The Formidably Maid tavern was alight with activity that night, even more so than usual, in fact. There was dancing, singing, mead and wine, wenches and gigolos, and even the odd brawl that broke out couldn't bring down the lively attitude. For those new to Port Peril, it was everything one could have dreamed of and more.
But all good things must come to an end, and as the sights and sounds and experiences of the night fade away into a warm, black fog, they are slowly replaced by sensations much less pleasant. A deep, pervasive, throbbing headache takes hold in each of the six figures currently awakening in the small, dark room. Though they are only vaguely aware of each other in the darkness, they share the same slow realization that something is amiss. The swaying they feel is not alcohol throwing off their balance, the wooden creaking is not the worn floorboards of the tavern. No, even as groggy as they are, the obviousness of the situation becomes clear: They have awoken aboard a ship, at sea.
There is little, if any, time to process this realization, however. All too suddenly, a door is opened, spilling blinding sunlight into the room. The searing pain caused by the light is followed shortly by the crack of a whip over their heads, a sound which is only slightly less painful than what comes after.
A man stands in the doorway, an ugly smile spreading over his even uglier face. Behind him, the group can see multiple other figures holding saps. He speaks, or rather shouts, at the assembled figures still on the ground.
"Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap’n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!"
Anyone who reaches for a weapon or equipment quickly discovers it missing. Aside from the clothes on their backs, they have been relieved of all of their belongings.
The big man stirs and shakes his head.
Hmmph. Not how I planned that night to go.
Brother MacLaren stands. His clothes are nice enough, though now a bit dirty and torn. He is broad-shouldered though fairly lean, with brown hair down past his collar.
He considers looking for a weapon - anything would do. A tankard, of course, but even a jagged piece of wood.
Then he thinks. Well if they put a mop in my hands, or a bucket... I'll be fine.
He says "Aye-aye!" to the ugly man and heads up on deck.
A brown-haired halfling, not quite three feet high, cracks open her eyes before closing them and spitting on the deck as the man shouts, trying to clear her mouth of the awful taste of last night's booze. "Hells..." Melli mutters. She leverages herself up on her feet, feeling inside her cloth belt for the brass knuckles hidden behind its buckle. Still there. Nevertheless, she glares at the man as she checks for her sword and takes the bearing of her surroundings.
"Did I fight any of ye sorry lot last night? Is that why I'm here? Or do I owe ye for drinks?" Her left hand rests on her belt, an inch or so away from the belt buckle.
A young woman, dressed in what would typically be described as dancer's gear or a monk's outfit, groans as she rolls over, then proceeds to unleash a litany of swears under her breath as she stands. She fixes the ugly man with a vicious glare as she straightens up, and her blue eyes flash, quite literally, like lightning. Her long hair, the color of storm clouds, moves as if caught in a breeze, and small arcs of electricity seem to emanate within. Electricity envelops one of her hands for a brief moment, but fades quickly.
As she surveys the assembled enemies before her, Tempest thinks better of an outright attack. At least for now. Like the priests said. Bide your time...
Keeping her gaze fixed on the ugly man, studying his features, committing them to memory, she marches forward as ordered.
A blonde half-elf pulls herself into consciousness with the others. "Avel," she says irritably, her eyes still closed against her throbbing headache, "address me like that again and--" She stops mid-sentence as her brain slowly starts functioning. That's not Avel's voice. And who in nine hells is Harrigan? She opens her eyes: the dark hold of a ship. How did I get...?
Ellie pushes herself to her feet, and immediately realizes something is wrong. Her belt is gone, pistol and sword with it. She slaps her ankle frantically-- dagger gone as well. She looks around with new eyes. The confused expressions on the faces around her are unmistakable-- they're no more familiar with their surroundings than she. Realization hits her like a stone. "Pressganged?!"
An athletic young woman with long dark red hair stands up groggily.As the room comes into focus and her head starts making sense of the words shouted at her, she narrows her eyes at the shouting man and throws him a steely glare, while her right hand swiftly moves to draw her sword - but comes up empty.
