, ya got a new mate? Hopefully this one’ll manage t’keep his hands out of the pantries like the last one did. They’re gonna be givin’ him a good one tonight, poor bugger!” She began to fill up bottles half-way from the tun of rum inside the galley, taking a few drinks herself in the process and starting to sway just a little bit. Patting Jagray on the shoulder, she added, “Stick around a little while, ‘nd be mindful of what ya do.” As she walked out, Kroop was laughing and said, “See what I mean?!” before turning back to the fish stew he was preparing. Out of the corner of his eye, Jagray spotted a prosthetic leg made of teak with an ornate silver band around the peg at the end, tucked away beneath a shelf in the room.
Kroop turned to look turned as an attractive woman with dark hair and a patch over her right eye said, “You got the chow ready, Fishguts, or will Scourge have to put you and the beard to the lash?” Ladling out a bowl of stew for the woman to taste and handing it over, Kroop watched as the woman held it up to her mouth with both hands and took a taste, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “It’s stew, alright. Better ‘n eatin’ a boot.” Putting the bowl down, she walked off as Kroop wrapped a length of cloth around the handle of the cauldron of stew. Looking exasperated, he motioned for Jagray to grab some bowls as a bell rang up above decks and said, “Come on ‘en, laddie, best t’get up there ‘nd feed the hungry dogs. Then ye can have some more drinks ‘nd get some shuteye.”
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Edgard
The work of raising and lowering the sails was hard and tedious, but Edgard managed to do the task with half as many limbs as most of the other riggers did, something that garnered him one or two approving glances, or at least not angry ones, over the course of the day. The sound of the ship’s bell tolling alerted him to the end of the work day, and luckily, he was able to stop without being totally exhausted by the end of the work.
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Black Dhugal
The bilge was a filty, depressing, and hot place, the interior towards the fore side of the ship requiring a good deal of pumping to keep the dirty water from accumulating. Once Master Scourge was gone, he could hear some groaning, and he saw a dark figure chained up in the aft section of the ship, the man’s head lolling occasionally as the ship rocked, though the man had nothing in particular to say to Dhugal.
Once he knew that he had a bit of time to look around, he found a number of discarded crates and boxes inside of the bilge. Searching through them, he spied a battered sack, as well as a suit of leather armor, three heavy maces, and twelve silver pieces. Stuffing them in the bag, he was able to stow it and go back to pumping for a while. By the time he heard the bell far up above him, he heard footsteps on the floor above, and the hatch opened up as Scourge climbed down into the bilges. “Get up there to the main deck to get yer lashins. Make sure ye have yer shirt off aforehand, lest ye want me t’cut it offa ye!” With Master Scourge distracted as he started to take the man out of the manacles, Dhugal was able to go up a level and stow the sack he’d found in a locker before heading up to face his punishment.
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As dusk was causing the sky to darken rapidly, the crew was gathered above decks as Master Scourge brought a young man, still clapped in irons, up from the bilges; Dhugal recognized him as the one that’d been chained up below. The jaunty sailing outfit he was wearing was stained with bilge-water, and as a rope was wrapped around his wrists and ankles, tears were streaming down his face. While Scourge guided him towards the end of the ship, Mr. Plugg motioned for Black Dhugal to go to the mainmast, where a large half-orc with muttonchops and a piggish-looking man secured him with ropes to it. The ones who’d tied Dhugal up moved to secure ropes to the chained man, even as Scourge took his place near the mainmast with his whip at the ready. Seeming to thoroughly enjoy himself, he brought it up three times, thrashing Dhugal cruelly as the whip snapped over and over again.
Once three long, bloody weals had been made on his back, Dhugal was removed from the ropes on the mainmast, and Scourge glowered at him as he said, “Next time, yer getting’ seven! Best t’mind yerself ‘nd keep from bein’ a lyin’ cuss, lest ye’d like yer tongue taken out too!”
