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Rhemus finishes up the succulent ribs and smiles at Rosie with an evil grin, "No rest for the wicked! I must admit that I am intrigued by the half-orc's comment", he whispers into her ear and then springs up from the deck wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
He makes his way to the prow of the ship and nods at Sandman and Rillum when he gets there,
"I was hoping we could have a chat and discuss what happened this morning. A Captain and his officers should not be encouraging discord and fights between the Crew. They disregard Besmara's Code..."
He spits into the sea punctuating his disgust with the way this ship is being lead.
She notices Sandman approach and ask to talk to her for awhile.
"Hello, didn't get a chance to speak to you that night at The Formidably Maid... or did I? I'm Baltzar Callinova"
"You did not. I would not have forgotten such a meeting." Sandman said giving her an appreciative glance. "I am Sandman."
I like this one.
You do not like anyone. You do not even like me most of the time.
Correct.
The prow of the ship was often empty during times of rest. The ship was anchored toward the tides so the waves broke on the prow. The constant rocking made it a lousy place for dice, dancing, music, and other revels.
Sandman found the motion of the waves relaxing. When it was apparent the blue skinned woman would not be joining them Sandman shrugged and spoke to the group.
"We have the attention of a sadist. Things are going to get worse for us before they get better."
"If we are going to survive, we need to have a plan."
Interrupted, the elf nodded to the half-orc and followed along to the prow of the ship. He sat down and spent some moments untying his hair from in front of his face before once more donning his mask. As they waited for all of the others to gather, he set about going through the unraveled pieces of hemp and began to reweave them.
He listened intently as the situation was outlined.
Also during this time, if any of you wishes, you can partake in any of the Nighttime Ship Actions. You can also, potentially perform "sleep" jobs as well. As it currently stands, no one is fatigued and everyone was successful at their day time jobs.
There are also numerous unoccupied foot lockers laying around the lower deck and plenty of good quality locks to go with them. Part of claiming your bunk is moving a foot locker near it and making your mark on it.
Rhemus waits for the rest of the Crew to gather listening to the waves crash against the prow. He felt exhilarated by the strong sea wind rushing past, as the ship progressed on towards the infinite horizon.
He is pulled back to reality as Sandman starts to speak and he listens to the big half-orc.
"Aye a plan is needed... This Captain and his Officers are forced to press-gang crew because of they are unable to engender loyalty and trust. Fear and pain is not the way to build a Crew. There are a number of sailors that were press-ganged just before we were. They are ripe for the picking... Willing to throw their loyalty behind a new set of leaders."
"Precisely." Sandman rumbled. "Fear and pain are all the officers of this ship understand. Show the crew something different, and they will turn like the tide."
"So far we have been acting independently. I propose we coordinate our efforts."
"Tonight sets an excellent stage for what I have in mind."
He nodded to the blue-skinned singer facinating the crew. "She will be crucial. I do not know her, but after this morning she will be seen as one of us no matter her own wishes on the matter. Hopefully she will see the benifit in working with us against a common threat. Regardless, if she continues to facinate the crew as she is tonight, we can use that to our advantage."
"She draws them in as both a lure, and a distraction."
He looked to Rhemus and Baltzar. "Which you will both use to your advantage with your natural charms. By simply being part of the festivities allies and admirers will come naturally to you both. Together, you will quickly gain a following. Find out who they all are and what they want."
"While the crew's attention is diverted, Rillum will be able to move about unnoticed. He has been trying to acquire his possessions since we woke up here. I'd imagine that by now he knows the ship better than any of us."
He gestured to the strange masked elf. "This is Aerel. He speaks my native tongue, and little else. I suspect he will have a difficult time ingratiating himself with the crew or being unnoticed. However, based on what we saw yesterday morning during testing, I suspect he will surprise us with the ways he can help." Sandman took a long look at the monstrous mask the elf wore, shaped in the visage of a tentacled horror. "I would be a fool not to recognize an omen when it stares me in the face."