Alarmed, she looks down and confirms her fears - her equipment was taken, including her grandmother's sword.
Clenching her fists, she eyes the shouting man once more. Her first impulse is to rush in and punch the smile out of his ugly face. He was sorely mistaken if he thought she was helpless without a weapon.
But the crowd behind him made her pause and reconsider.
I'm sure I could put this idiot in his place, but I can't hold out against a whole crew. They were foolish enough to let me keep what I needed to cast, I'm sure there'll be a better opportunity to make them pay for this"
She heads for the door, following her fellow captives, while shooting the ugly man one last icy glare.
The Dwarf wakes up with a bad taste by his mouth. He is over a small puddle.
Aye! Damn tha' bilges, I hope it's not me' goldies! - he says, happy to immediately notice it's not pee, but just his own drooling.
The ugly, sun-scarred man slowly lifts himself. He taps his hair badly into place, scratches his beard, and looks around with his small eyes. He is smelling like fish, rum and smoke, and yet somehow the smell is right at home here.
Ahoy, mates, t'seems we've been recruited. - he speaks to the others around, already following the man barking orders - Mah', 'ya don't spike a man's rum. It leaves that aftertaste! The hangover is fine and helps grow hair in the chest, but 'ya can't shake the nutmeg.
He mutters grumpily, but still follows the other captives through the door. Truth be told, he isn't fully sure if he's already awake or not, and is still organizing thoughts in his hard skull.
Though five of the pressganged members move forward, albeit reluctantly, one delays. And in response, the ugly man with the whip lashes out, the whip snapping out at Melli's torso.
"Are ye deaf?! I said get movin'!"
The assembled sailors behind the man chuckle, and a few tap their saps in their hands, as if getting ready to join in. A few even look to the man, as if awaiting his order to act.
"Why?" Ellie snaps. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the whip cracked against one of the new crewmembers. Ellie assumes the man is probably second mate-- no way the first would bother with the new recruits just yet-- but the blatant cruelty of the man shocks her. Her father's mates had been tough, some of them, but always fair. How can this dog expect loyalty from sailors who hate him? "Can't you handle this lunk yourselves?" She's fully aware that she'll probably regret that remark, but just now she doesn't much care.
There is a movement, the briefest flick of the man's hand in Ellie's direction, and all hells break loose. All six of the waiting pirates descend on the half elf girl, saps swinging.
In the span of seconds, Ellie is on the floor, unmoving. The man with the whip sneers and shakes his head, "Get her to the mast."
Two of the sailors comply, taking Ellie's unconscious body away.
The sound of the whip makes Veronica turn around, fuming. When the half-elf girl behind her snaps back at the man, Veronica tries to get ready to jump in front and grab the whip when it inevitably flies towards her.
Caught completely by surprise, she can do nothing but watch in horror as the group of men clobber the girl into unconsciousness.
She's halfway through a spell incantation before she catches herself - there's no way that would end up without her tied up to the mast as well, while having wasted the only advantages she has right now. Hard as it is, the rational choice is still to wait for a better opening.
Melli's hand reaches inside her belt, ready to fight, before she freezes. As the blonde beats her to the punch, she thinks for a moment and changes her mind. Sure, the whip hurt, but the sapping just seems gratuitous.
"Alright, alright," She grins, raising her hands up and walking out toward the deck. "No need for more of that, I know when to fight and when not to. And this...this is a 'when not to' moment for sure."
He gives her a pitying look as he recorks the vial, muttering, "Don't thank me. Yer gonna wish you were still asleep after what comes next."
As the rest of the group reaches the main deck, and their eyes adjust to the sunlight, they find themselves onboard a sizable ship in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. Several figures are spread around the deck, most of whom are looking up at the higher deck on the stern, where two figures stand. One is a 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 younger, balding, but with a black ponytail, and wearing a long coat.
Ellie can also be seen, tied to the mast. The ugly man with the whip proceeds forward, standing behind her. "For insubordination, three lashes!"
