Myri smiles primly and nods at Dyrm. Probably not worth the risk to try to kick the captain out of his own quarters with this deal. Play along. She adds in Mercantillia, The private bunks shoild have beds. And locks. And we get all the keys."
"Preposterous," the Captain scoffs, switching back to Mercantillia. "I don't pay Mister Pike three silvers a day, and he's my first mate! My salty sailors get one silver a day, and they do more than guard rotation. I'd be willing to pay as high as . Of course..."
The Captain openly leers at Myri.
"...I might be willing to pay additional wages if you perform additional services, to be decided on by myself ."
Turning back to Dyrm, he continues:
"Hmm. Meals of equal quality to the rest of my crew ... could be arranged. But no to private rooms. My private rooms are reserved for paying guests, my first mate and myself, not for crew and hirelings. Of course, I could make an exception for the young lady and appoint to her a room with all the privacy need.
I can arrange for you to bunk with the sailors, on the top level. Of course, this would not be private, and I don't guarantee ... polite behavious from the crew. If you want finer sleeping arrangements, you'd have to pay me a sum.
A contract with a is ... acceptable, I suppose. Shall we shake on it?"
Again, the Captain holds out his hand, grinning.
"My word" He says in babbel, "You are persistence, Captain." switching back to Mercantillia himself, "You will pay us one silver a day each, your sailors don't have our combat abilities to guard you, them or the ship, should that come after all. Obviously, any of your crew who cannot behave politely to us, will lose our protections at no refund to you or them. This payment of one silver a day to each of us, will include private rooms as we are paying for said rooms by accepting such a low wage for talent such as ours. Lady Volvant has made it clear she prefers solitude in her accommodations so your generous and repeated suggestion she sleep with you is politely but most assuredly declined. Companionship is not a service being sold by any of the three of us not for coin, boarding, or room. This is only for our guarding yourself, your sailors, and your ship with the methods and effort our own judgement and expertise proposes to us. Obviously the fixed duration ends when we come within sight of Stickout Point... or a detour occurs. Which ever comes first."
A look to Myriad to see if she agrees. He's impressed with her so far.
She leans in close to Dyrm and whispers "I can sweeten the pot by helping out with the noble guests if I need to, but I think you're got this under control. ...nice job."
She straightens back up and nods.
Nusku just smiles and nods along as his new companions negotiate with the slimy Captain. "What he said." A sigh of relief washes over his face as the dwarf ensures a decent deal out of this.
The Captain leans back and ... ye gods, he actually steeples his fingers. People actually do that in public? At least he's stopped leering at Myri.
He continues talking in Mercantillia:
"My salty sailors have been guarding my ship just fine so far, so that argument is non-valid. Hmm. But you make an interesting offer of including a room in your wages. One room, mind you; I expect to take on a party of guests at Fallingdowns, and I need the space.
So. Proposed contract: you will all serve as security personnel aboard Amlegger's Prize . Included in your wages are . Also set in wages is . Wages to be set at a rate not to exceed those of my first mate (to wit, the Vitor male known as "Pike", currently in service on Amlegger's Prize). Offered rate: . If this is acceptable, shake my hand."
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"You must really love our company, Sir, to keep going back to this particular well," the Dwarf says switching back to the legal tongue.
"So. Proposed contract: we will all serve as security personnel aboard Amlegger's Prize for a period not to exceed our coming into view of Stickout Point or a detour from that path which ever comes first. Included in our wages are meals as enjoyed by the rest of the ordinary crew and a private room with a lockable door, three bunks or hammocks with a curtain provided for the lady's modesty. Wages to be set at a rate not to exceed those of first mate Pike (or so called at this oathing, currently in service on Amlegger's Prize).) Proposed rate: you pay one silver for each of us per day starting today (Date named)." A look to Myriad and a nod to Nuska, then back to the captain, "If this is acceptable, Lady Myriad, Captain, Shake hands."
Then in babel he mutters "I just hope my Uncle and I meet soon enough to talk before he takes his cargo onto whatever ship HE hires. Not a good habit to keep a rich uncle waiting but well, if we don't we don't"
A muscle in the corner of Captain Amlegger's eye twitches and his lips thin.