The two sailors who’d tied the man up brought him to the middle of the ship and pinned him along the edge of it as Mr. Plugg made his proclamation. “Jakes Magpie, for bein’ an unrepentant thief, you’ve been sentenced to a slow keelhaulin’! May Besmara have mercy on your soul!” A few of the crew took up the lines as Jakes was pushed over the side, a loud and terrified scream coming from his mouth before there was a splashing sound in the water below. Plugg, especially, seemed to relish the slow pull of the rope line as they worked the unfortunate sailor from one end of the ship, across the underside, and then up around the other end. What emerged as a ragged mess of torn clothing, skin, and sinew that was quite obviously dead, and after the ropes and manacles were undone, the corpse was unceremoniously pushed back over the side of the ship.
After a fairly hearty supper consisting of fish stew with a decent amount of spices and nice, large chunks of meat between the potatoes, the crew was already seeming to become pacified a bit, and the large half-orc male with a set of impressive muttonchops clapped Kroop on the shoulder in a congratulatory fashion. A husky woman’s voice could be heard as a tall, lanky half-orc came up from the hold, carrying a bucket full of the rum rations, and began to hand out half-filled bottles to the crew as she hollered, “Drink up, drink up, it’s good for what ails ya!”
Once the ration was consumed, the crew began to head below-decks, and the red-headed pirate woman from the morning tapped Edgard on the shoulder as they descended towards the lower hold where the crew would be bunked, saying, “Should be a sack with a couple’a hammocks for ye and yer mates, so they can bunk up. Grab yerselves keys from the lockers so ye can stow yer gear without anybody messin’ with it.”
Fury. The one emotion firing through Sh'torek as Dhugal is whipped. Lying?! Whipped for lying?! And not long afterward that ... shock. As the man known as 'Jakes' was thrown overboard and ripped to shreds, Sh'torek could not believe what he just witnessed. I wonder what that one did? How are we to survive this? He looks about the endless water, wondering if his view of such majesty is nearing its end quicker than expected.
During supper, Sh'torek eats lightly. The day's events taking their toll. For one such as he, who can more often than not remain on an even keel during any circumstance, finds himself a bit worn mentally. As the rum is brought in, Sh'torek looks at it oddly. I do not care for this drink. Nor any drink of such nature. It smells horrid. Sh'torek nonchalantly attempts to rid himself of it.
Boldwin seems impassive during Dhugal's lashing, no stranger to corporal punishment himself. If the half-orc was half as tough as he looked, he'd take it in stride. When the sentence for Jakes' is announced however, the dwarf sucks in a sharp breath. He had seen one or two sailors keelhauled before, but always quickly - done correctly, the barnacles on the bottom of a ship could take off a man's head in a matter of seconds. But for it to be done slowly... he did not want to imagine what it was like, suffering the sensation of drowning while simultaneously being sliced into pieces. Mercy on 'is soul...
By dinnertime however, Boldwin doesn't exactly look too eaten up about it. After all, he was no longer a sailor. He was a pirate. Or so he was told, anyway. The food ends up being surprisingly tasty, and the rum is almost ludicrously strong - just the way he likes it.
As much as he wanted to rub elbows with the crew, Boldwin was still fatigued from the hours spent hauling rope. As good as it was, the rum did not exactly help in that regard. Nodding in thanks to the redhead, the dwarf quickly retrieves a hammock and hits the hay. He only regards his locker with a pointed glance before grunting and closing his eyes. His best friends were better off in his pockets, for the time being.
Dhugal winces in pain as he sits down at the table with the others, "My mama whipped me harder than that. I expected more from our dear Master Scourge."
Dhugal will attempt to strike up a conversation with the others, "I must say that bilge duty is delightful. I feel that my years spent skulking through the Khorvosa sewers has prepared me well for wading in excrement. How are the rest of you faring?"
Dhugal gladly accepts the shot of rum.
Fortitude:
Cha bonus:
Fatigue:
Take 20 on perception.
Stealth check:
Ambrose breathes a small sigh of relief when his familiar appears. Well, that's one less thing to worry about. He allows a brief smile to play across his lips as he strokes the small bird with two fingers. As he does, he speaks to it in Infernal.
