14 hours ago
As the Jenivere approached the last leg of her journey, an infectious good cheer was spreading through crew and passengers alike. The prospect of a speedy arrival had send spirits soaring, and unlike most meals, this evening was filled with song, good-hearted boasts and the sound of rolling dice. While the fare was meagre, the company made up for it. Even captain Kovak had joined them this night, unlike most recent meals. While quiet stories had wormed their way through the crew, linking this habit with a new acquaintance (the beautiful Varisian enchantress Ieana, the man did not behave out of the ordinary now that he shared the meal with his passengers and crew.
Even Aerys Mavato was sharing a pleasant conversation with Old Horge. The half-elven traveler had spend a significant protion of time voluntarily locked up in her cabin, after ruining Dergo's chances of fatherhood with a well-placed kick. All in all, she had maybe left it for half a day since she boarded in Port Peril. Now she and the old salt were busy burning through his rum allowance, and her supplies of stronger spirits. Their conversation suffered for it not in enjoyment, though slowly it seemed to no longer center quite around the same topic. While she was confessing her burning desire to prove herself on the open sea, and her plans to someday captain her own vessel, the old sailor was growing more nostalic by the minute. Yet the athletic young woman seemed not to mind.
In the meantime, the pompous gnome claiming to be a pathfinder, Gaelik Aberwhinge, had taken to trying to impress Sasha, While the small man from Magnimar was certainly able to spin a good yarn, his antics and energetic gestures only seemed to amuse, though not really impress the hard-eyed woman. Still, he did not take the seeming rejecting in any foul fashion. He, as he claimed, was a gentlemen. While his immaculate appearance and carefully-cultivated Taldane seemed out of place on the Jenivere, his companion for the evening was something else entirely. Sasha Nevah, despite her beautiful face and thick strands of blonde hair, was a woman who just felt... off. To quick to laugh, too quick to take offense. Willing to bet her purse on a single roll, and expect to win. She played her part in one of Gaelik's harmless magic tricks, yet snatched the coin the gnome had hidden in his palm with her four-fingered right hand. Some of the crew whispered they had seen a tattoo of some murder-god named "Mantis" on her shoulder, and her port of origin, the ill-reputed island of Ilizmagorti, seemed to support that idea a little too much for comfort.
Ishirou, the white-haired Tian, on the other hand, seemed as at home as a fish is in water. He almost felt like a part of the crew already, despite his bording in Bloodcove. He had been a constant companion of the crew during the voyage, had lend a helping hand where he could, and generally made himself very useful. After he had shown himself competent and not prone to accidents, the first mate had not only relaxed his watchful eye a little, but was offering him to hire on the Jenivere.
The only one not taking part in the impromptu celebration was the convict, Jask Derindi. He just stared, his black eyes burrowing in the wooden walls opposite his place. Supposedly he was a traitor and a fugitive, and hadn't been allowed out of his irons for longer than half an hour once a day to eat, drink and keep himself clean. The Gallows awaited him once they made landfall, and understandably he was none to keen on them reaching their destination.
Zababa sits off to the side, concealing grins at Gaelik's buffoonery. Taking another swig of ale, he looked up. The cold, eerie radiance of the moon and stars were a window into memory of uncounted nights in the Mwangi Jungle spent staring up into just such a sky, taut with worry for his family left behind in Chelax.
Odd, that the Jungle should be my true home now.
With a bit of sympathy, Henry takes a mug of ale to Jask and offers it to him. "Have a mug man, if your days be numbered then find a few moments of enjoyment in the ones you have."
"You're quiet tonight, Zababa." N'gawa sits across from him and slides a full mug of ale over to him. "You getting pensive as we get closer to the jungle? I'm eager to get off the water, I would think you you be too." The man had naturally taken to the halfling when he learned how much experience he had with the jungle.