"Nine coppers a head a day," he says - in Babbel. "I appreciate opportunities for business, but I do have a prior contract with first mate Pike, that he shall earn more than the rest of the crew, barring myself. Nine coppers a day is already four more than my sailors get, and first mate Pike isn't due for a wage raise until next year."
Switching back to Mercantillia: "If that is acceptable, we have a deal."
Drym nods and says, in Mercentila "Proposed contract: we will all serve as security personnel aboard Amlegger's Prize for a period not to exceed our coming into view of Stickout Point or a detour from that path which ever comes first. Included in our wages are meals as enjoyed by the rest of the ordinary crew and a private room with a lockable door, three bunks or hammocks with a curtain provided for the lady's modesty. Wages to be set at a rate of nine copper for each of us per day starting today (Date named)." Then looks to Myriad and the Captain, "if that's acceptable, shake hands." He takes out paper and pen and writes down the wording for later use of his.
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Myri stares down the captain with her arms crossed and adds, "Private room with a lock means an expectation of privacy. If anyone other than us wants to come in, since I'm sure you have a master set of keys, they are not to enter unless explicitly invited in by one of us three."
If the captain extends his arm to shake after this, she will.
Amlegger grimaces, then bares his teeth in an expression that is not quite a smile.
"I have lost my appetite," he says, wipes his mouth with his oversized napkin and tosses it at the chef, who catches it reflexively -- then glares at the captain's back.
"We will shake hands and seal this document in the shrine," he declares, imperiously. "Come!"
The 'shrine' turns out to be a converted office space, with the desk doubling as an altar. Amlegger grimly writes out two copies of the contract, signs them, demands you sign them, then sands them down. Next, he rolls up one copy, ties it with a blue ribbon, and presents it to a ceramic plaque on the wall with an obsequious bow. On the plaque, you see the holy symbols of Aku-Dev (for the waters), Thla-Avak (for all the plants and beasts of the waters), Athelgarde (for the cities and towns where a ship may dock), Rak-Ulas (for travelling and the weather), and Ulla (for trade).
"Here," he says with poor grace, as he hands Dyrm one copy and pockets the last, then ceremonially shakes each of your hands -- and wipes his on his trousers. "To your chamber."
Your room is on the top level, and smells of ancient cleaning supplies. Still, it has a cupboard containing sheets, blankets and some hammocks ... all of which smell of not having been aired out recently. Still, there is a decent quality lock on the door, the brass key still in it.
"As you'll be eating as the crew does, I'm so sorry to tell you that you're late for breakfast," Captain Amlegger says, mockingly. "I believe you'll find sailors get up early. Or at least they do on my ship. Try not to miss lunch. Report to mister Pike to find out when you go on duty. Oh, yes. And while you serve on my crew, you will address me as 'Captain' and/or 'Sir' and you will salute me."
With a triumphant smirk, Amlegger slams the door, leaving you to get settled and talk amongst yourselves...
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Nusku can't help but smile as the pair of negotiators seemingly rake the Captain over the coals though he doesn't understand anything that they are saying. Begrudgingly he shakes the Captain's hand before wiping it off on his clothing. "Sure thing, Captain." He replies with more than a little bit of sarcasm including the over-exaggerated salute while the captain leaves.
"I have no clue what you guys said during the meeting, but good job." Nusku tells the party once Amlegger is gone and out of sight. The Su-Rog then starts picking up some bedding to start airing them out as he was intending on a quick nap.
After taking the copy, He does salute the Captain "Aye Aye, Captain." And waits for the Captain to leave. He looks over at the other two once the man is gone
"I have no clue what you guys said during the meeting, but good job." Nusku tells the party once Amlegger is gone and out of sight. The Su-Rog then starts picking up some bedding to start airing them out as he was intending on a quick nap.
"I do hope I didn't take too many liberties, Nusku, but while the goddess I serve is the lady of contracts, that man uses them like a bludgeon and I cannot say I liked him." A glance at the possible sleeping arrangements in here. "Not ideal, but much better. We can arrange a bit of privacy in a corner area for a ladys needs. And while I do love luxury, my gentleman's stature means I'll not need a long bunk or hammock myself."
Myri notes the unusual plaque without immediate comment.
