Tipene stands silently beside the gnome, looking around for the recruiting captain.
Bek clears the top of the hill and races on toward the finish. Approaching the sails, he sees something on or in them. Not knowing what to make of it, he decides to try to cut one of them down. He charges the sailcloth, drawing his cutlass and recalling the words of a spell to maximize the power of his song before slashing through the sail.
Clearing the obstacle of the sail, Bek emerges into the caltrop-laden street. For a moment, he considers trying to sweep them aside with the remnants of the sail, but instead settles for dancing between them, trying to avoid putting a spike through his boot.
At last, he emerges by the men with padded shields. Figuring he has wrought enough violence on this course already, he pretends to dart one way, then cuts back and tries to duck under the shields before continuing.
#2:
Mad Dash:
While Bek sees the powder laden into the sailcloth, his choice of breaching method serves to create a small explosion of that powder - which seeps into his skin, mouth, nose, eyes and ears...
Fort Save:
...and while he manfully attempts to overcome, the itching powder burns and sears his senses to distraction. He splutters and coughs his way through the caltrops safely, but is distracted enough at the gauntlet to cop a couple of rough jostlings and lose just enough time to cross the line in second place rather than first.
Rackham has the minor benefit of at least seeing Bek's suffering first, but given momentary pause midjudges his run through the caltrops - his left boot pierced through and a painful spike lodged into the arch of his foot. With lancing pain slowing his charge he loses enough time to shuffle through the gauntlet a close second to his own near competitor - a healthy fourth overall.
With the crossing of the finish line the crowd erupts into an open cheer, not limited to just the first to cross but openly applied to all who've managed to finish up the race. You're left in the midst of the square though... as the crowd's waiting first on a couple of orcs lugging a few buckets of brackish water, offering to douse away the worst of the itching powder.
You're taken through to a makeshift jail of sorts... except rather than being left alone a rope's tied off around your wrists before being slung over a crossbeam in the exposed roof. Yanked up forcefully it leaves you in a delicate position with needing to keep to your tippy-toes to keep from tendon stretching pain. Your pockets are rifled through for any hidden weapons or items - but nothing's taken. Instead left in a small sack at the side of the room.
A couple of minutes after you're strung up an older salt missing half his left arm. He's got a steadying air about him as though he's used to this sort of work. He draws eye contact before merely raising a querying eyebrow.
Bek nods to the orcs, "I'll take a good shower. That powder is...uncomfortable." He moves on to shake hands with the victor, third place finisher, Rackham and other finishers as they come in. After the gaps between finishers begin to stretch out, he walks back over to speak with Rackham, "Looked like they caught up with the elf. Think we should see if there is anything to be done?"
"Your dogs could have at least waited until after the race." the elf says, sorely. "That was simply unsporting."
He hangs limply, wincing with the pain as the silence hangs in the air. He senses any more flippant comments may make his situation even more precarious, so instead puts on his most courteous smile and greeting his visitor. "How may I be of service? You'll have to forgive me, I wasn't expecting guests. I'd pull up a chair for you, but... well..." he trails off, motioning to his arms bound above his head and giving his fingers a waggle.
Bek nods to the orcs, "I'll take a good shower. That powder is...uncomfortable." He moves on to shake hands with the victor, third place finisher, Rackham and other finishers as they come in. After the gaps between finishers begin to stretch out, he walks back over to speak with Rackham, "Looked like they caught up with the elf. Think we should see if there is anything to be done?"
James returns the gesture of goodwill, catching his breath.
I don't think there's much we can do for him by ourselves. But if we find Captain Lanteri and she thinks we were impressive enough to take us on as crew, maybe we can convince her that the elf was in the right of things. Swing some of her clout around and get him and the others freed. Shall we? Too many guards around here for my tastes...
"Yes. Let's see if we can find her. Second and fourth. Not bad, eh? Did you recognize first or third? Maybe we should try to recruit one of them too."
Quillin pushes through the crowd to the others. "Ah, you made it and the ginger patch is still cooling their heels with the watch. All in a good days work! Where's the elf? He get grabbed? Well, only sounds like a lashing. You'll get something similar if you get nabbed, too. I'd lay low until we can get out of here."
"The elf did get grabbed. They didn't look too interested in Rackham and I didn't do anything. Think we're clear."
Bek's request is duly complied with and the brackish water takes away the worst of the sting. Shortly after the small knot of prospective sailors gets back together the handsome gentleman from the starting line pushes forward to ingratiate himself and offer a hammered silver token of a man running to Bek "Token duly won... while it doesn't sparkle gold, silver still has a certain appeal... well done to you as well" nodding towards Rackham "the platitudes halt at copper unfortunately, but hopefully the words alone are welcome."
