The massive headache pierces your skull as your eyes open; the gentle rocking of the ocean recognizable as your location is no longer on dry land. The smell of seawater and the of the bilges strike your noses. As you begin stirring, the sole door to the small wooden room in the swings open violently with a black leather boot propelling it.
The wearer of the boot is a Chelish man of average height with an expression that looks like a wasp was perpetually flying in his face, a long dark beard tied into short braids storms into the room, a coiled whip at in his hands. A light black jacket and trousers complete the look as "menacing pirate."
Several sailors of various ancestries follow him, each brandishing a short club menancingly as they eye the small group from the previous nights press-ganging. The whip-bearing sailor speaks up loudly, his voice an annoyed rasp.
"Still a-bed 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!”
The accompanying sailors chuckle at the line as they form a tunnel of sorts, indicating that the captives are expected to follow.
Seadreamer groans as he slowly gains his feet.
What in the gods did you slip me
He wobbles to the door trying to get his sea legs back under him as he makes his way to the deck.
What in the hells did i get caught up in
How did I get in this mess?
That would be the first thought from a woman of average height and curvy build as she began to stir. While her attire is rather ordinary, her most start feature was her pure white hair. Though in this case it has seen better days.
Okay, what was the last thing you remember? Her mind recalls last night(?) as she hastily entered the first bar she could find, the Formidably Maid.
What did I say to the bartender? Oh right, he asked if I was new to town and I said yes. Can't believe I let that one slip by.
To which she drew to her own conclusion: someone saw her as a mark and took advantage accordingly.
Ironic.
She slowly got to her own two feet and raised both hands up as to signal she had no intention of fighting.
"Alright, you got me. No need to clobber me further." With that she followed the others out of the room.
"I was looking for a ship to join. You COULD have just asked!"
The young half-elf stands up, already adjusted to the ship's roll without noticing that he had done so, taking a quick inventory of his person. Two arms, two hands, both legs and feet. DEFINATELY my head. Clothes. The goal is to find out what he's been left to work with.
Brewton lies there on the ground, bruised and battered. His crooked teeth have bitten clean thru a lip, and he holds his bloody face as they shout at him. Did he get into a fight last night?
Slowly, he sits up, resting on his good hip. Smacking his lips, he clears his throat and stares down the whip-wielding man. "Where's my crutches," he demands, cranky, sore, hungover. "You want me to work, I'll work. But I en't gonna wear this thing all day."
As if to demonstrate, he unhooks his leg and chucks it towards the pirates.
As everyone is checking their wherewithal and getting their bearings, a quick self check will reveal a small personal effect that the pirates seem to have missed. Those that were in a brawl to get press-ganged vaguely recognize a few of the faces of the subordinates from the scrap last night; those who fell to the drink are still shaking a nasty copper taste from their mouth.
The leader in black chuckles as the wooden peg leg hits flush against one of his compatriots, a half-elf woman whose gray hair was shaved into stripes on her head, giving her the appearance of an aggravated rodent. The woman snarls maliciously, raising her club as she begins to advance with evil intent towards the one-legged human.
"'Enuff Badger. Hop-along here has got some fight." The black clad man says, amused by Brewtons audacity. He kicks the peg back towards Brewton, a sneer on his face. "You brought it, you wear it. Work well, and we might see about crutches. Or the crow's nest. Now come on maggots, to the deck!"
As the rest of the party gathers their bearings and follows the bearded mans directions, he falls to the rear of the group, occasionally chuckling to himself.
Stumbling to the deck Seadreamer looks around and sees him learing at Destinie.
As much as I want to say something right now about his learing, I think that would end with me be fed to the fishes.
He stubbornly bites his tongue and stands where directed.
I wanted to come back to sea, but being pressganged was not my ideal way to get back there.
It wasn't anything she wasn't familiar with. It's a look that she's seen by certain people when she came of age. She usually was more than willing to talk back, but for now, she walked by without acknowledging it. Better to see how things worked around before she dealt with it.
