Jacques Lacrimoisi
You wake up with a terrible headache. Still, that's a small price to pay for the incredible time you had last night. You met someone who sailed with your grandmother! He must be a lot older than he looked, though. That would explain why he kept saying her ship was the Banshee. Regardless, the drink he brought you was incredible - and strong! Knocked you right out. Come to think of it, where are you now? This definitely isn’t the tavern….
Ragnhild Demondottir
You wake up with a terrible headache. Still, that’s a small price to pay for the incredible time you had last night. Stories, singing, making new friends! And one friend in particular… You don’t remember what happened after you followed them out back for a bit of fun, but it must have been good. Although this doesn't look like your bedroom ... or their bedroom ... or a bedroom. More like a cargo hold. What the hell happened?!?
Zenj'ya
You wake up with a terrible headache. Still, that's a small price to pay for the incredible time you had last night. Last night was nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Beautiful singing, pleasant company, and wonderful food. Oh, heavens, the food! Such delicacies! So nice of that lady to buy them for you. You definitely ate way too much, though, since you passed out shortly after finishing your meal. Wait a minute… Where are you now? A cargo hold? What’s going on?
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As your eyes adjust to the dim light, you realize that you’re not alone. There are three of you in total – all people from the Formidably Maid tavern last night. They all seem to be in the same condition as you – slightly the worse for wear and just waking up. You also realize that your gear’s gone. That includes armor, but not clothing. What the hell happened?
Your morning breath tastes a bit like nutmeg. Strange, you don't remember eating any last night....
F$$+ we go abducted. Rangnhild thinks putting 2 and 2 togeher.
If I die here I will be the laughingstock of the Abyss, an apparent part Succubus falling for a honey trap? Yikes
She takes a good look at her bindings if she is bound, and for possible improvised weapons if not.
Jacques narrows his eyes and pulls himself to his feet. He checks for his purse, and finds it missing. As it slowly dawns on him what must have happened, he snarls to himself. How could I have let this happen? he wonders. A child of Grandam Lacrimoisi, press-ganged into service or worse. She would be so disappointed in me. He spits into the shadows. "Mon Dieu," he swears under his breath. "Salauds sale! Les fils de pute!"
He waits for more information, glaring darkly about him.
This is not good. Zenj'ya doesn't open his eyes as he hears people moving around. He can't feel the comforting weight of his ring on his finger anymore. The thrum of power was gone. Plus his head hurt. The food was excellent. Best food he had eaten since leaving his village. Where was his raven?
At least he still had his Words. Until they cut out his tongue, no one could take those from him. He opened his eyes slowly, hoping it wasn't going to be too bright.
"Where are we?" His voice creaked, as if from disuse.
You soon hear the sound of heavy bootsteps approaching. A moment later, your room’s top hatch is thrown open. Your eyes burn as a lantern is thrust down, and you hear the crack of a whip. "Still abed with the sun over the yardam? 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!”
As your eyes adjust to the light, you see the whip wielder: a tall, dark-haired, rough-looking man. He sports a cruel smile as he cracks the whip in your direction and motions toward the ladder. He looks impatient and a little angry. Over the man’s shoulder, you see a half-dozen other thuglike characters fingering saps.
So we are on a ship, likely press ganged. Hmm, mutiny over escape it is. Lord in Iron, grant me strength to prevail over my duplicious foes, who dared not to attack me bravely, Lady in Shadows grant me guile so I may repay their trickery 16 fold.
Ragnhild does as bid for now.
It would be foolish to try something now. Not without my ring. Later perhaps.
Zenj'ya rises, offering a hand to Ragnhild as he does so. He flips his veil back over his face before stepping out into the sun, his eyes are quite sensitive.
The men roughly usher you up the ladder. As you might have guessed, you're on a ship in the middle of the ocean. Many miles behind you, there’s something hazy that might be land, but it’s too far away to be certain. There’s approximately 20 people on deck, and they’re all looking at the high stern deck where two figures are standing.