N'gawa looks around the tables and smiles. Landfall was making this bunch flat out giddy. Must be what happens to you when you spend too long at sea. Crazy to spend so much of your life without ground under your feet.
"I'm going to hunt me down a giant beast when we get to land! Maybe a few more Great Cats too! What are you going to do?" The Mwangi laughs as he sees Gaelik try to charm Sasha yet again.
"So I am, I suppose. I was just thinking how peculiar it is that I've come to consider the great jungle home. A place of far-distant rumor as a child, and then soul-shivering terror when thrust into it knowing nothing of how to survive. Now, I can't go anywhere else and not long for it... it's mysteries, it's dangers. 'Outside', I call it now, when I'm forced to leave. Rather absurd, on the face of it - but I have to agree that I'm eager to make land again."
Zababa takes a long pull from N'gawa's offered mug of ale, making a sour face to express his opinion of it. "Blech, ale. It'll do, but I prefer something stronger - and preferably of my own make!" Laughing, he continued, "I make my own, picking up whatever bounties the Jungle provides me during my excursions. Surely you've experienced the same in your home village?"
"I've never been one for hunting: too many of my people have been the hunted, over the years. I've killed my fair share of the great beasts, but only when necessary - or hungry! No, I'm a seeker of treasure, for surely the dead have no need for things the living can use?"
"Tell me, though: are you able to read maps? If so, perhaps you could help me with mine? I've mapped everywhere I've been, encountered, or heard of, and I always try to fill in more details."
N'gawa takes a long drink from his mug and smiles at the rogue. "Ghuryn made some strong drinks in my home, but this ain't bad. Besides, I won't be seeing home for a long time now." The hunter pauses with a look of regret on his face. But the look passes as N'gagwa speaks of the hunt.
"No my friend, you must come with me on a hunt. You will feel alive like you never have before! To see a great beast, proud and strong and to be able to match your wits with its -- To challenge the instinct of nature against your own skills with the bow -- Ah, what a thrill!"
"Of course, I can read maps. A hunter must know where his prey will seek shelter and water. He must know the hills and the valleys where he can take advantage of the heights and how to stay upwind what he stalks. I will be happy to help you!"
"Excellent! In return, I will make a copy for you, showing where I have come across some of the greater beasts of the Jungle. I'm afraid we must wait til we land, however: it would be a poor map indeed were I to attempt to work on them on these heaving seas!" Zababa waves vaguely in the direction of the ocean and takes another drink of ale, draining the mug, before turning back to the party.
"As for hunting, perhaps I shall indeed accompany you for a hunt. The gods only know that the fewer such monsters out there, there are less to hunt me! Come, now, and let us refill our mugs and drink to the great Jungle!"
Tshilaba was quieter than his usual self. Landfall doesn't make him as happy as the rest of the crew. He enjoyed quite well the isolation from the world. Most of the time he has had a drink in his hand, but today he has partaken quite a lot of it and has spent the last couple of minutes trying to shuffle cards but having trouble with it on account of his "Third hand keepin' gettin' in the way." As he keeps repeating to himself.
Listening with mirth at the conversation the hunters are having, Siera smiles when they come her way to refill
"I sure'do envy you boys! All that land waiting to be explored, beasts to be fought, sights to see! Bring me back a panther's hide and the tale of your fight with it and I'll reward'ya handsomely. We're prolly stayin' ported for a couple o'days till we get some cargo to take north, same deal as last year and the one before that..."
While she finishes the sentence she rolls her eyes, easily displaying her feelings about the routine.
"I keep tellin' the cap'n: This route may be safe enough that the filthy pirates won't get to us, but the boredom is sure to kill us eventually! It's been near a year since we had a good pirate boarding, and this girl sure misses the fun!", tapping the wooden walls, Siera makes it difficult for someone to know if she's referencing the ship or herself. Probably both.
"So tell me more. Did a tiger ever get you with yar pants down and you got wondring 'do I get the pants up and protect my cawk?'. That happened to me once, not the cawk part though, and not a tiger, obviously."
