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The battle is long and brutal. Cannonfire erupts in a near-constant thrum of kinetic power and destruction. Two ships, side by side, blast each other nearly point-blank, shredding each other’s ships. One, a sturdy galleon, is taking the worst of it. The ship’s name is engraved upon its side: The Rock Bottom. A cannonball blasts the word “rock” to pieces, leaving a gaping, dark hole in its wake.
The second ship is clearly not of this world, but the next: its hull is holed in a dozen places, letting in a constant stream of seawater, yet it remains afloat by some ghastly, inhuman will. The bones of colossal sea creatures line its hull in a dozen places, and a ragged, torn sail somehow manages to billow, even though it is full of rips, and there is no wind. The vessel oozes a hideous, unnatural fog, muffling the cannonfire, and the sounds of crossing steel, throughout the scene. On its side, spelled out in huge, inhuman bones planted into the ship's hull with massive, rusty nails, is spelled the name Naiegoul.
Everywhere pirates, salty dogs all, wield crossbow, pistol, and cutlass in a vain effort to drive back the unholy invaders; fleshless skeletons in some horrible parody of true pirates, wielding sabers, their bone-white pates wrapped in bandanas. But the pirates are no green landlubbers. They’re veterans of the Shackles and the Fever Sea; they swallow their fear and fight ruthlessly.
Despite their battle prowess, the pirates prove no match for the cold, lifeless relentlessness of the skeletal crew. One by one they fall, until only a handful remain standing, led by the aging Captain "Keelhaul" Thurl. His sword and pistol in hand, blackpowder erupting and cutlass flying, he bellows orders and cleaves through pale bone. But eventually, even this stout captain is ended with a hideous gash across his throat that nearly decapitates him. As Thurl's lifeblood erupts in arterial bursts from the gaping hole of his neck and his head dangles by a few pieces of meat, he collapses, and the last remaining crew drop their weapons in defeat, finally allowing the fear pushed to the backs of their minds to take over. Some flee, leaping off the Rock Bottom's port side to take their chances in the black waters below. Some fall to their knees and weep, praying for mercy.
All but one. One young man is on his knees, hands behind his head, but his face shows no fear. Only disdain, cunning, and a certain level of curiosity.
A skeleton walks past the remaining crew, one by one, slitting their throats with the businesslike tone of a butcher at an abattoir. At the young man, the skeleton’s hand stays, and it cocks its head, as if hearing a distant voice, then steps back and drops its bony hand to its side. All the skeletal faces turn in unison to behold a figure stepping across the gangplank. She is not quite skeletal as her crew, but she is so gaunt, and her skin so pallid and leathery, that she cannot be mistaken for one of the living. She moves with a sauntering grace, her limp brown hair wafting about her as if underwater, with a large, foppish tricorne hat topping it off. Her rotting leather belt is clasped with a solid gold buckle bearing the skull-and-crossbones seal of Besmara, the Pirate Queen. Everywhere in her flesh, strange rods leaking oily black energy jut out at horrid angles, giving the man the surreal impression of a human pincushion. Yet if he finds her laughable, he wisely keeps his mouth shut.
When she reaches him, she strokes a long, withered finger along his chin. He flinches, but doesn’t move away. She smiles at him, and he wishes she hadn’t; her mouth is only half-full of teeth, and those have long since rotted to a fetid brown. She leans down and whispers something in his ear. He gives her a long, appraising look, then mutters a response. With casual strength, she picks him up by the throat and drags him into the captain’s chambers, slamming the door shut behind them.
Minutes pass. An hour. Two. The skeletal crew of the ghost ship remain unmoving the entire time, still as stone. Finally the door opens and the creature strides out with a smirk on her face. She makes a motion to the skeletons, and they turn as one and return with her to her ship, leaving half a dozen terrified, confused pirates on their knees, wondering why they were spared. The young man steps out of the captain's cabin to watch the ghost ship sail away. He brings his right hand up to his face to inspect it, eyes deadened with both horror and fascination.
The hand has been reduced to bleach-white bones. He flexes the fingers experimentally; they crack and pop in rhythm with the movements. He drops the bone-hand to his side and stares out at the horizon; whatever bargain he made, it left him with his life. But how is he going to sail a galleon back to Port Peril with a half dozen sea dogs on a ship this size?
He will find a way. He found a way to cheat death mere moments ago; getting this ship to port with a few holes in her should be easy by comparison. He begins barking orders to the remaining crew. Not a one even hesitates, let alone ask who put the man in charge now that Captain Thurl was dead. They take one look at his bone fist and know this figure is the captain now.
Days later, the ship sits in dry-dock, the holes patched and the new crew working on replacing the lettering on the ship's side. Its new name shimmers in solid gold plating: The Filthy Lucre. Her captain stands at the poop deck, staring out at the setting sun as he considers his good fortune, and the price he paid for it. He will make it worth it. He will make the Shackles tremble at his name. He will find his way to the greatest seat of power a pirate can hope to attain: The throne of the Hurricane King.
The sun silhouettes him as it sets on the western waters, erupting the emerald waves with rippling gold.
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”Aw, shutcher lyin’ mouth, Maginty!” Sadie the Hawk laughs, sloshing her beer out of its stein onto the table. ”What a load o’ trash!”