With little attention paid to the others gathered, Brewton reattaches his leg, grumbling. Pulling himself upright, he stumbles up the stairs to follow close behind their tormentors. "I were once an officer in the Andoren Navy. Trained on ballistae, siege weapons, ship-to-ship conbat. Surely yer in need of the like here in the Shackles."
Andulian scratches his head, still feeling the pain from being press-ganged. He had told stories like that a hundred times, and knew exactly what was going on. His eyes circle around, checking each of the people there - those unfortunate souls, like him. While he doesn't smile, the thought crosses his mind - I hope these smelly cod heads like spooky things, as this vessel is about to be a lot scarier than they bargained for!
The undine notices the bearded guy looking at the woman. Really?, he thought, Well, to be expected, I guess.
Whose vessel 'ya said 'tis belongs to? - he finally says, standing up and trying to call the men's attention - 'Ya could have just asked, me' mates. Toss me som' coins and som' rum and I'd be scrubbing 'tis wood tah' shine.
Well, she is easy enough on the eyes, but unless that look was followed with a fat purse and transaction, it would always lead to a beating . . .. Have to remember him. He'll be trouble.
Terry notes they missed the sap tucked into his pants at his left hip, but that basically everything else is missing. "Hoy! So, what's a salt got to do to earn his gear back?" Terry's smart enough to ask on the move. No need to antagonize by refusing to do the easy stuff!
The lewd pirate and his companions say nothing as they accompany the party up the two decks onto the main deck. The cool breeze feels refreshing against everyones skin; a quick check reveals all sight of land is gone by this juncture in their journey. The rest of the crew seems to have stopped working to enjoy the show they know is coming.
The lewd pirate directs the party to join four others by the mainmast who are standing with varying degrees of nervousness facing the command deck at the rear of the ship.
A female halfling with a slightly annoyed look on her face, with curly brown hair and biceps that indicate strength comparable to people twice her size.
A male human wearing a Varisian scarf as a bandana with a lean and hard physique compared with an expression that this gathering is boring.
A male gnome dressed like someone who was only knows what pirates wear from bard tales and plays and decided to spice it up outlandishly. A trimmed goatee and the massive foppish hat in his hands shows his expression as quite nervous and unsettled.
A female human dressed like the rest of the crew; her vibrant red hair is let down and though she sneers for a brief second as the party comes on deck, she seems unphased by the situation.
The command deck currently hosted two people. One of them is a middle aged broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch— clearly the captain. The other is significantly younger, bald except man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails. Once everyone is lined up, all conversation amongst the rest of the crew stops almost instantly as the Garundi man takes the smallest of steps to adjust his stance and address the ship.
“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." The Garundi mans voice booms in a deep bass tone.
“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.” The lack of significant expression or chuckle as he finished his sentence leaves the question about whether or not Harrigan was actually serious about that threat.
Captain Harrigan steps down from the command deck, entering a doorway underneath it on the main deck, presumably his quarters.
The pony-tailed man points to the four that were gathered already as the party came on deck. His voice is direct and stern, but still betrays his comparative youth in its pitch.
"You four know your roles. Dismissed." The ponytailed man, presumably Mr. Plugg. They nod and join the rest of the crew. Mr. Plugg then points towards the crows nest.
"The rest of you maggots. I need a new rigger. First to the crows nest gets that honor of no longer being a lowly maggot." His face scowls as he draws out the maggot statement.
"Begin!"
Of course, you can always decide to NOT climb... :D
Despite his wooden leg, the smooth-shaven man is clearly quite comfortable in the ropes, climbing up to the top like a monkey. "But again, y'all'd be fools not to put me behind a siege engine. Yew'll find I'm a capable and well rounded seaman, e'en if few ships'd have me."
Terry looks up at the climb. "That all?" and he hops to it.
He scrambles up without further hesitation or delay.
Terry shakes the one-legged man's hand, if he'll let him. "Far better than most. Very impressive.
Brewton scowls, feeling patronized, pitied. He snubs the half elf, spitting over the side of the crow's nest. "You not better than me. Stuck up little man."
On the one hand, she doubt she could perform such a task well. On the other hand, she was sure that this exercise wasn't optional. So with a sigh, she decided to give it a go.