During the Bloody Hour, Ambrose stands and watches stoically, taking careful note of the glee on Scourge's face as he delivers Dhugal's punishment. It's a special sort of man that finds so much pleasure in the pain of others. When Jakes is called for keelhauling, though, he can't help but wince. Whatever he stole, I hope for his sake that it was worth it.
At dinner, Ambrose has little time for talk. Despite the recent exhibition, he was still starved, and filling his belly took top priority. He devours his bowl of stew and washes it down with the rum.
When dinner has been seen to, Ambrose weighs in on the punishment. "You were fortunate. Those two were looking to make an example of someone tonight, and if Mister Magpie hadn't already volunteered for the job, you likely would have received a good deal more than three lashes."
Sh'torek making it below decks with the others, finds a spot to claim, listening to the conversation at hand. "I do not fare so well. The daytime I managed well enough but the night has awakened me to events I've not experienced. I've been on several ships over a time, yet, I've not come across such treatment. I do not understand the reason behind killing that man. I am curious to know what he took to deserve such a fate."
As Jagray is taken down to the kitchen he takes in as much of the ship as he can to try and get a better bearing of everything. Coming inside the kitchen if quickly goes looks the place over while Kroop is explaing his process and the tasks at hand.
Once they have a moment Jagray will try and warm up to Kroop, figuring if he is going to be working down here he might as well be friendly with his new mentor. As the two talk he nods to the wise words of Kroop "I 'preciate the heads up. Its best ta know the situation before findin' out first hand." He chuckles a bit [b]"I plan ta be around a good while still so I'll be takin' your advice to heart!"
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Once the cooking is complete, Jagray helps Kroop get everything up to the rest of the crew, though staggering a bit on the way. He watches the lashes Dhugal recieves shaking his head at the unecessary violence, at least in his eyes. One the keelhauling takes place he keeps his mouth shut, knowing better and not wanting to end up in Jakes steed. Though as the body is brought up before it is tossed overboard he mumers a brief prayer to himself Gozreh take this sailor into you open arms and give him rest in the waves and winds of the open sea. Overall, he is not overly distrought about the whole thing, but it's likely the rum he had earlier was taking the edge of quite a bit.
After having been in the kitchen all day, he just now realizes how hungry he actually is having smelt the food cooking. He sucks down the stew to the last drop. Then helps Kroop clean up the mess afterwards. He takes the rum and tosses it back, already a slight bit woozy from the first drink earlier. Though this one doesn't add much to the effect.
Once downstairs with the others he looks to Dhugal I'm sorry fer the lashes ye got an' I would call on Gozreh ta heal yer wounds if I was better prepared. I'll make sure ta be ready for tomorrow." As the others exchange stories of their days and how rough they had it Jagray simply shrugs and adds "I'm jus' glad ye all could stand the food I helped with." not wanting to let the others know how easy he really had it.
Once he has an opportunity he'll try and find the half-orc woman who came into the kitchen and speak with her further.
Will also prepare my spells before going off to bed
With the sweat of the day still remarkably fresh upon his brow, Edgard smiled toothless and wide as he sat upon the sails, a single foot dangling in the wind. "'Is boat is somethin' else, eh?" he said, talking to himself. With the ringing of the bells, he understood that the day's work was completed. Not in too much of a hurry to crawl back down, he sat and viewed the events from far on high, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.
He Audibly laughs as Dhugal gets whipped for his insolence. It was certainly something he'd do a lot more than just condone. Such insubordination from day 1 was something simple, but it was the ones that proved difficult to break that he, himself, had always made examples of. Given the circumstances, the daft bastard was certain to come in handy. Hearing the news of a "Slow" keelhauling, Edgard's legendary smile turned over on its belly, quickly becoming a frown. All he could do is sit idly by and be confused as to why he was treated in such a way...
