"Drop some nets into the water!" screams Arimar as soon as he is aboard, "Pull up the corpses of your friends... even some living bunyips. We'll kill them when they get here, you can rest assured of that! Drop some f@%@ing nets... now!"
If required to explain, Arimar adds, "If we can get some swimming zombie bunyips, maybe we can tow this thing... but at least let's make something of those men's deaths. Tireless rowers like Raim are in short supply. Now drop the f#$%ing nets!"
"Caerador," Arimar pats the arcanist on the back, "You can't be expected to have a spell for every situation. Luckily, it turns out Malgrim here has a rock for every situation. He can continue to cut us free, and Raim and whoever else has the balls to can row us still. We'll fortify the rafts so these bunyips won't catch us like that again. Worry not about your current repertoire."
Arimar, at last turns to Benaiah, "I'll have to give you a refresher course on my spells, how long they last and, most importantly, how close you need to be to benefit from them. Did you think I was just groping you because I liked you all those other times I cast it on you?" The necromancer chuckles.
"As for Lanvi, yeah, I could care less about reporting," he notes, heading below, "But she might have some ideas as to how to extricate ourselves from this dire f@#!ing situation."
Arimar clears his throat to deliver the funerary rites:
"Sailors all, they fought the waves,
They fought the loneliness of the endless water.
The life of a sailor is a brave one,
For it is a life given to the great, unforgiving depths of the ocean.
"And so, for these men who long ago gave their lives to the sea,
Gozreh comes and claims her due at last.
Be at peace, and know that your journey is now at an end."
Arimar didn't truly see death as an end, but most other religions did. He hopes the insincerity in his words was not obvious. He hopes the irony of delivering such a eulogy and then raising the corpses they could find from the dead would be lost on the surviving crew.
The deck, usually a hive of activity, has slowed down considerably as the crew stare at the blood slick slowly dissipating.
Finally Agile Pete walks up to the screaming aasimar. "Necromancer." he begins, drawing out the Os. "We lost many a good friend just now. I am not so sure that you can find man to cast nets to pull their companions out of the water for you to bring back to life. Not all share your views.
"We stand behind you and your friends to a man. What you have done to help us shows your worth. Don't go putting the crew and I into the same boat at that holier-than-thou knight of the pearl. Just different when its your friends, that you shared so much with, that are going to walk around brainless like Raim. No offense necromancer. Like I said crew is behind you.
"But maybe we can get that beast Double B whacked with his scythe. Let me see what we can do."
With that the agile barber-surgeon grabs a man or two and they cast the nets to try and capture the bobbing form the dead bunyip. It is a task that is hampered by the thick mats, but these are men of the sea. Eventually they haul the now lifeless form of the bunyip onto the deck.
"Necromancer if you could do it out of sight, at least for now. If you know what I mean. No offense."
They retreat to the part of the ship where all the crew is mulling around. heads down.
As the companions head down to check on Mistress Lanvi, they can see her ascending the staircase, kerchief covering her mouth. As always she is flanked by her lady.
"We heard some commotion. What is going on?"
Arimar does not begrudge the sailors the respect for the dead. He nods simply, but adds under his breath, "Respect for the dead is all well and good, but arms to pull oars are in short supply. We may be adding to the dead sooner than we like..."
The necromancer looks Lanvi and her lady over but decides not to reply. He'll let those who can hold their tongues better do that.
"No threat that could have made it's way into your cabin, Mistress. We lost many sailors but..." Caerador pauses for a moment, realizing that telling Mistress Lanvi how reckless her personal guard entourage had been in the defense of the remaining sailors might give her more reason to scold them like they were children."...certain brave actions of the crew and your personal guard helped to remove the threat, just like at the Siren's Den, right guys?"
Ah, the Siren's Den. That portside whorehouse was epic, and when Benaiah came back for another go, those girls who were still conscious ran off with Malgrim, Arimar and I; satisfied with the 'meat' they had... I hope Mistress Lanvi doesn't know of that place, or worse yet has not heard of our escapades there. Last I knew we were still banned..."
Malgrim joins his companions in briefing the Mistress. "Unfortunately, our luck has only worsened. The crew is fragile and breaking, including the captain. We are not much closer to freedom from the mats and the Dead Calms surround us. Without some change, the prospects of this voyage are bleak."