The Formidably Maid is one of the most popular taverns in the pirate city of Port Peril, and tonight it’s showing its fame in spades. Every single table is packed with swashbucklers, buccaneers, and ne’er-do-wells of every shape and size. Humans, elves, and dwarves rub elbows with Iruxi, hobgoblins, and tieflings without batting an eye. A hideous half-ogre takes up most of one corner, drinking his ale out of a small keg rather than a cup, surrounded by four gnomes, all chattering excitedly at him. Courtesans and harlots -- some sacred members of the Church of Calistria, but most just working girls and boys --flit from table to table, expertly scouting the loneliest (and richest) looking saps patrons. One such worker, a tall brunette with a hawkish nose and piercing green eyes, has just thrown her challenge at a withered old man in a filthy do-rag. He raps his peg leg angrily against the booze-soaked floor, yelling both in anger and to be heard over the heavy din of the tavern.
”You shut it, eagle-beak! Is so th’truth!” Maginty snaps back. ”I’s how th’Hurricane King got ‘is bone hand, it is! I seen it once. Charred gray an’ black like it were burnt wit’ fire, but it moved jes’ as easy as yer hand! Probably cleaner’n yer hand too!” he adds with a harsh laugh.
”Well no s$#&! Even I dunno where this thing’s been!” she cackles, and the whole table erupts with laughter. ”He prob’ly lost the flesh givin’ that undead woman the ol’ two-finger salute!” That earns her another round of guffaws, though several look suitably grossed out by the suggestion as well.
”Leave it to ol’ Hawk to assume the perviest in people!” Maginty laughs. He tilts back his mug, finds it empty, and tries to corral a server into his lap to order more, but the buxom redhead he reaches for slaps his hand so hard it sounds like cracking wood. The old man pulls the offended appendage in and rubs it thoroughly.
”Hands ta yerself, ya old creep!” she huffs, then hollers at the rather harassed-looking half-orc bartender, ”Six more pints fer table five!” The night slowly blurs into one chaotic mix of song, debauchery, heady spiced wine, and lovely company…
----
You can’t quite pry your eyes open yet, and blessed darkness lies over them, which you’re pretty sure is keeping the hill giant rampaging inside your skull in check. Had sunlight struck even your eyelids, the bastard would surely follow the light and burst out of your head, splitting it like an overripe melon. As it stands, it just feels like that’s happening. Lucky you.
The first thing you notice is the absolutely monstrous taste in your mouth. It tastes like nutmeg died in there and rotted, then got soaked in ale and cheap wine. The next thing you notice is that your limbs feel sluggish and achy, as if you took a beating without remembering it happening. The soreness makes it difficult to move.
The final thing you notice before managing to open your eyes is that while you’re having a hard time moving, whatever you’re on isn’t. The ground swells slowly and rhythmically up and down beneath you. You’ve been on enough ships at this point to know that’s almost certainly where you are now.
You finally pry your eyes open, and light does in fact pour in from somewhere: a hatch leading upward, where the agonizingly bright spear of morning sunlight stabs down into what appears to be the middle decks of a ship. Looking around, you see three other individuals down here with you, all of them slowly coming to, much like yourself.
That absolutely heinous nutmeg aftertaste gracing your mouth with its presence indicates oil of taggit, a common poison used by kidnappers and slavers to knock someone out. Pirates often use it when snatching up sailors to press-gang them into service on their vessels.
Your head still swims, but some things float up in the wreckage of your hungover brain. A lovely redhead sitting across from you, hair bushy and puffed like a shrub on fire, with an alluring trail of freckles from her cheeks all the way down, disappearing into her robin’s egg blue bodice. ”Kyubi? Like the pirate? Everybody’s heard of Kyubi the Thunder! Legend says she brought down half a Chelish armada with her sloop, the Saigo no Warai! Are you like, her great granddaughter?” Then there were drinks, and more drinks, and a bedroom on the second floor of the Maid. Just as things started going your way, the redhead smirked. Then there was a whole lot of pain on the back of your head.
Last thing you remember is her lilting voice, saccharine sweet, saying ”Some legend. You folded like a card table.” Then more pain, then blessed darkness.
Now everything hurts, and you can see bruises on your forearms and feel a hell of a goose egg on the back of your head. Should have known that lass was too good to be true. Quickly patting yourself down, you realize all your gear is missing. Your armor, your gold, your pack -- all of it. You suspect they’d have taken your back tattoo if they could have. Only the clothes on your back have been left to you.
What happened? Things were going so well! You had Sadie in your lap, listening to tall tales about the Hurricane King, laughing and drinking. You remember turning and saying something to her, then turning back to the table and joining in a toast. The half-elf over there was at your table, too. You thought she just couldn’t hold her liquor, the way she was sloshing around everywhere, but now that you think about it, your spiced wine tasted a little off, and then… blackout. And now, here you are.
You quickly pat yourself down. Gone. All your things are gone. Your pack, your kukri, your gold, your scroll box -- even your Osirion Magic Scale Cream! The bastards.
Welp. You’re not sure who you managed to piss off last night, but they hoodwinked you for everything. Your armor, your boarding axe, your money, your pack… all of it’s gone. You remember that snake-looking guy over there was at the same table. He had one of the courtesans on his lap, drinking and laughing with everyone else. If he wasn’t waking up looking like death warmed over with the rest of you, you might suspect he had something to do with it. Hells, maybe he did, who knows? But you remember thinking the Maid made their drinks awfully strong, and everything getting swimmy…
And now, here you are, plus one wicked hangover and minus everything else but the clothes on your back. Well -- except your spell component pouch. You keep that tucked in a pocket off to the side that your kidnappers must have missed. Perhaps they didn’t know what it was? Regardless, it’s the only consolation you have at the moment.
