The gnome raises a hand at Hinsin's offer. "Hey, I'm in. If the elf wants a second thrashing that's his prerogative. Waste of a scroll though." He gives the dim elf a peevish look.
The Tulita cracks a slight smile as his guess is confirmed.
Bek nods to Hinsin, "I too would join the crew. Know that the elf and orc's song are tightly entwined. I'm not sure that any of us can stand between them, but I can help make sure the elf stands a better chance this time."
Hinsin looks to Iscarel to get a response from the elf himself... as the crowd begin to start jeering "C'mon pointy, tell us what ye really think?" with a scattered snigger.
Iscarel seems surprised at the man's intervention, trying to remember the last time anybody had cared for his wellbeing. Yá ressë. Long ago.
The thought seems to amuse him, and he laughs bitterly over the shouting and jeering. "Your concern is touching, but some aid from your alchemist would serve me better." the elf says, curtly. "Never you worry about the constable. I only mean to bloody him a bit."
Both the fights and the flyting have been a mixture of either one on one, or teamfight... however the teamfight have always been of equal numbers on each side.
Hinsin shakes his head, muttering "Well... we're not here to take on stupid" now turning his side to bodily exclude Iscarel and address the others, initially Quillin but extending to the others "If the rest of you want in... you're in... follow me." finishing with a curt nod and leading those that are willing through the crowd and back towards the Captain. He gestures with his chin towards Lanteri first in greeting and then t'wards the door - indicating that they're finished in the Revel. The alchemist doesn't need encouragement, and Lanteri just gives Iscarel a look... before sighing, shaking her head and moving away.
"A contrary bunch, these Corvid's Brides. Last I heard from your captain you were asking us to compete." the elf shrugs, turning his back to the jeering crowd, clambering from the pit and falling in step behind the others. "I hope you don't mean to exclude me from that offer for dancing on your puppet strings, Hinsin. I'd call that terribly unjust."
The gnome tugs at the dandy's coat. "Come on now, Hinsin. The elf's more spirited than stupid. Should learn when to lay off, but he's tough enough for anything you've got. We're all in this together. Besides he owes me two now."
Hinsin turns at Quillin's tug and sees that Iscarel himself had abandoned the pit... he furrows his brows slightly, but shrugs and waves the lot of you after him. In the wake of Lanteri, the alchemist and Handsome you're led out of the Revel and back towards the Crusty Fiddler. Once you get outside of the inn, the number of people around you drops precipitously and it's just you and the drunks passed out or rendered immobile on the side of the streets.
Upon the walk Lanteri offers "Well... looks like circumstances have intervened to make my choice not much of one. You're the only salts that aren't waist deep in cups or behind locked doors... I assume you're still interested?"
Tipene nods. "Yes, Captain."
"I'm in. Didn't cover myself in itching powder to back out now. Things can only get better."
" I assume you're still interested?"
"Last ones standing it would appear." Quillin grins.
"All IN!" Smudge allows.
Iscarel looks appraisingly at Quillin, an incredulous smile on his face. Soon his grin is as wide as the gnome's. Last ones standing indeed. There's more to this one than meets the eye.
He turns to the captain, a distant look in his eyes as he tries to make heads or tails of her. He falls back a few paces and murmurs to the others. "She chose Bloodgrog to weed out the drunkards and the cravens, it seems. This one is more shrewd than she seems."
He answers the captain's offer with a curt nod, merely smiling the self-satisfied smile of one who has just gotten his way as he marches into the inn.
Hinsin turns at Quillin's tug and sees that Iscarel himself had abandoned the pit... he furrows his brows slightly, but shrugs and waves the lot of you after him. In the wake of Lanteri, the alchemist and Handsome you're led out of the Revel and back towards the Crusty Fiddler. Once you get outside of the inn, the number of people around you drops precipitously and it's just you and the drunks passed out or rendered immobile on the side of the streets.
Upon the walk Lanteri offers "Well... looks like circumstances have intervened to make my choice not much of one. You're the only salts that aren't waist deep in cups or behind locked doors... I assume you're still interested?"
Of course, assuming your terms are acceptable. I just ask for a fair share of spoils and a chance to earn a place of renown among the crew. So, what are your terms?
Lanteri smirks "Aye... terms... in a minute." leading you to the entry into the Crusty Fiddler and then through the woolen curtain and into the common room. The fiddler isn't at his post, and before you could wonder if Kreer's about Hinsin calls "Wine and cheese" towards the back to be answered by a "Aye, aye... a moment"
Waiting until you're in and seated, Kreer club-footedly serves you all before venturing with some details "Only fair that you know what you're signing on for before we set away... but broad strokes only before you make your mark eh?"
"Terms are simple, share of work, share of any proceeds... for as long as you put up your end. The Bride's got some punch, but we're not hunting trading ships or privateering... instead we're looking to scrape something back that Besmara's only half claimed. I know the where, but there's a wreck out there with full holds... I mean to change that."