She surprisingly makes some progress on the pole... only for her inexperience to betray her as she loses her footing and lands on her back with a thud. The groans as she eventually rolls back on to her feet before she dusted herself off.
It was then where she took the time to examine some of the individuals so far. It's hard to say so far.
Andulian hears what is said with attention but keeps his silence; he's still trying to gauge what's going on around here. As he hears the captain's name, he tries to push his own mind to see what he knows about the man.
As the climbing thing kicks out, the undine gives space to the others to go first. Yet, he doesn't pay them much attention; he looks down, waiting for his time, and muttering words as if praying.
After about a minute, his eyes seem to briefly let out a subtle white smoke, that quickly dissipates - very hard to be noticeable, unless someone is truly trying to see exactly that.
Nevertheless, as it's finally his time, he figures he doesn't have much to lose. The other two guys up there are clearly way faster and more skilled at it than he is; so he pushes himself, knowing that the worst that could happen is likely he falling flat on his bony behind.
To his shock, however, he's a lot more successful than he anticipated - reaching the top as fast as the two fastest guys. He looks at them visibly confused.
Ay, mates, let's not make it a competition, I just lucked out this single time. Yarr' definitely better climbing than me. - he says, climbing back down on the first opportunity.
They definitely are a lot better than you! But don't worry, there's always demand for deck scrubbing and boot licking. - a voice says inside Andulian's head, to what he chuckles to himself.
None of her subsequent attempts would come anywhere near as successful as her first one. She looks up in envy at the others who have made it to the top.
"Show offs..." she sighed.
Terry offers his hand to the undine as well. "Well done for you, too! Three of us have got a leg up on the rest!"
Just after he says it, the blood drains out of Terry's face as he looks at Brewton.
With some struggles due to his height, he finally crawls up the ratlines to the crows nest.
I am a doctor, not a climber
The race to the crows nest is fast and furious as Terry, Brewton, and Andulian bound up the mast at astonishing speed. As all three are within reaching distance of the end goal, a gust of wind hits Terry and Andulian flush in the chest forcing them to compact themselves to hang on for just the briefest of seconds as Brewton is facing opposite them getting the ever so slightest of aids from the wind, getting his hand to the crows nest to earn the victory. The sight below is of Seadreamer slowly making his way up the ropes and Destinie trying to get a good grip after splatting earlier onto the hard deck.
@Andulian
A small cheer comes from the crew below, loudest from the four pirates you saw earlier in the lineup. Mr. Plugg looks on indifferently, and gestures that everyone come down and line up again.
Once everyone clambers down and lines up again, Mr. Plugg glares coldly at Brewton.
"Congratulations. You work for me now. You are no longer a maggot. You are a slug." Mr. Plugg announces as he leans forward on the railing, his voice as chilly as his eyes. His eyes turn to the rest of the party.
"Can you cook blondie?" Mr. Pluggs expression turns to Destinie.
Thankfully, the most painful thing about the experience was the humiliation that came by being outshone by the other recruits. Which makes the next question a bit of a relief as it wasn't as arduous.
"I suppose I did do a bit of that where I came from..."
"As expected. To the kitchens with you wench. Report to Mr. Kroop." Mr. Plugg sneers. The rest of you work for Master Scourge now." Mr. Plugg indicates the black jacketed man from earlier as Master Scourge. Master Scourge stares at the group as though they were something he scraped off his boot. Mr. Plugg steps around to the stairs off the upper deck to the main deck to address Brewton personally.
"MAHEEM!" the first mate barks, acquiring the attention of one of a tall, well muscled bronze skinned man with his a huge scowl on his face from the crew. He dutifully runs over to Brewton and Mr. Plugg and stands at attention for the senior officer.
"Sir!?
"Slug here is going to work the lines with you. It's his first day; be gentle." Mr. Plugg says, his voice clearly not hiding his disdain for Brewton.
Maheem looks Brewton over, then nods with a bold "Yes sir!" before walking with Brewton to the main mast to handle the lines for the day. Maheem says virtually nothing to Brewton
Destinie straitened up and delivered a half-hearten salute to Plugg. "Yes sir."