Vargbrandr had taken one sip of the swill left in the barrels and poured the rest over the the side. While he would often be the first to partake of any of the alcohols, his dwarven upbringing had made him a bit of a snob for certain tastes. A sweet honey mead was what he was really in the mood for right now. Feeling a bit grumpy, Varg retreats to a quiet corner and sits with his feet up on a barrel, a plain block of wood in his hand already half shaped and his carving knife in the other as he listened to the various stories filtering through the hold, most of which he assumed were lies.
Sound slowly returns to Rafflesia: the waves speeding the ship onward, the silence of the air, the carousing of the crew and passengers, and that god-forsaken gull that had been following their mirth for the last league or so. Every time she finally felt descended, that damned bird would let out his piercing shriek and up her conscience would return, mindful of its attempt at meditation.
She grabbed a sip, nodded to N'gawa then to the gull, and remarked that she had heard fliers were always the most complexing hunt, what with their upness and their downness. "But, no...", she continued, "the jungle is but another bodice of Gozreh. Being here on the open sea feels... different, certainly, but it is still an embrace. Here's hoping our port isn't attached to so much society that one might grow fatigued."
Misha sat, scribbling something in her journal, only half an ear to the conversation. She looked up at Zababa, delayed in her response to his earlier remark. "Wait, did you say you had a map? I'll look at that too, when you get it out, if you don't mind."
She scribbled something else, then nodded to Rafflesia with a wry grin. "My general experience is 'society' is a loose term at best when applying to the ports around here." She shrugs. "But we shall see one way or the other, soon enough."
Zababa paused at the bawdy woman's question. After a moment spent to recall her name, "Siera, my dear, anyone caught like that by a tiger would be dead before they could even decide what to do. Besides, the tiger's claws are fit to rend the flesh of any beast alive: the cloth of pants would be... immaterial. Would you like me to show you?"
Digging in his belt pouch, he pulls out a large claw. "The great cats typically strangle their prey with their teeth, but they use their claws to latch onto said prey when chasing it - so it is important for them that their claws be very sharp. And in the Jungle, the plants are thick and easily capable of hiding such a beast until it decides you're too close to escape..." he trails off, and lightly drags the sharp claw across Siera's exposed arm. "And now imagine four of such claws on one paw alone, digging in with all the force and fury of a beast who hasn't eaten for days and is twice your weight and three times faster than you."
"So, tell me, Siera," asks Zababa, putting away the claw with a salacious grin and a wink, "what would you do?"
"Ahh, Miss Misha! It's good to see you again," returns Zababa with a small bow. "I do, indeed, have a map. As I was just saying to N'gawa, I would be more than happy to show it to you, but it would be best to wait til we're ashore when I don't have to worry about spilling ink or having it fly overboard in a gust of wind."
Tshilaba keeps mumbling to himself, slurring his words terribly as he starts nodding to himself. "The third hand can't find a map to the bodice. Tiger's hungry.
When shown the claw, Siera opens her eyes wide, and asks to examine it. Presented with the question, she smiles and answers:
"Why, it's simple, Zababa my dear. No one goes to that a leak in the woods without a good amount of healthy paranoia. As soon as the beast pounces...
Siera illustrates her movements without actually moving from the spot, moving her hands to mimic the tiger (who seems the size of a horse) and her.
"Rolling dodge to the side and kick it in the nuts. Works for tigers as well as men, and pants be damned. You do it nice and perfect, get a furry ball between your toes and the beast will wish it hadn't caught you with your pants down."
Misha turns to Siera, "Well, m'dear, after you've irritated the tiger, are you gonna run, or find a way to bring'em down? A kick to the nethers might stun him, but not for long."
A few beats later, Misha twists around and cocks an eyebrow at Tshilaba. "You alright.. Vadoma, was it? Maybe you've had a bit too much of that grog."
