Malgrim raises a brow as he pauses to consider the tasks at hand. "I would be willing to aid in clearing the green from afar. However, I was unsure if it would be wise; I have heard that there are creatures in this gods damned blackness that would be curious at the sound and investigate." He shrugs. "Either way, I will make use of some of the ballast from the hull, to give me strength."
While not strictly necessary, the feel of the worn ballast stones give Malgrim an anchor, a sense of relaxation amidst the rolling waves. Hefting several pieces the size of his fist, with a mental command he sets the rocks to spinning around him like a constellation for a momment, before gently setting them down in a circle around him.
Each rock in harmony with the other. I shall weather this storm.
He turns to stand watch over the sea, drawing and coalescing together hurled boulders as needed by the crew.
Caerador sets himself in a lazy patrol along the stern of the ship. He stands ready to help defend the crew and his companions against any threats that may come. Though feeling out of his element on the ship, he cannot help but chuckle when Raim has oars lashed to his arms and is commanded to row. The image of the rotting corpse ceaselessly rowing himself out to sea when he leaves the earshot of his master seems extremely comical.
If Raim notices Caerador's amusement, he gives no indication of it. His face remains as soggy and impassive as ever.
Please see Discussion Thread for more rules.
The crew of The Audacious knows how to take orders. After Captain Barbosa's speech, the crew begins to scurry to and fro, preparing the tug, lashing timbers for the raft, and retrieving weapons.
Two rafts are dropped over the bow, and secured just below the figurehead of a sultry mermaid. The crew hack and slash the mats allowing the tug crew a clear path to move the large ship.
Trying to position themselves under the shade of the makeshift canopy, the tug crew begins to pull and rock to a steady rhythm. At first the going is tough as overcoming the inertia is nigh on impossible. A heave and a ho, and the ship slowly starts to move through the calm waters. Back aches, trembling thighs, and strained arms quickly tire out the first group of pullers, and clumsily the second shift scampers in vacated benches and grab the oars to preserve as much momentum as possible.
Before long, Slimefish carries out a bucket of slop and water to the tug crew. Those left on deck eye the food warily, but bad food is better than no food. One-Footed Dave is too smart to bring the food out to the rowers himself, but busies himself carrying an second slop bucket and water to the crew on board.
As the crew holds out their trenchers, he flops some into their bowls. More wood shows than actual stew, One-Footed Dave taking the captain's rationing seriously.
Malgrim looks at the slops, then at the others' portions, then back to Dave. In a quiet, dangerous voice he whispers back, "I am no stranger to hunger. Or prejudice. Yet, I would not expect it from those I would fight to protect. I have known many small men, yet you are perhaps tinier than a pebble."
Arimar looks on as the rowers wipe the sweat from their brows. He wonders to himself why Benaiah insists upon wearing his armor to row - or at sea full stop. Presumably the man is still worried about an attack.
"Come back in!" he cries out to the tuggers, "If you insist upon wearing that foolish suit of metal, at least let me alleviate the heat for you! Working five or so hours... I think I can help four of your crew."
As the crew returns to the boat, Arimar grasps his amulet once more. He doesn't even try to hide who his is - the crew will either figure out he's a cleric, or won't care. If they survive this sargassum, then they likely won't tell anyone who cares. If they ask who his patron is... well, they can assume all they like but Arimar won't tell them.
"Communal endure elements," he chants when they are back on deck.
The heat is suddenly gone from the rowers. A cooling sensation washes over them as their skin and body temperatures return to normal. In contrast to the extreme heat they experienced before, it no doubt feels like a wonderfully cold splash of water on a burn.
Speaking of... Arimar drenches himself once more with a simple create water spell.
"Are you four still here?" Arimar asks the crew of the tug as cool liquid runs down his body and onto the deck, "You've got work to do! Tug, tug, tug!"
Fisheye, Plank, and Chicken Gizards feel the preventative magics rush over them. The stop what they are doing and look up at Arimar.
"Many thanks priest." Fisheye and Plank say at the same time.
"Better. I will repay you someway." Chicken Gizzards declares before nodding his head.
The men then return to the monotonous pull and heave of tugging the mighty ship through the calm waters.
The day passes uneventfully other than tired muscles, and some odd sea life swimming around the mats that the tugging and cutting crew see.
As the crew return to the ship, Mistress Lanvi’s lady gathers you up and asks you to accompany her to Mistresses’ cabin.