"Hmm... I do not like these prospects. There may be a chance .... unlikely, but a chance I can get us off this ship. The crew will be left for themselves." She stares blankly for a moment before coming to.
"I appreciate you keeping me informed. I have some work to do. Let us check in again at a later time. In the meantime, continue as best you can with the ship's crew to get us out of this mess." She ends in a warm smile as they turn heal and head back to the cabin.
Later that day with the sun dipping to the horizon, and the oppressive heat abated somewhat, the entire crew is assembled at the foredeck. Barbosa has dug up some finery and The Colonel is sporting full parade regalia, complete with polished buttons and gaudy hat.
Barbosa opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and looks at each of the assembled in the eye.
"Men, you have sailed with me in war, in peace, for profit, for glory. No death without meaning. Yet this senseless slaughter by the denizens of the deep was one of the great tragedies I have faced.
"My heart breaks for the men we lost today. Their lives given to defend The Audacious and my fine crew. Gone before their time." he wipes a solitary tear from his face.
"But we must push on. We have lives to lead, gold to plunder, women to bed. Places to visit. Tomorrow, we shall double our efforts and leave this gods forsaken place.
"Take the night. Drink your drinks. Tell your stories. Cry your tears. For tomorrow it is back to work. I for one am not ready to join our brothers in the afterlife.
"Before you all go, I have one final word to say. To Mistresses Lanvi's companions, you are the bravest, craziest sons-of-b~%!~es I have ever seen. You are worth your weight in gold you are."
After hearing Arimar's words, not a dry eye can be found among the crew.
A cask of grog is opened, and the booze flows freely.
"Well friends," he says when they - but none of the crew - are within earshot, "The old me would have relished the opportunity to simply leave these men here and be safe. These past few weeks, though, and I have become somewhat attached to them. I would prefer not to abandon the crew. We should work as hard as possible to get out of this area of calm."
Arimar creases his brow, "While it may now take us longer to get out of here, at least we have more supplies to go around. Do you three have any ideas what sort of modifications we could make to those rafts? I think we can get this bunyip corpse swimming around and biting into the sargassum to clear it. The thing might even be strong enough to help with towing the ship as needed."
With the eulogy done, Arimar moves around the ship and heals those who need it. "Too few are simply wounded... most are dead," he notes to no-one in particular.
Arimar lastly busies himself with carving off a few chunks of edible meat from the bunyip and preparing the rest of the corpse for tomorrow's spells.
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The offer of getting off the boat is incredibly tempting. Benaiah purposefully keeps his mouth shut, not wanting his natural inclination of selfish preservation to affect the opinions of the others.
"Sure thing boss." is all he offers as she breaks their company.
"It wouldn't hurt my feelings to leave." Benaiah offers, finally voicing his internal selfishness. However, much to his annoyance, the words of Mistress Lanvi ring in his head about his latent virtue of caring and kindness. He cannot help but feel a twinge of responsibility for the fate of the crew.
Am I attached? Maybe I'm a bit of a nice guy? No no no. It's because I can. Yea, that's it. I want to help because I can, not because I am some Paladin of Erastil wannabe. The son of a hellknight shakes his head, satisfied with his justification and internal deflection of feelings.
"On the flip side though, did you see the way that crew treated us after the fight? I could get used to that..." He smiles a crooked smile. "Lemme know if you want help with that Bunyip corpse Arimar." The man shuffles his feet a bit then takes a long pull on a foamy drink.
"My biggest fear about getting out of this is the men's morale. Truth be told, that's the reason I dove over the edge. They are going to be as jumpy as ever out on those rafts. Every ripple is going to scare the piss out of 'em. So I think I'm going to spend at least tomorrow cuttin the mats." He takes another long pull.
"My pops was the biggest dick on the planet, but one thing he had right was when he said if you want to get people to follow you, lead by example. Lead by doing. They say they would follow us anywhere, might as well put that to the test, and see if they will follow us right back to where they are needed the most."
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"'Lead by doing.' Is that what you were trying to do at the Siren's Den," Arimar tries but fails to stifle a guffaw, "I honestly don't know how you managed to stay hard enough to plough through that many women, but I think even Caerador managed to find some inner reserves of stamina after your display. Please, do remember to cover up the next time you exit your quarters to chase after some scared whores."