His fun officially stamped, he crawled from the mast, joining the rest of the crew for the rum rations, making it a point to grab one of the better looking quarts. As he sat about and looked at it, he grimmaced, noticing quite a few unnatural things in the frothy slag. Not wanting to cause any issues, he tossed the entire thing at once, feeling it sting and stink as it trickled down his well-traveled throat. This was swill he'd been drinking. It was horrid, and he felt it dance among his stomach. Finishing it off, he quickly pocketed the container among his coat.
With a bit of curiosity, he found himself traveling below decks to look about, but is promptly stopped by the red haired beauty. He listens rather intently about lockers, but doesn't speak to the woman. Not yet. He was biding his time for something. He wasn't sure what... With that thought, he'd found himself licking his teeth. He knew he'd gotten some bad swill, for certain, and that it was more than just a little bit free on such a big boat. With the information he'd been given, he'd placed nothing into the lockers, and instead blew off the red haired woman to seek out the rationer.
Walking up, he gained what he'd looked for, eyeing the significant amount of rum he'd gained. The day had certainly been long, and the previous drink had left a signifcant amount of pain in his stomach. A fire, certainly, that needed quenched.
Putting away his second bit of rum, Edgard smiled, immediately feeling it. This was a feeling he'd been so accustomed to, recently. This dizzy, hazy game of fun he'd just ingested. He was feeling rather good on his feet, and a 1 legged man shouldn't be walking around too much... With that thought, he smiled, cursing his old age.
Walking down to the lower levels, he looked about, enjoying the new view of his mates, despite finding himself completely addled. With another step down the stairs, he trips somewhat on his peg leg, catching himself on the wall. Taking the final step down as everyone has their mery conversations, he walks by Dhugal, firmly patting him upon the back, and somewhat squeezing where the lashes were. Leaning in close to his ear, he whispers something that stinks of multiple rations, infesting the orc's nostrils. "Ye'd do well ta' stop bein' so damn rambunctious, boy."
Feeling the alcohol, he shoved the man away once more, stopping infront of the Undine and Tiefling. Pretty much standing in the middle of the group he'd not had time to get in touch with yet. Looking about, he laughed hard enough to cough, spitting away whatever it was that crawled up out of his gullet. "Names Boys!" he asks as he finds himself slinking into one of the hammocks. "We can do'lot more'n stand around'n get pissed on, savvy? One of ye's got ta' be interestin' eh?" he says, as he lays in the hammock. Pointing a hand out, he finds Ambrose, and formally asks a question of; "Ye. The Muddle blood. S'yer name?" he asks, flipping his palm.
Looking about, he just asks everyone how their day had been.
Dhugal growls at Edgard, "You're an idiot, old man. I warned you not to touch me again."
Normally, Ambrose would balk at the man's impudence, but the rum had made him placid. His tale flicks in mild annoyance and his eyes flick between the half-orc and the half-man as he makes a quick calculation. He flashes a quick, humorless smile, baring his fangs a bit as he answers. "My name is Ambrose. And you would be...?" He raises an expectant eyebrow, waiting for an answer.
"And I'm called Sh'torek. But I believe you should already be aware of that. I mentioned it earlier when you were obviously searching for something upon your person. Why are you here with us? Do you not work for these people? Are you not here to watch us and report to the whip-wielding man of anything we do that would be labeled as 'incorrect'?" he asks curiously.
Lying in his Hammock, the man removed his hat from his person, looking to Sh'torek with a wide grin on his face. Sweat dripped from his forehead and he yawned rather widely, despite Dugal's death threat. He placed the hat on his face in a way where it covered his eyes, and he was obviously starting to drift off to sleep. "Ah, right, right... 's lookin fer' me bandana! Realized right quick were we were, savvy?" he says in response for him. He'd been searching for his gun, but having a boom stick on board was enough to get a man in trouble... that, and he fancied himself a much better liar than the half-orc...
