Separately and collectively, you've all fallen into the hands of pirate slavers. Most of you remember it this way: You were walking in the countryside near your homes, strolling home from the tavern after a night's drinking, walking down to the river to fetch some water, or gone to visit some lass or lad in a neighboring village.
And, suddenly, you heard a thrashing in the underbrush around you, and before you could turn you felt a whale of a blow to the back of your head, and everything went black.
When you awoke, you were in the dark, tiny, stinking hold of the pirate galley, shackled by your wrists to the sturdy beams of the slave bunks, bunks stacked like cordwood. There were about 40 other captured folk of the archipelago there.
You were sick from the blow to your head and from the tossing of the ship, from the revolting gruel the slaver pirates occasionally fed you, and from the knowledge that you were bound for one of the western slave ports, never again to see your own home. Mockingly, the keys to your shackles were hung from a hook right by the hatch to the deck, only 5 or 6 feet from the lot of you. They might as well be miles away.
A few days after you woke up, the ship was hit by a squall, which turned, after half a day of tossing and rolling, into a full-fledged storm which blasted spray and curses into the hold every time the hatch above was opened. Your jailer, a man named Hafkris—maybe a half-ore, it was hard to tell under all that grime and walrus ugliness—brought about half the shackled slaves abovedecks to man the oars vacated by sailors washed overboard. The storm continued on another day, and Hafkris took another one-fourth of the slave cargo abovedecks. He looked worried.
That was yesterday.
You haven't seen any of the pirates or the slaves since then, and you haven't been fed. Early today, the shouting and cracking whips indicating that rowers were being kept in line finally faded away to nothing.
Right now, as you're waiting for some sign of life from abovedecks, there's an enormous crash — a grating, grinding noise and horrible shuddering of the ship around you as it runs aground. Abovedecks, there's the sound of snapping spars and an incredible crash on the deck which you know must be the mast coming down.
You're all thrown toward the bow, but are still held fast by your shackles and suffer more bruises to your wrists.
The bow of the galley is shattered by the impact, and as the galley grinds to a halt, the bow is torn away entirely, letting in a ferocious blast of numbingly-cold air and rain; the port side of the galley is laid open by a huge boulder that the galley has smashed against.
A moment later, there's once again only the sound of wind and pounding surf. Out the open bow, you can see a section of rainpounded beach; you seem to have run aground where a cliff face meets a cove beach.
The pain from his restraints brings a flood of tears to Aldric’s eyes. He quickly turns his head to his wrist and legs to see if they were broken, if not to hide his tears. Not broken… he squeezes his eyes shut to flush out any tears and quickly scrubs a hand across his face into his hair. I will not break… the pain from being jerked so violently still causes tears to well up.
With no sound from above I can’t die like this…
Remembering the key, Aldric’s eyes darts to see if it is still out of reach, or if it is even visible…
Miro is one angry, angry halfling. When he thought that he had a managed to find his way to freedom and make a life for himself he had ended up HERE! Shackled once again to be sold like a bag of turnips.
He had fumed and mutters and would have glared holes into the wall if he was able to but was still trapped here.
So when the storm hit and everything went flying he was disappointed that he wouldn't be able to strangle a pirate with his chains and would instead drown, cahined to his bunk.
Isidiana was fairly certain she was unique among all the captives, in that she was positive she was the only one who had been seized in a bridal outfit. The outfit was a mess now, with tears here and there and it certainly is no longer clean. Her hair is a golden tangle, and her blue eyes frantic and angry in turns.
When she was first seized, a part of her was almost relieved to escape the marriage she wanted no part of. Then it sunk in just what was happening as she woke up in this wretched ship along with all these other poor people. Those damned keys just out of reach? Taunting her? Why would anyone DO that?
She knew why. Cruelty wasn't a stranger to her. Her stepmother and stepsisters certainly made sure of that. I try to be kind, I was raised to be nice. And I'm starting to think those only work on people who are kind and nice themselves. If ever get out of here I'm going to... but what COULD she do? She was just a cobbler.
The squall broke up the monotony AND gave her a new reason to be scared.
Lovely. Hafkis kept taking more slaves above deck. A few people she had gotten to know were gone now. And... not returning.
And it's been awhile since they were fed.
Right now, as you're waiting for some sign of life from abovedecks, there's an enormous crash — a grating, grinding noise and horrible shuddering of the ship around you as it runs aground. Abovedecks, there's the sound of snapping spars and an incredible crash on the deck which you know must be the mast coming down.
You're all thrown toward the bow, but are still held fast by your shackles and suffer more bruises to your wrists.
The bow of the galley is shattered by the impact, and as the galley grinds to a halt, the bow is torn away entirely, letting in a ferocious blast of numbingly-cold air and rain; the port side of the galley is laid open by a huge boulder that the galley has smashed against.
A moment later, there's once again only the sound of wind and pounding surf. Out the open bow, you can see a section of rainpounded beach; you seem to have run aground where a cliff face meets a cove beach.
Isidiana cries out as she hears the mast coming down above, then she gives an unlady like grunt as she's thrown about and her wrists threaten to break from the shackles.
Her eyes search and find the outdoor view before them. A beach! If only they could get to it.. alive.
"Is ... everyone who is still here okay?" She asks.
I'm here, and soon to be drowned.
The tall human teenage murmured in his shackles. "I am alive."
Life had taken a dramaic turn for this Absolomian young man. Walking toward the ship to take him to Sothis, Dak Pastie was hit from behind and his world went dark. As a life-long caydenite, the young man's hatred for slavery and denying the freedom of others was an anathema to his core beliefs. His face and wrists were both bruised and blooded; his wrists from relentlessly trying to break his chains, and his face from hurling insults at his captors. One pirate nearly beat him to Pharasma when Dak tried to stop him from making advances toward the pretty blonde girl.
Dak looked to their surrounding, hoping that whatever wreck happened to the ship, it might have broken the chain from the walls of the hull.
Quickly jerking his chains. "Drown? We cannot drown. Freedom is just out there. I cannot die like this."
Miro sighs and tries to wriggle out of his manacles. If we rip our thumbs off, we can use that and the blood to wiggle out.
Despite the pain, Dak tries with all his might to pull his chain from the wall.
rip our thumbs off... use that and the blood to wiggle out... who could do that...
Knowing he doesn't have the strength to pull himself free from the chains he does what he knows to do. He screams "HELP!!!! We're stuck down here!!! You've taken us for a reason, don't let us drown!!!
She remembers Dak even if she doesn't remember the name , younger than her by a few years but he tried to rush to her defense and got pounded for it. It was an idiotic but brave move. Then talk from others of removing thumbs and panic.
"Calm down, we're not going to rip our thumbs off. Let's look for the key. It may have fallen off." Unaware that the Parchment is already on that.
She tries to keep her voice reasonable and measured "We're going to get out of here. Let's be brave." She says it as much to herself as anyone else. "As bad as we have it, those raiders were on top, and may have it worse, and they deserve it."
She also looks for the key, or in lieu of that, a narrow piece of hard material she might use as a lock pick. She's never picked a lock in her life but she's willing to try.
The 6 foot 10, half-elf woman with red hair and green eyes, looks around and carefully looks.
Pike groans; sea-sickness might not have claimed him, but days spent in the unsanitary confines of the ship's hold, combined with the barely nutritious slop that they were fed, have left him feeling decidedly wretched.
As he is thrown back and forth, his wrists chafe and start to bleed, so he tries to pull at least one, if not both, of his hands free, to get a better range of movement. Hopefully, that way, it will be easier to find the key, and get everyone one out... for there is safety in numbers.