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When you saw Nissa last night at the Formidably Maid she looked elegant if rather out of place. Her long shiny, black hair had been braided and pinned with jeweled pins at the nape of her neck in a bun. Her graceful neck had been adorned with several gold chains, and her wrists had been wreathed with golden bangles. Gems had once glittered on her fingers.
These were long gone.
The Nissa of the next morning retained her beauty, if little else. She still possessed light, dusky skin and startling green eyes. She was still lithely muscled. But her jewels and her wealth had vanished. Her orange churidaar and sky-blue kurta -- which last night had been pristine -- are now rumpled and wrinkled. Her glorious black tresses are no longer carefully pleated but hang loose and tangled down to the small of her back.
In short, Nissa Alami, noble daughter of an ancient and respected Vudrani house, long celebrated in Jalmeray and the other Impossible Kingdoms, looked a mess.
Ossok certainly stands out among the crowd of patrons at the Maid.
He stands tall at a bit over 6 feet with a muscular physique to accompany his imposing stature. He wears little compared to most men, his torso mostly exposed above the haramaki he wears around the waist. His skin his a dark shade of grey that has many scars across it.
He wears a strange, wooden grotesque mask that he rarely ever removes. It's painted in various shades of red with intricate shapes and symbols that are difficult to discern. The flowing mane of mangy, black hair flows down from his head around the mask. When he wears it, his half-orc heritage is barely recognizable except to those with exceptionally trained eyes.
While he sat in the tavern, Ossok would ocassionally remove his mask to drink, revealing even more scars that cross his face. Several of them look scabbed, as if they were fairly fresh. A close observant would hear the sound of healing skin being ripped as the mask is removed from his face.
In the bar last night it was apparent that Doc was a large man, and daylight bears out that impression quite well.
The loose fitting Tian-Min style silk jacket and pants he's wearing are quite rumpled from his unexpected nap, but otherwise clean and in good condition. The partially rolled back jacket sleeve reveals an intricate tattoo of a serpent and dragon entwined on his inner right forearm. Closer inspection reveals a series of small circles of bare skin at the points where the serpent and dragon intersect.
His short blond hair seems to have been unphased by the whole affair, looking just as unruly today as at the bar last night. Next to him on the floor lie the small silver rimmed glasses he wears, having fallen there when he was dumped here unceremoniously.
Last night, Aramis was a tallish woman, though one of these facts was more apparent than the other. Sure, she stood at five-foot-ten, but her face wasn't the most feminine out there. Not that she was a masculine woman; she just has sharp features - high, knifelike cheekbones, a sharp jawline and chin, thin lips, and sharp, intelligent eyes that kept scanning the room, even as she drank more and more rum.
Today, Aramis is still a tallish woman. Her black hair is still short and choppy, roughly-cut as if done herself with a dagger. Her eyes are still brown, though they're blearly and bloodshot, and her hands are still marked with calluses and black-powder. Her clothes are still there, the same loose white shirt, the same brown waist cincher that attempts to give some shape to her boyish figure. Her breeches and boots are still there, though her heavy coat of brown wool is missing, and the clothes she still wears are rumpled and creased.
None of these will worry her when she's more alert. There's one more thing missing, the only thing Aramis Elizabeth Mirian Steele is likely to care about once she realizes.
Her musket - the only thing left of her father, the only tool she has to survive in this world, the only thing she has that's worth looking after - is gone.
The half-crazed salty dwarven sailor. The little devil of the Shackles. Last night, he was a fierce, loud-mouthed drunk, full of opinions on what made a sailor and what didn't.
Now the dwarf was sprawled out, limbs every which way. His hide shirt was still close fitted on his body, his striped sailing pants seem to be even more of a booze stained broadcloth. Last night, his boots were tall (for a dwarf), shined, and burned with dusty remains of tobacco powder. Today, his boots are long gone, and he's left bare-footed, although it doesn't look like much of a loss for the hearty seaman.
His hair is sweat slicked, the mohawk from last night looking more like a windblown mess than the bright monstrosity it was last night. His trusty axe is nowhere to be seen as the saltbeard is totally out, his beard blowing from the breeze of his breathing.
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The last thing Malak was seen doing in the tavern was sharpening a large falchion in his lap. Earlier that night the large half-orc had been part of gratuitous amounts of drinking and gambling. He had almost spurred a fight with a cannibal and ruffled a few feathers of some people.
