Likitt had to admit, this particular cabal of people had guts, or at the very least a sense of foolish defiance that the Frog Prince found amusing. As he observed the Blue One. er... Velvet Abs-a-plenty follow his dumping of the rum and then immediately after assist Airy in her plight, the Grippli nodded in appreciation, "No doubt the stuff will rot our minds and our resistance. It would be a crime to subject ourselves to this filth. I will try to see what Fresh Water I can come up with, but not now... Not in the open."
As he keeps his bulging eyes open, the Rum-enjoyers also appear to be rather chummy with the bosses. Certainly they were old hands and enjoyed their sense of seniority. None of the more hesitant and frightened captives seemed to enjoy the Rum. While he could use it to bribe, it seemed like a difficult plan to cause an old salty to rebel, at least not without good reason. However, the fluttering of a particularly colorful scarf caught his attention, followed by a knowing wink from a redheaded Tall Folk. Paranoid out of his wits, Likitt turned back to the group, hyperventilating as he tries to alert Airy, "Cueball... twenty feat behind me... Wearing that... Kapenya thing."Then after a moment of recollection at the sheer fury of the Sylph, adds, don't let him see you notice. Stay calm and wait..."
Confident in the knowledge that the Sylph will hopefully not make a scene, he turns to the Lady Kieran. The insistence on the name seemed to imply some sort of nobility, but he did not recall anything from his travels. She seemed a good head on her shoulders, although he wondered if the horns caused her to be top-heavy. She also appeared to be one of those fighting wizards that all of the young sailors wanted to aspire to. Derring Do, cunning escapes, Panache and Gung Ho. He had occasionally seen Copper Dreadfuls with stories about them, but these heroes never spoke to the spirits and Likitt was convinced it was a complete falsehood.
Meanwhile, the big bruiser by the name of Bolvak seemed to be evolving into an ideal sailor, cursing and slurring all over. There was a plan in motion and while everything was looking cheerful, Likitt felt too drained to cooperate, "That is all well and good, but I must rest my weary bones. See what information can be had, but don't act sloppy."
Just as you finish dumping the rum, you see Scourge heading your way with a scowl.
As you approach Sandara, you see her whisper something and hold her hand over her rum for a few seconds. The liquid glows briefly before she begins to drink. She looks up, startled, when you get closer. "Oh, hi! You're one of the new recruits, right? How do you like the Wormwood?"
Velvet sees Scourge heading over in his peripheral vision. He smiles and stands up but under his breath he says to his companions "it's been a pleasure but you fine people may want to leave now, I'm about to have a not-fun time. "
"Prestidigitation," Airy explains to Bolvak, "is very versatile. I can clean with it, change the taste of food, chill or warm beverages, change something's color, make small objects... fragile things though."
She purses her lips when her rum gets tossed. It was a bit more obvious than she'd have liked. Perhaps I should have tried to obstruct the view... she thinks as Scourge makes his way over to where the small group is sitting. She tenses up, and her voice is a tiny whisper. "I think we'll both be disciplined for this, Velvet. I'd not have you take all the blame on my account."
Tamesis smirks at Bolvak as he gets up to go talk to...wow. Goes to talk to a very attractive woman with awesome hair. Good for him.
At Velvet's statement, she glances around, eyes finally falling on Scourge's approach. A low growl escapes her throat, and she grimaces slightly at him, her tail twitching in annoyance. Though, all told, she still barely knows these people. No sense in taking a lashing for them just yet. "You sure? Well, alright then. Good luck."
She stands and lays a supportive hand on Velvet's shoulder before making her exit, as well. Spotting the lady with the red hair speaking to Bolvak, a mischieveous smirk crosses her face, and she descends upon them. "Hey Bolvak. Who's your friend? Hi there, I'm Tamesis. Tamesis Kieran."
"Don't mistake sloppy speech for a sloppy mind," Bolvak mutters at Likitt before he departs.
When he got to the priestess' tables, it turned out Bolvak was right for once tonight. She was friendly, and from the looks of her craft, booze had nothing to do with it.
"Sorry to surprise you. But yeah, 'recruit', second time in m' life. Gotta say the first time was better, on account of it got me out of slavery, but, y'know, can't complain." He glances at Bastard Cur, already on the prowl again. "Bolvak, by the way. And you're new, too, or old hand?" He leans in and lowers his voice, "Gotta admit I'm wonderin' if that lil' trick's how you get by. Blessin' of Besmara, if 'm not mistaken?"
