Gill's eyes grow wide as he pulls himself to his feet. He faces the figure and looks it up and down. "The language of my fathers..."
The figure pauses for a long moment. Jewelry hangs front around the base of its horns. Over scraggly long straight hair is a hood with a mane of light colored hair from the front edge of the hood, running over the head and down the back. It stares knowingly at Gill.
"You prefer to speak this language? I should have known it would be more... relatable."
Gill gulps and rubs his stomach, feeling woozy.
"Yes this way my cat friend can know what you say. How did I get here? I have small memory of a fight... Ugh Gill must have ate something bad."
Its voice is soft and low. "I do not know how you got here. I was captured by a small gang whom I knew to forcibly recruit for a sailing vessel. They have likely done the same to you. I believe they are violators of the local laws."
We all have our secret languages, but I thank you for using the common tongue. Last thing I remember was someone bashing me in the head. Gah, I should've been quicker.
Rougar rubs his eyes and tries to see things more clearly.
I am called Rougar and my friend is Gill. What should we call you, my friend?
"I am Ensra." He says then pauses for a long moment. "Well met Rougar and Gill. Especially you, Gill. I must admit that-" He is stopped short by the sound of foot steps thumping slowly and repetitively downward towards the far end of the room. Ensra turns its head and watches in the direction of the sound, without finishing his sentence.
Then a figure appears from the stairway, tall and lean, donning a long leather coat. A dark band is wrapped around his head holding long strands of dark, braided hair and a long braided beard. Behind him come half a dozen men men and women dressed in tattered shirts and pants, figures and hair in a myriad of styles and builds. Jewelery, belts and scabbards clang and jangle as they move.
The man in front walks up to the threshold of the area with the hammocks and speaks out to Rougar, Gill and Ensra: "Still abed wit the sun over the yardum? On yer feet! Get up on deck and report, new blood." His mouth flashes with metallic silvers and gold as he speaks.
Rougar looks about for his staff and other belongings as he stands.
To whom might we be reporting? He wouldn't be the one who hired thugs to scramble my brains, would he?
As a natural reaction to threats, Gill checks his belongings. All of them are gone, save his well stashed set of Thieves Tools.
The man grins and all his metallic teeth shining in the dark. "Ye be reportin' to Mr. Plugg. He's the first mate and he's a devil-in-skin. Got one whip fer each of yer nine lives. But no, those scabs I hired to get you on board were just scabs. Landsiders."
He lets a long leather whip unfurl from his hand.
"Now, I'm more patient than Mr. Plugg, but I sure don't like repeatin' myself."
Ensra stands and sighs. Then he heads towards the stairs.
Gills expression is shifty as he darts his eyes around sizing up his surroundings. He shrugs and follows in step in the direction the silver toothed man commanded.
"Gill just a small lizard no good for labor, harmless lizard is all. Me thinks you made a mistake picking me."
Rougar follows behind Ensra.
Rougar checks for his things as well. His few material possessions are gone.
The pirates clear a tight path for Ensra and Rougar to get to the stairs.
Rougar gives a nod as he continues to their destination.
Ensra leads Gill and Rougar up the stairs. The aforementioned men and women follow closely behind. Upon surmounting the stairs, the group comes into the middle hold of the ship. Two large wooden grates situated on the ceiling allow sunlight to pour in and illuminate the area.
About the large open room are supplies and cages. Inside the cages are about a dozen pigs, snorting and milling about, or sleeping. A large wooden mast extends from floor to ceiling in the center of the room, towards the far side where there is a set of stairs leading upwards. Chained to the middle mast is a hulking human male. His brow is prominent and he is adorned with feathers and some black sticky substances on the outsides of his arms and his legs, with some of it appearing to have been removed forcibly, indicated by red marks and patches of scraped and raw skin. Some of his head and face are shaven carefully, albeit some days past, although his face looks strangely unaware of his imprisonment.
"Dirty swabbies!" He shouts jovially and beams a smile, anticipating a comical response from the group and the other crew. A few of the crew urging the group forward chuckle a bit until the braid haired man shoots them a sharp glance, which he then turns on the man chained to the mast, who snaps on a scowl and looks down like a scolded child.
Also in this room are two ballistas, a disassembled canon as well as ammunition for both types of weapons and oil smeared barrels.