What happened…? Through your pounding headache, you try to piece together the events of last night. You remember you were waiting for a contact, some long-nosed dwarf who claimed he had a treasure map. You’d almost passed it up, but whether it was courtesy or just genuine curiosity, you asked what it was a map of. ”Mancatcher Cove,” he’d said. That name changed everything.
You have been hunting two ships for months now. One, a whaling vessel named The Manticore’s Price, who attacked the whale pod your father had been swimming with. The other, a Chelish man-o-war named the Dominator, who came to the whalers’ “aid” and murdered your father in a barrage of cannon-fire. You know the Dominator occasionally patrols the coastlines in the Fever Sea, but haven’t been able to pin down its location. The Manticore’s Price has been an even more slippery quarry. But you heard from a drunken courtesan in Ilizmagorti that the Price’s captain, a brutish half-orc named Harnak the Butcher (so named, apparently, for his skill at butchering whales, dolphins, and other “exotic” sea animals), is looking for any information that will lead him to Mancatcher Cove, where buried treasure is rumored to be hidden.
After over two hours of waiting, the ale you’d been nursing turned into two, then three. After the third -- by no means a hefty amount of booze for someone with your sturdy constitution -- you began to feel dizzy, and everything else is a blank. Now you’re here with these three strangers. They look vaguely familiar; you think they were at the Formidably Maid last night, as well.
It only takes you a moment to realize that the shirt you’re wearing isn’t your hide shirt; it has been replaced with a simple men’s blouse that might have been some shade of white at some point, but is absolutely not anymore. Gone, too, is your pack, your shield, your holly… they took it all. They did leave your spell component pouch, oddly enough. Perhaps the cretins didn’t realize what it was? It’s a small consolation, especially without your holly and mistletoe.
"Ugh! Taggit! Besmara's bones, I've been press-ganged!"
Draxxie stands up, getting the measure of the movement of the ship. She pats herself down and realises that all of her gear - well, almost all of her gear - is gone. Of course. Well, most of it was already stolen anyway. Draxxie is a lithe young woman, tall and strong-limbed. Her hair is long and dark - black, but in a certain light seeming almost a deep, dark, green; her eyes (well, the one eye not covered by an eyepatch) are shining blue. Today though, after a night of debauchery followed by a press-ganging, Draxxie does not look terribly appealing. Her hair is matted, salty; whatever she painted her face with before visiting the Maid has either run or caked to her tanned skin.
"You! Snake-man! You were in the Maid last night as well. They got you too eh? And these two saps, whoever they are." Draxxie bursts out laughing.
"Ha ha ha ha ha! S$+@, they could have just asked me to join up! Hey!" Draxxie calls up through the hatch. "Hey! New shipmates are awake! Got any grog, ya swabs?!"
This will pass. You've been hungover before. Just wait for the throbbing...
OH GOD SHUT UP IT ALREADY HURTS SO MUCH!
Carlosss's eyes slit open, just the barest bit and he sees some figure tromping around. They close quickly and he starts taking deep breaths, tongue flicking to taste the air.
UCHK! THAT STINKS! Okay, it's fading. separate the flavors out and figure this out. Alright, that's my scent. And ship tar and sea air and vomit. Makes sense with the rocking, definitely on board another ship at sea. And three more scents, all different, all interesting. Okay, the headache is less, let's deal with this drymouth.
The 'snake-man' stands slowly and looks around for a pail of fresh water. Once found he moves across the rocking deck easily and takes a long drink. He turns to the elfish lady with a smile, "Listen, you didn't have to bugger me up ta get me in your bed. You could have just asked. But I'm sure we had a good time." He glances at the other two beginning to stir and adds confidently, "All of us."
He starts doing some stretches and glances down, "I'm surprised I even got me bathers on, usually sleep in the bare."
Being a creature with no hair, once he gets blood pumping to his muscles he feels pretty confident he looks good again. The smell, well that usually fades after the first dip in the ocean. He gives an exaggerated formal bow to the lady, "Carlosss, at your service."
The world slowly comes into focus; everything's still swimming. She's a little surprised that she's not swimming, when it gets right down to it, or... well, not swimming, exactly.
The hell was the word again?
Oh, yeah.
Drowning. Swimn't.
She pushes herself halfway up onto her knees, then tips right back over. Kuso.
Another try, and she's unsteadily on her feet, keeping crouched so that she can ride the waves a little easier. She looks over the three in a similar situation. A sea elf-- well, half a sea elf, anyway--, a reptile of some kind, and...
Oni's prick, is that an undine? That's gotta be bad ocean luck.
"Details, who's got 'em?" snarls the woman.
She stands at six foot two, rippling with muscle, flesh tinged with gray. Worn trousers cover her legs and tight bandages wrap around her chest; an impressive, multicolor tattoo of a nine-tailed fox with a string of cracked prayer beads around its neck covers her strong back. Her straight, black hair rests in a messy mane around her head.
The 'snake-man' stands slowly and looks around for a pail of fresh water. Once found he moves across the rocking deck easily and takes a long drink.
"Careful, Scales. You don't know if that's shower, bathroom, or canteen yet."
Her accent is distinctly Minkan.
|
The blue-skinned undine wipes the inside of his mouth. "Cowards." Oduim tries to find the soothing rhythm of the ocean as it cradles the ship to and fro. He sniffs welcomely at the salted breeze. After his eyes adjust to the sun's glare, he tries to look over the rail for any sign of land. If I can see it, no doubt I can swim there.