Bolvak turns when Tamesis alights at their table. "Well, it isn't just up to me whether the lady's my friend. We only just met." He swivels back to the cleric, praying from the bottom of his roiling stomach that she is in truth some manner of healer. "Tamesis was my employer 'fore Cap'n Harrigan. Bought me drinks, kindly, but never so generous as our good captain." He shoots a smirk back at the tiefling, then deadpans and goes back to his elbows, facing the redhead. "See, we're both able - safe hands, I dare say - but we're still tryin' to get on good footin' here, as of yet." Bolvak spreads his hands palms up - as much as he can in tight quarters - in an appeal to the stranger he hopes is worth the risk.
@Bolvack/Tamesis: The woman gives you an easy smile. "I've been here for 31 days, six hours, and 37 minutes. But who's counting? The name's Quin. Besmara's Acolyte Sandara Quinn, if you're wanting to be formal. It's nice to meet the two of you." She gives you a calculating look for a moment, then nods. "The best way to get along here is to avoid attracting too much attention from the officers and their cronies. Fishguts and Grok are all right, but that's about it. Also..." she pulls a familiar-looking book from under her shirt and slides it over to Tamesis. "... you might want to keep this hidden. I was able to swipe it before Harrigan saw it. He's leery of magic - except for his pet mage, of course. Also, between us women, Scourge likes to get handsey when he's drunk, and your fiery display this morning caught his eye."
Tamesis' eyes widen as she sees the familiar tome. She takes it quickly and holds it behind her, out of sight. Feeling the weight of it alone brightens her spirit.
"Thanks for the heads up. Where did you get this, though? There's a few more things I had on me that I wouldn't mind getting back..."
-Posted with Wayfinder
As soon as Likitt was about to return to a comfortable and truly soothing nap, he noticed that Master Scourge, Sadist Extraordinaire had caught a leery eye and was approaching them with tromping footsteps. In the back of his mind, a small animalistic creature was screaming to run, to flee, to hide in whatever spot he could avoid that whip.
But was that right? Was it just for him to leave other people to suffer like this?
Of course it was!
Still, Prince Likitt could not depart quickly enough and that moment of indecision might declare him courageous, or just a fool.
"Generally, when new crew members ... volunteer ... to join us, their gear's given to Grok. If you ask nicely, she'll probably give it back - for a price."
Scourge closes until he's nose-to-nose with the Undine. "What in the nine Hells do ya' think you're doin' wastin' yer rum! Think yer better than the rest of us or somethin'?"
Tamesis nods and looks over at the indicated half orc, "Nice scar. Any tips on how to deal with her? Or do I just flaunt my heritage and hope it scares her enough?"
She sighs and shakes her head as she finishes, already knowing that pirates probably don't frighten so easily.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Velvet gives Airy an unhappy look when she says she's staying.
Scourge's breath is like a soft, buttery gel. Waves of margarine coloured assault travel an unstoppable oily route into Velvet's no longer velvety nose. It reminded him of that time he was going in for a kiss and the guy laughed too hard and snorted into his face, evacuating his nose of snot that flew right into Velvet's left nostril. Except this time there'd be no graceful recovery or pearl studded apology time piece. Still, one must try one's best, especially now that he was at his worst.
Velvet holds his breath and hopes someone will throw a bucket of water at him because he has no plans of breathing air anytime soon. He looks abashed and a little nervous.
"Certainly not," Velvet answers Scourge, "why I find the rum quite satisfying, a real belly warmer. My, I'm feeling tanked. But look at me floundering, should I scale back? Did you see that looker that just walked past? Now that's a box I'd like to tackle."
Scourge's whip flicks past your face with a loud *SNAP*, and he glares at you, clearly not fooled by your act. "Now listen here, Fishlips. Consider this a warning. Now get your act together afore ya get on me bad side." He stomps away, spitting curses.
Sandara chuckles. "Oh, you don't be needin' to do anything like that! Grok's one of the nice ones. And she been around the block a few times, so don't think that you'll be scarin' her. She likes good booze, so maybe scrounge up some."
Tamesis nods, "I figured as much. Just trying to see if there's a certain angle I might try to approach the issue from. Good booze. Nothing like the swill they made us take, I reckon?"