She takes a look at their accommodations and nods as Amlegger leaves. "Captain.
Once he's gone, she takes off her pack and retrieves a mess of tubes and fabric, which she begins to assemble into a cot and takes a good look at her companions. "Well, I suppose this is about as good as could be expected. Well played, Dyrm. I had a mind to bleed him dry."
Once she has the cot assembled, she unpacks her own bedroll and arranges it. "You kept my...modesty in mind."
"I can look after myself, you know." She sees to stringing up one of the sheets in the corner, and adds as almost an afterthought, "But thank you."
Once she has her area set up, she opens the makeshift curtain and sits on her cot. "There was something strange about that plaque, it looked like it could be turned around. I am a bit curious as to what the other side will show. No doubt the man is a skeeve, and is hiding things. I can take you to Pike when you are ready, he is a much more pleasant man."
"I don't like him either, obviously. Hey, you got us a deal that doesn't suck. That's all that matters to me." Nusku replies as he sets up his hammock. Once done, he hops in to lay down. "If you're worried about it, I suppose I can find some time to sneak in there to take a look." He suggests as Myri mentions the plaque. "I'm gonna take a quick nap. I'm sure I can find Pike so you don't have to escort me."
"Oh I've no doubt you can take care of yourself, ma'am," He tips his hat "Perhaps I should apologize for spoiling your plan to bleed him dry."A chuckle then a drawl "Consider it not meant as an insult on your own abilities, but rather a pleasure in elevating myself above that fellow. Manners do maketh man, and I felt the urge to display some less you think I too was of a curly tailed and flat snouted nature. We Copperbeards can be accused of manythings, but we value class."
A nod to Nusku "Rest well, then Sir."
As for meeting Pike "Well, I'm glad to hear he's a cut above his captain. introduce me at your pleasure, Ma'am"
Myri will leave Nusku to his nap and walks back to the pilot box with Dyrm. "Mister Pike, this is Dyrm. One more fellow is taking a rest. We all three signed on as guards, could you add us into the rotation? Since Nusku's sleeping now, and can see in the dark, maybe best to put him at night. But you are first mate, you know your job."
"Ey'up," Mr. Pike greets Dyrm, without taking his hands off the wheel. "Your pal's missing a sight, then. We'll talk about watch rotation once we're out of the city, but right now I have a job for ya."
Gesturing with his chin, Mr. Pike directs your attention to a set of umbrellas, lying in the corner of the castle's raised stern. "One of you grab one and cover me. The other cover the both of you. Guard duty starts right here. Here it comes!"
Ahead, you see an arching bridge, which crosses the whole Wazoo. You barely raise the umbrellas in time before you see a ... colourful crowd standing on top of the bridge: Clerics in full regalia, wielding aspergillia. As ships pass underneath the bridge, the Clerics chant blessings and stern admonitions, and down rains water. Holy and unholy, anarchic and axiomatic, mingling in mid-air, producing a liquid sheet that crackles with conflicting energies and sparkles all the colours of the rainbow.
When the water strikes the umbrellas, your knees almost buckle. The force inherent in the mingling waters is far greater than the merely material. Mr. Pike laughs, elated, as a heady scent fills the air. It is difficult to identify. It's like flowers ... or fruit ... or something completely different. It makes you feel happu to be alive.
Down on deck, you see the other sailors doing their work as best they can while holding up umbrellas of their own. Only the ship's boy is dancing in place, little hands raised to the sky and the cascading water, laughing and crying at the same time.
"The Bridge of Prayers!" Mr. Pike roars, good-humouredly, to make himself heard over the chanting of the priests above. "No idea when the tradition started, but there's always at least a few priests here, blessing those who come and those who go, asking the gods to watch over the lifeblood of the city! ... Aye, and some of the fiends, too. Early morning's the best time; they've just brought in fresh priests!"
All around SHAmlegger's Prize, you see the crews of other ships dealing with the cascade as best they can. There's some cursing, but it sounds remarkably free of actual anger. Mostly, you see smiling faces and some little shaking of heads.