Who in the depths are these people? Maybe I can trust the sea-elf, but the rest? They'd just s soon stab me in the back or slit my throat for crumb or coin.
He watches the snake man drink from the pail makes him realize how thirsty he is. I'm parched. Maybe I should jump overboard anyway. Better to die free than a slave to these surfacers. He pauses a moment, No. Now is not the time. I have too much to do before I can surrender to the depths.
Oduim sees most of the hold in black and white, as the only light source is a shaft of sun from the hatch leading abovedecks, which is currently closed. The light is spilling in through the seams around it.
The middle decks does have a couple doors, but a quick test of the handles shows them to be currently locked. Most of what's around you is basic seafaring equipment: rope, tackle, barrels likely full of either freshwater or rum rations, and the like.
Also, what Carlos just drank does not taste like "canteen." Considering it's full of seawater, it's probably a mop bucket for swabbing. It's absolutely disgusting, but also probably not the dirtiest thing Carlos has ever had in his mouth.
"Maybe I didn't like what I found in those bathers and I put 'em back on ya, eh Carlos?" Draxxie laughs again raucously. "I'm Draxxie. And yeah, ya can serve me later. If y' ain't sicking up a swab bucket! Ha!"
Now that the other two are up, Draxxie checks them out (as far as she's able in the half-light of the closed hold).
"Ya want details, Fox? Ya got press-ganged! Ha ha! But never mind that, I smell rum! Did those swabs seriously shut us in the liquor hold?"
Draxxie follows her nose, trying to find the rum barrel. Or at least grog. "Anyone got anything sharp? I suppose not, given how we got here. Try and find a crowbar or a hammer or something 'round here, an' we can have a drink!"
Asami snorts.
"If you're looking for a hammer, you've already found one," grins the yakuza.
"Which one of these, do you figure?" she asks, gesturing over the barrels.
Instead of drinking the swab water, Carlosss just gargles it and spits it on the floor, "Ahhhh, that cleared up the throat nicely." Wiping his mouth off he shows a nice set of teeth to the group, "Sssssooooo, if this isn't a pleasure cruise like the time with the duke and this pirate lady here isn't in charge, then who the hell bloody is?"
He climbs the ladder to the hatch and pounds on it, "Who do I have to f@$#...ing kill to get some breakfast!"
____________________________
Smashing Things (attack/damage) OR Breaking Items (strength)
"Whaddaya mean, not in charge? I'll be Cap'n in no time! Now, just yank the lid off Fox. That one there" Draxxie singles out a barrel that her nose suggests is full of rum. "Don't smash the whole thing, Carlos there will be the only one getting any if it spills all over the deck!"
"Wait. Maybe the barrel is already tapped?"
The debate about how to open the rum barrels is rudely interrupted when the hatch swings open and half a dozen faces leer down at Carlos. Before he can react, a boot shoves him in the face, back down the steep stairwell and knocking him back, as a veritable swarm of pirates pile down into the hold -- seven altogether, six of them armed with saps.
Leading the six is a man with a frizzy beard divided into several short braids, a ratty long-coat, and a filthy red do-rag on his head. He splits his face in a pained expression that you suppose was meant to be a smile at the three of you, and you immediately wish he hadn't -- you've never seen teeth of such a stomach-turning shade of yellow-brown before. He wields a whip in one hand and points to you with the other, his fingernails tinged yellow and jagged.
"Hands off the rum, ya filthy dogs! Get up on deck b'fore Cap'n Harrigan flays yer flesh into sausage skins an' has ol' Fishguts fry ye up fer breakfast!" He snaps the whip expertly to emphasize his point.
Asami's brow furrows and she steps forward, and she looks out over the six pirates surrounding her.
"How many of these do you think I'm worth?" she asks, gesturing to the pirates surrounding her.
Carloss falls back from the boot, sliding down the side of the stairs to thump to the floor. He backs to the side as the thugs pour down into the midship level. He raises an eyeridge at the shows of bravado and then starts taking a couple steps back up, "Well blokes, What're you waiting for? Might as well do something stupid in front of the Captain instead of this bludger."
The leader of the gang sneers. "Oh, we got ourselves a toughie! Thinks she's hot s$$$! Get on deck little demon-blood, or we'll beat yer senseless an' drag yer sorry ass up there!"
The six figures crack their knuckles and grip their saps, clearly hoping very much that Asami puts up a fight.
From somewhere up above, a deep, rough voice bellows, "Scourge! Get the new meat up here on the double! If ya can't handle four whelps, I'll get myself a new master-at-arms!"
"Oh, I can handle 'em jes fine, Cap'n!" he calls back, looking superemely unimpressed by Asami's flexing.
Glancing up, you see a whole crowd of faces looking down, some laughing, some jeering, some just watching curiously. This... is not a small crew. There are at least another half dozen up top, just from those peering in to see the action, and who knows how many more besides.
Asami doesn't even seem to hear Carlosss as she cracks her knuckles. She's still recovering from... well, everything, but she's fought her way through tougher crowds than this.
"Your funeral," she says.
And then she starts swinging.
Draxxie bursts out laughing and takes up a song:
"Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
To me way-aye, blow the man down.
Oh, Blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!
Give me some time to blow the man down!"
She winks at the sailors who've invaded the hold.
Scourge laughs cruelly and lashes out with his whip at Asami, lashing across her chest with excruciating pain and enough force to knock the wind out of her for a moment . He calls to the others, "Drop 'em all! They wanna do this the hard way!"
[color=green]ROUND 1
Characters in BOLD may act.