Arimar laughs again, "What was it you said to them, Malgrim, that got them to calm down and bed us instead?"
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Malgrim remains quiet throughout the eulogy and the wake, standing with his hood draped low. While the rest of the crew begins to get drunk, he soberly carves the name of each of the crew that were lost on a small piece of rock, expertly etching a remembrance. Once his dozen of stones have been completed, he seeks out the captain and hands them over. "I know not what the way of the sea is for those lost without bodies, but this is how we remember those lost in the caves. Keep them or consign them to the depths as you wish"
These men are courageous, if perhaps prejudiced and salty. If our survival requires we abandon them to the Calm, we should do as we must. I would prefer to avoid that path if at all possible however. And yet, I am unsure how to avoid that fate coming to pass."
Malgrim clearly looks uncomfortable at Arimar's words. "Those women... I believe there was a misunderstanding there. I was merely describing how in a combat, the man with strength and stamina is often inferior to that with finesse and timing. The strong man tends rely on girth while fumbling around in a combat whereas a practiced man can bring a fight to conclusion with a single flick of their finger. And yet, the true master can do the same if not better, by simply exercising their tongue."
He looks around, the shock of the encounter still with him. "I have never seen such open admiration for diplomacy before."
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Benaiah glowers at Malgrim, the majority of the innuendo going right over his thick skull.
"Just keep tellin yerself that size doesn't matter." he huffs.
"And you should know, Arimar, that I'm not above performance enhancing drugs to tip the scales in my favor in a fight." His mock indignation turns again to laughter.
"That night at the siren's den was a quintessential moment in leadership by example." Benaiah puffs his chest out proudly, crossing his arms.
"Why, Caerador had never even seen a naked woman that wasn't drawn on the pages of some tome until that night. I was only to happy to show him what else his elven curve blade is used for!"
"Heh... their admiration wasn't the only thing to open at your words," Arimar snickers as he remembers that night, "Even Caerador with his slender member 'slept' for free. Well done!"
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Caerador scoffs at Arimar, dismissing his statement.
"Just because I choose not to dally about in every town I travel to, that does not mean my member is 'slender'", the pale-skinned elf says matter-of-factly to Benaiah and Arimar. "I cannot purchase a vial of ink at the general store in Magnimar without running into 9 wenches the two of you have f$&%ed..."
Bastard angel has seen me naked after that gelatinous cube a year or so back. How else would he know it's slender...
Captain Barbosa takes the rocks from the hobgoblin. Unsure what to do with them, but deeply touched at the sentiment, the captain diplomatically tells him that like the dead bodies, they shall be consigned to the depths as suggested.
The next morning arrives too early for some, the sun too bright, the heat too oppressive, the water in barrels too stale.
George appears with Benaiah’s armor and The Plank, Fish Eye, and Chicken Gizzards in tow.
Benaiah can see that his armor is brightly polished, the leather straps freshly oiled, and new brightly colored decorative knotted tassels hang from the pauldron. He notices that there is one thread for each man that died in the bunyip attack.
”We are with you, Double B. The Plank and Fish Eye say at the same time.
”Idiots are right. We are yours. What say you to rowing with us again? It would do much to boost the morale around here to show that at least you and your followers.” he glances at Arimar, Malgim, and Caerador. ”Ain’t afraid of what the sea has to offer. Your choice. Me and the dumb dumbs are going out no matter but by the hells I’d feel better with you there.” Chicken Gizzards ends his impassioned speech with a large exhale.
"Would you like me there also?" Arimar inquires, "I can keep you in supply of cool water, help you to endure the elements as before and moreover help you walk on water should we need to run back to the ship!"
Regardless of the crew's response, Arimar finds some quiet time on the aft deck with the corpse of the bunyip. As when he raised Raim, he sprinkles some silver on the ground and desecrates the area, all the better for animation. He doesn't even think about the evil he is invoking - it is his goddess, the one who gave him shelter and succor from those who would do him wrong. And what is evil but a tool anyway?