[/spoiler]
Nusku finds himself nodding off, the early morning and bellyfull of good fish drawing him down a very different river. This river is dark and sweet; a river of sleep. In the embrace of sleep, there are dreams; memories half-forgotten and new, mingling together in strange and unusual shapes.
Nusku finds himself in SHAmlegger's Prize's galley, Cook in the kitchen, tossing endless slabs of raw, bleeding meat on the stove. Slabs of meat ... with faces. Some, Nusku recognizes. Others, he does not. Each slab steams, hisses -- then screams piteously and burns to black char. Relentless, Cook simply wipes each pile of black debris off the stove and slaps down a fresh slab...
...and to Nusku's shock and horror, he sees that the next slab to go in the fire has the barely-remembered face of his own mother!
Myri allows herself a moment to enjoy the scintillating cascade of blessed waters. "Hmm. That's fun."
Once the boat is past the bridge, she shakes out the umbrella and puts it back. "That must be hard on the paint, does the boat need repainted often? It looked like the name was fresh."
The Dwarf chuckles at the event, his eyes glowing. He knows the full meaning behind it, but he does call out to his goddess name and join the ritual as much as he can from the ship.
"Hey, can I take a look at that slab of meat? I wanna look at it before you cook it to death..." Nusku asks pointing at the rather familiar one. He was very small when his parents were killed so he couldn't even describe them if asked but he recognized her nevertheless.
Cook turns to Nusku and grins, exposing a mouthful of teeth filed to sharp points. Theirs eyes gleam hot pink as they grab Nusku by the wrist and slap the piece of meat down into his palm.
The ... piece of ... meat? ... the hand ... of a ... strange woman ... grasps yours. Not painfully, but very definitely so.
She towers above you, a stranger, a Sû-rog with red hair combed smooth and cut to frame a dispassionate face.
A black leather eyepatch covers one eye. Dowdy, grey clothes cut for comfort and ease of wear cover a fit, feminine body. All the moons spin in the night sky above her.
She towers over Nusku as he dimly remembers his parents doing ... before.
This is a dream. It does not strike you as odd that you are suddenly standing on the riverboat's deck, under the night sky. The huge woman still towers over you, unspeaking. Frogs croak and insects buzz in the reeds framing the river... and a humanoid shape lies on the deck, covered by a black sheet. In the middle of an expanding puddle of blood.
Cook, their eyes still blazing bright pink, now dressed in dusky clith and leather armour, stands on the far side of the pool. Their smile would probably be sweet if not for the filed teeth.
"It's fine," Mr. Pike says. "We do maintenance at both ends of our trip up and down the Wazoo anyway. Keep those umbrellas handy, lass. We're still going to need them."
The ship churns on, moving from the harbour district to the more upscale area of the city. At one point, it sails under a bridge that would connect two expansive complexes - if not for two wrought-iron fences blocking off passage across it.
The complex to the right looks stately and solemn, not to mention expensive. All marble and gilt and people in traditional togas walking around with scrolls.
In contrast, the complex to the left is more modern - and much busier. You see kids of all ages and species running around, talking, arguing, all wearing the same kind of uniform.
"Crown College to the right, St. Finnegan's University to the left," Mr. Pike explains. "The oldest and the newest schools in the Middle Nations, and some joker had the St. Fu people build their capitol site right across from CC. On a good day, they just ignore each other. Get those umbrellas ready, hurry!"
A group of young children is walking onto the bridge from the Crown College side, carrying little cloth bags...
With a slightly annoyed expression, Myri opens the umbrella up again. At the mention of the colleges, she lets out a barely audible "Hmph."
"Lovely city for one above ground," The Dwarf comments and readies the umbrella.
"Who are you?" Nusku asks, but before he can get an answer he gets distracted by the body on the deck of the ship. With a little trepidation he walks over to take a look.
With solemn expressions and apparent ceremony, the children from Crown College open their bags, reach in - and start flinging handfuls of the contents in the direction of St. Fu. Given the two fences in their way, none of it actually reaches St. Finnegan's territory, but quite a lot rains down on ships passing underneath the bridge -- like SHAmlegger's Prize.
Hard, dry rattling and little jolts of impact tell you when the stuff strikes your umbrellas, before it bounces off onto the deck. It's bits of stale bread, wrapped around ... pebbles?