The first: a tall Garundi man with a shaven beard, eyepatch, and rippling muscles is clearly the captain. He speaks, ”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 like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule, and we’ll 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 killing anyone. Mr. Plugg! If you’ll be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me from having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out o’ them.” He then walks away, leaving you under the care of the second man.
This man – you assume he’s Mr. Plugg – is younger and has lost most of his hair. He carries a cat-o’-nine-tails and waves it in your direction as he yells, "All right, you lot! Up the mainmast! Get to the crow’s nest, and be quick about it – I don’t have all day! Come on, then, hurry it up!”
Best to play along for a while. Get more information.
Jacques narrows his eyes still further at the whip-wielding leader of thugs. Although he instinctively tenses at being ordered around, he recognizes that it would get him a beating and that there is no point, as none of the other prisoners are rebelling. He decides to respond sullenly, but respond he does and climbs out onto the deck with the others.
Ragnhild flies up the mast, reaching the top slightly before Jacques. Zenj'ya struggles, as the bright sun burns his sensitive eyes. Once the three of you make it back to the deck, Mr. Plugg points as Ragnhila. "You're a rigger now. Get to work!"
Turning to Jacques and Zenj'ya, he looks both of you up and down appraisingly. "Cook's mate." He points at Jacques. Then at Zenj'ya: "Swab." He then turns and walks off, calling over his shoulder as he goes, "Don't just stand there like idiots. Get to work!" Master Scourge cracks his whip threateningly as he does.
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Jacques
When you enter the kitchen, you find it a cramped and chaotic mess full of worktables, cupboards, stoves, and virtually every cooking utensil imaginable - including a frightening array of meat cleavers. A score of chickens and three goats wander freely throughout the chamber. What you don't see, however, is the cook. With nobody to show you where anything is, your best bet is to try to catch some fish. Hopefully fresh meat will make up for any culinary shortcomings you might have.
Ragnhild
You're tasked with helping hoist and lower the sails. It's hard work, but at least you don't have to climb any masts.
Zenj'ya
You're tasked with passing messages to the crew and officers. This requires running all around the ship for hours. Better than swabbing the decks, though.
Day:
Ragnhild gives a good onceover on Mr. Plugg, seeking to figure out how powerful he is individually.
Singing a sea shanty (+2 competence to profession checks) she works dilligently for now.
With almost no information to go on, you have no idea how powerful Mr. Plugg is. The hilt of his sword is quite fancy, but you're not sure if he knows how to use it or is just showboating.
Fortunately, raising and lowering the sails requires very little skill, so you're able to complete your assignments with minimal issue. The work is very tiring, however . You notice a couple of your new crewmates are humming along with your shanty - at least until a grouchy dwarf who appears to be in charge orders you to "Shut the hell up!"
"I'm a sailor, not a sprinter," grumbles the witch as he's assigned his job. Indeed, it turns out to be a well founded grumble, as he quickly becomes exhausted. Perhaps the drugged food hasn't completely worn off yet.
Being unfamiliar with the layout of the Wormwood, you end up having to run much more than necessary to deliver all the messages. On a positive note, you now know your way around extremely well.
You're at the sterncastle passing a note to Captain Harrigan when your raven lands on the rail! It looks exhausted - clearly it's been flying after you for hours. Harrigan glances over at it...
... and grabs it with a quick motion before crushing it in a meaty paw. Casually tossing the mangled corpse to you, he orders you to dispose of it.
During the course of the day, you're approached by the pretty redhead . "Hey there, I'm Sandara. You look like you could use a friend, so I thought I'd introduce myself." She hands you a familiar ring. "I swiped this from Syl earlier. Thought you'd like it back. I know you've no reason to trust me, so consider this a sign of good faith."
Zenj'ya takes the bird. It will recover, in time. His biggest concern is the smell of it. He was so hungry, and the rapidly cooling meat of the bird called to him...