"Animate dead," he chants over the corpse as valuable obsidian crumbles to worthless dust. The Bunyip's lifeless body seems to take on seawater as it bloats even further. The day-old corpse was already smelling pretty ripe in the heat, but the stench becomes almost overpowering now. Slowly, the bunyip twitches back to life again like some disgusting meat-puppet. A disgusting meat-puppet that Arimar holds the strings to.
"I think I'll call you 'Fido'. So... Fido! Jump in the water and start tearing apart the matts at the front of the ship," Arimar commands.
Fido flops into the water with a mighty splash and swims ponderously to the front of the ship. There, it begins to tear away at the sargassum with reckless abandon.
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Fist bump?
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Benaiah can't help but smile at the admiration given to him by the other rowers.
"If I'm out rowing, I ain't gonna need that armor," the large man says to Felonious George. He steps forward and rustles the suddenly crestfallen boy's hair. "Nice anticipation though. Keep thinking like that and you'll have your own ship one day."
He pats the Plank and Fish eye on the back simultaneously, walking up in between them. "Lets show these guys there isn't anything to be afraid of, and get this rig out of these calms!" he says with a smile, accepting the challenge.
"Hey George! Hold up. Be a good lad and run to your armory and grab me a longspear. I'll take my scythe as well. Just in case."
Benaiah goes through a mental checklist, reminding himself of the extracts, number of bomb reagents, and the mutagen he has prepared for the day in his quarters before the general muster on the main deck.
Bull's strength, blistering invective, phantom blood, shield, long arm, touch of the sea. Good. Strength mutagen. Excellent. Bombs. Check. Hopefully the end of these mats will be in sight soon. I don't know how long these sailors can hold out.
Satisfied with his choices, he double checks the straps on each location in his bandoleer then makes his way to the railing to head over and down into the row boat.
Caerador awakens early and takes a walk out to the deck before preparing his spell repertoire for the day. The cool salt air is crisp and refreshing and he takes a couple deep breaths to feel its effects.
Today is a new day, and I will find ways to be helpful.
After nodding to the crow's nest at Nelenquessir, Caerador retreats back down to his cabin and turns to some pages not so worn and studies the eldritch sigils and phrases within.
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Malgrim resumes his place at the bow, including his customary pentagram of ballast stones. The stones take new meaning, however, as each bears a reminder of the price of failure in this Dead Place.
"We will make a lie of the name Dead Calms."
With the reduced workforce and the indication that pure stealth was not a protection to the crew, Malgrim resumes his hurling of stones with renewed vigor, stretching himself further and faster than before, barely resting a moment as he draws the motes of elemental earth from the sea and spray, hurling it ahead of the boat to turn the green mat to pulp. There is a savage artistry to his throws as he dips and gathers in time to the bobbing of the ship.
The morning passes relatively uneventfully, for a group of people trying to cut their way through the Deadly Calms. Malgrim continues to heave ballast and salt blocks with unerring accuracy, while Benaiah along with The Plank, Fish Eye, and Chicken Gizzard heave ho to a steady rhythm, pausing to catch their breath or get doused in water to cool their bodies.
Arimar keeps a watchful eye on both his creations, Fido biting voraciously through the thick sea mats, and Raim is as steady as a metronome, pull, flex twist, pull.
Nelenquessir slides down from the crow's nest to chat briefly with Caerador in his native language,. He tells the man what great progress they have made despite of the troubles they have faced so far. He quickly scurries back up to his post, scanning the horizons in all directions.
Before the companions know it, the noon day sun signifies lunch. Slimefish is lowered to bring food to the tug crew, while One-Eyed Dave makes his way through the line of crew on deck.
Seeing the cooks emerge, Chicken Gizzards claps The Plank on the back. In complete synchronicity, The Plank and Fish Eye turn to the man.
"Come on. Back to the ship." he calls to his crewmates. Turning to Benaiah, "Got something to do on the ship, can join us if you want."
The shallop turns back to the ship for a moment and the three crew climb up the ladders to The Audacious leaving Slimefish with a perplexed look on his face.
As One-Eyed Dave makes his way to Malgrim, he is immediately flanked by the three rowers.
"Say it jerk." The Plank and Fish Eye saw at the same time. The companions can see One-Eyed Dave trembling in fear. "Just like we rehearsed." they add.