"Magister Dorlant's munificence, they call it," Mr. Pike says, shaking his head. "Every day, they chuck this stuff at St. Fu. I've seen 'em chuck the same at beggars what get too close to Crown College grounds. That's rich people for you, huh? The bread could save a starving man's life, but only if the rocks don't kill him first."
There is a call from above, and Mr. Pike hunches his shoulders and curses.
"Aku-Dev's soaking socks, not him again!" he hisses under his breath.
Looking up, you can see a slightly older boy, a Gelnet in a gaudy yellow toga, has joined the little ones. His handsome, arrogant face looks down on you -- and he is tossing a boomerang up in the air and catching it. On the St. Finnegan's side of the bridge, a bell is ringing and the students are quickly taking cover.
The giant woman releases you as you pull away.
As you approach the body, Cook shape-shifts ... only it isn't Cook anymore. It's a female Night Elf, slender and feral. Her hair was cut short and spiky, then painted a virulent pink. Her sharp-toothed smile is disturbing as she flicks her wrist, causing a serrated dagger to slap into her palm. With a curt gesture, she indicates the body.
As you lift the black cloth, you see ... something. A shape. A man. A woman? Subtle shifts of the moonlight cause shifts in the dead person. Are they old or young? Short or tall?
You just don't know...!
Myri's nose wrinkles at Pike's comment about rich people. "Not all 'rich people' are horrible to the lesser folk, you know," she says, oblivious to the irony of the statement.
"Oh, that's..hmm." She tries to remember the boy's name as a wicked grin crosses her face. She gets ready to try to catch the boomerang if it comes at all close to her.
Nusku lifts off the black cloth, tossing it to the side so he can see who or what is underneath. Dream or not, this was tiring and annoying.
"Clearly some folks of wealth do have too much time on thier hands" He frowns at the talk of pebble and bread.
Then the 'oh him' thing comes up, "Should I know this youngling?" He asks the others
Myri will mention his name if she remembers it.
"He's the king's nephew, a vile little brat."
Nusku lifts off the black cloth, tossing it to the side so he can see who or what is underneath. Dream or not, this was tiring and annoying.
Nusku lifts the cloth ... and finds himself lying on the deck of SHAmlegger's Prize in a pool of blood. His blood. Standing over him is the Night Elf woman with the bright pink hair, holding the cloth and grinning at him like a rabid she-wolf. Darkness encroaches on his vision as the Elf-woman leans over and whispers three words.
Three words that make the dream tremble and shatter.
"Recognize me yet?"
Myri's nose wrinkles at Pike's comment about rich people. "Not all 'rich people' are horrible to the lesser folk, you know," she says, oblivious to the irony of the statement.
"Yeah, I know," Mr. Pike says, grinning. "Some of 'em tip."
"Clearly some folks of wealth do have too much time on their hands." He frowns at the talk of pebble and bread.
"It's supposed to be tradition or something," Mr. Pike says. "Showing 'benevolence' to the 'lesser classes' while reminding 'em of their place at the same time."
The rough-and-tough sailor raises his little fingers, affecting a hoity-toity accent -- then spits over the side.
Then the 'oh him' thing comes up, "Should I know this youngling?" He asks the others
"He's the king's nephew, a vile little brat."
"He's a mean hand with that magic stick, too!" Mr. Pike warns. "Send it flying every which way he wants, and then it flies back to his hand! It's true! Little ... gentleman took out the eye of another ship's pilot I know!"
Much obliged, but you're doing well. ^_^
The boy's name is Adelbrant, and his reputation is beyond nasty. There are stories of servants and maids permanently maimed because they were refused healing treatments, small animals killed, 'accidents' during weapons practice... The common consensus is that Adelbrant will either become a famous warrior / general by the time he finishes puberty, or else he'll need to be locked up in an asylum.
"Adelbrant, that's it. I'm surprised the King would put up with such an impediment to commerce." She smirks, and flexes her hands, readying to try to interrupt the boomerang throw. Best case, she catches it. Middle ground, she bats it out of the air. Worse case, face full of boomerand and it still gets back to the kid.
