"Easy, Rosie...Aramis wasn't even on board when they took your fiddle. Besides, she's pretty friendly with Grok, maybe she can get it back for you..."
"Damn it all ta the Abyss, if that be the way of it, then Ah might bloody be fond a someone," she says with a nod as she storms off back to work. As she works, it is clear that if she were a larger woman..well, it is clear that she is a hulking halfling, who can say how strong she might be if it weren't for her stature, because she is doing lifting that Aramis is certain she could never do.
"Eh, nothing wrong with a bit of rum. Makes the smells below deck more bearable." He lowers his voice. "Besides, with a place like this, there's gotta be something to numb aspects. You play any of the games, Maheem?"
Diabolito decides to work and talk a bit, after sleeping off some of his drink. It's obviously that he's really beginning to reek of alcohol and swagger around a bit. Seeing that Grok came to talk to his (for once) sober Cook, he tries to strike up a new conversation, gripping his holly & mistletoe for just a brief moment, muttering for a moment, a brief double vision of holly encircling his throat before he asks.
"So what's got ya here? Can't be good, with this lot."
The dwarf howls in laughter and smiles widely. "By Gozreh's green ass, it's a lass who has as foul a mouth as me!"
For those who see the dwarf, he's definitely looking much worse for the wear (7 Constitution). His skin looks clammy, and he just doesn't look a bit healthy, especially with how eagerly he digs into the horrendous brew.
Staggering around after his drink of the day, he lifts up the empty mug. "Maheem! You owe me that match!" And with that, he practically sloshes over to the barrel for the wrestle.
That evening before the whipping hour, Nissa will offer the leather armor she found to Aramis first and then Maera if she doesn't want it. The maces she offers to anyone in the group who wants them.
Bloody Hour
As the evening bell rings, it is clear that it is time for Bloody Hour. As the group lines, up, there is no hesitation in Scourge sending two of his goons over to grab Nissa once again. This time, however, he wields a cat of nine tails. Three quick lashes rend her flesh once more.
"It only gets worse if you continue to disobey."
Nissa is try her best to look unbowed, unbent, unbroken -- but that hurt.
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Malak scowls as he watches the young woman. This man, he is one I shall kill soon. He knows no real order, nor does he know what threats he brought upon himself. Malak tries to meet Nissa's eyes and give her a nod of respect. Seeing a woman carry herself like she had higher purposes intrigued him. So long as she doesn't try to belittle him like during their first meeting, he will have no reason to not respect her. Malak looks around to see if there are any reactions illicit in the crew to give him an idea of potential allies and foes. As Nissa makes her way back to the rest of the crew Malak will put a large hand on her shoulder and look at her with determination, "Soon...we will be the ones bringing in the punishment. I will not be restricted like a pet, I am a pirate. And so it seems you are not meant to be on a leash either.."
Many of the members who have already been befriended do not appear thrilled with the situation. As Nissa returns, Sandara places a hand on here shoulder and part of her wounds wash away like the foam from the ship.
Nissa takes heart both from Sandara's healing touch and Malak's words of respect. True respect is earned not given. Even Khiben-Sald, mightiest and most blessed maharajah, had to behead Chhaya, the jungle princess, before he could unite all of Vudra. It seems like I must unite this crew before we can behead Scourge and the rot that he represents. The crew is coming to see my strength.
The noblewoman smiles at the sea reaver. "When I was fifteen, I refused an offer to join the thakur's harem. If I would not be his, neither will I be theirs."
After the whipping, Nissa will try to influence Ambrose. It would be good to be the friend of the man that makes the food.
Gesturing towards his pet, Nissa greets the cook. "That is a fine bird. Is his advice the reason that our meals is so fine?"
Maheem looks at the dwarf and nods, sitting to give the dwarf a match.
Gritting his teeth as shards of glass are slammed into his arm on the table which they arm wrestled, but he does not call out, he merely nods his head in defeat and stands. Then without a word, he drops a small bag on the table. "Well met, Dwarf." The bag contains five gold coins. All of Maheem's wealth left from the last bit of spoils.
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Malak takes note of a stout dwarf, one whom he knows is part of his rigging team but he has yet to interact with. After the Bloody Hour, Malak approaches the dwarf with Syl by his side. "Say, you be a rigger. Haven't met or had chance to meet ya. Name is Malak. Been part of the crew long? Maybe you'd like to enjoy some gambling or competition with me tonight? I am gonna try to round up some mates for games of Heave, Dice, or Hog Lob. You think ya could best me?" Malak chuckles and awaits a response from the dwarf.
"You ain't worth my time, boy. Come back when you got a touch of salt to ya," and with that he walks off, joining Scourge and a few others who have been hostile to the group since their arrival.
Doc grimaces as the inevitable result of Nissa's open insubordination from the previous night arrives.