She then scurried into the room... doing her best to find the kitchen without any directions. Keeping a low profile is good... but it does have its disadvantages. :/
Brewton tries several times to get Mr. Maheem to open up, but most of his attempts are shallow and half hearted questions like, "So, uh, areya, y'know, seein anyone?" or "Does bein a slug entitle a man to some f@@&in grog? My head won't stop poundin."
He performs his job competently.
Seadreamer rejoins the group, and waits for the next tasking.
Here I was, standing before the mast on my fathers ship afore it went down. Now I've been pressganged by Pirates. Trudd, give me strength to put up with this until I get free
Andulian just sticks around, arms crossed behind his back, waiting for Scourge to say anything. He'd do whatever work would come, and wasn't particularly interested in feeding the small men egos by speaking with them.
@Brewton
Maheem seems to ignore most of Brewtons questions. He periodically will look towards the rear deck and make eye contact with Mr. Plugg who is steering the ship, then continue about directing you. Brewton easily gets the feeling that he is shifting the brunt of the work off on him, but even in spite Brewtons headache, it's hard to fault his work.
The one question Maheem does seem to answer that isn't work related is that of the grog. He just nods and says "drink tonight."
@Destinie
Destinie goes beneath deck in search of the galley and the pirate cook Mr. Kroop as instructed. Once below deck, she notices a freakishly large man in trousers with a long length of chain tethered to the mast pole. He sits and looks at her quietly, but says nothing. Behind him, two doors sit side by side. One of the doors is swung wide open revealing the galley and a tumultuous sound of pots and pans banging about.
Upon entry is the sight of a horrendously obese man in his 50s with large mutton chops, his apron stained beyond any hope of being clean ever again. The man stumbles about the kitchen knocking pots and pans over every which way. The mans staggering motions indicate he is clearly inebriated in some way.
On one of the tables sits a half-orc woman who seems to be watching the other door from her spot. Her hair is pulled back in dreadlocks, and a large scar from ear to ear covers her throat. She grins toothily as Destinie enters. The man seems oblivious to the presence of Destinie.
"Aye lassie. Must be new blood. Whatchu want?" the green-skinned woman asks.
@Andulian, Seadreamer, and Terry
Master Scourge sneers as Destinie bounds below deck, then eyes the new recruits without his expression changing much.
"Stunty, the deck needs a swabbin'. Mind the fore an' aft decks too." Master Scourge spits indicating Seadreamer.
"You, to the bilges with you. Keep that pump going." Master Scourge continues, indicating Andulian. "And you Ears are moving lines for the riggers today. 'Aybe those ears are will help ya do what you told." pointing Terry towards the riggers.
Apologies, I forgot to post this for Brewton. Thankfully, he made all his checks without modifiers.
In addition to their normal jobs on the ship, the PCs can also utilize their time during the day (and night) to explore the ship, scrounger for gear, interact with their shipmates, or attempt to influence NPCs.
Each PC can normally take two ship actions each day, one during the day and one at night. A PC can also attempt to take up to two additional ship actions during the middle watch in the dead of night (any nighttime ship action marked with an asterisk), but to do so the PC must make a successful Constitution check (DC 10, +4 per extra ship action taken) or be fatigued for the next day.
Daytime Ship Actions
Work Diligently: Gain a +4 bonus on any one check for a job’s daily task
Influence: Make normal checks for a job’s daily task and attempt to influence a single NPC
Sneak: Make normal checks for a job’s daily task and briefly explore one area of the ship (the PC can make a single Perception check or other skill check with no chance of detection)
Shop: Take a –2 penalty on all checks for a job’s daily task and visit the quartermaster’s store (area A9)
Shirk: Take a –2 penalty on all checks for a job’s daily task and take time exploring one area of the ship. The PC can take 10 on a single Perception check or other skill check, but must make a check to avoid being discovered.
For this opening day, only one Daytime Action for the characters due to the late start of the day.
@Andulian since you're the only one leaving deck.