Master Scourge (0 dmg)
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg)
Asami (13/13 hp, 6 NL)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg)
Carlos (9/9 hp)
Aretta (0 dmg)
Draxxie (10/10 hp)
Narwhal (0 dmg)
Kipper (0 dmg)
Fipps (0 dmg)
[/color]
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"Hey, don't go tarring me with that fox brush!" Draxxie protests.
Master Scourge barks a laugh at the druid. "Least one a ye has a lick o' sense!" He barks a command to one of the pirates, who swings at Asami. Had he been paying attention and not stumbled over some loose rope, he might have caused some serious damage to Asami's already aching head, but instead the sap goes wide.
Asami steps up to the master-at-arms and clobbers him in the chest. She's pretty sure something cracked in there. Realizing she's going for blood, his face darkens. "Ye'll pay fer that," he snarls. Asami ignores him and her fist swings out at a second nearby pirate, a corpulent, shirtless man covered in tattoos, also bashing him hard in the jaw. You definitely felt something crack.
"Ye wanna keelhaulin'??" Scourge shrieks at her, spittle flying from his mouth. "Keep it up, demon-blood! I'll keel ye myself!"
A gangly redhead slides forward from his position and swings at Asami but he too is out of position and his sap swings wide.
[color=green]ROUND 1
Characters in BOLD may act.
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg)
Asami (13/13 hp, 6 NL)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg)
Carlos (9/9 hp)
Aretta (0 dmg)
Draxxie (10/10 hp)
Narwhal (0 dmg)
Kipper (0 dmg)
Fipps (9 dmg)
[/color]
Carlosss has to think fast at this point and frankly, his head still isn't working right. So he follows his gut. The bludger struck first, so he and his cronies get to pay.
Frankly he wouldn't do this normally, but he is starting to realize that MAYBE he has been kidnapped and he's starting to get a little pissed.
"Alright now, let's just chill out. You got your licks in."
As he speaks, he carefully weaves magic into his words. His sinuous body weaving with the cadence, scales shimmering with the glow of magic until flashing suddenly at those lucky enough to see his true power.
With a single blast of myriad colors, three of the five targets drop. Only Master Scourge and one of the women are still standing .
The standing woman looks in shock at the vishkanya, then screeches,
She then scrambles around the boxes to flank the snake-man.
[color=green]ROUND 1
Characters in BOLD may act.
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg)
Asami (13/13 hp, 6 NL)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, unconscious 2 rounds)
Carlos (9/9 hp)
Aretta (0 dmg)
Draxxie (10/10 hp)
Narwhal (0 dmg)
Kipper (0 dmg, unconscious 2 rounds)
Fipps (9 dmg, unconscious 2 rounds)
[/color]
Draxxie roars with laughter and takes up a song:
"Oh, blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!
To me way-aye, blow the man down.
Oh, Blow the man down, bullies, blow him right down!
Give me some time to blow the man down!"
She winks at the sailors who've invaded the hold.
The long-nosed dwarf gets a crazed look in his eyes and smashes Carlos over the head with his sap. The sorcerer is still up, but good gravy did that hurt.
Scourge makes a motion toward Jape, then waits.
[color=green]ROUND 2
Characters in BOLD may act.
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg)
Asami (13/13 hp, 6 NL)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, unconscious 2 rounds)
Carlos (9/9 hp, 7 NL)
Aretta (0 dmg)
Draxxie (10/10 hp)
Narwhal (0 dmg)
Kipper (0 dmg, unconscious 1 round)
Fipps (9 dmg, unconscious 1 round)
[/color]
Staggering from the blow the sorcerer hisses, "You ssssshouldn't have done thatsssss."
He tries to ignore the singing, focusing on staying conscious. But the tune is catchy and he is finding it even harder to focus.
Oduim continues to represent Switzerland in today's proceedings.
The half-orc with the yellow-tinged skin steps behind Asami and swings his sap with a bellow of reinforced rage, but Asami sees that nonsense coming a mile away and sidesteps it easily.
Unfortunately, it distracts her just long enough for Master Scourge to step back and lash her around the neck, then yank down. Asami crashes to the floor, getting her skull bashed for the second time in 24 hours, and everything goes painfully bright before darkness drifts back in.
The tall redhead fellow continues to drool on the ground from Carlos's spell.
[color=green]ROUND 2
Characters in BOLD may act.
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg)
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Asami (12/13 hp, 13 NL, unconscious and stable)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, unconscious 1 rounds)
Carlos (9/9 hp, 7 NL)
Aretta (0 dmg)
Draxxie (10/10 hp)
Narwhal (0 dmg)
Kipper (0 dmg, unconscious 1 round)
Fipps (9 dmg, unconscious 1 round)
[/color]
Asami hits the ground and bounces back to her knees. Master Scourge has made the mistake of bringing her closer...
Although she's gritting her teeth a lot, and the bandages have been sliced right through with that first lash; she's spilling blood down her front.
She rears back and swings, her weight coming around; her knee slips in a pool of her own blood, and she barely keeps herself from falling entirely.
Carlosss's foot begins to tap and he feels invigorated as his body moves to the rhythm. He shakes his head and resists the siren song though, focusing his anger in a different direction.
He reaches out to grasp the old salt on the shoulders, "YOUR MISSSSSTAKE WASSSSS LEAVING ME CONCIOUSSSS!"
He doesn't even notice that nothing is happening.
The woman next to Carlos sneers, "Lemme fix that then, freak!" She is unable to back up her threat, however, as her sap swings at his face but he rears back just in time.