Without hesitation, he raises the whip, then brings it down. Three times, as promised.
Some of the assembled crew chuckle softly as the whip goes wide, which only seems to make the whipping man seethe.
Once the punishment is concluded, Ellie is cut free and allowed to rejoin the others. All attention seems to turn at once to the tall Garundi man once more.
“Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for ‘volunteering’ to join my crew. I’m Barnabas Harrigan. That’s Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. I have only one rule—don’t speak to me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we’ll all get along fine.
“Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhaulin’ for anyone caught killin’ anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you’d be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of ’em.”
Without another word or moment spent, he turns and walks away. The bald man, Plugg, makes his way down to the deck to look over the new recruits with an unpleasant smile. "You heard the man. Let's get you sorry lot to work. First and foremost, do any of you know how to cook?"
"Good. You're the new cook's mate. Report to Kroop, in the galley. Now."
Without waiting for a response, he turns to the others, "As for the rest of you, a test is in order. When I say 'go,' you're going to climb to the crow's nest as fast as you can. Should be simple enough, even for you."
He points to one of the gathered pirates, who nods, then to one of the party, "You. Go."
The selected pirate starts counting, timing the attempt, "One...two..."
After a moment, he points to another crewmember, then the next party member in line, "Go."
"One...two..."
The process repeats, until all four remaining recruits are climbing (or attmpting to).
"I can cook, sir. At the Bottom Rock tavern in Triela."
Brother MacLaren does not seem as angry as his fellow 'volunteers'. He isn't staring daggers at the Captain, nor at the man with the whip, nor at Plugg or anyone else.
Instead, he looks rather curious about the whole situation, though relieved that he does not have to climb the mast.
He heads off to meet this Kroop in the galley.
Ellie coughs back to consciousness as the potion trickles down her throat. She barely registers the crewman's words before her sentence rings out over the deck. The whip cracks mercifully wide of its mark the first time, but the second bites painfully into her back. She cries out in spite of herself.
Barely conscious, she staggers off the mast upon release and does something that resembles standing in a line with the others. A new ship, a new captain, a new crew. She hears Harrigan's "one rule" as if from far away, and it occurs to her that never before had she been on the receiving end of such aloofness from her captain. Her father and the Thunder are truly gone. Tears well in her eyes, and not from the pain.
She's dimly aware of the order to scale the mast, but since she can barely stand she can also barely climb. As if of their own accord, her hands slowly pull her up the rigging.
Tempest pauses and turns when she hears the other girl speak, preparing to take advantage and join the fight....only to see her get beaten into submission. The strong dictate the fate of the weak. As is natural. We will have our day....and maybe that girl will make an ally. If she survives...
Once on deck, she takes a moment while Ellie is being whipped to close her eyes and breathe deep of the sea air, invigorating herself on the smell of the salt and the breeze. When the captain begins to speak, she opens her eyes again and focuses. Not the face of the woman who had killed her a century ago, no. Why would it be? Still. In the grand scheme, it's just a pirate ship. Maybe there will be a chance to recover some of her power...
But that one, with the whip. He will learn to show respect, or he will meet an inglorious end.
She shakes her head when asked about cooking. Even being raised in this mortal shell, her cooking expertise extends only to charring something over a campfire. The druid way. But when asked to climb, her eyes widen. She looks down at her frail frame with a sense of dread.
Still, she's never been one to back down from a challenge. And so...
Tempest makes halfway decent progress for the first part, until she doesn't. Her grip slips and she falls to the deck. The wind seems to swirl around her as she drops, and she lands softly on her feet. She grits her teeth and, assuming someone else isn't already at the top, tries again.
She does not do well. After making multiple failed attempts to start again, she loses grip and drops back to her feet. With a shout of frustration, she launches herself back at the mast...
...and makes it halfway up before losing her grip, yet again, and dropping to the deck. Once more, the winds around her seem to billow and cushion her, allowing her to land with grace.
"How do you people live like this?" She asks no one in particular.
"I've climbed half-orcs before!" Melli cracks her knuckles and starts working up the mast. "It's all in the feet, you see!"