Malak is quite large, he had been an imposing figure the night before. Looking at over 6 and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a body of muscles. He wore thin leather armor, with no sleeves and a blue bandana tied around his wrist. Malak had large beast-like tusks standing prominently on his face, much larger than normal half-orcs. He awakes pulling himself to his knees and scanning the room, his fiery orange eyes glaring at any movement around him. He checked his body for any belongings and looked around for weapons.
Damn, no dagger, pike, or falchion! No gold. Nothing. Whoever did this is going to find me ready to repay them. Malak eases himself to stand, glances around to the others with him. All faces he saw last night, a couple he'd insulted. He massages his neck and pops his shoulders.
As the group begins to wake up, they notice it is quite dark, but with a great suddenness, light fills the room and those who have been on ships before realize they are in the hold of a ship, likely the crew's quarters. Each of the group has been stripped of their armor, weapons, and belongings, leaving them with only their clothes, but none of the non-essential articles. No boots, hats, or gloves were left to them, in case they might hide something within.
As the light jars those who had not quite awakened to the world of the living, a bearded man stands surrounded by the a 'halo' of light.
“Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap’n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!”
With that, the man turns and disappears, leaving the hatch opened.
The devil of a dwarf groans low, his hairy arm swiftly covering his arm against the evilness of light, the holy water for the evils of hangover dwarf. It is when he feels himself bare chested, bootless, and weapon free that the druid becomes nervous. That and the gentle sway of the boat that he all puts it together.
The sea...Why is it that I always wake up at sea...Especially with a hangover...
Getting his way up on deck, his eyes spend an extra moment on the man who brought the light. That and the oily taste...
Oh damn it all to a water death....Taggit oil...That's why the whiskey was so damn cheap...If I get back to the bar...I'm going to gut him and toss that 'tender into the harbor...
Aramis' blurry eyes begin clearing, and she squints at the man in the doorway. She listens to his words, a snarl forming on her face, but before she can bark out a response, he's gone.
She growls to herself, starting to rouse the others. She begins with the Vudrani woman - she looks like she needs the gentlest rousing. To those already awake, she says, keeping her voice low, "I recognize that sonofawhore from the tavern last night. Seems the ol' barkeep was in on this scheme. You taste that oily, nutmeg taste in your mouth? That's taggit oil, sure as the sun rises over Tian Xia." She spits on the floor, trying to clear the oily feeling from her mouth.
The surly dwarf responds in a quiet tone. "Yeah, I'm glad I'm not the only one who saw him. And that barkeep, as far as I'm concerned, has doomed himself to Gozreh's depths. He grimaces at the mention of taggit oil. "Lass, you won't get rid of it that easily. Booze and time, lass, are about your only friends for that."
"Quit yer yappin' and get up here. Ye got a five count before the Bloody Hour comes early and ye get yer lashes!" The same voice calls out from above.
Nissa had never seen that peasant before in her life. Listening to her more experienced fellow victims, Nissa is shocked, offended, and vaguely excited. Press-ganged? Lihka must be telling my story.
"But I did not drink any of the ale. How was I poisoned?"
Standing up, Nissa chants beneath her breath casting Prestidigitation. Her clothes become pressed and her disheveled hair is neatly pleated. I may have been waylaid by Asprushya filth, but I am descended from Khiben-Sald himself. None of these vermin shall see a daughter of caste-nobility afraid. My poise will be my shield amongst the unclean.
The dwarf rushes up onto the deck at that point, knowing that the others will survive it all, and that the less he is afflicted by the Bloody Hour, the better. He begins an internal count of how long it takes the rest of the group.
Nissa flashes Aramis a small, gracious smile. Kindness from strangers is accounted a blessing by the thousand thousand gods. Thank Suyuddha that there is at least one other competent woman here.
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Malak immediately covered his face as the beams of light came in. He was dazed by the sudden brightness but recognized the man. Malak grunts at his predicament, shaking his had trying to get rid of the inner fog. He had dearly desired to make it back out to sea again but not in these circumstances. He smacked his lips and looked at his companions of convenience. "I am with you on that shrimp, the scum that put me here is going to find himself sinking to the lockers in pieces. Now let's get the others up and find out where in Besmara's bussom we ended up. Then I'll start killing these idiots."
Malak flexed his arms and shoulders, tensing his great muscles, before walking towards the light. His anger manifesting itself. I'll pay back the fool who pressed me. But first I survive through this. Then they'll die.
Once Nissa has collected herself, and seen if any of her fellows has insight into her circumstances, she will follow master Stormbeard to the deck with all the quiet dignity she can muster.