Crowding into her lavish, yet tiny cabin, the companions search for a place to sit or stand comfortably. Mistress Lanvi turns form a petite writing desk, ”So I hear that you all volunteered to help out the crew. Just to be clear, you are all currently in my employee you are in breach of contract. Do not mistake me for a petulant child. I understand fully the peril we are in, and I do not disapprove of you taking matters into your own hands to solve this crisis. Furthermore, I know that by doing this you are technically protecting me.
“Yet the fact remains that you all have quickly, and without any forethought for me or my safety, placed yourselves subservient to this ship’s captain and crew. In the future, I shall be consulted first. And then, and only then, shall you volunteer for these types of things.
“Now, what preparations have you made for my well-being should anything afoul arise while you are playing your rowing games?”
|
Benaiah begins to feel the cumulative strain of pulling the boat in his shoulders and back. He keeps a stoic face however, unwilling to let any sign of weakness show to the three stools he shares the boat with.
$%&# me, this isn't worth full rations. Why did I think I needed to show these chumps up? the thought comes unbidden into his mind many times, often in rhythm with his pulls. His doubts about his choice are only the beginning of the spiral of fatigue as the work begins to overcome his desire to best the others in this impromptu feat of strength and endurance.
When the others are getting their water and scarfing down some food, Benaiah secretly begins to take his strength enhancing potions, eventually not caring if they see him.
A mutated pair of clawed hands grips the oars, pulling with more ease than previously. Benaiah ignores strange looks from the others at his mutagenic transformation, though with the extra pull on the oars, no one is stupid enough to say anything. At least not yet. The exhausting activity has sufficiently quelled everyone's desire to appear the most manly.
Benaiah cannot hide the crestfallen look on his face.
I thought we did the right thing! Now I'm in trouble for it?
He bites his lip, holding back the initial wave of frustration at the apparent failure to uphold his duties.
I won't make that mistake twice...
"You won't have to worry about it milady. I will be by your side. Or, as close as you need me to be. Nothing will get past me to threaten you." Benaiah hangs his head slightly, appropriately cowed by the powerful woman. "What ever you need boss."
"Lemme just go get my armor..."
"Three of us are remaining behind on the ship to guard from external threats," Arimar says, "But you exceed your remit if you think you can dictate to us how we see to your safety. I am not your f+#*ing slave. You will survive this, and you will pay us what you owe. If you want more than that, we need to renegotiate. Your tïts haven't hypnotized me." Arimar casts a sideways glance at Benaiah before storming out.
Malgrim closes his eyes as he considers the Mistress' words, idly twirling two fist sized rocks in a small circuit a few inches from his fingers. Finally he looks up, and answers in a quiet voice.
"If you wished for underlings that were incapable of showing initiative, you should have kept with Raim. However, I imagine that you would currently be a guest back in Absalom. In the meantime, unless you wish to swim, while we remain on this godscursed ship our fates are intertwined with that of the crew."
A thought strikes him, and he looks to her with a curious look. "Besides, the exact particulars of our employment were never settled upon. A gentleman's agreement, remember? We are merely delivering you to your destination in the best way we see fit."
"They may call themselves men but they are actually just large boys." she signs audibly as Arimar and Benaiah storm off. "It seems that they older they get the less they can take correction."
She turns to Malgrim and Caerador, "It seems that you are the only two that can keep a level head. I will take note of that. And what is with Benaiah following Arimar like a puppy dog? Is he in love with that strange necromancer? No matter to me or my employment, just trying to figure out how you all work." she shakes her head.
"So back to the matter at hand, I am not sure if it was what I said or how I said it, but the message was to consult me before pledging allegiance to others, not that you all shouldn't be helping out. What is done is done.
"Tell me, what the plan is to protect me as we cut through these mats and pull through these Dead Calms?"
"George! Get over here." he scowls.
"Y-y-yes sir?" George scampers over as quickly as he can. He takes the expression on Benaiah's face as an ill omen and veritably cringes in anticipation of some undeserved punishment.
Arimar seethes outside for a moment and then he remembers the confused and embarrassed look on Benaiah's face, and sees what might be in store for the poor deck hand. The Church of Urgathoa wasn't very good at teaching me how to have decent personal relationships. Religious selfishness doesn't leave a whole lot of room for other people.