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She starts out solidly, bare feet finding purchase on the wood, and leverages herself up.
Only to find a slippery spot and spend quite a while just sitting there, trying to find a grip for some leverage. "Well, the half-orc's feet. Clearly, mine aren't doing the job."
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Eventually, though, she plans out a way up, then starts to wriggle her way up, moving surprisingly quickly for such a small person. A hand here, and a foot there, and soon (but probably not soon enough) Melli is at the top.
It takes Ellie nearly a minute of pulling herself upward-- or it would have, except she is beaten to it. With a measure of relief, she makes her way back to the deck.
Beryl tries his best to climb up, but that's fair from his specialty - and in top of it, he's already naturally slower.
At this point, seeing enough people already made it to the top and he's barely one fourth of the way, the Dwarf simply stops and climbs down.
Oy, I guess no one would want a climbing Dwarf anyway, huh? Me' beard would get on the way of me' small eyes! - he says, as he gets down.
Veronica smiles as the first whip strike misses the half-elf, and can't help but notice she isn't the only one in the audience to do so. But her smile quickly fades as the second whip hits.
She extends her arm to the stumbling girl for support as she approaches the line.
Well, I wanted to be a pirate, and here I am - with what I can only imagine is the dumbest crew I could possibly have gotten involved with. They're short-handed, but have no problems putting everyone through a potentially deadly test just for what - their entertainment? A fall from up there could kill a person, and not everyone is a decent climber. And I don't think the girl is in any shape to attempt this. The halfling seems pretty confident in her abilities at least. The others definitely less so.
Veronica eyes her companions with worry, particularly the half-elf girl as she stumbles towards the mast.
She makes the climb herself as fast as she can without taking unnecessary risks. As she gets to the top, she does her best to help pull the others up as they get near.
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Laughter erupts from the crew when Beryl and Tempest fall, though this is followed by some concerned murmurs at Tempest's floating act. The whip man can be seen speaking softly to Plugg, who narrows his eyes suspiciously at the sylph.
Once it becomes clear that Beryl and Tempest won't be completing the challenge, and the others have, he waves them off and awaits having everyone back on deck before him. He points to the pirate that had been counting for Ellie, "The count?"
"Fifty, sir."
Then to the counter for Melli.
"Thirty-five."
And finally, for Veronica.
"Twenty-five."
He nods and stands before Veronica, almost looking pleased, "Good. You're my new rigger. You'll be reporting directly to me, and I expect you to work like your life depends on it."
He turns to the others, "The rest of you are swabs, and you'll be reporting to Master Scourge." He indicates the ugly man with the whip. "Work hard, and you might earn your place, here. Screw around and, well....you'll find out. Now get to work!"
MacLaren finds his way easily enough to the ship's galley. The cramped and chaotic kitchen holds two wooden worktables, several wooden cupboards, and two small stoves against the port wall, as well as virtually every cooking utensil imaginable and a frightening array of meat cleavers. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber. The kitchen is a madness of dirt, food, and knives. The stoves are perpetually lit, and large cauldrons bubble away atop them all times. A huge array of spices mingle with barrels of rainwater, two tuns of rum, cupboards full of ship’s biscuit and salted beef, barrels of sauerkraut, and a small supply of fresh vegetables picked up in Port Peril.
Inside sits a fat, middle-aged human in dire need of a bath, drinking from a bottle of wine. He looks up at MacLaren as he enters and grins, showing off a mouth full of damaged teeth, [b]"Ah! You must be the new mate! Have a seat, boy, and tell o' Fishguts yer name."
Ellie sets to work blearily. Eventually she returns to (most of) her senses as her wounds heal, leaving her stiff and sore all over. Hauling rope is simple but exhausting work-- she can knot rope in her sleep, which is fortunate because she finds it impossible to concentrate.