"That..." N'gawa points to the claw Siera holds. "...is why I use a bow. If a tiger can catch you, he can do some nasty things to your pretty skin. But put an arrow through his eye at 100 paces and no matter how many claws he has, you will walk away in one piece."
"Rest easy, though, Siera. Most tigers want little to do with you. They look for easier prey. It is us who hunt them." The hunter grins.
"Toes and bows, toes and bows." The Varisian leaned ever so much farther forward until his head hit the cards now laying in a messy pile on the table. It was pretty obvious he was extremely drunk. He swung his head toward Misha in response to his name, with several cards stuck to his sweaty skin.
"I'd smile at him, and kill him with my breath." And with that he wheezed out a laugh with breath so foul as to lend much credibility to his ridiculous claim.
He laughed a little at his own joke, and rose to his feet, cards still stuck to his face. "But now, I must to bed before I make a fool of myself. I wish you all very, very well in case I do not wake. Dwarf!" He suddenly pointed at Vargbrandr, whipping about and nearly losing his balance. "You can inherit my spell components when I am dead. And I bequeath my tattoos to Misha, for her concern. I take my leave."
With that he stumbles to the door, but doesn't quite make it. He collapses near the door and mumbles quietly again. "Shouldn't have given away my legs. I need my legs."
Jask turned his face to Henry, the sour note not leaving quite, but his eyes showing surprise at the sudden humane treatment. "If these be my final hours, I want to live them with my mind clear and my senses sharp. Would have served me much better a year ago." Henry remembered the stories that circulated - how the man had supposedly sold patrol routes and tips about government stings to the Freemen, a rebellious milita that plagued the colony. While he claimed to have been framed, the verdict had been clear and undisputed, and his flight had just given it even more credibility.
Aerys snorted as she heard the convict's response. "Well, if ye won't drink, we won't object to it. More for the others!"
Sasha began to show increased interest in the conversation unfolding before herself, much to the chagrin of the gnome. The talk of trophies, wild beasts and jungle expeditions was more along the lines of her interest, which made the small humanoid angry - in an altogether too pouting fashion. "I am a pathfinder, you know? MY kind thrives on these stories! Adventures, I mean. Adventures, stories are only told well after the thriving has run its course."
"That is true, Mr. Aberwhinge, but sometimes, the world's oldest stories can reveal in hindsight how much the success or failure of an adventure really mattered! I believe the phrase the civils use is 'forest for the trees'. In fact, I explore this subject in my latest batch of annotations to the Hymns..." Rafflesia eases herself up slightly to retrieve some folded leaves she's written her thoughts on.
Siera opens a wide smile at Aerys' declaration, specially because the girl is finally out of her quarters.
"Now THAT'S my kind o' gal! Bottoms up mates!"
Leading by example, she drinks up her mug of ale.
"You and me, girl, less see who can best hold her liquor! Loser sheds down to her briefs and dances on the table!"
Henry grins at N'gawa's comment, "It is us who hunt them", and lifting a mug in toast he concurs.
"Aye, the beasts are fearsome sure, but so are we my friend, so are we."
Lifting his mug in toast, Henry follows the lead of Siera and knocks it back, draining it completely before heading for a refilling. Before leaving the table where Jask sits, he turns back to the man.
"If you change your mind on the drink let me know, a man deserves a little humanity before the gallows claim him."
Gods above and below, he wouldn't last five minutes in the Jungle before drawing every hungry predator or hostile tribesman in miles! Heehee, I'll probably regret this, but this is too much fun to pass up!
"Mr Aberwhinge, since you're a Pathfinder, I would be most exquisitely delighted to hear some of your adventures you've thrived upon. Please, I beg of you: enlighten us with your tales of derring-do!" With that, Zababa focuses his rapt attention on Gaelik.
Can a deckhand pick Tshilaba up and put him in his bunk?"