"As for myself, I will be our lightning rod. If anything we have done is uncovered, I will take responsibility for it. If any of you are caught doing something you should not, try to blame me for it. I will try to keep Scourge's attention. He does not realize it yet, but I have much to teach him and I am looking forward to the lessons."
The elf looks up at the conversation and asks, "Yo te sèlman pale ki bavardaj moun yo konsa dènyèman te kòmanse groyman?"
"Giberish se pawòl pa gen sans. Ou konnen pi byen. Gen lang kòm anpil tankou zetwal nan syèl la. Okenn yo nenpòt ki pi bon pase nenpòt lòt toutotan de moun ka pale ansanm." Sandman said with a slightly disapproving look.
"Giberish is words without meaning. You know better. There are as many tongues as stars in the sky. None are any better than any other so long as two people can speak."
Rhemus watches the conversation between the elf and the half-orc in complete silence, not understanding a word that is being said. Finally in elven:
"You are an elf. Do you not speak the language of your people?"
"Moun yo yon fwa te pale ak entèlijans epi nan nou onore lènmi nou pa sonje kilti yo ak lang. Koulye a, pawòl yo se confus ak brut. Yo manke elokans nan zansèt yo. Menm lang sa a se gwo soulye. Toujou, ou rele nou ansanm, pou ou dwe gen yon pwopozisyon. Ki sa ki se yon pati mwen an?" Aerel replied.
"Friends, allies are needed. And charms are good, effective, . . and sometimes not enough. My plan can be added, enhance yours, if we are willing. My spices, alchemical remedies are soothing, help strength, stamina, relieve fatigue on a long day. Better yet," Rillum, snickers in an unsettling way. "My wares can be . . . habit forming, addictive. Those who try, often need more. We offer as gifts, the giftees must be our friends to get more! This is my plan."
"You are an elf. Do you not speak the language of your people?"
"I have never heard of elves wearing masks which revere those sorts of creatures before. Wherever he is from, they are not your typical elves. It would not surprise me if there was a language barrier."
Then he laughed at Rhemus' suggestion. He shook his head with a grin.
"I suspect they are already using that tactic against us. The rum they give the crew is certainly not like any I have ever tasted before. Far more potent and far more toxic." Sandman replied to Rillum. "I am not one to discount any options. It may be difficult to keep such things out of the hands of those we do not want to hurt."
To Aerel he continued to speak in his native tongue, a string or rolling syllables that seemed strangely jumbled.
"This language is a mixture of many languages. It is old and deep and ever changing, like the sea. It is unrefined, but I prefer that."
"As for your part, I honestly do not know. You are the mystery of our little crew. None know you, or what you are capable of beyond what we have seen at yesterday's testing and today's fight."
"For now, simply try to stay beneath notice. You are likely to become a target of the more unsavory crew members. I am sure you can handle yourself should they push you, but I worry it would create an excuse for Scourge to harass us further."
"You are an elf. Do you not speak the language of your people?"
Aerel turns to regard the halfling. He sits silently staring for a long minute before he responds in the elven tongue, "I take it you are not familiar with the elves of the Mordant Spire? It is considered a grave insult amongst my people for one not of the blood to address us in our own tongue; however, this is a dire situation and needs must. If you cannot follow the local tongue, the original human dialect or the language of the waves, I will speak, and hear you, in my own tongue."
Returning his attention to the half-orc, he again responds in Polyglot, "Odd, I was just thinking that it is time to assert myself with the crew. You will see a small measure of my power later, below decks."
The sun has set for the evening and almost every one turns in and heads down into the holds of the ship to sleep off the rest of the day. It's been a hard days' work and everyone seems to be in a good mood after the fine meal and decent entertainment. While jokes are made and laughter is heard throughout the hold, no violence erupts and no fights brake out. Everyone turns in without any additional fanfare.
The night passes without disturbance and everyone is well rested when the sun begins creaking in through the cracks and the morning bell is heard roughly an hour later signaling the start of the third day. You are given a wide berth and no one seems to mess with you or challenge you on this fine day. None of your possessions have been messed with everything else seems undisturbed.