Unbelievable. Outrageous. Melli looks at the two broken and frayed pieces of rope in her hands. No one taught me to do this. It's always 'the halfling knows how to do things, make her do it. Still, though, her back and stomach ache from her relatively light whipping, and driven by pain, she perseveres in fixing some of the rope - at least, she thinks it's fixed.
If Fishguts agrees, he will cast Create Water to conjure whichever the cook desires. It's not terribly fancy, but it's clean and a change of pace.
"I know a fair bit about cooking. And I have a little magic to deal with spoiled food if there is any."
Brother MacLaren wouldn't have Purify Food and Drink prepared necessarily, but he will prepare it in future days since he is on kitchen duty. For today, he has his 1/day SLA of it, which gets a cubic foot of food - he'll use it on the more limited ingredients if any are spoiled (with Fishguts' permission).
As to the skill checks, I am a HUGE fan of Take 10 when not actively threatened or distracted, and I will use it whenever allowed.
Brother MacLaren gets to work making a hearty stew suitable for eating with chunks of biscuit.
He'll use Create Water as needed for water, wine, or ale to help with the cooking.
If Take 10 is not allowed:
"Good job making your way up here." She turns towards Ellie, visibly impressed: "Especially you, after the beating you just took."
"Name's Veronica. We should try to talk a bit without everyone's eyes on us - I think we share some similar views on our current situation."
Veronica nods back at Plugg as she gets her assignment. At least I don't have to report back to ugly mug over there
She throws back one reassuring look at Ellie and Melli, before working her way up to work on the upper rigging.
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Climbing there goes as well as her previous attempt, and the work turns out to be simple enough.
Beryl shoulders up and goes to the bridge. He notices Tempest going as well, so he gives her a smile.
Ahoy, mate! T'seems we will be paired today cleaning it down there, huh? I can't really say I never saw this side of a ship b'fore! Hah! - he speaks, already starting the work.
I am called Beryl. Beryl Saltboulder! Had been dealing with ship engines for a while now, but I don't think that's why me' luck brought me' here, neither I think it's because of me' natural sex appeal! Hah! We didn't get a good draw from the rum yesterday on the Maid, huh? - the talespinner speaks to the sylph in a friendly tone - What about you? What's your story, me' girl? How how may I call 'ya?
Beryl will try to sneak on the bilges themselves once he gets a chance, and try to dig out for anything useful!
Tempest balks visibly at being assigned to work with this....Scourge. And perhaps her disdain is too obvious, as she's assigned to the most backbreaking labor available. She make a mental note of this slight, tallying for later.
She does manage to give Beryl a tight smile as he introduces himself, and listens absently as he speaks, focusing on her work. When asked about herself, she allows herself a chuckle, a sound resembling low, rolling thunder, "I am called Tempest, in this life. And my story....is one that I wouldn't sully by telling it in such a vile, dirty place."
She does give him a full smile, however, doing her best to show that she means him no ill will, "I can't say that this is what I expected when I went to Port Peril last night, though. Not that I'm complaining, at least not in the general sense. A new adventure is what I was seeking, so who am I to complain about the form?"
Her face grows dark, and her hair moves with more ferocity, the brief flashes of light reappearing within, "That man, Scourge, though. I would do well without him."
As the day wears on and the pain of Ellie’s wounds subsides to a dull ache, she notices Melli having trouble with her repairs. ”Not a sailor, are you? Here, let me show you. Mate sees ropes like that, well… I’m not sure what he’ll do.” She shows the halfling how to unwind hemp strands from a broken rope so they can be spliced together with good ones. ” I’m Ellie. You didn’t come aboard on purpose either, did you?”
Ah, yeah, mate. He's definitely on me' list if I'm ever walking by the ship at night and help ta' bump someone off the rails. I hate cowards. But 'ya know? I'm over 100 years old, and tha' one thing I learn is that such individuals don't last much. - says the Dwarf, scratching his beard and looking around to make sure they aren't being overheard.
Her work done for the day, Veronica ponders what to do next - while she'd really like to go looking for her ancestor's blade, she knows that's probably not the most useful action right now.