He's broken out of his reverie by Sandara. When she passes him his ring, he almost snatches it out of her hand, but manages to restrain himself. His ring is cold in his hand; to him it pulses with the beat of his heart. To everyone else, it appeared just as a simple band. "Thank you Miss. Do you know what this is?" He'll wait for a response.
Making sure that no one else is watching closely, he'll slip the ring onto his finger, and kneel down. "This ring lets me do this," he says, putting his hand on a board of the deck, and causing it to crack and age, "and this," he finishes, causing it to return to it's previous state.
"It's a bit of me heart you see. I cannot repay you enough for returning it to me." Standing back up, he says, "We have more to discuss. But I need to be getting back to work, or Harrigan will crush me like my poor bird. But if you think of me as you fall asleep, we can speak at leisure in dreams."
Zenj'ya realizes that he's taking a risk here. But risks would have to be taken on this ship. He had already begun re-amassing his power. Perhaps this woman could help him further with it. And Zenj'ya had gone so long without seeing a friendly, pretty face that perhaps it had added to his brashness.
Jacques has no difficulty catching a whole bunch of fish. The real trouble comes when it's time to cook them. Navigating the chaotic kitchen without any assistance is almost impossible, and by the time he's found everything he needs to prepare the fish, it's almost mealtime. Hopefully everyone's fine with sushi (minus the rice and seaweed).
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Zenj'ya
Sandara smiles at your display of magic. "I thought it might be a focus item. This is mine." She shows you a Besmaran holy symbol. "I'd advise against showing anyone else. The officers don't trust mages. I have some healing capabilities, so I'm tolerated, but even then, I have to stay on my toes. As you said, we'd best get back to work now."
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EVENING
At dusk, everyone's treated to a fish dinner that's technically edible. You get to wash it down with what's arguably the worst rum you've ever tasted. You can almost feel your liver dying. Afterwards, it's time for the officers' favorite part of the day: Bloody Hour.
Some poor soul is dragged up from the bilges in chains. "Jakes Magpie, you have been found guilty of stealing from the quartermaster's store. The penalty, as you well know, is keelhauling. May Besmara have mercy upon you."
Mr. Plugg takes his time carrying out the punishment, and by the time it's finally over, Jakes has been rendered completely unrecognizable as anything but shark food.
On the evening, Ranghild notices the chatty Redhead
Well, hello there, my name is Ragnhild, somewhat of a Bard myself. Can you give me the laydown on whom to avoid in particular on that ship? Why the gentle caress does that Dorf dislike sea shanties, seriously.
After that she goes to "bed" early to get rid of the fatigue she accumulated.
Jacques surveys the other crewmembers of this cursed vessel, glowering at them in his resentment of his lot. He tries to identify who the biggest bully is-- probably the biggest person.
Ragnhild
Sandara quickly shushes you. "Keep your voice down. Narwhal's the rigging boss, and if he hears you dissing him, you'll be stuck with the most dangerous work for the rest of the voyage."
Jacques
It's pretty clear who the biggest bully is: Fipps. He's got a good fifty pounds on everyone else, and you're pretty sure it's solid muscle. As you approach, he gives you a threatening glare, and you decide not to push your luck.
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Jacques backs away, but continues to study Fipps from afar. "That one, he is going to be the problem, way?" he mutters to himself. "All of the muscle, none of the brains. Perhaps he may be outwitted and embarrassed in that way. It is doubtful he will ever become my friend."
Jacques dreams shift around him. He finds himself in a small room. There are windows, but they have heavy curtains. There are no doors. The walls are made out of wood, and the entire thing heaves slightly to and fro, as if it's on the sea. Sitting at a table is Zenj'ya, drinking tea from fine china.
"I can never get the taste quite right," he remarks. "I can remember the taste of it perfectly, but there was an art to it's preparation that I just can't quite figure out, even in my own dreams." He waves at the chair across the table from him, pouring a second cup of tea. "Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss about our imprisonment."