As you enter the bilges, you can understand fully in your heart why the term "bilge-rats" is such an unpleasant insult. The sheer heat and humidity in this room at the very bottom of the ship has you dripping sweat within minutes, and breathing in is like inhaling sewage flavored soup. A foot of brackish water covers the ground. A single pump rests near the rear of the deck. Towards the front of the ship on the way is a line of manacles, one of which is currently occupied by a miserable looking young man in his late teens with shaggy blonde hair and hints of a beard trying to go through. He looks to be held up purely by the manacles on the wall, his face and clothes dripping in sweat.
Swab the decks, Aye
Seadreamer goes in search of a bucket to fill with seawater and a mop.
I will get him back, just wait.
"Aye aye." Terry moves off to do what he was told.
She would get to the room... eventually. If there was a cook, it couldn't be that bad.
It was.
The room itself felt like a maze to her as she tried her best to navigate the pots and pans in the way. The movement of the cook himself startled her slightly as well as the presence of the half-orc. She awkwardly waved back as she spoke.
"I guess the only thing I need is what I can do to help. Though I was hoping Mr. Kroop would be less..." She tried to think of a way to put it nicely, but figured there was no use to do such a thing in a pirate ship. "Drunk, she finished flatly.
"My name's Destinie, but you can call me Nini if the first same sounds pretentious."
@Seadreamer
As Seadreamer scrubs out the deck with the water and mop, he notices it's going to take more than those tools to get the deck cleaned. A holystone is more an appropriate tool. As Seadreamer slips down to the middle deck, to the quartermasters store, he is greeted to the sight of the giant man tied to the main mast pole between Seadreamer and the quartermasters store. The man watches Seadreamer, but says nothing (pending Seadreamer interacting with him). The half-orc woman emerges from the galley where Seadreamer can see Destinie can be seen frantically trying to get food together for the crew. After hearing your request for the holystone, the half-orc grunts and ducks into a store, emerging a minute later with the stone. The woman returns to the galley, sitting on a table and taking a sip of her drink.
Seadreamer sees the stairs leading to the forecastle from the underbelly right alongside the stairs that go back to the main deck. As he pauses looking at the stairs, Seadreamers peripheral vision picks up that the giant man chained to the mast makes an audibly intrigued grunt. Seadreamer makes the connection what the giant man is there for.
@Terry
Terry takes the time to observe the main deck and how it works. The swabs tend to random tasks or running errands for the riggers. You can see Brewton and Maheem moving the lines on the sails to coordinate with Mr. Pluggs orders during the day. Periodically, a small teenage girl comes running from the aft-castle to the forecastle, disappearing within, then coming out with presumably one or more of the officers to return to the Captains Quarters. Occasionally, Captain Harrigan emerges himself, stepping onto the officers deck to confer with Mr. Plugg. The rest of the crew gives him a wide berth, going out of their way to avoid him except for the officers, who still seem timid in his presence.
In addition, you see most of the new pirates you saw earlier working as swabs as well. The woman with the cool disposition, the buff man in the scarf, and the halfling woman are also working through the day as well. The halfling occasionally trips on a line, drawing out an impressive chorus of profanity from the woman, much to the amusement of the others. The rest of the seasoned crew seem to just focus on their tasks, chuckling at the outbursts. The gnome with the bizarre hat seems to have been sent to the crows nest for the day, with him occasionally calling down to Mr. Plugg; Terry begins to think its more to make sure the little gnome is still awake as opposed to actually keeping an eye out for anything.
The day is long and rough. The lines are heavy, and the accumulated wear and tear on your muscles adds up. The sea spray feels refreshing when it hits, cooling Terry's burning muscles. Master Scourge is constantly barking orders; and the ill-timing of a wave with his yell causes Terry to miss a line.
"Mind yer job sea-dog!" Master Scourges voice rings out loud and clear as the heavy weight of a rope hits Terry across the back. It feels like getting body checked, and causes Terry to stumble just a bit.