Her head twists around as the whip cracks, looking in the direction of the confrontation she just avoided. Yeesh.
Velvet sighs in relief in what could have easily gone much worse.
"Well, looks like it's bed time for me, love. "
He winks at Airy then ends his night here. He really doesn't want to push his luck any further tonight.
"Well hold on, r'member what the sylph mage was sayin' about her fav'rite spell, flavouring food? Might be we could stash a few pints of this godsawful lant, have her make it taste like that fine rum that did you in at th' tavern, and swap it with Grok by the portion for to get our gear back." Bolvak turns his head and belches vapours that could clean a wound. "Not like there's anything better t'do with this s@@+, 'less you wanna see if th 'crew likes a fire-breathin' show."
Tamesis' eyes widen as Bolvak makes this revelation, "Oho! Bolvak. You know I can cast that, too. You saw me cleaning myself with it every morning. I already drank mine, though. Bah."
Bolvak blinks at Tamesis, then clamps his hand over his mouth and lowers his head. "You could've made every salty, water-logged piece of hardtack we ate in the Sodden Lands," he mumbles, "taste like that goat curry from Rahadoum."
After a long sigh hisses out from his fingers, he looks back up at her. "At any rate, makes th' whole plan that much easier. You figure that'll be 'nough to get back our gear, Sandara? Or's Grok a lady who likes novelty?"
Tamesis blinks at Bolvak, "Well...yeah. I was. For my food, anyways."
"Obviously," he mutters. "Y'aren't 'n idiot, after all. Many other things, but not 'n idiot."
Thank the spirits that Scourge had been too hasty with his whip and the aim, perhaps marred by an overmuch of rancid rum, veered off. Likitt could not tell whether the misaim had been a clever ploy or merely a fool's strike, but considering what he knew about his new 'boss', it figured he might have enjoyed a bit too much of a careless aim. With brash and bluster, Scourge stormed away and the Prince was free to let forth a weary sigh, muttering, "Fool of a boy. We are prisoners and must buy our freedom with whatever favors we can allow. So kind of you to drop two quarts of favors into the gangplank, when it can be stored... Still, I cannot discount your bluster. Since we've gotten in enough trouble, what's the worst that can happen. Look here, let me see those bottles."
Snatching up Airy and Velvet's bottles as well as his own, he glanced skyward, where his Spirit sat innocously as a toucan could. With a flutter of wings, the colorful bird landed on his shoulder delicately, without a word but with a faint rippling of form, as if broadcasting its unearthly qualities to these set three. One webby hand over the three bottles, Likitt muttered a faint prayer in his native language; a squishy and gutteral sort of croaking that had an oddly pleasant melody to it. From this hand fell a small torrent of water, filling the quarts and the surrounding table with the scent of fresh rainwater with a tinge of oily rum. "As fresh as I could make it... At least you won't shrivel up." Likitt takes a gulp from the freshly conjured water and unceremoniously dumps it on his hands and face in the manner of washing up. The salt made his skin awfully dry, so fresh water was a blessing.
Still, there was much left to do. Without so much as alerting the Outsiders, Likitt rose from his spot and walked towards Tamesis, Bolvak, and Sandara, stopping at the baling bucket to check to see if anyone had thrown out or spit in his rum. Approaching the trio, he remained cautious for those around him but nodded towards the redhead, "You saw beyond my stealth, so I will have to consider you a RIBBIT comrade or get whipped doubly. I am Likitt, and I speak for the Seas."
And with the utmost of courtesy, he sweeps his cloak aside in a courtly bow, something mildly ridiculous on such a small body, but having some sense of nobility about it.
Sandara grins. "You have good heads on your shoulders. I can see that Besmara's favor is upon me. Grok fancies herself a 'connoisseur' when it comes to booze. I don't think she knows what the word means, but it's actually rather accurate in her case. Novelty's good, but the best way into her heart is something that looks real fancy-like."
Sandara smiles in amusement at the awkward tiny frog man. "It's nice to meet you, Likitt. I am Sandara, and I speak for Besmara." After making sure the four of you aren't being observed, she leans in closer and lowers her voice. "You haven't been with us for long, but I think you've got a good idea of what your life is going to be for the foreseeable future. It's not the life I would have chosen for myself, that's for sure. This place is a real s*@$hole. Unfortunately, unless enough people care a whole awful lot, nothing's going to get better. It's not."