"I am sorry, Benaiah," Arimar says, signalling the man to come over (away from the hapless George) for a conversation, "I do not respond well to being scolded when helping out. It goes against the Church's teachings, you know. We're supposed to look out for ourselves. I was feeling guilty enough for doing it in the first place, and her diatribe hit home. Also, she's not paying us well enough for me to say 'yes miss, of course miss, three bags full, miss'.... and it's okay if you are okay with that, too. They are really nice tïts." Arimar risks a soft jab in Benaiah's ribs.
"So, what do you say? Should we go back in there and stop Malgrim and Caerador from agreeing to the-Princess-knows-what?" Arimar smirks.
|
|
"Wait right there. You're going to help me put my armor on." Benaiah stops at Arimar's call, and turns back to the Aasimar.
"In a minute." He says out of the side of his mouth as he strides back where he came from.
Eventually as he approaches the pale cleric, he begins to chuckle. "It never dawned on me until just now why Valsin detested you so much. You never put up with his spit and vinegar routine! Ha!"
"So what do we tell her about a plan to defend her? I figured as long as one of us was close by she would be fine. She seems safe enough in her quarters, as long as no one can get in."
"Yeah, he was such a c-unt wasn't he?" Arimar deliberately misses the point his friend is trying to make, "But yeah, let's go back in."
Arimar walks purposefully back into Lanvi's quarters and nods to Caerador and Malgrim before addressing Mistress Lanvi. "Benaiah talked me into coming back in," he lies transparently / convincingly, "Besides, I couldn't leave these two at your mercy."
The necromancer gives his friends an almost apologetic grin and continues, "If it please Her Majesty, we will be continuing along with the way we've been going. Benaiah and Raim will continue to pull the boat along, I will continue to cool and hydrate the crew and we will, for the most part, be here ready to fend off any attackers."
Arimar frowns for a bit, "Actually, Benaiah, do you really need to be out there rowing? Raim is tireless and the others seem to be doing a passable job without you. I know I'd feel better having you at our backs rather than on a tugboat. Besides, Malgrim is offering more than enough help with those rocks of his. Very nice work, there, by the way!"
"Tell me, what the plan is to protect me as we cut through these mats and pull through these Dead Calms?"
Malgrim allows his floating stress ballast to float to the floor as he regards their employer. "Protect you? Our greatest threat as I see it is external; whether monstrous or maritime. I will continue to clear the path as needed and keep alert for any that would attack us while we are dead in the water. Is there something more you would request?"
Caerador stands, slight smirk cracking his countenance, silently taking in the exchanges between Arimar, Benaiah, and Mistress Lanvi. Once Arimar's Amygdala Hijack has passed, the pale Elf takes a moment to reassure his employer.
"If it will make you feel more safe Mistress, I will stand guard on deck near the entrance below decks; the only way to your quarters. If we are assaulted by some unknown threat, I will let you know what it is and remind you to stay in your quarters before I react."
After Arimar gives Benaiah his opinion on his toil, Caerador nods and surveys the sweating, dirty giant of a man.
"Agreed, Arimar. Benaiah, you might reconsider where you would be best serving the ship... He gives a slight gesture to Lanvi with his head while throwing a playful elbow into Arimar's ribs "...not to mention 'Her Majesty'."
"Ah boys. Your egos so easily bruised. Yes we can all agree that the Dead Calms are our biggest threat, yet you all were so excited to tug and throw stones that I believed that you had forgotten about me.
"In time, should we all survive this, you will come to realize that I am a fair employer, yet employer I am. You first thoughts should go to me, and in the future it might be best for you to reaffirm that by simply telling me your designs.
"I am not your milk maid to coddle you and feed you from my teats, though I am sure some of you might wish to recreate that, but nonetheless, I need to be at least a consideration.
"So to the matter at hand, if you will please, inform me of your plans and any contingencies that I should be away of. I feel it is unnecessary to post a vigil at my cabin door for the entirety of the voyage, but it is best to know your plans so I am be prepared."
"So, let's all stay aboard The Audacious tomorrow. No more tugging," Arimar cannot manage to suppress yet another grin at the crass double entendre, "I think above decks is the best place to get a view on any approaching threats. I will prepare spells to ward of both heat and fatigue... but this will make me less useful in a fight than I already am." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arimar's pride suffers, but he pushes down the sensation in favor of practicality and the honest truth.