Bek cannot pick out Lanteri from the crowd, and the sailors who finished 1st and 3rd have already dispersed into knots of close minded fellows... you get the feeling they might already have a crew.
You get a clear impression that he's waiting for your words and take on the situation first... and that he's going to measure your conduct by how close or far it might be to accounts he's already heard.
Bek's request is duly complied with and the brackish water takes away the worst of the sting. Shortly after the small knot of prospective sailors gets back together the handsome gentleman from the starting line pushes forward to ingratiate himself and offer a hammered silver token of a man running to Bek "Token duly won... while it doesn't sparkle gold, silver still has a certain appeal... well done to you as well" nodding towards Rackham "the platitudes halt at copper unfortunately, but hopefully the words alone are welcome."
Rackham half bows, smiling at the man's words.
The thrill was in the race itself--I can live with the outcome.
Quillin pushes through the crowd to the others. "Ah, you made it and the ginger patch is still cooling their heels with the watch. All in a good days work! Where's the elf? He get grabbed? Well, only sounds like a lashing. You'll get something similar if you get nabbed, too. I'd lay low until we can get out of here."
Thanks for the warning but--how'd you get away? I think I'll head back to the Fiddler and see if I can find our Captain.
"As for indelicacies, I can only offer my most sincere apologies for hurting your men's feelings. Would you like me to write them a heartfelt letter?"
Stretching his neck again and sighing "Comes to the simple fact that regardless of what the other buggers did... you still killed a man during Bloodgrog. That's lashes. And you ran from the constables - tongue notwithstanding - that's lashes as well. Now there's a couple of ways towards this."
"Iffin ye want, everyman can have a trial by 'is peers... but it'll take a couple of days minimum to get a sober enough mob of 'em in one room... and the word of mine and the constables'll ring a hell of a lot louder than yours will... and you'll get lashes. I'm guessin the Cap'n probably won't hang in port fer ye tae finish either."
"Other option is you put word to writ, state and claim... and take your lashes now. Five from me... or two from Bruno... your choice." referring to the constable that was chasing Iscarel through the streets earlier...
Mad Dashers:
Rackham remembers an offhand comment from the alchemist while he was lingering before heading over to the Dash about Handsome being the one of the Captain's ilk more interested in the run - and
happenstancically picks out a particularly foppishly gorgeous gent out of the crowd at that moment. He seems to be waiting for a bit of clearance before actually making his way t'wards Bek as well...
Quillin sends Smudge up and around for hide or hair of the Captain... but this time his feathered companion doesn't return as a lucky bird.
Iscarel cannot help but smile at learning the orcish constable's name. "A fugitive and a blasphemer now, is it? The good captain asked me to compete in the Mad Dash, a race I was well on my way to winning before your boys stepped in. But it doesn't matter a whit, now."
"By all means, send in Bruno. I've begun to rather miss him." he says, glibly.
Quillin frowns at his familiar, but shrugs and with the bird mounted on his hat grabs the hem of Rakham's coat and tells him to lead the way.
Say, that fellow look 'handsome' to you? Think he might be one of our prospective brothers in arms. Let's have a chat with him, prove me right or wrong.
Rackham, still breathing heavy from his serious wounds, walks with Quillin towards the well-dressed gent.
This may sound strange, but are you 'Handsome', by any chance? I'm Rackham, this here's Quillin, and the fellow who edged me out in the Dash is Bek. If you're here on behalf of the Captain, well, I'd appreciate you taking us to her for a bit of a sitdown.
With a wry smile and flutter of his eyelashes the man responds "Well I'm flattered you think of me as handsome, but I prefer to go by Hinsin. Well met all... except for the tulita gent? Your friend didn't pass your name t'wards me..."
"As to Lanteri, the answers yes that I'm here with a remit... though what's the rush to speak with her the now? There's still light and drink left for the day and what might prove to be a fair bit of blood and words spent at the Revel" referring to an inn where a fighting pit is set up that you recall the fiddler of the night before referring to as the Piss1ng Pit.
Bruno then takes two steps back and with a minimum of fuss unleashes his first strike with the whip. A thin line of pressure explodes to pain that starts stinging and sharp before blossoming and blooming into a passionate fire. Just as Iscarel is coming to grips with the sensation a second line crosses the first. Beneath the searing fire of anguish you feel blood starting to flow. Bruno then walks up to scrape the remainder of the gritty paste off your back before retrieving a white linen bandage to bind over the wound. Work done the orc retreats... though Iscarel can see a hint of a smile of enjoyment on his face as he goes.