Tamesis nods and smiles at Sandara as Likitt approaches, "Thank you for the information, miss Sandara. Now, if you'll excuse me, lets see what kind of progress I can make on getting the rest of my stuff back..." She gives a slight bow and exits the conversation, making her way over to where the half-orc sits. As she grows near, she gives Grok a smile and a nod, "Hello there. You're Grok, right? I was told you might be the one who would know about some items that were taken off of my person last night?"
Grok returns your nod. "I wouldn't know about any items of yours, but you're always welcome to check out my wares. We're closed for the night, though."
Tamesis smirks, "Uh huh. I get how it goes. Thing is, a few of those items, the ones taken off of me, they've been bathed in my blood. My, ah..." She spreads her arms and looks down at her blood red skin, to emphasize her point,"...DAEMONIC blood. The Kieran line carries a rather potent heritage, after all. I don't envy anyone else who tries to wield or keep those items."
She smirks, though attempts to show some concern, "The longer they're outside of my possession, the more likely it is for the corruption to spread and bring disaster down upon someone's head. Usually I wouldn't care, but considering I now have a vested interest in the well-being of this vessel, I just want to ensure that the worst be averted..."
Aha! Besmara. Likitt has noticed a tendency for the Tall Folk to bundle up spirits of certain locations or climes under a single name, calling them Gods and one of their names for the Spirits of the ocean was Besmara; The Pirate Queen. Many of his shipmates... Scratch that, Former Shipmates used to pray to Besmara to keep their travels free of squalls, swashbucklers, or other such nasty impediments to sea travel. The Grippli in his enlightenment, allowed others their perception of the deity, as it didn't hurt the spirits any. Even the fact that she seemed to rhyme spontaneously didn't bother Prince Likitt much. After all, anyone on this ship for too long would be driven at least slightly insane. "Then a warm greetings to you, speaker of Besmara. It is good to see those with reverence. Sir Bolvak, since it would be less-than-subtle for me to carry a bucket my size, I relocated a portion of our daily drink into the bucket five feet to your immediate right. Use at your leisure, or throw it out with the swabwater. I am beyond such foul substances."
The young prince's smile broadens as he steps backwards, moving towards the cabins. His legs were leaden as they moved and he knew if he did not get a proper sleep, the next day's climb would be excruciating. As much as he'd like to court favor, it would have to be another day. He could rest today and save finding the Lost Grippli Empire for tomorrow... Or perhaps it would just be another day of line rigging. Only the mercurial seas could answer that question.
Airy lets out a breath she had been holding once Scourge arrived, happy that the confrontation hadn't left either her or Velvet whipped into unconsciousness. It went much better than she expected, and she smiles in acknowledgement to Velvet as he departs. She longed to follow and sleep away this nightmare, but it would do her no good in the long run. As tired as she felt, she's in it to win it, and winning it starts with making friends. I've only failed at it the whole time I've been in port, how hard could it be? Hope our lessons work out here, Velvet.
She looks about to see who's the best candidate. A lot of people look unfriendly or outright hostile to her. One is wearing her kapenya, he will have to die special. The officer that beat her is somewhere, and avoiding Plugg and Scourge sound like great ideas, elsewise she'll end up in awkward situations. Her other swabs seem like the best place to start, but the friendly one is already being chatted up by the red-skinned hottie (hah!) and Bolvak.
Maybe that halfling? She looks nice. How would Velvet start the conversation? she thinks as her eyes settle upon Rosie Cusswell. An interesting last name. Hello! Five silver for a talk, more'll cost extra? No, that would give the wrong impression...
Airy sighs and stands to just walk over to Rosie and begin the conversation with a tried-and-true method; one that she has hammered out from months of study and people watching and questions to Velvet. "Hello!"
Bolvak nods at Sandara’s advice. “Spruce up the looks and taste, then. Prob’ly smell, too. Sounds like a can-do, with a lil’ teamwork.” As for her enlightened rundown on the Wormwood being as piss-awful as it seemed, between the corrupt and cowed, the only thing he feels on the same plane as relief is the knowledge that he hadn't fallen into pessimism after all. “To each their own. Even if we gotta give it to 'em.”