Assuming it is even still on the ship instead of being sold before it sailed off, there's no way they'd let me keep it if I managed to get a hold of it.
The best idea is probably to make friends with the rest of the crew - I'm sure we have quite a bit more people unhappy with the way things are run right now, and it'd be useful to have them on my side if a fight breaks out.
She looks around the ship and decides to approach another rigger, see if she could help her finish her work faster. If it goes well, she might even get a few pointers about the rest of the crew.
Chit-chat has never been one of her strong suits though, so she uses a bit of her own magic to hopefully give the attempt a little help.
"I've just finished my work up there and figured I'd drop by and see if you'd like an extra pair of hands to help out."
Tempest appears to be in her early 20's, if she were human.
"Thanks." Melli looks at the ropes Ellie's spliced. "No, I didn't come on board on purpose. Usually I pay for passage while I get ready for my own ship, but..." She shrugs, then winks at the half-elf. "It doesn't look like that ship's happening anytime soon, so I guess I'd better learn some skills here, eh?"
"Yeah, I'm not dumb enough to try and fight a whole crew. If I was, you can be sure that ugly whip guy's smile would have quite a few less teeth in it" Veronica grins back at Melli.
"That doesn't mean we can't think up a more effective way to change how things work around here. Fear alone can only take a captain so far - a captain is nobody without a crew."
"We should be getting down quickly though, we can talk later."
The woman smiles at Ellie, but looks over her shoulder as if expecting trouble, "That should help. My name's Sandara. I saw what happened earlier. We all get that kind of treatment around here. But it's not all bad, if we stick together, yeah? Let's chat more after dinner."
A short time later, Scourge approaches Ellie with a cruel sneer. He stands over her, as if trying to make himself seem larger, "Well well well. Looks like you've got some work in ya, after all. Good. Was worried we might have to teach you another lesson."
He laughs to himself as he walks away, off to torment someone else, no doubt.
As MacLaren begins cooking, Kroop drains what's left in his bottle and begins staring off, as if into the distance. "It’s poison, this ship, but don’t let anyone hear you say it aloud. The hull listens, see, and the cap'n hears it all. Poison the Wormwood is, though, rotten to the core. You'll not meet a more nasty, sour piece of work than Cap'n Harrigan in all your days at sea, and his crew's the same, 'specially the first mate, Mr. Plugg. Vicious little sod, he is. He'd take his own mother's liver to the butcher to make pies with, he would. But they leave me alone, mostly. They know I can’t 'arm 'em."
The quartermaster's store is right next to the galley, allowing Brother MacLaren easy access during the day. The quartermaster is a reedy half-orc woman with a jagged scar across her throat. She looks up at MacLaren as he approaches with a raised eyebrow, "Don't think I've seen you about before. You one of the new recruits?"
Now, it seems that when I 'enlisted,' a few of my belongings got misplaced. Perhaps you, as Quartermaster, might have seen them.
There was some armor - a breastplate - as well as a rapier. I could understand if the armor is being kept for safekeeping and for my own good, so that I don't sink too fast if I fall overboard. And maybe the rapier could accidentally poke someone in a confined space like we have here aboard this fine vessel. That's all well and good. Very prudent of the Captain. Maybe when I've gotten my sea legs we can revisit those.
But I would like my tankard, back, if possible. It's brass. Has a nice shine to it.
And if you don't have that one... then any tankard would do. Bit of a religious thing, you see."
Brother MacLaren is approaching this with good humor. He doesn't see any reason to make enemies here. He doesn't expect he can get the armor and sword back right away, even if the quartermaster has them (they seem the most likely person), but the tankard? Hopefully.
He flashes his most charming smile.
As though she had summoned the man with a thought, Scourge crosses the ship to her not long after the healer leaves. Ellie says nothing to him, not wanting to risk her tongue against his lash, but she sneers at his back. Keep walking, you whoreson. I'm not giving you any more excuses today.