"Do you three think I should keep Raim on rowing duty, or would he be of more use guarding the ship?" he asks his friends, "I'm inclined to leave him where he is, but I can be swayed."
|
|
"Leave Raim on the tugboat I say." Benaiah says with a crooked grin. "That was my favorite part of the day yesterday. Plank would say something to Raim, because somehow the brute doesn't realize he is dead. Then the gillman would yell out of frustration, 'he's dead Plank! Dead!'" Benaiah begins to chuckle bringing the memory back up.
"And every single time, Plank would shoot back, 'Don't you threaten 'im you stupid fish lips! That's my friend!'"
Benaiah can hardly hold back his laughter now.
"Ahhh, it was funny every time. Anyways, I think it's safe to say that Raim is safe on the tugboat under the protective wing of the Plank. The half-orc and gillman won't admit it, but his tireless pull is a boon on that thankless job."
After a brief pause, Benaiah claps his hands together, unsure how else to change subjects dramatically. "Well if I ain't cutting, and I ain't pulling, I'll suit up first thing tomorrow morning," Benaiah ignores the strange looks from his companions, "and ferry the water and supplies to the laborers hacking their way through this mess. That way I am on deck if something happens, and still helping to get us out of here."
After weathering the incredulous looks for wanting to don his full plate armor long enough, he finally responds, "It's not like the waves out here are going to tip me over the edge. And even if I do end up overboard somehow..." he trails off, patting his magically enhanced concoctions strapped to his chest, leaving the implication hanging in the air.
”Thank you for including me in your plans. As I mentioned before, you are all quite capable, or I would not have hired you for this mission. I trust you to make the right decision.” She turns back to her small writing desk. Her tone is polite, but the companions know that they have been dismissed.
As the exit and shut the door behind them they can hear loud, coughing wracks from inside the room.
As they proceed back to their quarters they see Chicken Gizzards leading Fish Eye and Plank. Chicken Gizzards walks up to Armiar. ”Priest. These two imbeciles behind me were too afraid to approach you, but not me. I have no fear.
“Your curative magics made it possible for us to work in the unforgiving conditions. We ask that you help us out again on the morrow, for the good of the ship. Should you require compensations, well, we’re are frugal men that live a simple life.” He turns to look at Fish Eye and Plank, raising his brows above his mucus covered eyes.
Fish Eye and Plank both begin at the same time, ”Can give you half my rations.” the men intone together. Judging by the pained expression, they are either severely constipated or reluctant to offer him this.
”Think it over. We shall see you in the morning before the day’s heat. Benaiah, your rowing was worth three men, buts gods be dammed you must be as sore as virgin wh.. Need to come up with new expressions with that Mistress of yours around.” Chicken Gizzards adds as he claps the large Chelixian on the shoulder before turning heel to depart.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Malgrim busies himself about the ship. Even though the sedate bobbing is preferable to the rolling waves that made his stomach clench, he longs to be back on dry land the way that a majority of the crew probably long to be with a willing woman at about this point in the voyage. Neither, however, will be accomplished until the crew gets the godscursed ship free and moving again.
While others toil under the sun, he expands his small circle of ballast into a pentacle with the point oriented towards the bow, giving him an anchor in this achingly wet desert of an ocean. He takes a wide stance as he alternates between keeping a sharp eye out for any opposition, and surgically aiding the crew in their task of making a channel. In the middle of his near trance-like state, he rocks back with a sudden epiphany.
"Breath in, feeling the air, the sharp smell of the ocean that envelops all around you, taste the salt upon your tongue. There is no where the weight of the earth can not be found, should you know where to look for it."
He blinks his eyes several times, regaining his composure, before sending his will out to winds, the sea, and drawing forth crystals of salt and brine, tiny particles of sand, even tiny skeletons of creatures so small to see. Yet under his will, they coalesce into a solid white blade that shines brilliantly in the sun. He regards his creation calmly for a moment, then flicks it back negligently to shear off another patch of green, feeling as the particles dissipate, rejoining the whole of the ocean teeming with more just like them.
While the others labor around him, the scarred hobgoblin gives a rare smile. Is this lesson, perhaps, why I was fated to come this path on my journey?
|
|
"Uh... Pardon me mistress..." Benaiah says as he boldly opens the door again. "Are you ok?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, worry in his voice.
Not sure if I am more worried that something is wrong, or that she might say she isn't ok and we will have to do something about her being sick. Gimme a dozen orcs trying to kill her and it would be better than holding her hair back while she pukes...