Aramis casts a quick, worried glance upwards, then follows after the dwarf, tugging the Vudrani woman's arm as she does so. She bounds up the stairs with long, easy strides, though emerging into the sun dazzles her, and she has to shield her eyes with one arm. "All I wanted was a bottle of rum and a greased-up sailor for the night. Was that too much to ask?" she mutters to her companions.
With a loud gaffaw, the bearded man nods, "Not too much, at all. Ye can have yer pick tonight if ye want. And rum comes after work and The Bloody Hour."
It looks as if he was about to continue before another voice speaks out. This voice is more forceful, more commanding, and once you see the man the voice is attached to, it is very apparent that he is the captain of this ship. All eyes are on him.
“Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for ‘volunteering’ to join my crew. I’m Barnabas Harrigan. That’s Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. I have only one rule—don’t speak to me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we’ll all get along fine."
“Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhaulin’ for anyone caught killin’ anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you’d be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of ’em.” With that he turns and walks further away on the deck, just out of sight on upper aft deck.
"If all the men on this 'ere rowboat you call a 'ship' are 'alf as ugly as you are, I'd sooner kiss the dwarf!" Aramis shoots back at the bearded man. She seems about to continue, but the captain's voice silences her. She stares at him, rage burning in her eyes. Soon as I find out what ye did with me pappy's musket, I'll have yer 'ead, ye old bastard. I swear it on Besmara's blade.
Nissa observes the assembled thieves, pirates, and tramps with a critical eye. Captain? That man isn't fit to fetch my mare let alone order me about. Now I begin to understand the rage of my foremothers when they drove the usurping Arclords from Jalmeray, these unclean foreigners need to learn to respect and to defer to their betters.
Even as she inwardly rails against circumstance, a small part of Nissa thrills. Whatever else this is, it is a grand adventure. Adventure was why she had left the court of the august thakur in the first place. Adventure and her parents' intransigence.
All the while, she attempts to channel the serenity of her mother. Despite the tempest of her thoughts, these Asprushya need to see her grace and control.
Whether or not Nissa accomplishes this modest goal is uncertain at best.
A good dozen sailors move about the deck, obviously well acquainted with the ship and most rather dirty. Four others on the deck look to still be rather clean and as if their clothes were not intended to be on a ship.
A few of the more experienced pirates stand around the bearded man, who has a huge grin on his face. At this point, a young man pushes forward, a scowl on his face. His head is shaved bald save for a long ponytail. His ears bare quite a number of rings, and he wears a long purple coat, much like one would expect a captain to wear, save for the fact that it is open and he wears no shirt beneath. It is as if he is attempting to give the air of being important. Judging by the reaction of those around him, he must be, or at least the nasty look cat o nine at his hip is.
"Seems you brought us a lively bunch, Master Scourge, but let's see if they will be of any use," he says as he gives Aramis a glare, having heard her earlier words. "Well, Lady Loudmouth, perhaps you can prove your worth sooner than later. Above us is the Crow's Nest. Climb...and don't dally, all of you, this is a race!"
Aramis wastes no time as the order is barked out, swinging herself into the rigging and starting to climb. The ropes cut into her bare feet, but she moves with ease, quickly climbing over fifteen feet. The crow's nest swings forty-five feet above her, though she doesn't understand why she's so eager to reach it.
She climbs again, faster, spurring herself onward; another fifteen feet fall away from her. Her next attempt isn't so succesful; one foot slips, and she barely manages to swing herself up another five feet.
Twenty-five to go. She finds her rhythm again; hand over hand, foot over foot; ignore the taut hemp rope cutting into your bare feet, and just focus on the prize. Ten feet to go. Another near miss, five feet from the top! She feels her right foot slip away into air, and looks down, seeing the deck, fifty-five feet below her. She grits her teeth, and with a final burst, she hauls herself into the crow's nest, breathing heavily, shaking a little from the exertion. The taggit oil is vile in her mouth, though she resist the urge to vomit over the side. It might hit Plugg, and as satisfying as that would be, it wouldn't end well for her.
Refuse, and they might beat me or worse. I must suffer this lesser indignity to prevent a greater one. I do not yet have either the resources or the allies necessary to do otherwise.
Moving quickly to the lower ropes, Nissa begins to climb. She does not make excessive haste up the ropes. She would rather keep her dignity than win, although she very much does like to win.
Nissa struggles to get her grip.
After a false start, Nissa gracefully ascends the ropes, though careful observes notice that her movements are not quite as certain near the apex.
When Nissa joins Aramis, she congratulates the gunslinger in her musically accented Common. "Well, done. Being a woman of strength and grace is something in which to take pride."