To Gaelik's talk of adventures and stories, Misha smiled, more ruefully than she was usually wont. "Sometimes the stories are told to mask an adventure gone wrong," she says quietly, but then adds more conversationally, "But then that's why the best adventuring stories are half nonsense anyway. And all the best--to learn which part is truth and which part is dreams and which part is better learned from."
She grins at the gnome. "Tell us another one, Gaelik, and then I'll counter with one of my own. I don't have your way with words, but the adventure in this case is in the telling."
"Yes, what Misha said, tell us of your adventures Gaelik, in particular the tales involving ancient ruins and lost civilizations."
A gleam appears in Henry's eyes.
"What have you found in your journeys Mr. Aberwhinge that would impress Sasha more than a trophy of a wild beast or the valor of trekking through a steamy jungle? Tell us of places where hidden treasures may wait and real danger lurks in the darkness."
Aerys took Siera's declaration with a stoic shrug "You already lost, so... I don't mind any of it." as she emptied another mug. The half-elf already was somewhat past her senses, but that was no wonder considering the amount of spirits she had already consumed with Old Horge. Her intonation was a little slurred, and seemed... indistinct. As if dozens of local dialects had each failed to fully convert her mode of speech, but each left a small impressionn
Old Horge, on the other hand, had seemingly had enough. He grabbed the passed-out passenger in the armpits, and dragged him off, muttering something about the glory days of hauling cargo.
Jask raised his shoulders. "I had plenty of 'humanity', thank you. But... I appreciate the thought. At least I'll get to spit them in the eye one last time."
The gnome pathfinder suddenly was at the center of attention, much to his delight. "Well, well... what best to mention, then?" He declared, stroking his hair in contemplation. "I suppose the relics of ancient Thassilon don't strike your fancy much, but there was this one expedition, right past Kaer Maga into the Storval Plateau. We were a small group, six strong including our barbarian guide. A shaman by her own declaration, of the Skull Clan. We all knew she bore the tattoo of an outcast, but she was helpful and did not raise a fuss about any traditions, so we did not push the matter. We followed the burning soil of the Storval for days, pushed on by talk of a fountain of fire, where fire elementals were spawned. On the way, the already penurious growth gave way to stony desert, as the temperature rose past even osirian standards. Before long, we were shedding our overcoats, and began to envy our guide's more... scant attire. Finally, we discovered the source of the scorching - a fountain of fire alright, but not the genie's palace we had imagined, but something altogether more unlikely. An upright cauldron spewing fire and lava high into the sky, crafted from bronze and a strange grey-green metal, etched with runes of magic. We tried to approach, but even our protective spells ultimately failed to ward us from the inferno, so we could not claim the price itself - but in the surroundings, we found the skeletal remains of a most curious giant, his bones inlaid with strands of metal, his head seemingly split open and re-sealed with a metal plate."
Sasha had, while the tale was still being spun, used her chance to make herself scarce. All the more suddenly she appeared on Misha's side. "Good riddance. I thought I would have to do something drastic to disentangle this pest from me. Thank you"
Misha speaks quietly, careful to speak when the gnome isn't looking her way, to Sasha, "No problem. Better scatter 'fore he sees you." She gives the secretive woman a smile before turning back toward the gnome.
When Sasha is gone, Misha engages Gaelik again. "Where's the giant skeleton now?"
"Yes, where is the skeleton now? Did you bring back any thing from this adventure? I would imagine an outing such as this would have made you famous and wealthy!"
N'gawa grins around at the group, clearly not believing the small gnome could accomplish such a feat of adventure.
"N'gawa has a point, the bones of the giant must have fetched a good price in the right markets. So tell us Gaelik, how do you find yourself here drinking swill with the likes of us?