One-Eyed Dave draws in a breath to steady himself before stammering, "Um ... Mr. Hobgoblin."
Chicken Gizzard slaps One-Eyed Dave on the back of the head.
One-Eyed Dave rubs the spot where Chicken Gizzard hit him before flashing the aquatic man an evil glare.
One-Eyed Dave turns back to Malgrim, "Malgrim ... um.... sorry for things I said and did. To atone for my sins and deplabable ... diplomore ... what the f#$$s word it it?"
"Deplorable you idiot." The Plank and Fish Eye say at the same time.
"Right, dip-loral things I did, here is my ration. Enjoy." Those the words are honeyed, the companions can see that the lines are delivered emotionless, just like One-Eyed Dave's eyes.
"And we are sorry that we didn't catch this d%%@!$! earlier." Chicken Gizzard adds.
One-Eyed Dave fills Malgims bowl to the brim, and hands him a second hunk of stale bread.
The men promptly disperse to devour their horrible meals and get back to work. The lingering look One-Eyed Dave gives Malgrim holds no love.
Malgrim watches the exchange between the sailors with a quizzical, impartial look, finally nodding in respect to the two prior to their departure, with a simple "My thanks". As One-Eyed Dave turns to leave, however, he stomps one bare foot.
Emanating from his foot, a wave of salt winds forward and congeals from the air, forming a narrow barrier of solidified brine a few steps ahead of the cook. In a quiet voice, he intones, "Wait."
The hobgoblin lets the barrier stand for a moment, before he clutches at it from several feet away, collapsing it into a ball with a thought and tossing it over the side of the ship. "You are a member of this crew, and our survival will depend every one of us working together. I seek no quarrel; I did not ask for your ration, or expect it. I do not accept it or your forced apology." He holds out the bowl. "Take that which is yours. The past is something that should be buried."
Arimar moves over to One Eye with a false smile upon his face and his own partially devoured rations in hand. "It was good of your friends to force you to apologize," he notes, choosing his words very deliberately, "But I know you didn't mean it. I also know the kind of resentment such an embarrassing display can cause. Have my rations, I'm not very hungry anyway. If that doesn't smooth things over with you, just think about how much more useful you would be if you were as tireless and fearless as Raim... all while taking far fewer rations."
If One-Eye was too dim to grasp the threat in Arimar's words, surely the tone and the deadly calm stare from the necromancer would leave him in little doubt that his life may depend on his good behavior for the remainder of the journey.
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Benaiah, having followed his fellow rowers up for this little boondoggle, remains oddly silent during the exchange, trying to measure what his reaction might be. His ears turn red as a defensive reaction washes over him, raising his blood pressure at the fake and forced apology from the ship's cook.
Sputtering and unsure what to say, he is grateful when Arimar steps in, opening the door for him to complete the thought.
Benaiah steps up to the cook and wraps his meaty, strong hands on each shoulder. Unlike Arimar, Benaiah's smile is genuine.
"You know, my friend has many talents. Making sure the body in question is on the right side of the veil for those talents is where I excel."
Benaiah's knuckles begin to turn white as he grips the cook's shoulders, putting pressure on his collarbone. The large man leans over as if to whisper in One-Eyed-Dave's ear. His grin is toothy, and carries bits and pieces of the slop they just finished eating.
"In times like these, you are either an asset, or a liability. If you are a threat in any way to one of my friends, or my boss, that puts you squarely in the liability side of the ledger. Just remember that the next time the Bunyips come back. I'm good at taking care of liabilities."
Upon receiving the veiled threat from Arimar, and the unveiled threat from Benaiah, One-Eyed Dave spits on the floor.
Then he turns to Malgrim, "Eat it, dump it over the side, or shove it up your ass. I don't care but I ain't eating it. We are all going to die in these Dead Calms, and you can thank him." he points directly at Malgrim. "Bad is gonna be worse. Mark my words fools, we are ALL GOING TO DIE!. You can stare at me and curse me and make me say those words that I don't understand, but when you are all lying on the deck, gasping for breath, don't say One-Eyed Dave didn't tell you so."
"You want to throw me over the boat for keeping a bad-luck hobgoblin?? You want to make me into one of your minions as he kills us all? What kind of people are you to side with evil like him?