Assuming Brother MacLaren is able to properly and succinctly explain the importance of drink in the dogma of the Drunken God, Grok frowns a moment, then moves to one of the various chests in the store. She rummages around for a moment, then returns with a shiny brass tankard, "Alright, here. Keep it hidden, though, alright? Use one of the leather ones for your rum ration. You want anything else, though, you'll have to buy it. Understood?"
If Scourge is a bastard, then Mr. Plugg is his mother and father. One piece of advice—do as he says. He may be the first mate, but he's barely been on board a year! The apple of the captain’s eye, that one. Harrigan treats him like a son—but not a legitimate one, of course.
Oh yeah, mate, I had always being around more people. I learned my bits, but I betcha have some great stories 'bout those Gozrens to tell ole' Beryl here, huh? - he replies to Tempest, then being interrupted.
Beryl looks at the shackled man with curious eyes. The Dwarf was trying to intentionally be quiet, whispering to avoid other ears, but it seems the curious man was paying enough attention. He steps closer.
So I take that we still get ta' know the worst ones, huh? No matter, t'seems new names may end up added to the list. And who would 'ya be, if you don't mind me asking? I guess 'ya didn't get'em on a good day, huh? - he asks, still keeping a low volume.
He accepts the tankard and saunters off back to the galley.
Beryl's investigation turns up a few items among the number of discarded crates and boxes packed with straw that lie in the bilges:
A suit of leather armor
3 heavy maces
21gp
12sp
The man in the shackles lets out a disgruntled chuff of a laugh, "You could say that. Name's Magpie. Jakes Magpie. Not that you'll need it. Ol' Jakes ain't long for this world. An' if ya don't mind, I'd rather spend me last few hours in peace and quiet."
Beryl quickly analyzes the findings, and then hides it all as well as possible.
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If he has time, he will try to don the armor and equip the mace with best quality, then save the other two to try to give later to the people on the group. Same for the coins, just save for now and maybe search the quartermaster later.
Beryl grunts briefly.
Well, Magpie... If 'tis your will, you shall have it. I'd down sum' rum for 'ya tonight, and Besmara shall carry 'ya to the depths in peace. - says the Dwarf, waiting for Tempest.
As dusk falls, the ship's bell is rung to indicate the end of the working day. Kroop tells Brother Maclaren to head out on deck for something called "bloody hour," but to return afterwards to help him get the evening meal served. The rest of the new recruits, save for Beryl and Tempest, are led to the main deck by other workers. Being the only two in the bilge, the dwarf and sylph are collected by Master Scourge, who gives Tempest a sound verbal scolding for falling short of her allotted tasks.
"If we didn't have bigger fish to fry tonight, I'd have your hide. Consider this a warning: One more showing like that, and it'll be lashings. Now get up top."
On deck, the crew assembles. Mr Plugg calls out a rigger named "Ratline" Rattsberger, assigning him three lashes for slacking off and leaving his tasks grossly unfinished. After that, though, the "main event" begins. Scourge escorts Jakes Magpie, the man that Beryl and Tempest saw in the bilges, up on deck. Plugg and the other officers begin tying the man with long ropes while Scourge addresses the crew.
"Tonight, we gather to witness the punishment of Jakes Magpie. Magpie was caught stealing from the quatermaster's storage, and has admitted to his crime. As you all know, theft from the Captain is punishable by keelhauling. Jakes Magpie, do you have any last words?"
Jakes spits in the general direction of Scourge and Harrigan before shouting, "Yeah, I got something to say! To the hells with Harrigan! And any of you that wanna go down with him, you deserve what you get! Your past will catch up to you soon enough, 'Captain,' and I'll be waiting in hell for ya!"
Harrigan shakes his head, but doesn't respond. After his rant, Magpie is thrown overboard, tied to a rope looped over the keel of the ship. The officers, holding the end of the rope, pull and tug on the rope as Magpie is dragged under the water and along the bottom of the hull.
What surfaces on the other side is has been cut to shreds, and only vaguely resembles the man it once was. Once untied from the ropes, the remains are pushed overboard to be disposed of.