Ragnhild's dreams shift around her. She finds himself in a small room. There are windows, but they have heavy curtains. There are no doors. The walls are made out of wood, and the entire thing heaves slightly to and fro, as if it's on the sea. Sitting at a table is Zenj'ya, drinking tea from fine china.
"I can never get the taste quite right," he remarks. "I can remember the taste of it perfectly, but there was an art to it's preparation that I just can't quite figure out, even in my own dreams." He waves at the chair across the table from him, pouring a second cup of tea. "Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss about our imprisonment."
Zenj'ya has more difficulty shaping the dreamspace to the small meeting room that he had for the other two. He kept thinking of bedrooms, and other such things. Still, he managed to wrestle his mind into order, the only indication of his inner turmoil being the fluffy pillows on the chairs. Still, the effort prevented him from trying to guess what she might prefer.
"I did say that we'd talk later, no? Do you drink tea?" Zenj'ya offers a delicate cup. "Or do you prefer more traditional sailor beverages, like grog?" He reaches under the table, pulling out a bottle. "It won't effect you, it's all dreamstuff, but you can enjoy it all the same. Were you press-ganged aboard this boat as well?"
A dreamscape? Ragnhild focuses on herself and is wearing a combination of black leather armor and a breastplate emblazoned with Gorums crest, bearing a Great Axe.
She seems to be somewhat aware of how dreamscapes work, and is able to change her appearance, but perhaps only into shapes that she once had.
Ah much better then the dregs I wear in reality. She says.
Interesting, your ability? Hmm, If you were a Paijanai you would not be imprisoned, so I shall assume you are not.
A devotee of the Ardent Dream could do something smiliar, or a Desnan, or some other things as well...
I am Ragnhild, I was a warrior of Sarkoris, and a Teller of her stories as well, that was before I got exiled for manifesing demonic abilities.
As she says this, her Shadow sprouts wings and horns,
I am not yours She snarls at the shadow, and the shadows wings recede.
Our choices are mutiny, or absconding during a landing or port visit. In either setup, our best bet is to gain allies, increase our abilities and figure out faultlines amongst the crew. Given the leadership displayed so far, there will be many faultlines to be exploited by us.
I can fight in any frontline, support my allies with totems, and heal using my songs, assuming the effing dwarf lets me. I do however need my weaponry to actually fight. She wistfully looks at her greataxe.
Paijanai are powerful Demons, the Ardent dream is a nascent but rather well known Demon Lord. She clearly knows a few things about Demons, but you would expect that Sarkorians who fight Demons for a century will know a fair bit about them.
"I do not know what a Paijanai is, but I take it they are dreamweavers? I bear no love of demons, the peoples of the Mwangi have been harangued for far too long by them. As long as you can keep yours under control, we will have no problems." He sighs. "Long have I desired to sail aboard a free ship. This seems an opportunity to seize one for ourselves. Lawless brigands without honor such as these hardly seem deserving of such luxuries, no?" He continues to sip his tea as he considers what Ragnhild said. "I do not think our captors are cunning enough to place a spy in our midst; why would they have any reason to suspect us? I trust that your capabilities are what you say they are. We will have to find your belongings. If needed, we can store them in this dreamspace. Sandara Quinn, the rather attractive redhead already returned my ring to me, perhaps she might be able to aid us in your armor and weapons. If absolutely needed, I can make you a wooden axe. Are we in agreement here?"
Paijanai are the opposite of dreamweavers, they are vicious demons who corrupt dreams into nightmares, and hunt anything that moves in them. They would be foes far beyond our capabilities to fight at present.
I am of Sarkoris, we are at war with the Demon Lords Baphomet, also known as "Goatface son of Dogtits", and Deskari, also known as "the completely replaceable one", we cannot afford additional foes from the Abyss in our current situation.
Let us reconvene later, our priorities should be to find possible allies, the redhead will not be the only one with issues concerning leadership.