She seems to understand Polyglot (she does), and just nods to what the others are saying.
In the early morning, Nivian is woken by Sandman and a few of the others, who tell her the basics of what they discussed last night.
(Common):"Yes, some among the leadership are wary of us. They fear we may be trouble. I intend to make that into a self-fulfilling prophecy. On a ship, a captain's word is King's law. But in such a small kingdom, the nobles are easily toppled by the press-ganged peasants. I plan on collecting allies from among the existing crew. I believe those forced to be here would welcome a change of leadership. It's those who have been here before we were that we need to be able to sway to our side."
Upon Sandman translating what she said to the masked Elf, she looks puzzled, then addresses the Elf:
(Elven):"We did not yet have the pleasure of talking to one another. Honestly, after the first evening, I feared you may have lost your tongue in a ...enterprise gone wrong. Pleased to get to know you!", extending a hand towards him.
As the night wound down, Sandman did not. As they all packed in he made it a point to go over everyone's wounds from the morning and do his best to faccilitate healing. He did not have his healing supplies, but his arts included massage, pressure therapy and strange metaphysical practices that he said encouraged the spirits to lend their aid.
He even sought out other injured crewmen and added them to his list of patients. He used the contact with them to learn more and attempt to gain trust.
At some point around half way through the night, Samdman slipped his mask on. Most everyone was asleep, but anyone who happened to be awake could see a radically different person continuing to minister to the injured. The blue scars on his body seemed to darken and glow slightly with faint purple light and he placed his hands on the largest scrapes and bruises, seeming to enjoy contact with the injuries.
As he moved about the berth tending the others he cast no shadow.
For a time, he slipped out into the main hold, scanning the for anything suitable as a weapon.
In the morning, Sandman was up with the first thin cracks of light coming through the hull. His mask hung on a nail in the wall of his bunk. A foot locker had been claimed and now bore a sinister grinning face etched into its lid. The mask was wet with something dark.
Rigger
Aerel: Rope Work
Cook's Mate
Fishguts Sobriety Check: Drunk
Rhemus: Special Occasion
Swabs
Rillum: Hauling Rope and Knot Work
Nivian: Hauling Rope and Knot Work
Baltzar: Repairs
Sandman: Man the Bilges
Sandman is sent back to the bilges again today after performing so well yesterday.
Baltzar clearly has a knack with knitting so it's more repairs again today.
A lot of rope needs to be relocated so Nivian and Rillum have both been assigned this task together.
Once the ropes are brought up on deck, it's up to Aerel to get them coiled and stored in position for use.
With Fishguts being too drunk to help with dinner this fine day, it falls to Mr. Plugg to oversee the preparations of the meal. Rhemus gets to spend the day under the watchful eye of Mr. Plugg.
There isn't much to score in the main hold besides a club or two or a quarterstaff unless you're willing to start opening crates. There is also plenty of rope and nets everywhere.
You do notice that in the morning, 2 or 3 crew members give you an extra wide berth in passing and one doesn't even look in your direction.
Rhemus gets up early in the morning, and makes his mark on one of the chests then locks it. Then he 'Creates Water' for his Crew to clean up with.
He heads over to the Galley and finds Fishguts out cold. To his surprise Mr. Plugg is in as well, "Today's yer lucky day halflin' swine! I will be watchin' yer back while yu prepare the day's meals. No slackin' off you half-wit or yu'll taste the sweet caress of my cat."
Disheartened by the turn of events, Rhemus sets aside his plans for the day and just works as hard as he can to prepare the best meal possible.
Dealing with rope? At least more shipworthy than playing ratcatcher. Nivian makes sure to give it her all and do an impressive job(covering for Rillum if he's not doing as well...of course also keeping an eye out for Sandara in case she has the same job).
Unfortunately, that intense work is very tiring. Well, she had no strenous activity's planned for later, so she could just sleep it off with a good nights rest. Talking to a few people did not seem likely to stress her body further.