"When the time comes, and it will, you can come to One-Eyed Dave and I can tell you ALL how to save us, and it ain't from cutting seaweed and making more zombies." He glares at Malgrim before he turns to leave.
Malgrim shakes his head sadly as One-Eyed Dave leaves, letting out a sigh he barely realized he was holding. "Wherever my journey takes me, I find men with the same heart, filled with hatred for that which they do not understand. Self-loathing, they convince themselves that someone, something, is inferior to them. Threats nor kindness will stray them from their lonely road." He glances around to his companions. "I will not present my back to him, but I ask that you leave him be. He is one less than yourselves. Do not sodden yourself by stooping to his level."
He allows himself a rare smile. "I do appreciate the display of loyalty, as unnecessary as it may have been here. That means more than I can put into words."
He takes half the bread, and sops up enough of the gruel to constitute a single ration, chewing it slowly before handing the remainder to Benaiah. "Please take this to the rowers, with my thanks. There burden is physical and mine is mental; they require their strength more than I." Looking around to ensure none of the crew is within earshot, he whispers conspiratorially. "Besides, I am unsure if I can stomach more. I have tasted goblin cooked slug that tasted better than this."
"Malgrim, you are a better man than I," Arimar notes, "I do not know that I would be able to be so understanding about my situation. If my outlook were like yours, I doubt I'd be able to maintain my grudge against the Church of Pharasma if I were so well adjusted."
The necromancer looks wistfully across the dead calms for a good long moment. "We need to get out of here. One way or another, the crew is going to find something to use as their scape goat. I doubt One-Eye is the only one who feels that way. Whether it is regarding a hobgoblin, a zombie or the man who raised said zombies from the dead, they will find someone or something to blame. Personally, I blame "
Arimar checks to make doubly sure that Nelenquissir heard him, he continues, "Still, Malgrim, it would be best to make sure you've got an ally at your back whenever Dave or his friends are around."
Caerador helps Arimar with comfort and morale the best he can. Cool magical breezes help to fan the heat from those switching off from rowing and cutting duty, and to get a laugh from the crew, Caerador drenches Durngil Hardhammer. Dirt, grime, bits of rotten food and who knows what else fall into a pool of brownish water at the dwarf's feet.
Though volatile in nature, the bust up with One-Eyed Dave is quickly over. The Plank, Fish Eye, and Chicken Gizzards are more than happy to take the offered extra-rations from Malgrim.
Through slurps of the stew, Chicken Gizzard affirms that through no fault of their own, they have made an enemy of One-Eyed Dave.
”Best if we watch your back.” The Plank and Fish Eye intone at the same time.
The small gathering quickly disperses as men move to and from their stations. The day passes in similar manner, with nothing untoward happening on the deck of The Audacious or on the mats in front of her.
Few crew are assembled on deck at night, and the Companions can clearly see that more than a few of the crew seem to cast wary glances at Malgrim. These crew, while obviously considering One-Eyed Dave’s words at the very least, are outweighed by crew offering encouraging words to the hobgoblin and his companions.
The next morning as the crew begins to stir, shouts can be heard from below. Rushing downstairs, the companions see six men, groaning in their hammocks.
As can tell you, these men are suffering from some terrible disease as their bodies are covered in pustules.
Ingested Fort DC 14
1d4 days 1d4 Str +1d2 Cha
Captain Barbosa quickly appears, ”What the hells is going on here?”
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"Looks like these men have some kind of rash." Benaiah, a master of concoctions and not afflictions offers, paying no mind to the uselessness of his comment.
"It's not contagious is it? Hey, were any of these men in the water with the Bunyips?"
While his second and third questions are less useless, they will only be so if someone actually knows the answer.
Benaiah backs carefully away from the sickened men, letting others take the lead on this strange occurrence.
"It seems that these men are suffering from sea sores," Arimar notes, "The heat has most likely damaged the provisions, and now they're suffering the effects of a lack of clean cooking. Don't worry, Benaiah, you won't catch it from them unless you eat them. You'll catch it from your dinner, though."
Arimar starts barking orders at George, asking for clean towels - or any clean cloth - and as many pots of boiling water he can bring. Arimar provides the water - clean, cool and potable - with his spells. He pulls out his own healing kit and starts lacing the pustules, and sterilizing them with rubbing alcohol.