That girl, there's no doubt she's a brave one, and proud at that. I wonder to what end though? It seems like the only thing she's accomplished is to attract unwanted attention.
Perhaps I judge her too harshly though, It's not like I was any less brash when I was young. I do hope she doesn't push her luck again, or she may end up like the boy a couple days ago.
Despite his worries though, Doc is heartened by the looks of displeasure on the faces of the various friends they've made so far.
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"Sounds like an excuse to back down to me! Any sailor worth his weight don't back down from such things. I ain't got nothing to prove, I am the fresh face. You, walking away from a chance to show the crew his salty experience though..." Malak lets the words be loud enough for others to hear and deliberately leaves the thought trailing in the air. An insult followed by an assertion of dominance by the half-orc.
Rum Rations
Every night, as usual, Rum Rations are once again delivered. Please roll Fort save if you drink. If you already have Con Damage, your Fort DC is higher.
Seething over her ration, disposed of as per normal, Maera decides on a rather different type of song to sing tonight.
Her voice tonight is particularly haunting, and more than once she watches Plugg and Scourge to see if the supernatural and superstition resonates with them.
"All night I heard along the coast the sea her grief outpour; and with the dawn arose a ghost to haunt the furrowed shore.
And when from out the gray mist rolled the sun above the town, a shipwrecked sailor came and told of how the ship went down.
Then did I sudden understand the sobbing of the sea; and of that white ghost on the sand I knew the mystery."
When rations roll around again, Doc again finds a corner and attempts to appear to drink his ration while dumping it into one of his potion vials.
Pocketing the vial, he sees Nissa striking up a conversation with the cook Ambrose, and heads over to join her.
Doc walks up and first turns to Nissa, "How are you faring? I saw Sandra eased some of the pain. Do you want me to get Ossok, or try and get a potion from my trunk with some help from Grok?"
Doc turns to Ambrose and extends his hand. "Evan Williams, though most call me 'Doc'. You must be Ambrose, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"So I understand you're responsible for the grub on this boat. I must say, ships cook's are often underappreciated. The difference between a good cook and a bad cook is the difference between enjoying your cruise or thinking you've wound up in one of the nine hells!", Doc says with a guffaw.
Slipping one of the vials of rum out, he says "Say, would you care for a drink? I'm not so fond of this stuff myself, but it's a terrible shame to just let it sit unused!"
With a sigh and a smile Nissa replies, "Ossok has not spoken in over a day. Perhaps he communes with his spirits, but in the meanwhile I will appreciate any succor I receive."
Aramis slinks away after the bloody hour, unable to look at her new friend afterwards. She feels sick inside, seeing Nissa get the lashes while she stays unscathed. With a sigh, she accepts her rum, staring down at the wooden mug and raising it to take a drink.
Looking at the murky liquid, she pauses, feeling her own hatred rising up within her. Well, if this was the time for defiance, so be it. She stands back up, glances around to check who's watching, and throws the mug to the floor with a crash, grinding her heel into what remains. That done, she takes a seat next to Nissa, looking Ambrose over, listening as Doc speaks before piping up, picking a splinter out of her foot.
"Well Doc, I reckon this 'ere mus' be a good cook, on account o' his meals tastin' so good. 'Ard ta put tha' much effort inta somethin' when ye hate were ye've ended up, eh?"
GM, will a +2 have me beating him by 5? If it does, I would like to call in Jack Scrimshaw.
Diabolito throws the bag of coins back at big monster of a man. "'Ey now, I ain't takin' your coin. I'll take the rum instead!" He grins, showing why his kind was known for drinking.
And it is at that point that he finds his nightly ration of rum! He lets out a gruff Dwarven cheer, which would take most of the group a few moments to decipher that he has actually said "Thank Gozreh for the beer! Have no fear, the dwarf's still here!" And with that, he half drowns himself in the drink. For those who can see it, he is definitely looking worse for wear (probably even worse off than Kroop)
As the woman begins her song, the dwarf heads over, looking quite irritated.
Initially, he waits for several moments and then half drags her over to the railing. "Ok, lass, you and I are about to have words! That's perfectly good rum, and you are throwing it AWAY! That's like flaying a mermaid alive!" He seems incensed and is demanding of an explanation. He does appear to reek of the alcohol, and his body seems much less healthy since he hit the drink.
Fishguts is chuckling at all the attention when Grok walks up, "Ambrose, are these salty folks keepin ye from our drinkin? I suppose we can drink with them!" She shakes a bottle, a light colored wine within and she is offering to share with all, something she is not often likely to do.
Kroop smiles, slaps his thigh and nods, "Yes, lets!"
"Grok! It is good to see you. Please join us. I am slow to learn it appears. But, I guess friends, sweet wine, and music make the beatings easier to take."