Likitt’s grandiloquent parting brings a smirk to his chapped lips, though. “Your generosity is truly boundless, m’lord,” he says, before he stoops in his seat to hook an arm around the grippli’s moist neck. Sticky, in fact. Bolvak’s still sober enough to press on past the damp surprise – the slime’s not shocking, but it sure isn’t regal – and whisper to his new friend. “Keep it up; that foulness is th’ ticket t’ gettin’ our gear back.” He taps his nose and leaves Froggie with a gentle pat on the shoulder. Best not splat their new bootlegger. As he watches the wee fellow go, he hopes the few crewmates drunk to reeling won’t either.
Glancing back at the bucket intermittently, Bolvak goes on chatting with Sandara for a while. When some nearby rowdies decamp, he gives her a knowing smile and shuffles off with a quick goodnight. Bucket in hand a moment later, he descends to find himself a hammock, and grabs a scrap of canvas along the way. He lies down with the rum shrouded and hidden a few feet from his head. Depending on the bucket, it might even be oak-aged by morning.
Grok blanches white for a fraction of a second, but she recovers quickly. "Daemonic corruption, you say? I thought Tieflings didn't actually have that. Or are ya one of those 'special' ones? What kind of s*%&'s gonna happen?"
The pretty halfling lass unleashes a torrent of curses as she turns around. "SHUT THE F*$% UP, YOU F+~!ING C&%!! I TOLD YOU NOT TO F*&@ING BOTHER ... I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. You're one of the newbies, right?" That certainly explains where she got her name....
Tamesis suppresses a smirk as she sees the color drain out of Grok's face. At the question, she decides to drop down next to her, forseeing a need for some further conversation, "Special? You could say that. You remember the stories of Ciar Kieran? The Black Skull, they called him? Ate the souls of his enemies, slaughtered entire crews, left only one crewmember alive from each captured ship on a life boat, just to tell his tale? He was descended from Szuriel, the Horseman of War. One of the Four Horsemen, the rulers of all Daemonkind. And he was my great-grandfather. So, yeah. You could say I'm "special." Their blood runs in my veins."
She reclines back a bit and sighs, "You know, I never had anyone keep a hold of my stuff long enough to find out. Szuriel's dominion is over War, though, obviously. Fire and destruction. I'm sure you can extrapolate form there."
Airy's large eyes widen with surprise and panic when the halfling begins her tirade, and her two-hand grip on her rainwater quart tightens. Her eyes dart to and fro while she goes over the scenario in her head, trying to find out where she went wrong. Perhaps 'hello' is a grave insult in halfling? Maybe she should have went with Velvet's greeting instead. She was never called a c@%+ before! Why was making friends so hard?
She snaps out of her thoughts a few moments after the halfling asks her question and it pierces through the panic in Airy's mind. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you with my greeting. I didn't know it was an insult in halfling!" she says. Her voice matches the panic in her eyes. "But yes, I was... recruited. Last night. They took my tattoo work and everything."
Grok listens intently as you explain your heritage. "Sounds like that stuff's bad news, then. I should probably toss it over the side. Yeah..." she nods to herself decisively. "... that'll make sure any corruption and stuff happens far away from me. Hey, thanks for the warning. Wha'd you say your name was?"
Rosie looks slightly confused. "Insult? No, you're fine. I thought you were one of those motherf@&+ing s@#*bagging b$$+*es who stole my fiddle. I got no beef with you newbies. You do tattooing, huh? That's pretty keen. Think you could hook me up?"
Tamesis shrugs, "Tamesis. Tamesis Kieran. And I suppose that's one idea. IF you can remember exactly what I brought on board, and if you can be sure that any corruption hasn't spread to the rest of your stock. Or to the ship itself. I can't help you if that's the case."
She leans back, moving her hand before her eyes while stating in Daemonic, "Покажите мне магию." Her eyes glisten and glow with inner light, behind their mirrored surface, and she takes a moment o look Grok up and down before making a dismissive gesture in front of her eyes. The glow immediately fades.
"What I can tell you, at least, is that you aren't corrupted. Not yet, at least. And I can say that the last time someone came into contact with my blood, no disaster befell either of us once I reclaimed it. In fact, he's right over there." She turns and points to where Bolvak is chatting up Sandara.