Nusku wakes up in a cold sweat. "Maybe fried fish right before a nap is a bad idea. But it was so good." He says to himself, trying to rationalize what he saw. He gets up out of his hammock and goes to find Pike for some work to perhaps get his mind off what he saw in his dreams.
Drymworth mutters in Dwarvish
"Adelbrant, that's it. I'm surprised the King would put up with such an impediment to commerce." She smirks...
Drymworth mutters in DwarvishDwarvish:"I wonder how much folks are paid to refuse contracts on the little vermin?"
There are those moments. Moments when time seems to slow down, and all is silence. Myriad de Volant experiences such a moment right after the words leave her lips, and she sees Adelbrant's face with perfect clarity. She sees his admittedly gorgeous eyes widen with surprise -- then narrow with something that might be recognition as they meet hers. And the boy smiles at her, wagging a finger in admonishment.
The next moment he turns, casually slapping one of the younger children and knocking her to the ground as he strolls off, chuckling.
Notably, the child does not start to cry, nor do the others move to assist her, before Adelbrant has well and truly gone.
"Alright," Mr. Pike says. He clears his throat and continues in his normal, deeper voice: "Alright. Let's see if we can't make a little more speed. I feel like putting a hell of a lot of distance between us and the Crown College just now. Might buy myself a helmet when it's time to go back."
Nusku wakes up in a cold sweat. "Maybe fried fish right before a nap is a bad idea. But it was so good." He says to himself, trying to rationalize what he saw. He gets up out of his hammock and goes to find Pike for some work to perhaps get his mind off what he saw in his dreams.
After a while, Nusku joins the others at the open-air pilot box. Mr. Pike greets him politely enough, and asks the Sû-rog to stay up top for the ship's trip out of the city. (He is noticeably less warm to Nusku than he was to Dyrm and Myri, however. Still, politeness is a step up from having stones thrown at you.)
SHAmlegger's Prize passes several other sights on its way down the Wazoo, some fair, others foul. The cattle district pours out a seemingly endless tide of offal and excrement into the river, and the waters fairly boil with the activities of quickleeches, brackwater crustaceans and dunny-fish here.
The clothier's district is a riot of colours and fluttering fabrics, with paid models parading down the street to display and advertise the wares of their employers. When you pass Temple Street, the great temple of Aku-Dev dominates your view; small wonder, as it backs onto the river to honour the goddess' mastery over waters. (You notice Mr. Pike makes the holy sign of the goddess as you pass, as do most of the sailors on deck.) You pass many districts of trade and sale, and then... then there is the city's River Gate.
Open twelve hours out of every twenty-four, the River Gate is forged entirely out of steel, but covered with a layer of priceless platinum to render it immune to the water's corroding touch. Four giant chains of platinum-layered steel open and close the gate at signals from two guard towers that flank and guard the Wazoo's entrance to and exit from the city. You have heard it said that there are great, grated sluices in the gate, somewhere below water level, to allow the river to keep flowing even when the River Gate is closed. You are unable to see any evidence of it, though.
SHAmlegger's Prize slows down here; in spite of its lofty size, the River Gate is a bit of a bottleneck, as ships are forever crowding to get into and out of La Grande. You have plenty of time here to see that like all the other gates to the capitol of the Middle Nations, the River Gate is patrolled by the League of Temperance.
Clad from head to toe in armour coloured in bands of umber, ivory, rust and black, these warriors not only cut an impressive figure, but are known to be absolutely merciless in combat and when dealing with criminals, no matter the severity of the crime. Flags sporting the royal crest of the Middle Nations flap from poles set into their back armour.
Finally, the troops in the guard tower to the right send flag signals that allow SHAmlegger's Prize to move forward. For the first time in a long time, you feel the sun and the breeze, unfiltered and unobscured by the great city all around you.
As the sun rises steadily - (in spite of being contested between Haulmasho and Ash-Kta) - higher in the sky, it starts to warm the air. You can smell the waters of the Wazoo, and the forest of reeds flanking it to both sides. Beyond the reeds, there is the bucolic landscape of the Middle Nations; rolling hills of green, dotted by an errant tree here and there. To the left, you see a path of packed earth cut a pale ribbon through the green as it wends its way off to the horizon. To the right, a distant sheen of gold and slightly nearer blobs of white show you the Middle Nations' default occupation of farming is in full swing, even this close to the city.