Gaelik's eyes lit up at the challenge, and replied. "well, my good sirs, consider our situation. Alone, in some of the most inhospitable territory of my homeland, our supplies calculated for the forey we made, but not much more. We had no equipment to move the skeleton entire, so we settled for samples. We traced the strange runes engraved in the metal plate, and we pried loose one of its teeth, easily as large as the both of you, to take back to Magnimar. And truely, we submitted our account for the inclusion of the chronicles." She fidgetted at this last bit of tale. "As of yet, the Decemvirate has not come back about it."
"There must be something else you took besides a tooth and some drawings. An epic trek, and no minor souvenirs such as my tiger's claw?"
"Ahh, well, it could well be. If you'll excuse me, I'll retire to my cabin. Good evening to you, sirs and madames." And, with an embellished bow, turns and heads below.
"A strange tale indeed Mr. Aberwhinge." With that Henry drains the last of his ale, bids a good night to those at the table, and also retires for the evening.
"Magnimar? I studied there for a time... surely there was some talk of a giant's tooth the size of two people coming through the city..." Misha considers, wondering if this was possible--had she heard of such a thing coming into the city?--or if the gnome was embellishing.
Misha had not heard of any such artifact. The city of monuments had its fair share of the curious and the bizare, but that particular item wasn't anything even the notorious pathfinder lodge hadn't ever boasted about claiming. On the other hand, the gnome was not lying either. He was not telling the whole truth, but the story had flown too easily, too easily and without the need to embellish so common in liars. There was something more to this story, another untold chapter.
The evening began to wind down once the shares of alcohol had been aloted, and all felt a certain... gravity pulling them to the hammocks. Sleep came easily to each of the party.
Current time
The haze that had enveloped your minds began to lift. The surf became distinct from your heartbeats. Everything smelled of salt, and sweat and a faint aroma of fire.
You find yourself strewn across the beach of an unfamiliar island. It is a small beach, grey sand covering wicked rocks just yards out. One cluster, made up of the slowly-recovering forms of Aerys, Geaelik,
Henry and Rafflesia lay smewhat deeper inland, while Tshilaba, N'gawa, the Prisoner and Zababa were closer to the waterline. A ways off, the dwarven fighter Vargrand, Misha, Ishirou and Sasha lay inland, while Siera still lay splayed across the beams of rowboat wedged between two particularly vicious rocks. The boat had been both a utility and a lifeboat to the Jenivere, whose corpse was barely visible outward, its wooden gut ripped open on a reef. Its masts had splintered, its keel broken.
A low groan alerted them to a final survivor: Alton Devers, the first mate of the Jenivere. The man they probably owed their lives to, lay wedged between the lifeboat and the water. His leg was crushed between the wood and the sharp rock, and he was still further from consciousness than the others.
Henry drags himself to his feet and staggers to help those still in peril. Focusing on their savior, Alton Devers, he searches for a way to free the man from the crushing grasp of the rocks and the lifeboat.
"Help!", Henry calls to the others, "Siera and Alton need us."
Henry, in a snap, evaluates his position somewhat further. He has the clothes he went to bed with, and some his duffel bag is hastily thrown a few meters to his side. If it was Alton they had to thank for their rescue, he had the foresight and took the time to at least provide some of the most immediate necessities. So at least they had some tools, weapons and other of their most personal effects.
Tshilaba bolted up at the sound of the trouble and nearly went down again. His head spinning from the alcohol he lurched toward the rocks, vomiting in the sand. Cursing under his breath he straightened out as he went with one hand shielding his eyes from the unrelenting light. He decided to curse that too as he made his way over to the rocks.
He went right to Siera and checked out her situation and decided she would be better off on sand. Tshilaba was able to pick her up and take her off the rocks and place her in a more comfortable position. "Are you alright my dear?" He said, keeping his distance. His breath was likely to be foul enough to be noticed even in these circumstances.
Henry's shouts penetrate N'gawa's senses and his eyes flutter open. The next second, his body is racked with coughing as he spits up sea water. Finally, he is conscious enough to take stock of his surroundings.