With Bloody Hour over, the crew is released for dinner and recreation. Fishguts and MacLaren bring the evening meal up on deck, and Kroop ladles out a serving for each member of the crew, in addition to a serving of a strong, vile drink they refer to as "rum."
The pirates wander off to eat their meal, gathering into small groups on deck or in the crew berths, or simply wolfing down the food and drink and heading to bed. Once they have their food, Sandara Quinn approaches the group, a muscular halfling in tow. Sandara smiles, looking at Ellie. "Hey. How are you holding up?"
Sandara introduces herself, as well as her companion, Rosie Cusswell, and explains that they were pressganged not too long before the group, and offers a hand of friendship. Rosie seems unconvinced...
When confronted by Scourge, she stands defiantly in the face of his tirade, but holds her tongue. And whose fault is it that I as assigned a task I'm not suited for, you ignorant ape?
Tempest watches the execution with only mild disgust and disappointment. They called me a beast and a monster, and then they turn around and do this. This is not the natural order, not the strong preying on the weak. This cruelty is definitively human.
Tempest takes the food with a thankful smile to Brother MacLaren, but recoils at the smell of the rum. Taking a seat with the others, she holds it up, "What in the hells is this stuff? Smells like death."
She leans back and flicks the cup towards the railing, emptying the cup in one swift motion so that she doesn't have to ingest it.
Melli has to physically bite her tongue to stop herself from protesting the keel-hauling. Is Bloody Hour a daily activity? Pirating isn't all I've been led to believe! Nevertheless, she stays quiet and accepts her share of the food, drinking the rum as fast as possible before quickly chasing it with her meal. Before she can say anything, one of her fellow press-ganged would-be pirates tosses her drink overboard.
"It's rum, and it's terrible, even by most Shackles taverns' standards. If you're not going to drink your share, I'd be happy to have it in the future."
When the halfling walks up, Melli sizes her up. "Well, if we're not fighting right now, I'm happy enough to be friends. I'm Melli. Where'd you two get picked up?"
When the eating settles down and pirates start nodding off or getting busy with other things, Melli tries sneaking off to explore part of the ship. After all, she's small, and maybe no one will miss her. But where to go?
Brother MacLaren watches the flogging and then the keelhauling.
He doesn't notice anything in particular, distracted as he is by the horror of the scene. MacLaren is not too disturbed about this unexpected adventure as it relates to him, but he is indeed troubled at Jakes Magpie being keelhauled.
Still, he has to play along for now. He takes a sip of his rum ration.
As something of an expert on the topic...That's not rum. That is poison.
He realizes this rotgut is lethal, and he looks for an opportunity to discreetly ditch it.
I'm not going to be lucky every time.
As he rejoins the group, he greets the new arrivals.
He extends his hand to Sandra. "Brother MacLaren, priest of Cayden Cailean."
If Rosie doesn't extend her hand, he will just nod to her.
He will turn to Melli. "That's not rum. I'd advise against drinking two of those rations in a night. Or two in a week if I could help it."
The hour bloody hour passes, and Beryl is saddened to see Magpie go - but the man was already set for it.
He doesn't notice anything special when it happens, and it's at least fast; still, a terrible way to die. He mutters a brief prayer to Besmara.
As the rum rations are distributed and night "entertainment" and relaxation begins, Beryl sticks around with his companions: at least, the same group pressganged with him.
He notices Tempest tipping away her rum ration, and he doesn't say a thing; instead, he puts a quick smirk, thinking how smart it is. As much as he likes rum, he'd rather keep his full faculties for the time being. There is a time and place to enjoy a drink!
He manages to get rid of it, but barely - by the skin of his teeth! He shakes a bit when sees some eyes that could have seen him, just imagining the same fate of Jake... Or maybe at least some good slashes from a whip!
Nice ta' meet you lot! - the Dwarf says as Sandara and Rosie approach Melli - Always happy tae' make sum' new friends.
He's clearly trying to keep the problems out of this mind at this point.
Later, Beryl seeks the shadows, and then stealthily moves towards the ship using his trained Dwarven eyes.