Regardless of what might or might not be wished to be said to the retreating constable... Iscarel can focus only on the continuing searing pain stabbing into his back. Surprisingly he feels that whatever blood was seeping has been staunched... but the twin lines of liquid fire searing his back remain. The older man looks at you appraisingly before asking simply "Up to standing on your own power?" indicating with his one hand that you're hanging limp off the ropes binding your hands.
Bek nods, "Hells Hinsin, Pissing Pit it is then. Better at the blood than the books myself, but words hold power. Especially in the song. Let's have a go and I bet the Tulita...Tipene I think...will catch up."
The Tulita nods and follows. "Tipene."
The gnome sighs perhaps more in anticipation than disappointment. "It always comes to violence sooner or later, doesn't it?"
"This time, we will not be interrupted by the guards. Yes?"
With a wry smile Hinsin remarks "I was talking about watching the violence... not engaging in it." before a spit take at exactly what Tipene intimated "What do you mean this time you won't be interrupted?"
"What do you mean this time you won't be interrupted?"
The gnome gives his friendliest leer. "Oh, that ginger rat's gang tried to jump us before the race. We could have taken them except for the watch stepping in. They've all been locked up so it looks like we're your best bet for fresh crew."
"Lock 'em UP! Lock 'em UP!" Smudge crows.
Rackham shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. That's why I wanted to talk to the captain. The elf, Iscarel, helped out and put a man down in the confrontation. The watch nabbed him at the end of the Dash for it, otherwise he would've won. Thought maybe Captain Lanteri could spring him.
Quillin tugs at a bright blue braid of beard. "Not a bad idea you all getting him out. He'd likely make the pit fights interesting. He's already made a good accounting of himself in one fight."
"Perhaps your Bruno is the wrong line of wo- ARGH! Calistria maithan chín agarwaen!" he falls silent as the whip comes down a second time, hanging limply in his shackles and letting the farce end.
Sullenly, the elf finds his feet, knees buckling on his first attempt. "This isn't my first lick of the lash old man." the elf says, fire taken out of his voice. "Untie me."
As you begin walking slowly towards the Revel Hinsin reacts with some surprise "Bit unsubtle like turning to the blade or bludgeon outright... lacks a certain nuance." shrugging and taking Quillin at his word that the others started it. Rackham's words draw a raised eyebrow though "You think the Captain's got stroke enough for that do you?" chortling "Maybe... but it's unlikely she'd put it out for someone not yet even on her crew. You might get lucky though - as long as it was just a fight gone badly they might let him off with a few licks... depends how badly he's p1ssed off the constables."
Your path through the town is easy enough and you arrive at the Revel early enough to snare a table near to the Pit. A gnarly barmaid comes over to take your drinks orders as Hinsin requests a bottle of mulled wine for himself.
Tipene is fine with watching, and keeping his head down. He'll order grog.
Quillin shrugs at Hinsin's response and once at the Revel grabs some complimentary salty snacks and finds a commodious seat from which to watch the mayhem.
Some luck would be nice, but I won't anger the gods by asking for more than my share of it, Rackham says with a smile.
Something strong, he says to the barmaid, wincing and holding a hand tenderly to his ribs as he takes his seat to watch the festivities.
"I'll have the same." adds Bek, settling into a seat to see what the Pit will attract.
Drinks are furnished to your liking and Hinsin makes a modicum of small talk as you settle in for the night. The general population seems to have split into a couple of primary groups. The first (of which you count yourselves as members) growing tired of the day and what warmth the bloodgrog offered now fully sapped from their bones. Bek finds that quite a few patrons recognize him from the Dash - and offer their own congratulations.
The second group of patrons consist of those that have not yet entirely had the fire blown out and are looking for action still. Sneering lips, angry eyes and a sense of searching for any slight transgression so they might answer it with fire... though thankfully the open area of the Pit serves as their genius loci and draws that aggression into a more easily manageable area. Festivities have not yet started... they seem to be waiting for a as yet unseen party to serve as conductor of the competitive orchestra.
With the drinks and attention, Bek relaxes his usual manner and mingles with the patrons. He shakes hands and slaps back with those who offer their congratulations on the Dash. Not looking for a fight, he steers clear of the more aggressive patrons, leaving them to seek like minded patrons in the Pit.
Reaching the pit, the elf takes a long draught of somebody elses drink, spots his fellows and slinks into a chair, wincing as he does so. For once he seems to have nothing to say.
Bek nods as Iscarel comes over to join everyone else, "Not looking too good Iscarel. Those guards rough you up?"