[color=green]ROUND 2
Characters in BOLD may act.
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg, raging)
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Asami (14/14 hp, 14 NL, staggered, raging)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, unconscious 1 rounds, rage-drooling)
Carlos (9/9 hp, 7 NL)
Aretta (0 dmg, raging)
Draxxie (10/10 hp, raging)
Narwhal (0 dmg, raging)
Kipper (0 dmg, unconscious 1 round, rage-sleeping)
Fipps (9 dmg, unconscious 1 round, rage-unconsciousing)
[/color]
Draxxie continues to grin - a beautiful sight despite her state of disarray. She goes on with her song:
"As I was a-walking down Port Peril Street,
To me way-aye, blow the man down.
A pretty young fellow I chanced for to meet.
Give me some time to blow the man down!"
She saunters round the deck, stepping away from Jape and to the other side of the mast - where she stoops to pick up Fipps' cutlass. She holds the blade over her shoulder casually, flashing her smile.
Jape smashes his sap hard across Draxxie's back, knocking some of the wind out of her but to her credit, she somehow manages to finish the stanza before having to stop and suck in hard to catch her breath again.
With a cackle of sadistic glee, the vishkanya's luck runs out as Narwhal's sap bashes him over the left temple. The blow was particularly vicious, and Carlos feels a lightning bolt of pain in his forehead as his orbital socket fractures from the hit before he folds like a card table.
Kipper and Fipps both wake up, only to stare blindly up at the ceiling and drool .
After hitting Draxxie, Jape continues following orders despite the fury pumping through him like a maniac. He slams his sap hard down on the back of her head, granting her the second heinous concussion of the last 24 hours, but this one is a whole lot worse. Something cracks when the brutish half-orc hits her, and the world explodes in agony before going dark once more.
When Draxxie picks up the cutlass, all (conscious) eyes turn to the weapon. "That were a mistake, lass," Scourge says in a low, dangerous voice.
[color=green]ROUND 3
Characters in BOLD may act.
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg, raging)
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Asami (7/14 hp, 14 NL, unconscious and stable, raging)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, unconscious 1 rounds, rage-drooling)
Carlos (5/9 hp, 9 NL, unconscious and stable)
Aretta (0 dmg, 6 NL, raging)
Draxxie (10/10 hp, raging)
Narwhal (0 dmg, raging)
Kipper (0 dmg, blinded and stunned 2 rounds, rage-herping)
Fipps (9 dmg, blinded and stunned 2 rounds, rage-derping)
[/color]
Jape seems to let the fog of anger clear from his head long enough to make some decisions. He decides that a) he knows exactly where his boss wants him to place himself; and b) he does not want to give Draxxie a chance to use that cutlass on him. He takes the long way round, scrambling over his crewmates and several boxes and barrels in order to get in behind Draxxie without her getting a free stab at him.
Scourge draws his cutlass and holds it in his off hand as he steps rudely onto Asami's prone form and cracks his whip at Draxxie. His odd angle from standing atop the tiefling throws his aim off however, just enough that Draxxie ducks the vicious whipcrack.
Sy wakes up and stares at the darkness wafting over his eyeballs while continuing to drool.
Aretta rushes at Draxxie, shrieking as she draws her cutlass and slashes at the skald. In her mad rush, she whiffs hard, and the blade sails wide. However, Draxxie is now faced with both non-lethal and lethal weapons. Scourge and his mostly-sapient crony Jape seem to be looking for a KO, but Aretta and Narwhal look to be out for blood.
[color=green]ROUND 3
Characters in BOLD may act.
Oduim (10/10 hp)
Jaundiced Jape (0 dmg, raging)
Master Scourge (7 dmg)
Asami (7/14 hp, 14 NL, unconscious and stable, raging)
Slippery Sy (0 dmg, blinded and stunned 2 rounds, rage-drooling)
Carlos (5/9 hp, 9 NL, unconscious and stable)
Aretta (0 dmg, raging)
Draxxie (10/10 hp, 6 NL, raging)
Narwhal (0 dmg, raging)
Kipper (0 dmg, blinded and stunned 2 rounds, rage-herping)
Fipps (9 dmg, blinded and stunned 2 rounds, rage-derping)
[/color]
Draxxie laughs through the pain of Jape's underhanded blow, Your card is marked, mate she thinks as she winks at him and grins. Her song ends. She tucks the cutlass through her belt and raises her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender.
"Quite the frenzy, eh me jolly jack tars? A fine start to the day! Now, what's a crewmate's share of the booty on this tub?"
Carlosss dreams of brain trauma. It isn't an ideal dream. Especially what with the concussed brain not doing the good thinking.
What air Asami is managing to breathe comes out of her in a groan as Scourge's boot presses down on her back. She's out cold.
Scourge looks on the verge of madness, he's so furious. "Ye think ye can start this kinda ruckus an' not pay the piper, lass?" he says acidly. "Yer so, so very wrong. You an' yer friends here'll pay fer this. Startin' now."
The dwarf, Narwhal, shakes his head as if to clear it. At Scourge's words, he moves up to Draxxie with his sap and bashes her over the head.
Draxxie drops to the ground, unconscious.
Scourge points his cutlass at the last remaining press-ganged, the undine who has until now remained out of the fight.
"Smart lad, you. Git up on deck an' present yerself ta Cap'n Harrigan while we drag yer idjit friends up."
COMBAT OVER!
ME start...?!