A third stairway situated near the stairway the group just came up sits behind the group as they look about the room briefly. The captors push them from behind and urge them towards it, upwards to the main deck.
On the next floor up, the group first comes to a another set of hammocks and footlockers. This appears to be a more well kept room, but one with two clear passages to two doors on opposite sides of the same wall leading outside. Through those doors the group is urged and the sunlight beams down, momentarily blinding them in its brightness.
As their vision returns they see the top of a three masted ship, a raised section on each end, and full sail rigging. Some other crew are here, some humans while others are smaller folk. An outstanding man is standing by the middle mast shouting orders at others. The ocean seems mostly calm, but the boat rocks loosely about. The sky is clear. Off in the distance, what all presume is Llewellyn is fading in a haze on the horizon. The island stretches to the south and to the north, but is slowly becoming naught but a thin line, far away. The air smells of brine and a cool wind blows away the heating gathering from the sun.
The man standing at the main mast giving orders notices the group come on the deck and marches over to them. He is bald and sports a small long black braid extending from his chin and a long thin strand of hair extending from the back of his head down behind his shoulders. He wears a blue jacket with yellow tasseled pauldrons and nothing but a leather strap underneath. On his belt is a cat-o-nine-tails, and a rapier with an ornamental hilt guard. He also wears high leather boots into which are stuffed loose fitting pants. His facial features are sharp and dark, but his eyebrows thin. He looks over the newcomers for a moment.
"Glad you could join us! Welcome to the Wormwood. My thanks for volunteering to join our crew. The captain is preoccupied, so I will be giving orders in his stead. You are not to talk to the captain. If you see him, you pay your respects in gesture only and walk away. You got something to say to him, you say it to me and I'll see if he's got the time to hear your drivel."
"Another thing: even with you new recruits, we're still short handed. If anyone is caught killin' anyone else, they'll be keelhauled. Other punishments are doled out by me, Master Scourge there," He points to the braided man from before. "And the captain. They're doled out as we see fit."
Gill crosses his arms and has a blank expression.
Hrm never 'volunteered' for anything before... Hope these greasy dogs don't expect me to do any work...
Rougar looks around to his companions before shrugging and speaking up.
What sort of work have we "volunteered" for?
"I've got two jobs need doin'. First I need a rigger to man the masts and the sails. First one to climb the main mast into the crows nest gets that honor." He gestures towards the middle mast.
Ensra sighs and pulls his hands out from beneath his robes. "how mundane..." he says and moves towards the mast.
At the mention of climbing, Rougar perks up.
That is something I am adept at.
Rougar moves enthusiastically towards the mast and begins his ascent.
Rougar pulls himself up the mast in his practiced fashion. Although, he was never the fastest person in his village, his excellent balance allowed him to climb better than most anyone.
Ensra begins his ascent slowly and carefully. Handholds and footholds make a slow climb rather trivial.
Rougar is clearly moving much faster than him.
"get to it, lizard. Your not too short to be useful." Mr Plugg says as he flaps his gruesome whip at his side.
The other pirates go about performing other shiply duties, namely Scourge returns belowdecks.
"boys we got a right bunch of freaks onboard now." he sneers at the climbers.
Gill grumbles and instinctively grabs for his grappling hook and sighs. He begins to climb the mast with a half assed attempt.
"me tells you this not my specialty."
After about twenty seconds Rougar reaches the crows nest. Inside are coiled a few ropes. He is able to see the ocean for miles around. A few birds can be seen soaring far and away.
Gill and Ensra are about twenty feat from the ground when Mr. Plugg laughs heartily and shouts "Alright! The whitefur is clearly our new rigger. C'mon back down."
Once Ensra and Gill are back in earshot he starts again:
"Now, I wonder. Which one of ye' two can cook? Fishguts' palate knows nothin' but salt on account of all the swill he lets stir in his mouth. I've had enough of the gruel he serves up and we need someone to add some flavor to his work."
Rougar climbs back down the pole, pleased with his performance.
Gill smiles, "Gill loves food! Can't say I've ever made any before... But Gill is wondering why you just didn't capture a chef or sailors."
"Where is the kitchen?"
As Rougar returns to the deck, Ensra dusts his cloak off and smiles at him. "You're quite the climber. Where are you from? I thought your kind were rare on this plane."