"We go from here to a meet with the lobstermen, then to the wreck."
Iscarel pours himself a generous libation from the flagon, raising his goblet in a toast. "To sunken treasure."
Tipene raises his glass, joining the elf in his toast. He spills a few drops on the floor, muttering a few words under his breath, before taking a drink of the remainder.
"To sunken treasure..." Bek echoes. But somewhere in his subconscious the song strikes an ominous note forewarning that this will undoubtedly not be as easy as it sounds.
Quillin ponders what he knows of the curiously named lobstermen. "Yep, down the hatch." he snickers.
That sounds agreeable, James says, raising his own glass. To treasure, and to our lives being long enough to enjoy it.
Neither Quillin nor Bek have heard of the 'lobstermen' prior to this day.
Satisfied to a degree, Lanteri gives a short nod to acknowledge your acceptance "Done... we'll take your mark once we're afloat, to which we've a boat plucking us from the dock at an hour past daybreak on the morrow. I'd suggest a low profile until then."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Finding a least filthy bolthole to store yourselves in for the rest of the night, you find that sleep doesn't come or pass easily. More often than not loud celebrating, screams of pain, the meaty thumps of fists on flesh or the noisily horrific sounds of a man upchucking his stomach lining fill your ears and the accompanying scents fill your nostrils. Suffice to say the morning after leaves you somewhat ornery and with a perceived surface film of filth and unpleasantness. It's with this thought and malaise that you pick your way through the day's obstacle course of broken wood, collapsed bodies and small mounds of sick and make your way to the sea - where the sickly sweet smell of the ocean at least cleanses your olfactory senses.
You're joined a mite later by the Captain and her two lieutenants... who give you a cursory greeting. Lanteri's is officious, the alchemists delivered dismissively and down the length of his nose, while Hinsin just gives you a wee wink and smirk. A jolly boat arrives to take your attention - manned by the same stocky half-orcen lass that first aroused your attention two days prior, and a second man of nondescript appearance.
Lanteri and her men board, and you're beckoned to follow and take over the oars. Putting your backs to the common labor of the sea, you slowly see Lilywhite fade into the distance and thread your way through the small disparate fleet of ships to your waiting destination. As she comes into view, Lanteri calls it to your attention "There she is - the Corvid's Bride."
She's a Chelish designed brig, though all of the overt signs of the evil empire have been stripped off of her. A raised fo'castle and poop sit above the waist deck... and based on her draft you'd wager there's a full two decks in the hull before you get to the bilges. A couple of ballistae adorn the fore of the ship, while the rigging and lines show a paucity of decoration suggesting that she could dance in amongst a battle relatively easy. Three masts rise from the decks, and on the prow is a carved figure of a man with a crow's head. All in all you'd rate it a compact and steady ship... though you'd need to see her handle in some weather to get a true measure of her.
In awe of the spectacle of modern marine technology in front of them... our intrepid companions are struck dumb. Hinsin raises an eyebrow and prods "Cat got yer tongue?"
She's beautiful, James says without pretense. How many souls are aboard?
Tipene nods. "She looks a fine ship."
"Considerably better sight than Lilywhite." Bek agrees. "Time to go see your lobstermen. You needed us to fill out the crew. Where do you need us?"
Quillin waits for the assignment of duties.
Hinsin responds to Rackham "40 when she's filled to the gunnels... but with you that makes... 30... assuming nothing interesting happened while we were at land." before the jolly draws near enough to the Corvid's Bride for hailing.
Shouted pleasantries are brief before rigging presents an easy climb for you to get up on deck. A smattering of the usual nautical scum await you, with a few standouts... including a big-arse Osiriani with a waxed beard who eyes you as you step foot on the deck. Lanteri calls "Horumheb - get these squared away below and back up... I'll speak to the crew in ten, then we're getting underway." Hinsin and the Alchemist move off to disappear below-decks or to quarters as the female half-orc looks to assist with hoisting and stowing the jolly.
The Osiriani nods, before thumping his chest and grunting "Horumheb, First Mate... this way" gesturing with closed fist towards the fore stairs into the hold. Two decks down you travel - through the mostly empty cargo hold before an open-doorway leads to a haphazard room of swinging hammocks and mostly lashed and secure kit bags. There are a few empty sacks and rope just outside the room for you to snaffle, and at present the bunks are all empty.
Horumheb grunts "Quick now... then on main deck" leaving you a couple of minutes to stow your gear before attending the called crew meeting.
Quillin looks suspiciously at the bunks, but grabs a low one stashing his gear in a sack and posting Smudge to watch his swag.
Bek doesn't have much in the way of gear, but knows its probably going to be a physical day so he strips off his hide shirt and ties it around his waist. Then, balls up his undershirt and throws it onto one of the unused bunks. "Suppose we should go get friendly with the rest of the crew. I'm sure there is lots to be done." As soon as everyone is ready, he joins the jog to the crew meeting.