@Destinie
The half-orc woman gives a small frown. "Cut-Throat Grok, quartermaster. That 'ere is Fishguts Kroop, the cook. New cooks mate? Hope yer good in the kitchen. He had a plan with the fish and such over there. No idea what though." Grok gestures towards one corner with a bucket full of mostly fresh fish.
Cut-Throat Grok slides off the table, and strides over to the drunken cook; as she raised to her full height the woman proved to be well muscled and quite tall. With surprising gentleness, Cut-Throat Grok slides underneath Kroops arm, and guides him to her previous perch, sitting him down. The cook mumbles something unintelligible, then promptly falls forward, passed out. Grok tries to give Destinie a weak smile, it comes off far more menacing than likely intended with her tusks.
"Good luck kid; Captain will be pissed if there's not a decent dinner made for him and the crew." as she steps next door into the Quartermasters store.
@Andulian
The bilges are miserable. It's hot, muggy, and miserable moving through the water without the breeze. However, without the constant presence of Master Scourge you are a bit freer to chat. Unfortunately, the only other living things here seem to be the spiders nest in one corner and the prisoner. As you talk to the young man, he perks up at first.
"You're not one of the crew...am I free?" He says. His speech is slow and sporadic; breathing is likely a challenge for him given how long he may have been in the head and any previous beatings he received. After introductions, he continues,
"Jake Magpie. Got caught trying to get my mothers jeweled ring back from the quartermaster. Been waiting for whatever they do to me." Jake seems relieved to have someone to talk to for the time being.
Towards the end of the afternoon, Master Scourge makes appearance by the ladder for the bilges. After he climbs down with a few other crew mates in tow, he looks about the rising water and snarls.
"Bravo maggot, ye just earned yerself a lash tonight. The Wormwoods handling like a dwarf with big rear had too much to drink. Get this back under control!" Scourge barks, his comrades dropping into the waist high water to help turn the pumps and drain the water.
Then it was a good thing she didn't exactly tell the truth in that case: that she hardly ever had the need to cook.
She slowly made her way to where the ingredients were laid and examined the content.
"Right. At least I got the contents here. Let's see what we can do..."
"I've seen these before. I think I can do this."
And indeed she did. The main issue was actually finding the materials needed to make the dish. That involved searching through the kitchen and scrambling to get all the supplies needed to cook the damn thing.
It may have taken up much of the day, but she eventually got to creating fish soup with fresh water and the spices and vegetables piled on the table. She took a spoon and took it up to her mouth before giving it a taste.
"Not bad at all." And with that, she slumped to the floor, back against the pantry as she took her sweet time to recover from that cooking frenzy.
I think I will hold off on going up the foe'castl stairs for now
Seadreamer approaches the big man
Oi' whats ya tied up for?
The young sailor makes no attempt to resist the weight of the rope, and lets it slam his chest into the deck, knocking the wind out of him as the sweaty flesh makes a loud slapping noise hitting the deck. He lays there a moment, waiting to see if the rope comes again, before slowly getting up and then returning to work.
@Seadreamer
The big man turns his head slightly sideways, as if not fully understanding the question. Then his eyes light up excitedly as his voice booms.
[b]"Owlbear tied so Owlbear no get lost!"
@Andulian
Hi Owlbear, I'm seadreamer. But I have to get back to what I was doing
@Andulian
Jake smiles weakly at your friendliness. Between the appearance of Master Scourge and the sheer wear and tear of working on the bilges, Andulian looks forward to the rest that nightfall and sleep should bring to ease his aching muscles.
@Seadreamer
Owlbear grunts in confusion, but says nothing else as you return to your duties.
@Everyone
The sun begins setting, and the crew seems in high spirits. Whether that bode well for the newcomers, it was hard to say. A dinner of tack biscuits and fresh fish were paired with the crews rum ration that is given to every sailor including the new blood.
The other new recruits (the 2 humans, the gnome, and the halfling) seem to be gathered in one corner on the main deck, conversing and eating their meal. The gnome takes a drink of his ration and looks as though he was swallowing acid under his foppish hat.
The foods edible; by no means premier quality, but edible enough it can be considerable an improvement over trail rations. A sip of the ration, however is clearly indicative of its strength; the crew of the Wormwood clearly doesn't mess around when it comes to their rum.