Benaiah stretches his back, wiping the sweat from his brow while he continues to work under the tireless, oppressive sun and heat. As he stares up at the sky, his back arched and his hands pushing on his kidneys, he sees the slice of white salt arc through the sky over him.
Holy balls, was that Malgrim? he thinks to himself, wonder on his face as he watches the salt shale slice through another section of the green morass.
"Keep your rations, boys," Arimar smiles at Fish Eye and Plank, "You can have those spells. I wouldn't want you to fall over from heat stroke. It's a team effort after all. We're all in the s+&@ together. Just don't tell that b~!#~ in there I said so."
"Looks like they'll miss you out there, big guy," Arimar pats Benaiah on the back, "But Malgrim's efforts, I'm sure, will easily make up for it. His rocks are... stunningly effective. Caerador, I don't mean to complain... but haven't you got any spells in your repertoire that could help out in this situation? Or are you better suited to battle?"
As Benaiah opens the door, he can see Mistress Lanvi doubled over, handkerchief pressed to her mouth as she coughs. Lowering the handkerchief he can see pink droplets of blood on the white, lace kerchief.
"Yes, I am fine my dear. Thank you for your concern. I do not often see Hellknights display such chivalrous behavior, though you are not a Hellknight, yes?
Just send in my lady if you please." She ends in a forced smile.
The Plank and Fisheyes both thank Arimar profusely in concert, while Chicken Gizzards smirks. "Knew the priest would help out. Them priests always helping the downtrodden. Got this weird rash by my balls. Maybe you can take a quick look?"
"Sure, Chicken Gizzards, I can take a look," says Arimar, "But the last guy who came to see me with ball rash needed to be castrated. Now, drop those pants..."
Heh, Arimar laughs as Gizzards makes some excuse to be elsewhere and hurries off, Be a while before he - or anyone he speaks to - asks me for a favor again.
|
|
"Daddy was a Hellknight. Then he got paranoid, thought that I was going to take his place, so he had me branded a Heretic. Now here I am."
Why did I tell her that? She doesn't care...
"Don't take this the wrong way Mistress, but you're paying us to protect you. Like father, like son, so I'm a bit paranoid. Who has been serving you your food? I can't imagine anyone would be trying to poison you or make you sick, but if I didn't ask the question, then I'm not doing my job."
Benaiah straightens up when he finishes, waiting for the lady to answer his question. He turns to walk out the door and then quickly adds, "I'll send her right in."
Caerador regards Arimar's inquiry as he can clearly recall all of the eldritch energies he had prepared for the day. It does seem clear that his current repertoire is ineffective from a support-the-laborers viewpoint. He furrows his brow and unclips his traveling spellbook from the attachment on his pack. After thumbing through the pages he realizes there is really nothing to help.
"Sadly, though you fool many into thinking your magicks are arcane, you have the benefit of asking The Pallid Princess for your power. I am limited to that which I have previously studied and researched and, as I have done much of that with all manner of mundane information, my time in the arcane is limited to only a couple decades."
Even as he says this, he notices the notes for a spell for a refreshing Breeze near the beginning of his book and makes a mental note to study them for tomorrow.
”You are kind to inquire about my health, but I can assure you it is nothing but a cough. The ship’s cook, the one that serves you food, he also serves me food. My lady and I share meals, what we can palate that is. She is suffering no ill effects.
“Your concern tells me much about you. Names, be they Hellknight or Paladin of Iomedae, matters less than the heart that beats within. I know this to be true, Benaiah, that your heart is a good one. Sleep well valiant warrior.”
The Companions wake to tired muscles, more so in Benaiah’s case, and empty stomachs. Arimar produces fresh, clear water for all to drink as they prepare for yet another monotonous day at sea drifting lazily through the Sargasso mats.
The Plank, Fish Eye, and Chicken Gizzards approach the Chelixian and ask if he is going to tug with them today.
After being denied, the men look desponded at the prospect of tugging without the large man’s assistance. Chicken Gizzards approach Arimar once again. ”Your dead man gonna help again? I think Plank and Fish Eyes would be sad without him?”
The Companions make their way to the deck where George stands holding pieces of Benaiah’s armor. He looks at the various pieces and holds up the pauldron. ”Where does this go?”
The Colonel and Nelenquessir join Malgrim at the bow of the ship. The men watch Malgrim squeeze the water out of the air, leaving a salt block remaining. The hobgoblin chucks block after block, weakening the mats for the cutting crew to slice through the remnants.