Iscarel wonders what manner of cargo the Bride is carrying in it's holds, having been at sea long enough to know that chasing sunken treasure is rarely a fruitful endeavor. He leaves the question unvoiced for now as he unloads his possessions, a full-sized elven harp, a Calistrian Book of Joy with detailed illustrations, a skin of wine, a set of lockpicks and some dice.
Unbelting his rapier he lounges back in his hammock for a moment. "We worked hard enough to get here..." he complains "And they mean to set us to work right away. Ai eleana."
Despite himself, he doesn't delay in clambering above decks, eager to see Lilywhite dissapear into the horizon.
Smudge is left as a sentinel over at least the gnome's possessions, as the others see themselves unlimbered of all that isn't kind to duties aboardship. Coming back up through the decks to the topsides you note that the hold is mostly clear, though there is a clump of boxes and sacks at one end of the space. No time for further investigation though as you move through and back atop for the Captain's address.
Milling on the deck with the other crew you find that you're given mostly nods and acknowledgements of presence without any real overt greetings or shunnings as of yet. Lanteri soon speaks at any rate "Right, we've taken some fresh blood on so we needs be away. We're headed North by West and into open water - so eyes to the horizon and keep things on the level. Should take us about a half dozen days of good time if we're to make where we need to be for the Lobsters... so we'll be keeping sails unfurled at night."
She eyes out the first mate and adds "Horumheb... fresh blood on days and above decks - see them put to use." getting a respondent nod before Lanteri finishes with a "Raise anchor and lets get the Bride in flight" and she makes to retreat to quarters.
Like a relatively even greased wheel with a few flat spots and a twisted axle - the ship begins to lumber and lurch into action. The crew disperses either up, across or below... and you're left with the first mate's eyes upon you...
Tipene looks back at the first mate without any particular rancor or challenge. "Where do you want us, sir?"
Musing Horumheb looks you over and shakes his head "No Sir... Horumheb. Room for one up in rigging, otherwise on the decks... unless any of you good with ropes or wood?"
"Feet on the deck is good enough for me," Quillin affirms.
"I'll be able to help the most down here. Not too graceful in high places, but I've a strong back to lend to the chores on deck."
I've a fair hand with ropes if there's a need, but no desire to go climbing into the rigging unless things turn dire, James offers.
"I've the better eyes anyway." the elf shrugs. "Send me above, if there's a need. Otherwise I'll swab with the rest of these louts. Somebody's got to look out for them." He says, something in his tone suggesting he's loathe to be separated from the others.
"I can climb well enough, and though I don't have elven eyes there's plenty to do other than watching."
Taking in the words Horumheb shrugs, gesturing to Iscarel "You then, up. Rest of you, lets get busy..." descending into a series of shouted orders and sequential activities to get them underway. The ship begins laboriously enough at first, before catching some wind and launching a bit of spray as it cuts through the water. The monotony of shipboard life and orders descends relatively quickly as you relax into your roles and broil under the combined effect of the sun and sweat. The first mate is the loudest and often sole voice on the ship, and though he pushes firmly, the orders never cross the line beyond work and into torture.
Those of the crew you're working with see themselves introduced in part over the course of the day and work - but given the flow of vessel life there isn't much call for deep and meaningful discussions...
Your first day passes without sight of sails on the horizon (barring those you've left in your wake behind you at Lilywhite) and little excitement. Night falls and a tub of fish stew and bucket of watery rum is brought topsides to fill your bellies. The lieutenants and Horumheb go to Captain's chambers for their own vittles (likely more impressive than yours of course), leaving you with the crew and your food for company.
Iscarel closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the sun and the sea-spray as a genuine smile stretches across his face, not the contemptuous smirk that usually sits there. Iscarel works with a practiced hand, but lets his tongue wag freely, most of his japes being carried away on the sea breeze and away from Horemheb's ear.
Clambering back to the deck, Iscarel is red-faced and sweating, concious of the copious amounts of Bloodgrog that were drunk during yesterday's festivities. He sips gingerly at the rum, turning to the others and lowering his voice. "We're to meet the Lobstermen. Scavengers from Freeport who trawl the ocean floor. If they gave us the tip, most like there's something stopping them from plundering it for themselves. Damned spirits, sea creatures, grindylows, or Besmara herself's great wet clam. Take your pick."
Iscarel busies his hands with a few knife tricks as he awaits his companions reply.
Quillin pauses in the little work he was actually doing. "Submarine scavengers, eh? Are they actual lobsters?"
Tipene shrugs, as if to say that it's all the same to him. The Tulita has been largely silent during the work on deck and in the rigging, speaking only when necessary. He seems more relaxed at sea than he had been on land, though smiles have been few and fleeting.
"Probably not, but I'd never heard of them before now. If we go below, how are all of you in the water?"
As you ruminate, you wonder if it was the Lobstermen who called in Lanteri... or Lanteri who called in the Lobstermen...
"Probably not, but I'd never heard of them before now. If we go below, how are all of you in the water?"
A fair sight better than I was in the Dash, I hope, James chuckles.