She gazes out over the stretching seas. "Varuna's realm is lovely. I can imagine enjoying this were not for its less than savory circumstances."
As Ossok slowly comes to, the first thing he instinctively reaches for is his face. And then, panic and anger suddenly wash over him.
Oh no. Oh no. Mask, where is it? Father, no. Oh no.
Seeing others he vaguely remembers from the tavern just seemingly moments before... Or was it an eternity? Either way, he immediately realizes what has happened.
He remains silent during the exchange between the woman and the captain. Is she insane? Why would she single herself out like that? In these situations, Ossok knows it's best to try and avoid as much attention as one can.
When the whip comes out and the orders to climb are barked, Ossok wastes no time in complying. Won't get mask back if starting fights. Feel so naked without.
After climbing nearly halfway to the top, Ossok feels the rigging shift from his grip. He can feel the fall coming, so he closes his eyes and embraces what's to come.
Aramis laughs shakily as the Vudrani woman joins her in the crow's nest. "Tell ye what, I don' feel so graceful right now." She pulls herself back to her feet, leaning on the edge. The smell of salt and open, empty air brings back memories, and she sighs faintly. "I know what ye mean, though. It's good to be back on the sea again, though the circumstances ain't the best. I've been landbound for years now, wit' nothin' more 'n' me pappy's musket and me own name." This seems to remind her of something, and she turns to the other woman with a smile. "Me name's Aramis, by the way. Aramis Elizabeth Mir- hey! Look out!"
She yells out as she sees the half-orc man slipping from the rigging. Acting almost without thinking, she swings herself over the side of the crow's nest, lands thirty feet down the rigging, grips it with one hand, and reaches out with the other, attempting to grab the half-orc's hand and haul him to safety.
Catch a Falling Character While Climbing: If someone climbing above you or adjacent to you falls, you can attempt to catch the falling character if he or she is within your reach. Doing so requires a successful melee touch attack against the falling character (though he or she can voluntarily forego any Dexterity bonus to AC if desired). If you hit, you must immediately attempt a Climb check (DC = wall's DC + 10). Success indicates that you catch the falling character, but his total weight, including equipment, cannot exceed your heavy load limit or you automatically fall. If you fail your Climb check by 4 or less, you fail to stop the character's fall but don't lose your grip on the wall. If you fail by 5 or more, you fail to stop the character's fall and begin falling as well.
So would it be something like an acrobatics check to get there, then a touch attack, followed by a another Climb check? If that is the case, let's just hope that half-orc doesn't way more than a hundred pounds?
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Malak scowls at the pirates around the newcomers. Malak's fist had tightened since the captain had spoken. So that's the lard in charge of this rotting bucket..I'll have to make sure he doesn't keep that title long. He is way too boasty for my liking.
Malak looks at the , it was not entirely practical to make fresh recruits climb to a crows nest. Especially, if some had yet to get their sea legs. However, Malak has always enjoyed climbing and doesn't hesitate. He runs towards the mast,.shedding off his shirt in his dash, and starts pulling himself up the various ropes.
He hoists himself up on the ropes and starts immediately pulling his massive body up into the sky. It's been far too long since I've done this. Malak starts climbing faster and faster. Getting the ease of it as he places each hand over the other. His arms bulging and showing his muscular build, each ripple of muscle now easily noticeable with his shirt off. He quickly makes his way up before slowing down to ensure his own safety, Malak hoists himself up and into the crow's nest. He peers out into the horizon, scanning the seas for any indication of where they could be. Then he returns his gaze to those on the deck below.
He looks to the two women that were also successful. "I'm in agreeing there lady. I've been away from the ship life for too long, set adrift by mutineers on my old ship. Now I'll finally have a chance to live me real life as a pirate again." Malak looks down to see the other half-orc from the tavern start climbing. Malak can tell that the contest is about to be short lived when he catches out of side of his view one of the females jump down. What a foolish idea. That's how you turn one idiot's mistake into the death of good sailors. If she makes this work I'd not be a tad shocked to see her punished too.
Aramis tries to make an impressive, swinging save of Ossok, and gets there as he is falling back. She catches his hand, but his momentum is too much for her.
The dwarf seems to have the same problem getting up the ropes and falls as well, just not from as far up. His fall is more with a grunt than a thud.
The dwarf has one false start, getting part of the way up before truly getting going up the rigging. It is when one of his companions falls that the rope becomes unstable and he too heads hurtling towards the deck in an angry string of dwarven profanity.