Once more, she sighs, "I know you probably hear a lot of sob stories from people who get 'volunteered' for service. Me, personally? I just don't want to get accidentally killed. Not before I can live up to my grandfather's legend. So, what say you scratch my back, and I scratch yours? Help me get my stuff back, I'll look over your stock to make sure nothing else is corrupted, and we'll even say I owe you one. A favor, to be returned at any time. What do you say?"
Airy's face lights up. Someone wants some of her tattoos! "Well, yes! I can fit you with some ink. I did all of mine! Mostly... some just appeared. Just as soon as I get my tools and..." Airy's voice begins to grow quieter as she talks, and her excitement tapers off, "inks and designs and don't die."
She pauses and perks up again, almost as quickly as she made herself sad previously. "Your fiddle? You're a performer? Who stole your fiddle?" she pauses again, "I'll give you a tattoo for a song, how's that sound? Once I get all of my things and you get your fiddle, that is. I love fiddles, and they're great for parties."
You detect the traces of magic somewhere within the area of your spell Grok looks relieved that she's untouched by corruption and thinks for only a few moments. "I think that can be arranged. Swing by my shop tomorrow and make sure everything's fine. If it's good, I'll hold onto that favor."
Rosie frowns. "That thundercunt, Grok, and her f#&!ing dickweasel, Kroop. They said my music sucked ass, and I didn't deserve to have it. Motherf!#$ing t$&*s, that's what they are."
Tamesis nods and smiles, "Sounds like a plan. I'll see you tomorrow. For now, I need some sleep."
She stands, give Grok one last nod, and heads for the bunks. Once there, she looks for a place to hide or lock up her spellbook before climbing into a bunk and slipping off to sleep.
"That's not very nice of them. You're very creative with your cursing. I'd imagine your fiddle would be just as musical! Which one is Kroop? Is that the one that's wearing my scarf?" she pauses again, and seems to be putting a lot of effort in to picking her words. Maybe too much effort! Overthinking! And overthinking if she's overthinking! "You curse a lot. I know someone in my family that does that. Grandma was a fun one. It's nice, but why?"
Rosie laughs. "Kroop? He's the cook! Nice guy, but he doesn't like my music for some b@@$&&*$ reason." She furrows her brow, puzzled by your other question. "Why not? I speak my mind, and that's a fact! I ain't the type to go pussyfooting around; that just gets ya in trouble later."
"Speaking your mind... doesn't get you in trouble?" Airy's confusion is apparent. "Speaking freely always seems to go south on me. I have to pay people not to run!"
Rosie laughs. "That's because you're not as diplomatic as I am! What you say doesn't matter, as long as you have a winning personality. Just look at me!"
It's also possible that Rosie isn't all the way there right now. She seems to honestly believe that she can do no wrong.
"Not as cute, either, and I'm sure that helps!" Airy sips from her mug of rainwater. It may not be the freshest water she's ever had, but in the current situation it may as well be the finest of spring waters for how delicious it tasted to the parched sylph. "I should go lie down..." She pauses, and realizes she had never actually asked the halfling's name. She's the worst at this! "I'm sorry, I don't think we've given our names. I'm Airy."
"Rosie," the halfling replies. "Hit me up when you're ready to do my tattoo."
average 14
The night passes uneventfully, and you awaken shortly before the morning bell. As you head toward the ladder to the main deck, however, you're stopped by a quartet of sailors: Aretta Bansion, Fipps Chumlett, Jaundiced Jape, Slippery Syl. Fipps, still wearing Airy's scarf, pushes the thin Sylph back with a nasty grin. "And where might you be heading off to in such a hurry?"
Airy is very easy to push back. It's somewhat like a feather attempting to resist the force of a crumbling brick wall. She scrambles back five feet away from Fipps and shoots him a withering glare. "Couldn't just leave well enough alone?"
A ball of acid forms in her hands and she throws it at Fipps.
Tamesis stands at the bow of a great ship, looking out over the dark sea. The sky is black with clouds, occasionally broken with flashes of lightning. No, not lightning. Something burning, falling through the cloud cover, never reaching the waves. Tamesis gazes off at the invisible horizon, feeling the movement of the ship under her, more natural than hard ground ever felt. As the cold wind passes over her exposed skin, she knows her destiny is out there, somewhere, in those stormy waters.