With the crew giving only middling interest to what's to occur at the pit and Iscarel having been introduced to Hinsin, the evening begins to flow past you. Flyting, fistfighting and even the occasional rat-baiting takes place in the pit - with pittances won and lost, reputations besmirched and enhanced the same, and the night progressing steadily past you.
Hinsin for his part doesn't dole out much by way of words, spending only idle banter and empty conversation as he nurses his drinks. The night is growing late indeed when you pick out both Lanteri and the Alchemist from earlier across the Revel. Hinsin sees them as well, and gets to his feet. Offering a simple nod and "Gentlemen" he moves off to speak with the other pair.
The gnome looks sourly at his suddenly sheepish companions. "You were all ready to fight when it was just a jest and nearly got us all in jail. Now you're sitting there like barnacles pissing your pants instead of the pit. You only good at running, Bek? The pointy eared whipping boy can barely stand yet he looks more game than you."
"One of you louts get in there. That captain is looking on now. Here elf, I've got a spell to recharge your batteries, but I'm burning my last scroll and you'll owe me."
Bek lets out a low growl at Quillan, fixing dark eyes on the gnome before adding "Don't see anyone in the Pit worthy of note yet gnome. When there is a fight worth fighting, I'll be happy to represent."
The gnome looks sourly at his suddenly sheepish companions. "You were all ready to fight when it was just a jest and nearly got us all in jail. Now you're sitting there like barnacles pissing your pants instead of the pit. You only good at running, Bek? The pointy eared whipping boy can barely stand yet he looks more game than you."
"One of you louts get in there. That captain is looking on now. Here elf, I've got a spell to recharge your batteries, but I'm burning my last scroll and you'll owe me."
Just a jest? Rackham laughs, rolling his eyes at the gnome. Whatever happened wasn't funny to Ginger and his mates. Me'n the elf hadn't stepped in, you'd have been stamped out. I don't expect a 'thank you' since I joined in of my own accord, but hold your tongue if all it's good for is insults. I'm damn sure not gonna be goaded into a fight for your amusement. Fighting in this condition is more like to get me to lose favor in the captain's eyes.
"Owe you? If we're keeping score I'd say I owe you two stripes. What say we call it square?" the elf says, swaggering to his feet. "I'll fight, if we can goad that poxy orc into the pit."
The elf grins savagely, and begins to scan the yard for the orcish constables.
The gnome grunts. "Get us on that boat and we'll call it square." He takes out a short roll of parchment inscribed in what looks like blood- devil's blood, in fact- and reads off the infernal words granting Iscarel a minute's worth of diabolical regeneration.
Iscarel looks to the crowd... and while he can't see the specific orcish constable in question, there are still a goodly number floating about. With the thoughts of whether it's a wise choice being overridden by the yellow and black threads through his mind... he gets an inkling that there's a possibility that he could call out the constable with some further indelicacies of the verbal varietal. Failing that - there's more than enough targets that could be called... or you could prevail upon fate to provide an opponent.
The small knot of alchemist, pretty boy and Captain are in an engaged discussion... but you can't at this range read much off their facial expressions or gestures. They do appear to be talking of you though.
Tipene shakes his head minutely. "I will take the chance that they are looking for people with sense enough not to look for a fight when there is no need. Yes? But if I am right, I will put in a good word for you."
Iscarel shivers as the infernal magic takes its effect. "Sod that. I want to see what this constable is worth without his men." the elf says, leaving the rest unspoken. Probably still two of me, but Calistria's sweet honey is too sweet to pass up.
Iscarel moves toward the pit, binding his fists for the bout. He spits before cupping his hands to his mouth. "Send for Bruno and tell him to meet me in the pit, lest all of Lilywhite know he has more tusks than balls!!"
The initial reaction that Iscarel's bluster draws is a mixture of confusion and wry smirks depending on which of the listeners actually know who Bruno is. There's one group of attendees that view his proclamation with a bit more directed interest... and stone faces. One of the black-armored orcs hardens his eyes, before moving through the crowd and outside... perhaps to fetch Bruno to answer to your impertinence.
Hinsin on the other hand is similarly surprised... though in a less controlled fashion. He breaks away from the Captain and the alchemist to draw up on the outskirts of the pit. Hissing at a relatively low ebb he implores "Are you a fecking idiot naturally or do you try hard to achieve it? You call one of them into the pit and it's an invitation for him to tear you apart!" before continuing in a similarly urgent whisper "Do you want on her crew or not?" leading with a fairly strong intimation that the job is more certain rather than less...