Breathing out, he removes the hat from his eyes as the sweat starts to bother him. "Name's Edgard McDougal! Once-captain of a Once-great ship..." Bringing his hat across his chest, he lays there, rubbing the scar along his eye patch. "I might be old, gents, but I ain't foolish..." he said, tossing his one good eye over toward Dugal. " 'n you! What's the big idea, eh? Ye plannin on dyin on the first day?" he asks, not in a threatening manner, but in an odd fashion of scolding. "Ye'r whipped, tired, and foolish, and if'n ye keep it up, ye'll be dead in no time!" he said as he raised another ration of rum to his lips.
Taking in the long haul, it trickled down the side of his face and he threw it down onto the ground as soon as he did it. "They give ya the rum ta' pacify ya! Yahaha! 'Member it! Ain't nuttin' in 'is world what can keep me down, eh? Get some sleep ya daft bastards! I's got a feelin... Tomorrah's gonna be... rough... hehehe!"
And with that, he passed out.
Ambrose looks at the unconscious pirate and slowly shakes his head. "What a repugnant fellow." With Edgard passed out, Ambrose relaxes a bit. Taking the opportunity to capitalize on the vacuum of conversation, he looks back to Dhugal. "You're from Korvosa, you say? It seems we hail from the same home port. Have you any recent news of our mother city?"
Dhugal shakes his head, "Not recently. I've been at sea for some time. I'm afraid I fell from grace with my guild and had to leave the city. I've been working as a smuggler ever since, trying to regain their trust. I always knew that capture by the Varisian Navy was a possibility, but I never dreamed it would be pirates. As a criminal, you like to believe there is honor among thieves ..."
Dhugal pauses and has another drink of rum."What's your story Ambrose? You seem too intelligent to be a pirate."
Ah, so the truth comes out at last. Ambrose nods along sympathetically as Dhugal relates his tale. There's still no reason he should accept the half-orc at his word, but the rum had made him brazen as well as placid. At the question, he is silent a moment, giving Dhugal a hard, appraising look. If this is merely a third lie and he's been sent to silence survivors from the shipwreck, he'll already have guessed who I am and I gain no safety by playing coy. But if he's telling the truth, he may still have something to offer in the way of getting home. At the least, it would be valuable to have allies aboard this ship. Still, discretion is the better part of valor.
His mind made up, he sighs. "Until recently, I was the navigational officer aboard a Korvosan vessel bound for Sargava. We were set upon by pirates as we passed through the Eye of Abendego. I was..." His voice trails off as his eyes drift down to the table, going glassy as his mind wanders back to that night. After a moment, he returns to the present and he looks back up, holding Dhugal's gaze as he finishes, "Shipwrecked." He glances down at Dhugal's rum and briefly contemplates getting another for himself before deciding against it. "I washed up ashore, and less than two full days had passed before this odious pressganging brought me aboard the Wormwood." His tail flicks about in agitation, and he allows a wry smile to cross his lips. "When you told Harrigan you were affiliated with the Cerulean Society, I thought I might have found a way back to Korvosa. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?"
Dhugal nods as Ambrose speaks,"As you know by now, I'm willing to say or do anything to get back home. The Cerulean Society is my adopted family, and will always be dear to my heart, but the reality is they don't know, nor care, where I am right now. But, I'm not giving up. I need to do something big to get back into the fold. Something like ... stealing a pirate ship?" An evil grin spreads across Dhugal's face.
Dhugal looks around to ensure no officers are within earshot. He then leans to Ambrose and whispers, "We need to work together. Recruit as many of the others as you can - I'll do the same. I've already found some things that will help us. Lay low for now."
With that Dhugal gets up and goes to his bunk. When the ship becomes quiet he creeps into the shadows to explore.
As Dhugal departs, Ambrose frowns to himself as he considers the half-orc's words. He's a reckless fellow, surely not to be trusted. I do not doubt his intentions, though if I am not careful, I am certain that I shall find myself thrown to the sharks on his account. He certainly has a talent for making enemies. Ambrose casts a gaze back at the sleeping Edgard and thinks back to the Bloody Hour. Still, he is a known quantity, and better the devil you know. And he's not mistaken about gathering allies. Whatever is to come, I'll not be able to survive it alone. He glances at Sh'torek and gives him a moment of consideration before casting his gaze around the rest of the hold, looking for someone who knows the ship and her crew and might be inclined to loosen their lips.