Draxxie looks confused at Scourge's accusation. Her jaw drops and she's about to argue that Fox threw the first punch, and who doesn't love a song and a fight?, and someone stole her hat and press-ganged her so -
then the long-nosed dwarf cracks her skull and she drops to the deck.
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Oduim steps over the bodies and cautiously climbs the stairs to the deck. He resists the urge to take in a deep breath of air. No, I'm not free enough to enjoy such a gift. The undine looks around to see if he can determine just how far from shore they are. Other than that, he keeps his mouth shut. Men like these believe they need to establish their dominance early. I will not give them any reason to play such games with me. If they wish to beat me, so be it.
Oduim is met at the stairwell by another half-dozen pirates making their way cautiously down. Apparently, nobody wanted to come join the fray when Aretta yelled "sorcery." Pirates are a superstitious lot, so it makes sense. Also, more than one of them gives Master Scourge a stink-eye just looking at him.
Oduim arrives on deck and is immediately struck by a hot spring breeze. Seasons this far south mostly run the wild array of "dry" and "wet," but Gozran is solidly in the monsoon season, so the smattering of clouds overhead is generally a welcome sight to any sailor this time of year. The salt of the sea tinges every breath, and the humid heat brings instant perspiration -- nothing Oduim isn't used to, however. As for land, there are a smattering of islands here and there far off in the distance, perhaps three or four miles off. The water is rough, but not too rough. It's possible Oduim could make it, but first he'd have to fight through all these pirates.
And then there's the matter of the ships he's after. There's no way he can take them on alone. But with a whole crew of pirates backing him...
Of course, he'd have to get them on his side. He takes a risk either way. He does note the ship is bearing south by southwest, in the general direction of the Fever Sea.
Behind him, several pirates work together to drag the three unconscious members of the press-gang to the main deck; Scourge doesn't lift a finger to help them. Standing before you is an absolute mountain of a man, head shaved, beard long and shaggy, an eyepatch over one eye. He is shirtless, with coffee-colored skin, thick, corded muscle, and a road map of scars and tattoos over every inch of his torso.
Standing next to him is a significantly smaller man, whose head is also partly shaved, save for a long ponytail in the back. He sports a narrow beard, a fanciful blue longcoat, and an expression that somehow manages to look bored, miserable, angry, and uncomfortable, all at the same time.
He scowls down at Scourge and the pirates dragging the unconscious trio behind him. "What is this, Scourge? The captain told you to bring up the new crewmates. He didn't tell you to damage his new prizes."
"Beggin' yer pardon, Mister Plugg," Scourge says, a toothy, deferential grin on his face. "They was right insubordinate, they were. This'n" he points to the unconscious Akimi "tried ta kill me with 'er bare hands, she did! An' this'n" he points to Draxxie "grabbed steel against us. And this'n" he actually spits on Carlos "used gods-cussed sorcery, sir!"
Mr. Plugg raises an eyebrow at the toadying man, then looks to the bigger man next to him, as if for orders. The mountain of meat is silent for a moment, then in a deep, rough voice, he points at one of the pirates. "You. Yer a woman o' Besmara, aye? Use yer magicks. Wake 'em up."
A woman in her late twenties steps forward, slim-figured in tight leather breeches, and a flowing white blouse. Her wild mane of fire-red hair is messily piled underneath a battered tricorne hat.
She gives a look of disdain to the man who ordered her, then moves up to the unconscious trio being held up by other pirates. She considers them for a moment, then pulls out a wooden holy symbol bearing the skull and crossbones of the Pirate Queen. "Besmara," she whispers, "bless these new recruits, let them live to find glory and infamy in Your name."
Bright light, the color of torchlight shining off gold coins, bursts out of the symbol, spreading a healing glow over everyone in 30 feet. Several pirates cringe away from the display.
Bright light stabs the trio in the eyes as they open them to see themselves surrounded by pirates on all sides.
The insubordinate trio are held firmly by two pirates each, while Master Scourge himself stands guard over Oduim, though the undine remains unrestrained. A few pirates point and whisper suspiciously at Oduim.
Everyone knows pirates are a superstitious lot, and fear having spellcasters aboard (though this also has a practical element; magic can be especially dangerous on a vessel). Another common superstition, however, is that undines bring bad luck aboard a ship. Most sailors with two brain cells to rub together know it's a load of hogwash, and often welcome undine for their natural capacity for aquatic movement and skill at sea. But some do remain suspicious of undine on a ship. It's easy enough to presume the captain is of the former bent, seeing as he stole Oduim to add to his crew in the first place, but apparently not everyone shares his views.
"Shut yer holes!" the huge man bellows, and the entire crew falls silent. He considers the four of you for a moment before resting a hand on the pommel of an exquisitely-crafted shortsword, an oddly light weapon for such a huge, imposing human being.
"I'm so glad you could join us at last. Thanks for 'volunteering' for my crew." He gives a sneering grin at the party. "My name is Barnabas Harrigan. That's Captain Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need ta speak ta me. Don't talk to me. I like talk, but I don't like your talk. Ya understand?"
He paces a bit, eyeing each of you in turn. "Yer little dustup in the hold deserves a lashin', but seein' as Scourge already bludgeoned you all right well, I'll call that yer punishment. This time." He jabs a meaty finger in Asami's face. "Yer in this crew now, like it or not. If ye don't like it, I'll slit yer throat right now an' toss ye overboard, let the sharks have ya. If ye stay on my boat, yer gonna follow my rules. I'm already short-handed, so I won't tolerate no more violence against yer fellow crew. Anybody throws hands at another crewmate, ye get five lashes. Second offense is ten. Third offense is a keelhaulin'. Ye kill somebody, an' that's an immediate keelhaulin'. Ye steal from my loot? Well." He gets a vicious grin as he steps back and points up and behind you.