If you choose to stealthily get rid of your drink, DC 10 Stealth check.
Terry's eyebrows climb just a bit. "They've got something planned for 'bloody hour.' Be careful." Terry shares with the new recruits closest.
He manages to dribble his ration away as he moves to the other new recruits. "'Hoy! How long have you lot been onboard?" he goes to sit with them, unless they stop him.
If they let him get close, he'll repeat the warning he gave before moving, then change the subject. "So, what kind of prey does this crew take? Trade merchants? Tough competition for those in these waters."
She could get much out of what the officers were planning. But the half-elf seemed to know better. She chalked it up to having more experience in the craft. She nodded slowly in response. "I think I did well enough in cooking to keep them satisfied. How did you do?"
She on the other hand casually took her drink and downed it in one go. It couldn't be worse than what she's used to...
She held her liquor better than the gnome, but she coughed a bit as the alcohol burned her throat. And then the hangover hit. Feeling a bit woozy, she sat down to where the others were.
"So how did you guys end up here?" He arms were slightly more expressive than she thought as she asked.
What in Trudds name is the bloody hour
He takes a hit of the grog.
Coughing lightly, he quaffs it in a second swig.
Well, that is strong, but it will help me get a nights rest
He answers Destinie
Pressed in Riddleport for service upon this He waves his hands to indicate the ship fine vessel. You
What in Trudds name is the bloody hour
He takes a hit of the grog.
Coughing lightly, he quaffs it in a second swig.
Well, that is strong, but it will help me get a nights restHe answers Destinie
Pressed in Riddleport for service upon this He waves his hands to indicate the ship fine vessel. You
She let out a small chuckle before she gazed at her empty drink. "Huh. What a small world. I'm from there too... well not that I plan on going back."
Brewton finishes his food in an instant, quaffing his grog in a similar length of time.
He slides off his leg to let his weary hip rest and slides around the deck on his ass, eating people's leftovers and finishing unattended drinks.
He finds his way to the conversation between the dwarf and the white haired woman. "I'm from Andoran, originally," grimaces the man with his crooked teeth. "Fought in the Navy. Discharged some years back, fought my way to the Shackles to seek employment. It found me, same as y'all."
@EVERYONE
The new recruits give a split response; the human woman and the gnome smile at the approach; the Varisian man and the halfling woman lower their eyes in suspicion.
"Sandara Quinn." the human woman says, offering her hand in greeting. "Been on the ship for just a little longer than ya'll, and similar means as well; been a few days. Bloody hour is where they make a spectacle of any punishments being doled out by Plugg and Scourge."
The gnome looks amongst the group, and then attempts to take Destinies hand. Upon closer inspection, he is actually wearing an eyepatch underneath his foppish hat.
[b]"Conchobar Shortstone m'lady. Gentlemen extraordinaire." He lowers his head to kiss the top of Destinies hand if she doesn't pull it away.
"Rosie" The halfling says icily. The Varisian man grunts, then it registers that his grunt was actually a word. "Cog"
Sandara looks at Terry in response to his question about the targets.
"From what I can tell, they hit smaller pirates ship, merchants, and especially those running from up north to Bloodcove."
The appearance of at least one friendly face put her at ease, and she gave a small smile as she took Sandara's hand to shake. "Destinie. Didn't really expect to end up with a place like this. But Desna seems to have other plans for me it seems. Or Besmara... that would fit her bill more." She thought of what else to ask. "You know why they want us to be drunk in rum after work?"
When Conchobar took up her hand to kiss it, she didn't pull away. Mostly out of shock at the audacity of the gnome to make a play on her. It almost got a laugh out her. "Wow. You're a forward one, I'll give you that."
I appreciate the info, but why the grog, not that it is not appreciated.
He then sets to the meal, while waiting to see what else is coming.
I guess Trudd has a sense of humour as well, as I did not expect to be pressed by a crew such as this
"Terry."
He looks around. Seems crew enough. Do they need this many ne crew because the discipline is that harsh? This 'Bloody Hour' could be a real problem.