"I will be wary of that one," he motions to the sleeping Edgard. "He never answered my question. While that confirms nor denies anything, I shall remain careful as to what I say or do when he is around and things must be kept in secret."
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Edgard
One of the last things that Edgard saw as he started to slip into his slumber was the half-orc woman who’d been handing out the rum rations carrying another bucket over towards where the pig-faced, hefty human male and the quiet half-orc with the muttonchops, saying, “Ten pieces on Jaundiced Jape! Sorry Fipps, half-orc sol’darity ‘nd whatnot, har har!”
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Sh’torek
As he had attempted to hide pouring out his rum ration, he looked up to see a pale-faced human woman with silken long hair and pallid skin, her eyes cruel-looking, wearing an old-looking dress, black corset, and red vest who glare at him sullenly before she disappeared into the crowd… only to reappear near Master Scourge, talking to him and pointing Sh’torek out among the others.
After his conversation with Dhugal and Ambrose, he managed to find slumber relatively quickly, the rest easing his muscles as he fell asleep in his hammock. When he awoke the next morning, he found his falchion propped up next to the beam that he’d tied his hammock to in the first place.
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Boldwin
Obviously not the chatty type, Boldwin was able to find slumber almost instantaneously. During the course of the night, he felt as if a blanket had been draped over him. When he awoke in the morning, he found that it was, in fact, his armored coat, resting over his body.
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Black Dhugal
Taking advantage of the seeming distraction of everyone else in the bottom hold, Dhugal managed to slip upstairs and into the middle portion of the ship. The pigs were mostly asleep, grunting and snuffling noisily, and as he passed one open door, he found the cook lying sprawled on his stomach on the bed, a bottle dripping little drops of rum still clutched in his hand as a fat black hen slept quietly on the man’s back.
Slipping into the galley, he found a tremendous amount of clutter, to the point where it was almost impossible to see everything of import. There was a great deal of weaponry, at least the makeshift sort, available, however, and he managed to get a good idea of the lay of the ships middle before retreating back down to his hammock.
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Jagray
Having spotted just the person that he was looking to speak with, as Jagray approached the winnowy half-orc woman, she turned to him and gave him a toothy smile, the ragged red scar across her neck looking shiny and tight in the lamplight of the hold. “Oy, if it ain’t me favorite new cook’s mate! Cop a squat ‘nd share some words w’me, yeah? Jagray, right? Kroop said ye was a good sort, ‘nd I like the looks of ye! Ne’er seen me an underfed dwarf, ye know, so right as I reckon, ye’ve gotta have some talent ‘round the stewpot, har har!”
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Ambrose
Having enjoyed some words with Dhugal and Sh’torek, Ambrose found that he’d been left relatively alone, at least for a little while. Soon enough, though, an incredibly tall Mwangi woman, her hair bound up behind her head, strung up her hammock near him. She was wearing a tight leather shirt with a doeskin skirt and boots, and as she clambered into her bunk, she spoke in a quiet and regal tone. “You are one of the newcomers, yes? I feel bad for you, because Scourge is not quite a fan of you and yours, but you do not seem like such a bad group. At the very least, you all seem to be hard workers, and that is always good.” Adjusting a fox skin that she wore over her shoulder, she said, “I heard them call you Ambrose? I am Shivikah.”
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As the bell chimed for the crew to awaken and get up above-deck for their daily duties, the new group of recruits started to ready themselves as well, only to find their passage blocked by four of the crew: a tall, glowering Rahadoumi man with a number of scars on his cheek and ear, the pig-faced and shirtless human man, the quiet half-orc male with the muttonchops, and the pale-faced woman who’d pointed out Sh’torek from the evening before. The fat human male piped up and said, “Heheheh, where d’you think you’re goin’?” The other three fanned out to block the stairwell as he continued speaking. “Get yer fists ready, ‘cause we’re gonna beat the tar right outta you salty curs!”