Silently, another figure steps up next to her, on her left. Unlike Tamesis' very minimal attire, he is dressed to the nines, at least as far as pirates are concerned. Fine leather breeches and oilskin boots, a full coat with tails over an adamantine chain shirt and white gloves. He removes his tricorne hat, revealing a hairless head with skin as black as coal. His face is sunken, almost hollow, but his eyes glow and burn like flames.
Tamesis turns her head to glance at her great-grandfather, and he turns to look at her in turn. He opens his mouth to speak to her, but she is unable to hear what he has to say. She cocks her head, trying to listen to his words, but again and again, something prevents her from making them out. Growing frustrated, she turns to ask him to speak up...
...and snaps awake. She rubs her eyes, focusing her mind for a long moment. Strange dream. Vivid. Shaking the sleep out of her head, she retrieves her spellbook from wherever she managed to stash it before sleep, and starts looking over it. Detect Magic, she needs to keep up the show for Grok. Prestigitiation can wait. She's still fairly clean, and the food wasn't THAT horrible last night. Ray of Frost is a better option. No material component, and still able to cause some hurt when it needs to. Discarding the uncast fire spell from her mind, she decides on Shocking Grasp foe her big blast of the day. Never know when those will come in handy.
As the rest of the crew starts arising and heading for the deck, Tammy stores her spellbook once more and rolls out of her hammock to join the others. And then a couple of idiots had to start getting handsy. As the leader shoves Airy, Tamesis' hand comes up, quickly starting to crackle with electricty as she commands, "Поездка молнии!"
When the sylph steps back, the tiefling replaces her, her hand darting forward to deliver a jolt to the fat idiot who dares to stand against her and her allies!
As amusing as it was that these jumped-up cronies decided to start their morning by trying to hold Bolvak back from roll call with their bare hands (so far as he sees, anyway), the fun ends when the sylph's pushed. Besides the fact that she's the only means besides Tamesis to bribe Grok, this harassment is Bastard Cur's brand of self-indulgent cruelty seeping down to where Bolvak lives. Figuratively, anyway. If they'd tried to say good morning a few minutes ago down in hammocktown, he would've turned Chumlett into chumlettes with his g*+@#@n teeth.
Possessed of the virtue of clear-headedness now, though, Bolvak remembers what Harrigan said about killing crew. With acid and lightning already crisping up Fipps' hide like the pig he is, the brawler aims for a knockout instead of a deathblow. To each their own, after all.
Roiling seas flashed across Likitt's mind as he found himself lost, adrift in the mightiest storm these waters had faced, a tempest that could only manifest in the deepest crevaces of the mind. As the sleeping prince tossed and turned in his bunk, the dreaming figment of Likitt struggled to keep adrift of the waves. No familiar in sight, he feared that he was lost to the spirits that he worshiped.
Then, from the corner of his fading vision, bright slips of light amidst the ebon waves, bodies, amphibian and gorgeous, flowing through the surf like a Grippli might climb trees. In his heart of hearts, he knew them to be the Ancient Grippli, adorned in gold and racing through the seas as fast as any vessel. As he reached out for their aid to stay above the surf, he could see in the brief flashes of thunder that they were laughing, mocking his ineptitude. What a foolish frog this was, they chanted chidingly, Thinking that he could roam the seas of old. As life drained from his lungs, Likitt could faintly see the three brightly colored figments in the distance; so many mirages in the night.
Jolting awake with a croak of surprise, he found himself in his bunk upon a rolling surf, not sunken beneath it. It was simply a dream, was all it was... What comfort and relief, but was it perhaps the Spirits trying to send a message? Glancing at his Familiar, Pauline, he rests a slimy hand upon its shimmering aqueous form and closes his eyes, vocal sac bulging faintly in a prayer... He still lacked the power to invoke many spells, since he lost all the little ritual bits for some of the stronger magics, but he still held a few spells which could be cast on the fly... Cause Fear He was in a place of great danger, and to scare away Scourge at least for while enough to hide would benefit. No one seemed in danger of dying at the very least, so perhaps Touch of Fatigue could serve a purpose instead of his Revival Orison. He still help onto his healing, mostly out of paranoia that one of this new comrades might get keel hauled and need a rapid rejuvenation.