Attached to the mainmast, hanging some ten feet off the deck, is a circular cage just big enough to hold a man -- which it is currently doing. A young man, gaunt and wild-eyed, currently cowers on the cage's floor, staring murderously out at Harrigan. He looks equal parts hateful and afraid for his life, but he says nothing when the captain points at him.
"Just ask ol' Jakes Magpie. Ye'll see soon enough what happens ta those as steal from me."
"One last thing. Seems some o' ye got magicks. You use magic on my ship ta harm this crew or in any way I deem unseemly, I won't bother with a keelhaulin'. I'll slit yer throat myself an' toss ya overboard." He turns to the pretty-boy in the blue surcoat. "My first mate'll find jobs for ya. Ye can also let him know if ye wanna get off the Wormwood at present." He chuckles, then strides off back up to the poop deck, situating himself back behind the wheel.
"First things first," Mister Plugg says disdainfully. "You on this crew, or are you shark meat?"
Asami groans as the world swims back into focus. She spits a bit of blood out onto the deck, then licks her cheek; whatever wound gave her the salty-iron taste was one of the ones that healed up, apparently.
"Can't help but feel like that's an easy choice," she says. Her eyes clearly communicate "murder" and unless someone has dressed her unconscious body or at least re-affixed the bandages, she's topless and spattered in her own blood (and perhaps a pirate or two's to boot).
"Shiver my f%*@ing timbers, then. It's a pirate's life for me."
Draxxie comes to. She moves to rub the back of her head and then realises that her arms are held tight. She turns to grin at her captors and is about to give them some choice words when Harrigan gets her attention and everyone else's.
Besmara's Bones, he's a whale! Draxxie thinks as she assesses Harrigan. Like's to blow his own horn too. When Harrigan finishes his little induction speech and Plugg asks his question, Draxxie grins her biggest grin yet.
"Ya could a jus' asked me last night, mate. Buy a girl a drink, offer her a life of fightin' and plunder on the high seas... o' course I'm on the f$$!in' crew!"
"Now which one o' ya f+#*in' swabs has got my hat?!"
Draxxie sees the odd looks thrown at Oduim and wonders what this crew might have against him.
The serpentfolk allows his body to go on automatic a bit and allow himself to be hauled to his feet after he wakes. His mind is reeling at this point and he tries to make sense of the situation, drawing on his minimal experience and any lore he might recall about real pirates.
His brain processes the suspicious looks and his mood improves, apparently magic isn't the only thing these buggers are worried about. Listening to the big man it is quite obvious what his choice is going to be at this point.
Death or turn Pirate? Uh... duh. A dead bloke is just dead, worth nothing ta nobody.
He begins to open his mouth to speak but fortunately isn't first to respond. Fortunate because it gives him a moment to think.
Stop idiot. Remember how to talk like them. No one trusts something they don't know and I'm already pretty far down the hole on that one. So take your time, articulate your words and get on with this s+@+. Just buy yourself some time.
He breathes to calm his thundering heart and articulates the words slowly but without menace, "Yes. Sir. I would like to join the crew. I will follow the rules."
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What the hell are they looking at?
The undine silently considers his options, which were few. I could make it to those islands in an hour or two. But then what? Certainly, there is no way to take over the ship. Perhaps staying here gives me the best opportunity to track down those murderers and finally gain some justice for my father. He sighs to himself. Plus, these bastards have all my gear. Unless they sold it for copper on the gold.
He looks into the captain's eyes. "Crew." For now. But I'll be no slave.
The First Mate sniffs disdainfully. "Thought so. Now to figure out your job. Everybody on the crew works. We need a rigger, so whoever gets to the crow's nest first will get the job. In case any of you fall... Sandara! Give 'em another pop." The redheaded woman saunters over, giving Plugg a disdainful glare before turning to the party with an encouraging smile.
"Welcome to the crew. It's not all bad, I promise." With a muttered prayer to Besmara, another golden burst of light heals the quartet.
"Good luck," she whispers conspiratorially. "Wouldn't worry too much about falling. But just in case, I'll be waiting down here to patch you up if you do."
Plugg looks impatient. "Fine, fine. Now, all of you, climb!"
"Thanks, Sandara" Draxxie acknowledges the priestess's help.
"I was born at sea you know, Mister Plugg."
But I don't think I want to spend my days up in the crow's nest.
Draxxie clambers up the ropes.
Draxxie takes it easy. She's spent enough hours amongst ship's rigging to climb it with relative ease, but she doesn't really want the job of rigger. There are other jobs she's better suited to. She looks at the other new crews' progress, and if she gets ahead she takes a breather (as long as she's outside the range of Plugg's lash) to let them catch up.
Asami shoots a glare at... well, everyone, actually.
"Fine. First to the top wins?"
"It's mine."
And then she's off like a rocket.
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Draxxie grins as Asami bounds past her up the rigging.
All yours, Fox.
"Hey, Mister Plugg! How's ya singin' voice?"
Half way up the rigging Draxxie takes up a tune, her sweet voice carrying across the deck.
"It was on the good ship Venus
Besmara, y' should've seen us
The figurehead was a whore in bed
And the mast was a mammoth penis
Friggin' in the riggin'
Friggin' in the riggin'
Friggin' in the riggin'
There was f*!# all else to do"