As he awakens the following morning, Sh'torek rises and notices his weapon near him. Looking around, he wonders how it got here. Taking hold of it, "Did one of you manage to acquire and bring me my weapon?" he asks as he catches sight of the newcomer who apparently entered after he fell asleep. "You I have not seen before. Who are you?" he asks Shivikah straightforwardly.
Glancing around at the others, Sh'torek turns his attention to Ambrose. "Are we to fight? We cannot kill or we will be executed," he whispers, unsure of how to proceed, feeling as if Ambrose does.
"Well I'll be," Boldwin murmurs with wonder, staring down at the armor he had been wearing just two nights ago. Not one to pass up an opportunity, he slips it on, though he glances up and down the hold suspiciously as he does so. I s'pose I 'ave someone to thanks. Well rested after the previous day's exertions, the dwarf stretches out his arms. Perhaps this day would be better than the last. So he thinks, even (or perhaps especially) when the four hostile crew member step up.
"Looks like some of you've 'ad yer faces rearranged before," Boldwin remarks to the group, nodding towards the Rahadoumi man in particular. His hands find their way into his pockets, his fingers looping into the holes of his brass knuckles. "But it wouldn't 'urt to give 'em a touch-up." He pulls his hands out of his pockets, either of them now balled up into fists.
A Mwangi native? The only ones I have encountered were slaves, but this one is surely no slave. She speaks Taldane far too well, and those seem fine clothes to be wearing aboard ship. Ambrose regards Shivikah for a moment and receives her warmly. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Shivikah, and I consider myself fortunate that there might be those aboard this ship who do not take their cues from the likes of our dear Master Scourge. Considering his closest friend is made of braided leather, I would hardly think him the best judge of character." Ambrose smiles wryly at his own joke. "Truly, does the man even have other friends among the crew? I would think his zeal for punishment would only be good for making enemies." Ambrose begins to put up his own hammock as he converses with Shivikah.
He glances at the room, making a cursory check to see that he wasn't being watched. Satisfied of his relative privacy, he sits up in his hammock and begins to study. For the next hour, he is lost to the world, taking up temporary residence in a place both inside his mind and between all worlds, made up of arcane symbols and patterns, seals of magic binding reality together. In that place, he stores those patterns in himself, preparing the energies to be unleashed once again with a simple gesture and a word.
When he again returns to the world his body inhabits, he closes his spellbook and returns it to his coat. Then, taking his coat in his hands, he begins to work some of his prepared magic on it, first restoring it from rags to its original form, and then cleaning it of the salt, water and miscellaneous stains. Satisfied with his work, he goes about magically repairing the rest of his clothes and shines his boots for good measure. It may not be a glamorous evocation or a powerful enchantment, but one should never underestimate the value of a simple mending charm.
Ambrose's upper lip curls into a derisive sneer as the ruffians issue their challenge and he exhales a stream of sulfurous smoke. Responding to Sh'torek out of the side of his mouth, he says, "Fighting has been a punishable offense on every ship I have ever been aboard. I doubt the Wormwood is any different. Defend yourself if you must; we'll all be punished for this as it is."
Looking the woman over he strokes his beard "I donea believe I caught yer name or yer position on the ship aside from helpin' ta get everyone a bit drunk." he smiles "Which I canea say I mind in the least."
1st (2/day)—obscuring mist, remove sickness, read weather
0 (at will)—purify food and drink (DC 12), create water, stabilize
Jagray wakes in the morning after being out a bit later than the rest, talking it up with other members of the crew. At the sight of the other group and their threats he lets the others step up to the front while he moves toward the back of the room Don’t want to give away my hand to early.” He decides to help the others once the fight is over unless things get too bad, at which point he will jump into the fray.
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Jagray (wow!)
Jaundiced Jape the half-orc
Sh'torek and Fipps Chumlett, the pig-faced human
Ambrose
Dhugal
Maheem, the scarred Rahadoumi
"Slippery" Syl Lonegan, the pale woman
Edgard
Boldwin (dwarves at the front and the back, woot woot!)