Traveling in the group, Likitt found it surprising when his party was stopped by a group of toughs. More specifically, the skinhead with a scarf and various cronies, the literal cutthroat half-orc, a ill-at-humor halfling who probably could only count to seven, and a woman who he noticed seemed reaaaaally interested in talking to her daggers while they were working. A merry crew of ridiculous villains, no doubt. Likitt loathed the idea of picking a fight, but it seemed inevitable.
On the plus side, he did not have to regret preparing Fear...
Letting his vocal sac engorge to an enormous degree, Likitt's eyes seemed to bulge as he croaked the intonations of his spell, feet shuffling in the complex tribal dance as his mental magic began to wrap around "Slippery" Syl Lonegan. "Félelem vezet a düh , a harag vezet a gyűlölet , gyűlölet vezet a szenvedés." In the mind of the already slightly mad woman, an image of the Frog Prince grows to monstrous levels, bulging and ichor dripping as an armada of flies swarm out of the amphibian's opened mouth. The woman seemed none too capable in the mental faculties, so flooding her mind and disabling her knife hand seemed the wisest plan. Likitt was no fighter, but he had other means to contribute.
Velvet thinks of his old life while lying awake in what passed for a bed. It was no secret, he was not the shiniest fish in the bowl. Almost every other employee had a more stable, and generous, client base. Sure he knew how to read the body language and no one was a better listener, but a lot of people were just not into the webbed ears. Frankly, everyone else was just more experienced and better at naturally creating that comfortable atmosphere that made the client want to drop all their cash as well as undergarments.
He sighs and slowly rolls over. Maybe this is a good thing, a new start, no comfortable niche to get stagnant in. Get all the booty, or get dead. I have to make friends, get the connections, find my place then get a better one. Velvet gets up and takes a swig of frog water, he swallows his nerves with it.
He makes his way to the main deck and happens to meet up with that arrogant name dropping red Tiefling and that huge, bulky, turkey lover on the way. He tips his head slightly and puts two fingers to his temple in greeting while quirking a smile. Powerful friends are good friends. The prince frog shows up too, a water spell means he has others and it'd be good to find out what they are.
By the ladder to the main deck is Airy. She looks frail but Velvet knows what she can do. He also knows how much that scarf means to her that one of a group of less-than-desirables is wearing, oh s!*& now he's getting pushy. He shouldn't do that, of course she's going to overreact and do something astoundingly foolish like- yes, that was a ball of acid she just threw at him. Okay this may be salvageable, if he can step in front quickly enough he can convince the group to leave her alone lest they get more acid in the face and-nope. Nope, looks like Tammy is fired up and throwing electricity. Yikes, do these people not know the punishment for murder around here? And that guy, Fipps, smells like he is well done. well, maybe it's not that bad? Yeah, he's probably still kind of ok so maybe-no, nope, he just got socked in the gut by that huge human. Whatever his name is. Yeah, Fipps is probably not ok now.
Still, beating the s*%% out of one guy is a good scare tactic for the rest. This could serve to establish a reputation for this little group of coloured crew. This could keep them safe, as long as Fipps isn't dead.
Ok, Velvet thinks, this is fine. I just have to step in and tell these idiots this is what happens if they harass any one of us and they might just run away and leave us alone. Alright, I- oh hell, what the f~@& did LickFace just do to the Slippery One? Oh...f*&! it.
Velvet leaps forward and throws a left hook into the face of that big-earred human, Aretta Bansion. He might as well go all in for a good fight, commit to this madness and then maybe feel more sane in the sun.
Before he has a chance to blink, Fipps is burned and jolted hard. He looks confused and pained before Bolvak puts him out of his misery with a powerful punch. At the same time, Likitt's little dance stirs a powerful emotion in Syl. She utters a guttural shriek and charges ... back up the ladder to the main deck .
With their leader unconscious and their insane ally fleeing, things are looking grim for the would-be bullies. When Velvet hits Aretta hard enough to loosen teeth, their will to fight is broken. Aretta and Jape quickly withdraw, leaving the five of you in peace.
Combat is Over
Velvet lands a solid hit on Aretta. He sees the chance to throw an uppercut at Syl before she darts up the ladder, but he lets her go. These guys may be impulsive and violent, but that doesn't mean he has to needless incur the wrath of someone who looks like they'll hold a nasty grudge. A long lasting, knifey grudge.
He looks back at the group, "Don't know about you lot, but I'm getting my fine ass up top before morning bell." Velvet winks at Lickett and quickly heads up the ladder.