The Colonel gives a whistle. ”Sure glad these boys came along. Captain did something right contracting with that elf mistress.” he says to Nelenquessir.
He claps Malgrim on the back and heads off to inspect some other facet of the ship.
Nelenquessir turns to Malgrim, ”You are quite skilled. I shall head to the crow’s nest. Don’t have too much fun.” The elf scampers off and pulls himself up the rope ladder like he was born to it.
The users of the divine and arcane pour over Caerador’s spellbooks to no avail before taking up positions at different ends of the ship.
The minutes stretched into hours, with nothing more exciting than Slimefish and One-Eyed Dave emerge on deck with the daily stew. Again One-Eyed Dave moves down the line, portioning the stew as carefully as possible.
Before One-Eyed Dave can move down the line, Nelenquessir’s voice can be heard loud and clear from the crow’s nest.
””
Everyone rushes to the bow where in the water about 100 feet away, the companions can see a humanoid looking creature approaching riding on the back of a hippocampus.
The humanoid appears to have very pale, almost bluish skin and very pale green hair cascading down the back of the creature’s head. They can see it is armored in gleaming, shining steel covered with a blue-white sheen like mother of pearl and a huge sword strapped to it’s back.
It raises its hands in greeting. As it raises its hands, they can see small swimming fins fold flat against its forearms.
|
|
Benaiah stands, motionless and silent for a few moments, regarding the elven mistress. He finally nods his head curtly before walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Good heart? Hardly, if only you knew what I've done mistress...
He shakes the nagging thought from his head, clearing the confusing observation from his mind.
"Hey Arimar, remember that time when we first started in the society and had to go on that stupid errand boy mission for Valsin? Did you ever go back and see that Cheliax woman?" He chuckles at the implied memories that they likely have in common.
Heh. That's better.
That looks like the right kind of armor to wear out to sea...
"Look sharp boys! We've got company." Benaiah barks to his companions. With a flick of his wrist, two concoctions are suddenly in his hands. The first one is a couple sizes larger than a typical potion vial, more like a flask. He pops the stopper out and pours the brackish, thick liquid down his throat eagerly.
The rowing boys had seen it the day before, as Benaiah stubbornly clung to his desires to outperform everyone else in the tugboat, but the deckhands nearby were in for a bit of a treat. A dark mass under his skin begins to move around his arms and shoulders like a mole burrowing through the ground. In a matter of seconds, that mass splits into two independant things, then those split, until the whole of Benaiah's body is swollen with this dark parasite looking thing.
His fingers elongate and his mouth pushes out slightly from his face, forming a stubby muzzle. Finally the creepy things moving inside his body slow to a halt, hardening into an obscenely over-sized muscular frame, even for the large man.
A second potion is less delicately handled, and the visual effects are disappointing compared to the transformation of his mutagen.
His transformation complete, he mentally reviews the positions of his other extracts, in case a fight actually breaks out.
"Ahoy there! Friend or Foe?" he shouts to the approaching figure, giant blade in his hand.
"Why would I see that woman again, Benaiah?" Arimar asks, genuinely puzzled, "She made it pretty clear where she would shove my cock if I saw her again. Reasonable response I guess, after I f@!+ed her sister and all. Sorry about that, by the way, I know now that you were f**&ing her too."
But the reminiscing would have to wait.
came the call from Nelenquessir.
"Haven't they fired that useless prick?" Arimar asks Benaiah, "We're in the middle of a Sargasso Sea and the pointy eared douche bag - no offense, Caerador - doesn't spot it until we are well and truly screwed. Hopefully this rider has some aid to offer."
Arimar leans over the prow and calls out to his minion, "Raim, stop rowing!" No need to draw attention to the tireless zombie we have until we know this creature's bent.
"As you can see, we're rather stuck here," Arimar tries to be friendly, "But you don't seem to be similarly hampered. I hope we haven't happened upon some kind of sacred territory. It was purely accidental, I assure you. Our captain is something of a drunkard and our lookout is apparently a blind man. Any advice you can give us for navigating out of these waters would be much appreciated."
Raim stops his ceaseless rowing. In this heat, the etheric stench of his liquifying innards vied with the scent of weeks-old sweat, s+@* and fishguts' cooking that clung to Plank and Gizzards for dominance as the worst smell on the rowboat.
"..." he says as his mouth droops open lazily and remains so.