Sticking to his plan Jagray waits to see how things transpire.
Dhugal cracks his knuckles, "Move fools, and maybe we don't report this to Captain Harrigan."
Intimidate:
Dhugal delays, waiting for their reaction.
Ambrose's upper lip curls into a derisive sneer as the ruffians issue their challenge and he exhales a stream of sulfurous smoke. Responding to Sh'torek out of the side of his mouth, he says, "Fighting has been a punishable offense on every ship I have ever been aboard. I doubt the Wormwood is any different. Defend yourself if you must; we'll all be punished for this as it is."
Sh'torek nods, turning his attention to the pirates. "What reason do you possess for wanting to 'beat the tar' out of us? Did the whip-wielding man order this?"
While it was most certainly inevitable given the conditions, Edgar is actually still passed out as the situation unfolds, and wakes up with a grumble, going so far as to actually roll out of his hammock. Toppling over onto the ground he felt the weight of his hangover, as well as the muffled voices of the new arrivals. Getting to his feet, err, foot, he looked about the group with stark-red eyes, and spat a lougie into one of the nearby corners. Wiping the drool from his mouth he looked about "Eh... So tha whippin' crew finalleh wants'a go at the new blood, eh?" He took a quick, harmless shot from the rum rations as he approached the group.
Feeling around for his gun, he placed a hand inside of his coat, fingers the trigger. Smiling wide, he looked about the group. "I ain't takin no part in 'is. Dunno about the lot'o ye, but if'n yer captain gets word o' this, the lot o' ya'r gonna get keelhauled at best, eh?" he says, laughing up a storm. "Slowly, like tha poor sod yesterday, yeh? Now les' quit bein' foolish'n get to work. We can finish 'is later." he said with a smile.
As he says that, he sees the acid splash whiz through the air and smack against the unfortunate receiver, and he merely sighs a long sigh as he stands about, watching the fight unfold.
"If you've a score to settle with us, there are better ways of resolving them. We're already late as it is. Even if Scourge put you up to this, he'll still whip every last one of you for your trouble. If whatever this is truly need be settled with physical violence, it can wait until evening, and any victory you might enjoy will be all the sweeter for having kept the skin on your backs."
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Ambrose/Sh'torek
"Simply because he is not personable does not mean he is friendless. The man wields power aboard the ship, and is therefore to be feared. Some might think that by appealing to his inclinations, they can curry his favor. I suppose that is something to think about, yes?" Pulling a bandana out, she started to ball it up and then tucked it under her head. "We should not speak too liberally of this for now."
Looking slightly miffed at Sh'torek's question when they all awoke, Shivikah got out of her hammock and said, "My name is Shivikah, and what I do, and where I bunk, is my business and my business alone."
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As Jagray moved backwards just a bit, Sh'torek asked, "What reason do you possess for wanting to 'beat the tar' out of us? Did the whip-wielding man order this?" For his efforts, he was rewarded with the mute half-orc bearing down on him, trying to ram him away from the rest of his fellows with a but failed miserably, setting himself up for a counter-attack.
Dhugal will grapple the half-orc that bull rushed Jagray, attempting to pin him.
Grapple:
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Pleased by the violence that was taking place, the piggy-faced fat human male waded into the donnybrook and swung a ham-fisted that clipped Boldwin's right ear painfully, more an annoyance than a solid blow.
[spoilers=OOC]Sh'torek has an equal initiative as Fipps Chumlett (aka Fatty McPiggyface, as I call him privately, so he can act at that point if he wants, or hold action. For Dhugal and Ambrose, I need to know which action you're planning on doing. I will say that the Intimidate check will happen DURING combat, as the pirate jackholes were pretty much initiating a fight right from the start, and would take a standard action. Likewise, Ambrose's Diplomacy check won't do much against a group of hostile humans/humanoids entering combat, so choose between that and the possible critical Acid Splash.[/spoilers]