A gnomish woman as a pirate? They are a curious lot, for sure, and some are gripped by a wanderlust, and she's been on board longer than the press-ganged group. Nivian's trying to find out whats drawn her to such a life and whats keeping her in it in casual chat/being friendly.
Sandman tapped on the Quartermaster's door on his way to the bilges. When she opened, he handed her the jug Rhemus had procured for him.
"You are right. It is cursed. But it is my curse, and you have nothing to fear from it."
Sandman worked smarter, not harder. He spent most of his time wrapping his new club in a length of thin rope, creating a wrist loop and stable grip.
He hung his mask on the wall and it slowly drank in the misery of the place. The dirty walls seemed cleaner and the stains less pronounced. The muck gathered and calcified. Sandman left his hand in the water, cleansing it with a simple prayer. He knocked the rats unconscious with a wave of his hand and ended them with his club.
It was a relaxing day.
Under the watchful eye of Mr. Plugg, Rhemus does not get much rest or a chance to do anything but prepare meals and clean up the kitchen. Yet despite the distraction and obvious hostility in the galley, the meal turns out splendid.
While working smarter and not harder proved to earn Sandman the respect of quartermaster Grok, it didn't seem to have the same affect on Master Scourge. Perhaps it was his nitpicking, but it clearly became obvious that Mr. Scourge was not going to be pleased regardless of the outcome. As hard as he tried, Master Scourge could barely find anything to complain about and had to settle for giving Sandman a simple tongue lashing.
Nivian manages to encroach a laugh out of Giffer Tibbs, which no one knew was even possible. Perhaps it was the falling dwarf Tam "Narwhal" Tate that contributed to the humor. The resounding bounce off the deck did earn a smile from several other pirates as well. It would appear though that all of this laughing and carrying on has left Nivian winded and fatigued.
Rillum continues his night activities with no change. He takes the coins and leaves all the possessions.
During the conversation on deck, he listens, satisfied. He had pushed, nudged at just the right time. No weakness, good. We can work together.
The next morning, Rillum wakes apprehensive, but the previous day's test was not repeated. Today was the day.
His job progress was adequate, and the anticipation of at least some of his things buoyed his energy throughout the day.
When the opportunity presents itself, Rillum slips away to the quartermaster's.
"My lost things, my bottles, my book, my supplies, what is needed to have them found?"
She works normally, and this time tries to get to know the others doing repairs.
Baltzar spends her work day focused on the task at hand, but it seems as if the other crew members are keeping at arms' length and making it difficult for her to get a read on them.
"Back so soon little one? What is it exactly you want? I got a crossbow that's about your size...and a dagger around here somewhere I think...oh, and look at this, a tiny little shaver's kit. That's got to be right up your alley, right?" Grok goes on and on about useless things that you're of course not interested in, all the while taking swigs on a bottle of brandy.
A moment later, a shout draws both of yours attention. "Hey Grok, hurry it up with that bottle dag-nab-it. This wine is terrible and Plugg's in the kitchen the rest of the day, I ain't tryin to waste my time be sober, ya hear me over there?" shouts Fishguts.
"Oh keep yur shirt on, I'll be there when I'm there, just finish'n up with a customer...now, you see something you want here boy or what?" says Grok, clearly distracted...
There is apparently a language...more like an intelligence barrier between you and Grok.
Rillum restrains a growl. "Bottles and powders, glass and herbs, small book with scratchings, all in bag." He points to the backpack he had seen earlier. "There, they were in there."
Rillum begins to think the half-orc pirate is deliberately toying with him.
While Rhemus works diligently at the galley, he will carefully watch Mr. Plugg, looking for signs of weaknesses, like maybe a limp, if he favors one arm over another, maybe difficulty hearing from one ear, etc. Also if he has a moment when walking into the storeroom and away for a few seconds from Mr. Plugg's scrutiny...
EDIT: Thought to roll a Stealth check to hide the casting:
Rhemus doesn't notice any physical weaknesses of Mr. Plugg, but when he glances at him using Detect Magic he sees a very different story. Glows emanate from his Mr. Plugg's cutlass, some of his crossbow bolts, his potions, an amulet, some bracers, and a pair of shackles worn oh his hip.