"I'll help these men as best I can," Arimar tells Barbarosa, "But if I don't miss my guess, you'll have something close to a mutiny - led by One-Eyed Dave - on your hands. Keep your crew under control and, most importantly, keep them away from these poor men. I will stay here with them until they are better, and in about 9 hours or so, I should have a means to clean the food. In the meantime, best if no-one eats. If I am disturbed in my rest and prayers, they go hungry for longer."
"Oh, and if anyone is willing to row," the necromancer adds, "Tell them I can help them to endure the heat once more. I will meet them outside the quarters after one of my companions has summoned me. I am to be disturbed by no-one else."
Barbosa spits on the ground.
"Colonel, get One-Eyed Dave up here this instant. If he gives you any problems drag him by the balls."
The Colonel rushes out, flanked by Chicken Gizzards. He returns momentarily with Chicken Gizzards grappling One-Eyed Dave in an arm lock.
"Leave off a#%#$$~! Captain tell the Colonel and this fish f$*!er to stand down. They told me to come and I did." One-Eyed Dave screeches in pain as Chicken Gizzards wrenches his arm.
The Colonel and Chicken Gizzards give an unapologetic shrug as they release the man. "Was more fun." Chicken Gizzards say in voice that is easily overheard. A small contingent of men flank the Captain, all them the companions can recognize as sympathizers with One-Eyed Dave. They are all staring at Malgrim.
"What is the problem captain? Why am I assaulted in bed?" One-Eyed Dave asks as he rubs his arm.
The Captain pivots on his feet to show the men in hammocks behind him, and Arimar trying to tend to the infirm.
"Mistress Lanvi's bodyguards suspect you have something to do with this. We can make it easy or hard. Confess if you did it. If you claim you are innocent, then I expect ... no ... I demand your full cooperation."
"Ain't done nothing. Got nothing to hide." One-Eyed Dave stares at Arimar.
"Captain," Arimar begins, taken aback at proceedings, "I didn't mean to say that One-Eye caused this. The potential mutiny was a separate issue that I foresaw as a result of the disease. By the way he was behaving regarding superstitions and hobgoblins, Dave seemed likely to blame this on Malgrim here, and rouse men to his cause and rail against your paying customers... hence mutiny.
"I think the conditions here and the lackluster cooking are more than sufficient to have caused this disease without malice of forethought," Arimar assures everyone, trying to calm them down, "But if you give me two hours, I will have these men tended to and a way to purify our food before we eat it. No-one should break their fast until such time."
"Arimar, just some advice son. Two word you never say on a ship are mutiny and fire unless they are really happening.
"Regardless, I thank you for healing these men."
Barbosa turns to the crew, "First their tireless efforts cutting mats and tugging us through these Dead Calms, then their stu ... bravery with the bunyips, and now they heal our sick. Yet I hear the whispers, the finger pointing, the rumors. What will it take for you to see the good in these men? Drop this silent war against them or I hire new crew in Magmair, or toss you overboard all the sooner."
Barbosa nods to the Colonel and companions before departing.
One-Footed Dave continues to rub his shoulder at the rough treatment, gives the companions an I hate all you f!~+ers stare before walking over to talk with the small group of supporters.
"The good in us," Arimar mutters, mostly to himself, "How can he see it when I cannot?"
He tends to the crew - without whom, they may all be doomed - and then wastes no time in praying for spells. Quick as he can, he rushes upstairs and begins making the ship's stores palatable once more.
"Purify food and drink," he chants over and over, starting with whatever was for breakfast and then moving on through the rest of it.
Exhausted upon completion of his task, Arimar joins the crew for breakfast. "Sorry it took so long, but this food is definitely free of disease now - unless someone has been deliberately tampering with it. And no, I don't believe he did do anything: Dave's cooking was always this bad."
Though he gives the elven arcanist a glare, Durngil shakes like a dog and, much to Caerador's surprise, turns back to his duties without any incident.