He hears Henry still yelling and sees Tshilaba lifting Siera off the rocks. N'gawa stumbles to his feet and goes to check those around him. "Zab! Jask! Are you ok?"
A nearby shout pierced Zababa's consciousness, managing to rouse him away from a nightmare of frothing water, rended wood, and the last, gasping gurgles of drowning men. With a groan, he slowly became aware of the grit of wet sand on his face, crashing waves just behind him, and the bright morning sun that shouldn't be there if he'd gone to bed in the dark, windowless ship's cabin he's paid so much to reserve.
The sound of nearby running feet brought his attention up to the moment. Henry was running toward the ship's boat, and Tshilaba was carrying Siera away from the shore. Looking around himself, he saw N'gawa and the Prisoner nearby. N'gawa, at least, appeared to be intact as he was in the process of standing up.
"N'gawa, my friend, I'm happy to see you survived! I don't feel injured, and you don't appear to be, either. We should check Jask, though," and crawled over to the Prisoner.
Misha pushes herself to her feet with a groan, shaking her head several times to try to clear it. She takes quick stock of herself and the others around her before moving. Hearing the commotion and movement toward the shore, she runs toward it. Seeing Siera being attended to, she moves then toward Alton to try and safely unwedge him and pull him further ashore.
Rafflesia shakes the molded leaves from the clouds of her mind and shakily stands, awakened by the Fedora. She stares a bit disbelievingly at the mess around her, at the sounds of the Drunk retching, but composes herself enough to utter a quick prayer and stumble to the nearest still-prone body (?).
Henry continues struggling to free Alton from the boat and rocks. When Misha arrives he gains new hope that they may be successful yet and doubles his efforts to free the man that saved them all.
The gentle rock of the wooden boat and the splashing of the water create the illusion of the familiar quarters on Jenivere, the closest thing to a home Siera has ever had.
By the bent mug of Cayden, what has happened last night?
Was I... Dancing on a tabletop? Was I naked? That damned woman can hold her liquor! I will never bet over drinks again...
Feeling the cold embrace of the water and the salty splash caused by the tide upon the stones, the sailor slowly gets a hold of her environments.
Wait... This is not the...
Her head turned, she finally notices the wreck. Her eyes widen and in response the salty water makes them sting. Surely the saltwater must be the reason her eyes tear up.
Just as Siera is brought to her senses, the boat starts giving way under Henry's persistent pulling. It dislodges itself from the rock in with a groaning, sucking sound, and reveals the ill fate of their savior. Alton had suffered some of the worst luck in the world, it seemed. His leg bend in three sharp, unnatural angles, and was seeping blood into the salt water. He must have slipped on the jagged, algae-covered rocks when a wave rocked the boat, or otherwise lost his footing.
He was still unconscious, which was probably a mercy given his condition. As Henry and Misha brought him to safety, Rafflesia began invoking the grace of Gozreh, bringing the rest of the castaways to their senses. Jask was the first to open his eyes, twisting against his restraints and trying to get his bearings. "Well, fate sure has its work cut out for it" he mumbled, slowly and carefully working his way up into an upright position. Gaelik, the load-mouthed gnome forced a smile, and replied. "Agreed, my newfound friend. There is a fine irony here." His boastful demeanor had seemingly vanished with the night, and he swiftly joined the others who attempted to take care of Alton. "Ah, couldn't he have shed his pants last night? We need to get a look at what happened there."
With Rafflesia's summoned water and some quick work, they managed to get a better look at the mangled leg. Things look grim. There are at least three points where the bone fractured, one, just above the knee, with splinters piercing the skin. Already the skin is hot to the touch and feeling puffed. Alton would, under normal circumstances, need to be brought to a competent healer as quickly as possible to save the leg. Alton came to his senses under pained groans, ejecting a swell of salt water as he came to. In the moments she managed to pry herself away from her patient, though, she noticed several barrels bobbing in the surf, marked with the stamp of the Jenivere. They had a certain buffer of food and with any luck some of their more bulky belongings as well.