As Arimar studies the approaching humanoid, he remembers a bit of lost lore. There were rumors around Riddlepport of a sea-faring race called the Aventi. Though technically humanoids, they are rarely seen which lends significance to their status as more myth than fact.
Being immersed in religious studies since his absconded youth, he also remembers that they worship a strange sea god, Aventernus. Once a human deity of maritime concerns such as naval endeavors and fair mercantile work, Aventernus was the patron of an island nation of powerful magicians and skilled sailors. Aventernus’s priesthood played an important part in the daily workings of the city. All that changed, however, when a mighty catastrophe sank the nation into the waters of the sea. He transformed the humans loyal to him into the aventi.
Aventernus is a stern god of justice and fair practices.
Arimar can also see the Aventi riding a hippocampus
The Aventi calls out, "" Though she was asked more questions, these are the only answers that are shouted to you on the deck of The Audacious.
Captain Barbosa flanked by Mistress Lanvi and her lady in waiting emerges on deck. ”Nelenquessir, open your thrice-cursed eyes!”
He paces to the railing, ””
He turns to the companions, ”What the hell is that?”
Meanwhile The Colonel signals to the rowing crew to move the shallop into a defensive position in front of the rafts.
Upon spying Raim in the now moved shallop, she shouts, ”” She reins in the hippocampus and places her hand on the large sword sheathed across her back.
Arimar turns to his comrades and says quietly, "This is a creature known as an Aventi, servant of Aventernus," Arimar notes the blank looks on his companions' faces, "Think Abadar, but for the sea. You know, the God of Justice? Yeah, his maritime counterpart. Be wary, unless I miss my guess, we are likely to be bombarded by pseudo-legalize and told we have broken contracts and treaties that we've never even heard of. He's already talking about some kind of writ. Princess preserve us."
The necromancer clears his throat, and shouts back, Arimar casts his gaze up the crow's nest,
"We do not cavort with the undead, that would be most foul," Arimar says in a soothing voice, "Zombies are horrid dancers and I have no shortage of living sexual partners. However, this one has proven a useful tool. We need a tireless rower and he is such. If it please you, or if it has broken some kind of maritime law, we can destroy him.... but I would ask that you provide assurance that you have an alternative way for us to leave these waters. His rowing will be missed."
|
|
Benaiah waits rather calmly for the exchange between the captain, Arimar, and the Aventi, capped off by the recognition of the undead rower.
Who does she think we are? What idiot comes to a place like this on purpose... It's not like we want to be here...
"Hold on here! We aren't here for trouble, we just want to get out of here."
But don't think for a second I am afraid of a fight...
Benaiah bristles, but bites his tongue. He knows his normal course of action would lead to a deadly brawl, and only his prudence for minimizing danger to his employer, and not hampering their ability to escape this cursed place keeps him from falling back to an intimidating approach.
Malgrim eyes the strange newcomer warily. "A greetings to you, Knight of the Sea. Our current condition here is not of our choosing and we seek to depart as swiftly as possible. It is not our intention to disturb your Waters any longer than necessary. Let us not add blood to the brine of your waters."
He displays his empty hands in an exaggerated, calming manner.
As they wait for a response from the strange aquatic humanoid, Arimar notes that he is beginning to sweat profusely. It has been some time since he has drenched either himself or his companions in fresh, cool, conjured water. He considers for a moment whether or not it would be worth risking a spell in front of this touchy Aventi woman... and elects to simply remain sweaty.
”I shall treat with you”, Timora calls out, ”Provided you keep that abomination off your ship for the time being. Should you refuse, then I leave you to your unholiness and your fate.”
She circles her hippocampus waiting for a response from the crew.
Raim stays off the ship and in the rowboat, continuing to pull at the oars even though the sargassum directly in front of him has yet to be cleared. The seaweed tangles in the oars and eventually halts all progress, but still Raim continues rowing.
"Thank you, Timora," Arimar bows deeply, "Your understanding in this matter is much appreciated. I believe Barbarosa will need to invite you on board, but I for one would much appreciate your help."
Barbarosa sighs deeply. This Lanvi woman is not paying me near enough for this s#@&. Still, if this sea creature can get us moving again...
"Very well, if you four will guarantee the crew's safety, she may come aboard," Barbarosa throws his hands up in the air and storms up the stairs to the aft deck, taking the wheel as though the ship might start moving at any moment.