Zenj'ya feels a kinship with this man. He echos many of the same sentiments that Zenj'ya feels in his heart. "I suspect there are others like us. Of course we shall endure, but we shall also scheme. We are free men in this place. They cannot take our dreams from us, and in dreams we shall plot their downfall." He stops to think. "You are better at talking to people than I am. I am afraid that if I am the recruiter for our little endeavor, they will not trust a veiled witch. I will find your estoc for you if you agree to use your position as ship's cook to find others to aid us."
"There are others. I have already begun reaching out to them. Do not speak of this in waking hours, unless there is no other option. Dream of me again tomorrow. Are we in agreement?"
He nods. "Tomorrow then," as the dreamscape fades away to more normal dreams.
"Are you not confident that those who act against the captain will be the winning side? With your help, it could be so. Tell us who to approach. Tell the chef's new assistant who he should be speaking to. That at least should be easy enough. And I would be twice-debted to you."
Ready for the next day.
[ooc]Ready for the next day![/spoiler]
Zenj'ya wakes up with a headache, after all, he had three complete strangers tromping around in there most of last night. Nevertheless, he feels invigorated, ready to start the next day.
Day Two: Day
You awake shortly before morning roll call. As you prepare to climb on deck, four of the crew move to block your way. "Going somewhere?" Fipps chuckles. The other three crack their knuckles or otherwise make threatening overtures.
You do not know our capabilties, a more prudent predator would study before making a strike. Let me tell you something to make things more "fun" in this regard: My kill count is 1 Schir, 1 Abrikandilu, 4 dretches all of them for being demon-f*&+wits, 6 Baphomet Cultists for worshipping f+$!ing goatface dogtitson, 2 dumb idiotic Barbarians from my own tribe and an inquisitor of Iomedae, for thinking I am a demonworshipper because I am too good at killing. Admiddetly, I had my weapons and armor for all of the demons and for the idiots, but half of the cultists I killed without using them.
Although my Lord in Iron does approve of random violence for no reason whatsorever, I am uncertain if Mr Plugg and Mr. Scourge approve of you needing new faces for no reason and/or turning up late to work.
Eh, your move.
Jacques narrows his eyes at Fipps. "Get out of my way," he says menacingly. "You will not like what happens to you if you do not," he adds.
Ragnhild very casually looks at her nails as she speaks.
As if deciding wether to claw or smash people into bits.
Zenj'ya decides to play dumb. Adopting broken common, he says "Go to work, ya?"
Fipps looks intimidated by Jacques' quiet confidence but obviously has no idea what Ragnhild is referencing. He's clearly not particularly knowledgeable about either demons or Baphomet. Despite your lack of fear, the four of them outnumber you - and Zenj'ya appears to be a pushover, so it's technically two-to-one odds in their favor. Looks like punches are about to be thrown....
Effing idiots Ragnhild states.
I probably need to give lessons in Demonology.
Jacques, sensing that while Fipps might step aside for him, the thugs are unlikely to let the rest of them go, fixes an evil glare on the towering bully and draws upon his dark connection to the netherworld. Spiritual black waves immediately wash over his opponents as he briefly concentrates, though somehow they do not affect his allies.
Jacques then gestures quickly with his hand, and his eyes turn white. Strange ethereal moaning can be heard in the distance. Another version of himself appears beside him, moving in the opposite direction from him to throw off attackers. Then he walks forward to stand directly in front of Fipps. "Stand aside," he says, and he spits at Fipps's feet.
All four pirates shudder as Jacques's dark energy washes over them. Fipps and Tam seem more angry than hurt, Jape (surprisingly) looks resigned, while Syl actually appears to enjoy the sensation.
Fipps pulls out a dagger, and Jape promptly turns and heads abovedecks. Fipps immediately tries to stab Jacques...
... the wrong Jacques. He stares in confusion for a few seconds.
Meanwhile, Tam heads directly for Ragnhild, drawing a hatchet from his belt as he moves.
Syl hangs back, watching with interest.