Mr. Plugg grins and ignores Gill's veiled question. Then he says "Galley is back down a level on the far side. You'll find ol' Ambrose there probably hackin' away with his cleaver. He'll give you somethin' to do."
Indeed, there aren't many of my kind in this part of the world. I am from a village called Kyshallyk, but it is very far away. And you, my friend? I can't say I've ever encountered any of your people before.
"I see. I am still being acclimated to the size of this place. Where I am from, many places mimic this place, but without color and what you call storms and rain. The air is always still and black. It is far, but not in the way that you mean. What do you know of the worlds beyond this one?"
Gill begins his search for the galley and tries to remain as discreet as possible. He is alittle nervous from his seperation from Rougar.
Gill heads through the quarters just beneath the foredeck. In this cramped cabin there are hammocks and sleeping maps. There are also two doors, one on each side of the wall between the outside deck and the cabin, so they likely lead to small storage rooms.
Gill also notices some footlockers here, with locking apparatuses on each. The quarters being notably nicer, although tighter, than the lower berths.
The set of stairs the group ascended earlier leads sharply downwards.
Back down in the middle hold, Gill finds the same man chained to the main mast. The pigs in the cages oik idly and Gill smells the telltale stench of unwashed animals and humans. One pig sits outside a broken cage and chews absent-mindedly on an empty burlap bag.
Before Gill is the set of stairs leading further down. On the far side, beyond the main mast, is a set of stairs that leads upwards. To the left of the stairs is a doorway.
The man chained to the mast is fixated on the pig, and he quietly giggles every few moments.
"OK, enough gabbin'. Time to get some work done," Mr. Plugg interrupts. He points to Ensra and says, "You'll be a swabby cause I got no more specific jobs need fillin'. Head down belowdecks and catch as many rats as you can. Damn things near infested our ship."
Ensra sighs and shrugs. He turns to Rougar before he leaves "We will talk more later."
Mr. Plugg continues, attention on Rougar. "Head up into the upper rigging, up there near where you was, and make sure all the knots are tied right, lanyards aren't frayed, chains are free of rust and anything else that don't look right. Be ready for any orders to come up when we change sail.
Rougar nods to Plugg and wordlessly begins climbing the rigging.
Rougar sees Scourge trail after Ensra back into the cabin that leads below.
The work is hard and it would appear that Mr. Plugg intends to wear Rougar out, despite his natural ability at climbing. Mr. Plugg yells for full sails when the wind is heavy and for half-sail when the wind dies down. Rougar completes each task with ease, though, and he affords himself some time for a break at a lull in the mid afternoon.
The sky remains clear all day and by mid afternoon the deck is hot, whereas the rigging is kept cool by wind. As Rougar descends he feels the heat as he gets lower, and it is when he touches the deck that the strain on his body begins to set in.
Rougar sees a female human leaning on the railing smoking a long white pipe. Her hair is a vivid ruby red color beneath a feathered tricorne. Large hoop earrings and a crossbones pendant adorn her face and neck. She wears a white blouse underneath a brown leather corset and thin fitting black cloth pants underneath long slick black leather boots. She has a few pouches and bandoleers about her waist, a rapier in a scabbard and a dagger hilt trusting out from a red sash about her waist. Her exposed arms are covered in tattoos and her hands in buckled leather gloves. Her face is attractive and sharp boned and she smiles pleasantly at Rougar when he sees her.
"Newly pressed, eh?" She says with a teasing grin.
Gill stops for a moment and looks over at the crazed man. He heads over to the man and looks at his face.
"Hrm I wonder how a silly fella like you ended up here."
The brute looks at you as you walk over in front of him. He has a stern look, but kind eyes, and his body is extraordinarily fit, which is clear because he is not wearing a shirt.
"Me Owlbear! You Swabbie!" He says loudly, then he snorts in what is probably an attempt to sound like a pig. Orrrnnkk! Followed by a hearty chortle.
"Ah well good to meet you uh... Owlbear... So why did they chain a nice gent like yourself to this here pole?"
Gill looks at the chains and cuffs binding the man.
"Plugg says chains keep safe. I break things. Chains no break." he says in declining enthusiasm. Then he looks a bit ashamed.
Rougar rubs his arms, feeling the soreness take hold of his muscles.
Yes, however I wish they would take it easy on the pressing. I'm used to working on ships, but I've never been pushed this hard.
Rougar extends a hand to the woman.
I am called Rougar.