Aerys, awaking from her own haze, took a sip from a small metal flask before facing the situation. "So, I count 13 of us." she declared. "Does any of us have recollection of what happened last night? I for one lose track halfway through my bet with Siera." Her eyes went through all of the group, focusing the supposed assassin a bit longer than any of the others. Sasha bristled under her gaze visibly, but remained quiet. It was Alton who spoke. "I remember a few things." He spoke, his voice strained from composture. "Weather turned foul fast, woke up with when the Jenivere began tossing. I tried to get to the helm, but the deck was abandoned. We ran aground. Damnable reef cut us up like a fish. The hold and crew quarters were first to go... couldn't do much. Crash broke open the cabin doors, so i started with you... Siera was floating when I made my second trip... got her into the boat just barely."
"I swear on the bones of the mountain, I did not get drunk last night." Varg growls as he stumbles to his feet, his head still fuzzy from whatever knocked him out. He stumbles over to the surging water and drops to his knees just as a wave sweeps in, soaking him to the bone but also dunking his head in the cold ocean. Sputtering he jumps to his feet, red hair swinging wildly as he shakes the excess liquid off. "That's how ye wake up!"
He looks at the group huddled around the first mate and dismisses the situation as handled. "Alright ye scurvy scalliwags, those who aren't patchin' up Alton there help me find whatever weapons and armor we can! We be on unfamiliar ground and I'll be damned if I'm traipsin' around clad in only me skivvies."
Survival
Misha covers her mouth with her hands as she looks at Alton's leg, trying to be brave, but she's never seen an injury so awful.
"Will we have to cut it off?
To Aerys: "I remember writing in my journal and then feeling tired, wanting to beeline for my bunk. That's about all." She shakes her head sadly. "I wonder what's happened to the rest of the crew. Ship sunk, I guess."
She looks around, trying to think about how far they possibly could have gone in a storm, what pieces of land were relatively nearby to where the boat was last night. Takes in a look at the horizon and the position of the sun, etc. trying to hazard a guess as to where they've landed.
N'gawa walks over to see the first mate after ensuring Jask is ok. "Oh this is not good. I seen a leg like this before. A gazelle running full speed stepped into a hidden hole. Not good at all. He needs a doctor."
The Varisian stood up and left Siera on the beach where he had laid her. She probably needed some time alone. The dwarf was right, now was the time for action and not sentimentality. He pushed up his sleeve and dug his nails around the tattoo in his wrist. From a distance it almost looked like he was attempting to dig out his blood vessels, but instead the skin acted like a paste of finely ground flour and water as he dipped his fingers in.
In a few seconds he pulled out a small brown lump and cradled it in both hands and brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. Suddenly a wing fluttered off of the brown lump as it formed itself into a small bird. Tshilaba stroked it affectionately and let it perch itself on his finger.
"Una, can you fly around and tell me how far the wreckage from the boat is spread? Don't go to far though, I don't know what kind of dangers we might have around here." He spoke to the bird and gave it wing so that it might check out the area from above. Then he waded into the surf to try to haul what useful things to the shore which would be easiest to retrieve.
"Dwarf!", Rafflesia yells. "There!" and points a bloodied hand to the barrels she spotted earlier. Turning back to her patient and the shattered leg, she frowns. "I can keep him stabilized with Gozreh's blessings, but I don't think I can't fix his leg. We need to find a bonesetter. Are any of you..." She looks to the crowded faces.
"Dwarf!", she yells again. "First-aid kit!"
"Henry?" Fedora. "I need to make a splint. Get some wood from the wreckage!"
"Who can swim? We should try to retreive as much salvage as possible, and if we're lucky maybe even the ship's doctor's kit!"
With the determination of one long accustomed to walking the razor's edge of survival, Zababa swims out to whatever flotsam he can find - particularly those of the passengers and crew.