You feel quite braced up by nature's beauty; the blue sky above, the sun reflecting in the wine-dark waters of the Wazoo ... and then the first mosquitoes start to buzz around.
"Yeah, they're as much of a pest as Skeeters around this time of year," Mr. Pike says, in spite of the fact that the bugs are avoiding him. "Welcome to the big, bad world, kids. We've got two main watch rotations, each divided in four segments: day, divided in early morning, mid-morning, early afternoon and late afternoon; then night, divided in early evening, late evening, early night and late night. What sounds good to you?"
"What a shame, he found some sense."
Myri feigns boredom through the trip out of the city as she takes in the sights. She masks a rude gesture towards the League of Tenmperence by rubbing her eye after the boat passes the gate, but as a whole keeps quiet for the journey.
Pleasantly surprised to get a choice of shift but wholly misunderstanding the question, she says, "Oh, the mid-morning shift for me."
Nusku watches the polluted waters just glad that he is on the ship and not there. "The night-shift works best for me. The later the better." He replies swatting a mosquito.
"We of the Deep Empire do not shy from a bit of darkness," then a chuckle as he drawls genteely "But that is largely because we are quite blessed to see in the dark. Perhaps I'll take earlier than Mister Nusku"
"Works for me," Mr. Pike says, shrugging. "So tell me about how you fight. Let me know what to expect from you all."
Mr. Pike gives you all the time to talk, then shouts down to the deck: " Get your worm-eaten peg up here, on the double!"
The weathered old sailor Myri saw instructing the ship's boy before comes limping up to the pilot-box. Limping, because on closer scrutiny, he turns out to have one peg leg.
The ship's boy is trailing after him.
"Horleg here's on mid-morning watch shift," Mr. Pike explains. "Horleg, you old dog-robber, thissere's Ms. Myri. Cap'n hired her and these two gents - Dyrm - and Nusku - for security on this trip. She's picking up the mid-morning shift alongside of you. Mind your manners."
Horleg laughs at that, exposing all the holes between his teeth. "No worries, miss," he says, giving Myri a grin equal parts good-natured and condescending. "I've got daughters older'n you, and enough wives so's not ta want more trouble. You any good at fishin'? Morning watch is mostly fishin' - and keepin' lookout. Most of the bad boys don't git up 'fore noon."
"Oy," Mr. Pike says, with a sudden glare. "Boy! Let me see yer hands!"
The ship's boy nervously extends his hands, and Mr. Pike scowls at Horleg. "I told you not to let 'im work rope 'till it roughs up his hands!"
To the boy: "Go soak yer hands in grease. Cook keeps some. No backtalk, go!"
Turning to the rest of you: "Ms. Myri, go with Horleg. He'll tell ya where we keep the rods, hooks and bait and such. Dyrm, uh Nusku, go get yer heads down, get some shut-eye for tonight. If I'm not on duty, the second mate is. That'll be Mastkey, who's sleeping right now. Hop to, and look lively! We're on our way now."
"Works for me," Mr. Pike says, shrugging. "So tell me about how you fight. Let me know what to expect from you all."
"I draw power from significant objects," Myri says with pride while unslinging an ancient, weatherbeaten battleaxe. "I can infuse this bad boy with the whole weight of its history, so it can crush anything that gets in my way." Then, she pats her thick woolen black mage's cloak with a smirk. "And I can draw magic out of my cloak that shields me from more than just the cold."
Horleg laughs at that, exposing all the holes between his teeth. "No worries, miss," he says, giving Myri a grin equal parts good-natured and condescending. "I've got daughters older'n you, and enough wives so's not ta want more trouble. You any good at fishin'? Morning watch is mostly fishin' - and keepin' lookout. Most of the bad boys don't git up 'fore noon."
The young lady gives Horleg an amiable smile and nods. Isn't fishing just standing around with a stick in the water? How hard could it be?
"Yeah, I'm great at fishing," she lies. "What time do I need to get up for breakfast?"
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"How do I fight? Proficiently, Sir. Proficiently." He smiles "Also, as I can heal myself after, I tend to look prettier than others after a fight too."