Gill smiles and nods, "Maybe it's a good thing then, names Gill pleased to meet you, maybe one day Gill will let you out to play with the piggies, I'm off to the kitchen for now though, farewell."
Gill smiles and starts to head for the descending staircase.
I hope the galley is this way...
"Aye. They're some right tough ones, the Wormword crew. I was pressed by them not but a tenday ago," She says, squinting into the sun, then drawing her gaze down to rest on Rougar. She puts her hand out to clasp his. "Name's Sandara Quinn. You got a surname Rougar? I like to make friends, and that's easier when you know who folk might be related to."
Nnnnnh! Owlbear shakes his head vigorously. "Food there! He says and gestures his head towards the door on the far side of the room, near the other set of stairs headed upwards, the set that Gill did not descend.
Gill jumps a bit and was slightly startled by Owlbear's sudden shout and smiles at him changing his direction to the door.
"Ah thanks you friend, I owe you one."
I can't say I have a family name. We've never needed them in my village. There aren't so many of us. But don't worry, there's little chance you've run across my relatives, they're on the other side of the world. However, you may call me Rougar Rouqaresh if you so please. It means "son of Rouqar."
Owlbear laughs and smiles to himself. There is a wooden door, through which Gill finds the Galley.
The cramped and chaotic kitchen holds two wooden worktables, several wooden cupboards, and two small stoves against the port wall, as well as virtually every cooking utensil imaginable and a frightening array of meat cleavers. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber. The entirety is a madness of dirt, food, and knives.
The stoves are lit and a huge array of spices mingle with barrels of rainwater, two tuns of rum, cupboards full of ship's biscuit and salted beef, barrels of sauerkraut and a small supply of fresh vegetables.
Gill spots a butcher knife just the right size for him that would serve marvelously as a dagger. He also has the hunch that more valuables may be lost in the mess.
Standing in the midst of it all, imposing and apparently drunk, stands the ships cook. Fat at belly and wide of mouth, this man is a light skinned human wearing a bloodstained apron. A belt strapped around his bulbous stomach holds various cooking tools and knife sharpeners. His hands and fingers are thick and covered with a few bandages. His eyes wobble aimlessly and his hooked nose is wide. He wears two simple gold earings and a floppy, dirty old chefs hat.
Between his rotten teeth is a toothpick which he flips about as he talks. "'Hoy there. You must be the the one Mr. Plugg said he'd send down. Never thought I'd have a kobold as my cook's mate." He teeters momentarily, then returns to chopping a unidentifiable piece of meat.
"Rouqaresh it is. I like that." She looks wistfully out to sea. "I knew I'd like you and your companions. If being at sea has taught me anything, it's how to pick out the folks who would do good, and how to avoid those who are rotten at the core." She stands and leans close to Rougar, speaking quietly. "Many on this ship are rotten, Rougar. Be wary, but who you know is more important than what you know. To prove it, I've gotten something for you and the kobold."
She turns around and reaches underneath a lip on the side of the boat. From it she draws Rougar's winter blanket. She hands it to Rougar. "And there is this, too." She draws a small sized short sword from the sash around her waist. "I told Grok, the quartermaster, that they were holy relics of Valkur." At that she grins, self assured.
"Ah! and something else. This I just found discarded. Seems these dogs don't have an eye for... hidden potential. I believe it belongs to that strange horned elf. Perhaps it would make for a good gift for him, if necessary." She hands Rougar a navy colored pouch tied with leather string.
Gill smiles and picks up the butcher knife. He holds it excitedly and waves it around at the various food stuffs.
"Aye I'm Gill. So what needs slicing?"
Gill slowly meanders around looking around his local area of the kitchen more closely.
Rougar takes his blanket and hides the other objects inside of the blanket.
I thank you for these things, and I am sure Gill will thank you too. Am I allowed these things, though? Those men with the whips don't seem like they'd be pleased if you were caught with something you weren't supposed to have.
Gill spots a few pounds of soap and a good lock hanging unused on a cupboard handle. Before he has time to look for more things of value, the chef cuts in.
"Call me Kroop. I don't need any slicing done, since I got that at hand. What I do need are some fish. Head up to the main deck and use the nets on the side to catch tonight's supper." He stops chopping for a moment and looks up at Gill. "Ye can take the knife in case a big one tries to take you fer a meal."