Rillum restrains a growl. "Bottles and powders, glass and herbs, small book with scratchings, all in bag." He points to the backpack he had seen earlier. "There, they were in there."
Rillum begins to think the half-orc pirate is deliberately toying with him.
"Hmmm." She walks over to the pile of small packs and starts sorting through them, holding them up one at a time "This one? No." and she tosses it aside, regardless of the contents that may be inside."This one maybe?" The process continues through 3 or 4 packs until she finally comes to yours. "This one? Fine, 40 gp for wasting me time" she says bluntly. "And make it quick! I got a date with a nice, shapely bottle if you knows what I means!"
"Hurry it up Grok, I ain't waitin' all day!" Fishguts shouts from the room across the hall.
After a long day in the galley Rhemus is pleased to head out onto the Main Deck in the evening and partake of the rum ration and the fish stew with turtle "bites" that he prepared during the day. Again he serves his Crew (all those press-ganged with him, plus Rosie, Sandara, Conchobhar and Giffer) a slightly larger portion with more fish and turtle meat than the others.
During the evening entertainment and while Nivian distracts the pirates, Rhemus checks to make sure that Mr. Plugg and Master Scrouge are on the Main Deck or their private quarters, then he will slip below deck again and head for the galley.
He will replace the magical grappling hook hanging on the galley wall with the non-magical one he found the other day, and use the automatic 20 to Disguise 20+0 = 20 to place the non-magical hook in exactly the same position, and apply any coloring to the hook to make it look identical to the one replaced.
He will return to his hammock and hide the items retrieved close to his bunk, but not in his locked and marked chest. He will then go to sleep and pray to Besmara for Fishguts to be sober in the morning.
Later that night Aerel goes below decks. Grabbing up one of the unclaimed footlockers, he hefts with surprising ease for one so slight in build. He quite loudly sets it down at the base of his bunk. Intoning several words in an alien sounding language his hand begins to glow with a violet light. Placing it upon the locker's closed lid, the glow suffuses the wood. When he removes his hand, there remains a glowing glyph seemingly one with the wood. It is eerily similar to the mask the elf once again wears upon his face. He slowly moves his head to meet the gaze of any who look on at his display. If he catches the eye of any of the other sailors on board, he locks gazes, his head tilting to one side causing the perspective of the mask to be altered and creating the illusion of it writhing. He holds the look for several seconds before continuing on.
Once he has made his intentions murkily clear, he retires for the night placing the half-woven net into the footlocker. He holds his mask as he sleeps, secure in himself for the first time since arriving on board the ship.
Night action is mostly just sleep again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning Aerel arises bright and early. Donning his mask, he prepares to ascend to the main deck when he is stopped by the blue skinned woman. At her words, his body language becomes tense. Truly looking at her for the first time, he guesses at her heritage.
(Aquan) - "You look to have the blood of the sea in your veins. Is that so?" He says as he accepts her hand.
When Rhemus doled out the evening meal, Sandman locked eyes with him for a moment. Then as he walked away to eat, Sandman's voice came, whispered, as if the big man was right behind the halfling's ears.
Can you hear me?
Rhemus drops the serving spoon into the large pot and seems to jump out of his skin. He quickly regains composure and whispers back, "Yes. You scared the s$~* out of me."
(Aquan) - "My blood is the sea. Water is life, to me more than many others of my kind. So yes, it is so. How come you would speak this tongue, though? I heared you speak in 2 strange languages yet(Azlanti and Polyglot), yet no word of elven, but then you speak my tongue fluently? Do you mind if I ask where you hail from?"
Also, Nivian claims a Footlocker as well, and casually stuffs the things she aquired on board(all easy to come by, except the tool hidden in Romello's sleeping place) in the Locker, not using a lock. Instead, she spends some time with a candle dropping wax on the footlocker until there is a puddle on it, then writes on the wax until it looks like elaborate magical writing in a pattern involving all the elemental tongues.