Caerador uses the tip of his dagger to carve a third scratch in a wooden plank near the side of his bed. His stomach gives a rumble as he wonders how many more of these scratches will line up in their rank and file before sails billow and the steady rocking rhythm returns underfoot. As he stirs to get up and begin his daily study, he hears some commotion. Glancing across the crew cabin, he sees a rather intent-looking Colonel and Chicken Gizzards marching towards One-Footed Dave.
"Whass the meaning a this?!" a groggy voice queries.
The Colonel yanks the thin worn blanket from One-Footed Dave's body and prods him with his scabbarded cutlass. "Cappin wants words with ye, an best not ta keep im; you got a serious accusation ta answer to."
"Cappin can shove off, I'm sleepin." Dave turns on his side and curls up in his bunk only for a moment before the Colonel gives him a sharp kick in the small of his back. Chicken Gizzards grabs Dave by his arm, yanks him to his feet and begins to march him towards the deck.
Caerador stands near the hatch that leads to the decks as he overhears talk of mutiny and sees Arimar tending a rather gnarly-looking rash on some of the sailors. After seeing this, he hurries to Mistress Lanvi's chamber and rouses her.
"Mistress, things appear to be getting out of hand on this ship." Caerador cannot help himself to an extended glance at the silken and sultry bedclothes loosely falling off of the seductress. "There are men talking of mutiny and some sort of disease has broken out amongst some of the crew. Best if you go above and weigh in on this situation with the Captain. Also, while my companions assist with the efforts to free this ship, I will stay by your side and hold guard in case something goes sideways. Unless of course you would prefer another to do so."
Malgrim looks to Arimar as he casts the Purify Food and Drink with a raised eye; there is a subtle difference in scent and he can only wonder what was previously in the food.
"Perhaps it was a subtle mercy that I was deprived half of that for so long."
To the captain, he says, "How does this affect our plans? This setback cannot be good"
Mistress Lanvi turns to Caerador, ”Mutiny? On this ship. I have know Captain Barbosa for a time and this is one ship I could … well a munity is just too hard to believe. Are you sure?” She rises from her sitting table, lady in tow, and moves towards the door. ”Of course you may accompany me. That is what I am paying you for.” As she moves towards the door she is interrupted by a racking cough that has her doubled over. Her lady moves towards her to assist, but as quickly as she was overcome by the fit, Mistress Lanvi regains her composure.
”My apologies. The warm humid air does not seem to agree with me. Come, I am sure that the Captain is a busy man and I for one have some other business to complete.”
Exiting the small but lush apartment, Mistress Lanvi, her lady, and Caerador emerge onto the deck. They quickly find that the captain is in his quarters, so they move aft to find him. After gently rapping at the door, Mistress Lanvi’s lady announces them, and Captain Barbosa quickly ushers them in.
”Mistress Lanvi. About that matter.”
”Not now. Captain, my men have informed me of the rebellious spirit of some of your crew, not to mention the outbreak of some disease. What can we do to help?”
”Mistress. I assure you though your men are accurately reporting everything is in order. There will be no mutiny and your man, Arimar, has the disease in order.
“Now about the other matter.”
”Yes. Caerador, can you give us a moment if you please.”
Captain Barbosa turns to the hobgoblin, ”My apologies again for my crew Malgrim. Though they are all experienced sailors, and worth their weight in gold on the seas, well men are men.
”Nelenquessir. Get over her.”
Again the elf nimbly slides down some ropes and alights on the deck.
”Captain.”
”Right, where do we stand with the mats?”
”By my estimation, and I can assure you necromancer that I am not blind like you have oft suggested, we have cut through close to three miles of mats. From my vantage, we are no closer to the edges than before. I cannot believe that we haven’t cut our way out of these mats. With the depleted crew from the buynips attack, and the spread of this contagion, we will be lucky to make a mile a day going forward despite the necromancer's undead minions.”
”With the depleted crew we are moving slower, but there are less mouths to feed. We are still well provisioned. Any other questions Malgrim?”
Malgrim bobs his head. "No, Captain, I trust that you have matters in hand. I will return to the prow, please notify me should you have need of my skills or services."
Malgrim shakes his head when they are out of earshot of the rest of the crew. "Although I put little merit into the cook's fears, it does almost seem there is some unnatural curse that is plaguing this voyage. I find peace, however, in the fact that my hatred of sea-travel is well founded."