Doc lays on the ground, focused on the slight oily bitterness left in his mouth.
Fascinating, Taggit Oil. That bartender certainly knew his stuff to manage to get that by me. In the brandy? Likely. I'll need to spend some time to figure out what he used to mask it.
Doc's eyes open. He sits up, collects his glasses and looks around.
Nothing to write with, or anything of my gear. He shrugs.
He walks out onto the deck and takes a look around, surveying the situation. Letting out a boisterous guffaw, he says "Well, I guess I did recommend stealing me in the bar yesterday! Not exactly my preferred method of getting aboard a ship, but the end's the same." Addressing the man who's obvious in charge of the vessel, "Hats off to you Captain!" with a slight bow before heading over to join the others.
Seeing the scarred half-orc fall to the ground, followed by the dwarf, he skips heading over to the mast and instead rushes over to check on them. Finding them both alive, although battered, he quickly checks for any broken bones and quickly decides the two are ok. He helps them to their feet before looking up to make sure no one else is likely to fall.
Doc turns to the Captain: "Captain, permission to speak."
Doc pauses for a moment, and then begins speaking anyway. "Apologies for speaking out of turn, and failing that lashes I suppose, but I feel this is important:"
He continues, "Captain, if your new crew, myself included, are going to be getting battered like this during the shakedown, you'll find me considerably more useful with some of my supplies. My healing kit, the black leather bag that was with me, contains healing potions along with what I need to treat someone should they end up with injuries worse than what these two have. No sense getting a new crew if they end up dyin' for want of treatment."
Feeling the half-orc's wrist slip from her grasp, Aramis quickly realizes there's nothing more she can do. She instead focuses her remaining strength on clinging to the ropes, managing to do so, avoiding the same fate as the half-orc as he crashes to the deck with a thud that makes her stomach roll. She turns away, staring at the mast instead. Neither looking up at the swaying crow's nest, nor down at the deck, she hangs in space, feeling the sea breeze around her. Good gods, how'm I gonna get outta this mess?
Nissa looks down from the crow's nest after Aramis makes her daring leap. "That . . . that was rather brave . . ."
Despite her immodesty, Aramis possesses all the bravery of caste nobility. But, I fear on this ship the only sin is failure.
Turning to the half-orc, she inquires, "Do you think this ship has any priestesses of that strange sea goddess -- like the ones from the tavern last night?"
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Malak really isn't one for religions and tradition, at least none that impede with his life of piracy. It's not that he doesn't believe in Besmara, it's just that he views everything that's happened as a product of the hands of mortals. Malak acknowledges the Pirate Queen and her power over the seas, but has never experienced it. He turns to the woman with a half scowl on his face. Great, I have a gods appealing woman to deal with. They are always more feisty than a pirate lass.
Malak snorts, "Pirates are wary of religious folk. I have known a few captains to host Besmara priests as a token. I for one know the Black Lady to have power onthese seas, but all I've done or seen has been at my hands not hers. There might be one, but don't go asking them for lessons or charms, they likely be just as much a pirate as I. Not one of your divined clerics." He watches the gutsy female catch herself and laughs at Nissa's comment, "More fool and careless than brave."
The load mouthed dwarf just grimaces as he lays sprawled on the deck, knowing a limb or two is probably twisted in an angle that he'd rather NOT think about. The pain shooting through his body is enough to leve the otherwise boisterous individual speechless.
Nissa gives Malak a cool, but not angry, look -- as if a farmer just informed a queen about appropriate battle tactics. My divined clerics? The priest-caste is a nuisance and a bother; they interfere constantly in the sphere of the caste-nobles. How little this man knows of the true workings of the world.
Out loud, she responds, "Whether pirate, healer, or some admixture of the two those two men will need healing. How much do you trust the nostrums of the good doctor? Regardless of their efficacy, a prayer is likely faster."
Ossok is surprised he isn't more wounded from the impact. He must've landed in such a way to lessen the damage to any internal organs or bones. Regardless, he lays for a moment to regain his composure before rising again.
"Was never good at climbing."
He eventually makes eye contact with Malak, momentarily relieved to see at least one other half-orc on the ship. He nods at Malak in acknowledgment, and then eyes the dwarf that suffered a similar fate as his own. Instinctively, Ossok walks over to the injured Diabolito to ease his pain, and begins an arcane incantation.
Before 'Doc' can get words out, the Captain is gone and Plugg is demanding they climb. If the man doesn't start quickly, the First Mate gives his a look that could melt ice.