On the evening, Nivian refuses requests to sing or entertain the crew, claiming to feel too fatigued from the days work, with no energy left to provide a proper performance.
Instead, she'll try and get to talk more with the riggers she already got to meet, before, but could not meet during the day.
She was sitting alone yesterday, so I'll provide company if needed. Either way, I'll chat away with her on the merits of the sea and the freedom it provides, and trying to find out how she got her nickname "Slippery"...(guessing she "slipped" away from something, thus the emphasis on freedom before).
Night action: Later that evening, Nivian will go looking for Conchobar Shortstone, claiming despite her fatigue she can't sleep and if he'd be be inclined to chat a while. Nivian will try and confirm him in his role as a charming swashbuckler, casually asking how many girls he left heartbroken in how many ports.(trying to guess how long he's been doing this pirate/sailor-thing before he got pressganged)
As usual, after her daily and nightly duties, Nivian will go to bed and fall into a deep sleep until the next morning...and it is well she has no need to prepare new spells, as she will use the extra time to slumber a bit longer.
Sandman's voice chuckled in his ear.
Boo. Rhemus could practically hear his expression.
This should let us speak to each other no matter where we are on the ship. Simply concentrate on me before you speak and the wind will carry your words to me.
Sandman spent his evening among the crew again, this time finding himself standing next to Shivkah idly watching a game of dice.
He attempted to start a conversation, but it seemed she preferred her own company so he moved on.
He found himself sitting against the mast next to a barrel of broken ropes. He idly repaired them as he watched the stars.
At around midnight he slipped on his mask and quietly patrolled the deck until sunrise. The mask drank in the ship's misery, leaving it cleaner it his wake.
He never made it to his bunk that night. When the ship's bell rang he had already been at the prow for hours watching the horizon.
Rillum's frustration grows. No man would make a person so stupid quartermaster.
"Thirty-five, I have thirty-five. The contents do no one good, are useful to no one besides me. I will be more useful, do better work. Thirty-five is what I have."
As the work shift of day 3 winds down, dinner is announced and rum rations are passed out as normal. They make their rounds a little slower as only Rhemus is passing them out this evening. The rum rations are beginning to take their tolls now.
You have no difficulty switching the normal grappling hook with the magical one on the wall in the galley.
You detect no ill will from Grok, just a drunken stupor of a lack of intelligence. She throws up her hands in frustration, tosses the packs back where they were and begins to lock up the store. She walks out, closes the door, afixes the lock and turns and says "My goods, my prices, come back when you can afford them!" With that, she spits on the ground and moves off to go join Fishguts in their cabin to finish their bottle. .
Tired from a few days of hard work and emotional rollercoasters, Nivian decides a good night's rest is probably for the best, but not before having a chat with Conchobar. He is a professed lover of many women, having dozens in every port between here and Port Peril. While he lets slip that he's not really into the conquest, it's the thrill of the charade that challenges him. The opportunity to be someone new and different at every chance, the adventure of not living the same life over and over again.
Baltzar spends part of her work day repairing and also getting to know some of the other swabs also working on repairs. One young man in particular catches her eye. It's not so much the man, but the highly detailed scrimshaw he is carving. Although once he's been spotted, he quickly hides it away and puts some distance between himself and Baltzar, not quite trusting the new crew members. Others identify him as Jack Scrimshaw.
Please make ego checks for when you are wearing the mask. If you fail the check, I will take control of the mask for limited times. You will still offer guidance, but decisions will be my choice. After all, it is your darker side.
While regaining your mask seems to have emboldened your diposition, it clearly has affected your work. Mr. Plugg warns you that if you wish to keep such a trinket, you had better shape up quickly.
It is also noticable that Mr. Plugg, Master Scourge, and Captain Harriagan are all in the officer's area along with a rarely seen female human Peppery Longfarthing and a human male Habbly "Stitchman" Quarne. Fishguys and Grok the quartermaster are not on deck with the others.