Leaning in closer, Nissa continues in a whisper, "Speaking of friends and music, do you think it would be possible for my friends to retrieve their missing belongings? The doctor has little access to his craft if he cannot get in his trunk. A doctor with no healing is of little use, especially since I seem to draw Scourge's ire. Aramis would dearly love to have her heirlooms back; while Malak misses his lucky bandanna. Even Rosie Cusswell might smile more if she could could play her fiddle. I know that Maera would not mind some accompaniment."
Returning to her regular tone of voice, Nissa begins telling them the story of how Varuna, the Vudrani god of the oceans, bested the king of the dragon-turtles so that man could ply the waves.
Grok looks over to Nissa and chuckles. "There be a trunk in my store that I cannot seem to find a place for. If ye could get a few strapping folks to come and move the bloody thing out, I'll give ye the bloody fiddle, just ask the little musclebound b!tch not to play it when I'm on deck."
"Why don't you say it louder? I don't think they heard you in Absalom!" she hisses, giving a worried glance to the officers before taking in the dwarf's deteriorating state. She's never quite seen an addiction as strong as this, and frowns, whispering, "No, me having to drink this rotgut would be like that to my body. I can't do it. It's not tale-telling, it's truth. Me own mother couldn't give me milk as a babe, what'll you think this... poison will do to my body? Nevermind what it's doing to yours."
During the performance, Scourge, Plugg, and their cronies (a group that used to include Syl) are all talking and drinking together, though Plugg and Scourge don't seem to be drinking the same rum as the crew, they do stop to hear the song and then return to laughing and joking.
It isn't until Diabolito confronts Maera that they start to noticeably pay attention.
As her story winds down to its inevitable conclusion (Varuna's triumph), Nissa pauses. "Doctor could you ask Malak to join us? He may be strong enough to help us move a large chest that has been cluttering up Grok's office, and she has been kind enough to see our need for such a cumbersome thing. Let us all thank her."
When Malak comes over and the party moves towards Grok's office, Nissa will give Sandara a (mysterious?) smile.
When the fiddle has been acquired, Nissa (and Aramis, hopefully) will approach Rosie Cusswell. "A friend of mine told me that you had lost a fiddle. It happens that I have recently discovered one. Sadly, it does me little good because I do not know how to play it. However, Aramis reminds me that sharing is a great virtue among friends. Do you think that this is true, Mistress Cusswell?"
Nissa flashes Rosie a white smile. Her green eyes glitter with delight. In this moment, she looks like the girl she is -- young, beautiful, and on the cusp of womanhood.
This is my adventure! I am making new friends in the face of a tyranny before which my parents pale.
Rosie's offer of her beloved scarf fills Nissa with the courage to continue to defy her abusers. What does mother say? That suffering is an illusion. That pain must be accepted and then released.
"Rosie, that is such a lovely scarf. I will treasure it as I would a sister's gift. Do not worry. I will not let them ruin it, as they ruined my kurta."
As she is handing Rosie the fiddle and bow, Nissa pauses. "I did make a promise on your behalf to Grok before she would give back your fiddle: that you will not play it on deck while she is present. I pray that you will not make me a liar."
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Malak grumbles at the lost opportunity to challenge another worthy opponent when Tam doesn't return his insult. Malak looks around, aimlessly at that, trying to find something to help vent his angers and focus. He spots several of the pressganged. He sees friendly faces of Grok and the dwarf, though recognizes the dwarf and bard bickering about something. Ain't none my worry. Let 'em claw at each other, if they split then they ain't meant to be part of the crew. The half-orc notices Grok and thinks that it could be his opportunity to at least get his bandanna and dagger back.
Chuckling, "Ah ain't gonna make a liar out o' ye lass...but ye promise may nah bloody stop what she were worried about." Grinning, the little violinist puts the instrument in place and slowly pulls the bow across strings. "Oh honey, Ah've missed ye," she says to the fiddle as she looks to see that Grok is not on deck and plays a quick tune, then steps away and gives a bell-kick from her delight. She has some skill with it...but the fiddle is out of tune. There is little doubt as to why Grok took it away, now.
The dwarf just shakes his head, as he seems to truly be a proper drunk now, and not just a man who enjoys the drink. Throwing up his hands after her explanation, he mumbles quietly, which those he passes can tell sounds more like drunken gibberish. Anyone listening to him now would likely tell he is bordering on being drunk enough to be pickled, as he searches out more booze.
As he passes by several folks, about the only obvious thing he says is "the least she could have done is share the rum, but no...the dwarf gets shorted on the rum." And with that, he sits down and starts humming off-key, forgetting whatever tune he had in his noggin halfway through.
Maera sighs fretfully, still on edge from the risk of his drunken outburst calling too much attention to her deception. Moody, and in no further mood to play the social butterfly tonight, she retreats to her berth.