Croaker Norge's page

Softskin, take a gander at a real pirate. Look at this character's profile. See what you think.

... and allows me to turn the High Sentinel Lodge into a little miniature Graul homestead :-)

I like the cut of your jib, sailor. <grin>

We're so mad that if we weren't rowing, we'd be hopping like a hot jumping bean.

We are going to find that old fart and do deliciously awful things to him. Cap'n Mug mutters dark things in Orcish.

However, we have to find him first, so back to town we go. We're hoping that the enormous harpy colony doesn't elect to chase us down en masse in revenge for their fallen.

As it was, a lone harpy archer found us rowing back along "poop creek". She closed to within a hundred yards before opening fire, scoring a couple of flesh wounds on my left shoulder. I grabbed the rudder to ground the boat in the muddy shore just to port, allowing the rest of the crew to swiftly escape into the cover of the foliage.

Magic hastening all of us from Torgar, a divine protection from Gozreh and a well-aimed toss of his underwater crossbow and bolt case from Mug to me let me sink 3 bolts into the harpy. After another pair of spells, Torgar, clad in his purple and green winged reptilian "armor", ran out of patience and raced into immediate melee range of the harpy.

Taken aback at Torgar's hastened flight speed, the harpy fluttered backwards 2 paces and shot him with her bow twice, one arrow punching into something vital. She snatched his body in her clawed feet.

Despite our best efforts, the harpy's fortitude proved sufficient to resist Mug's magical blinding spell. None of the rest of us could close fast enough to bring our full power to bear. While heavily burdened, she made off with the unconscious Summoner.

His screams echoed for miles as the harpy clan likely ate him alive in a ritualized feast in honor to Lamashtu.

The next months passed after we encountered another demon-spawned catfolk arcane duelist by the name of Bloodclaw on our retreat up poop creek.

We did sieze another prize, making our way to Port Peril to sell her, enjoy a week of shore leave, selling both prize and plunder. During these weeks the ranks of lizard men and women liberated from slavery, many of whom volunteered as my/our crew, to nearly seven hands in number.

Desperate for coin, our newest officer Bloodclaw saw fit to put her life on the line in single combat in a death pit. Of the foes eager to test her mettle, she chose the one paying the best odds to the one who could defeat it. A fiendish, four-armed freak of a silverback gorilla, a local favorite.

Bound to refrain from using magic until she and her foe were in the pit, the bloodlusting crowd boo'd and hissed when she magick'd herself invisible. 30 seconds passed as the beast sniffed out its prey about the floor of the pit.

Bloodclaw barely drew first blood with a single glancing blow from her earthbreaker - all but a single hp of the damage dealt was instantly repaired, as only blessed weapons could deal full damage to the monster.

Now visible and in melee range, the beast roared to the delighted howls of the crowd and tore through Bloodclaw's armor like tissue paper. 33 damage put her to 0 hp. Desperate to survive, she defensively cast another vanish , eliciting angry catcalls and worse from the crowd.

Sadly, being staggered adjacent to a creature with scent is an awful spot to be in. A single swipe put her out. Less than 30 seconds later, the body decloaked and the poor pirate was hoisted aloft ala Goro of Mortal Kombat. Its prodigious strength and razor-sharp fangs saw her drawn (gutted by the fangs) and quartered (torn into four parts by four massive arms).

Two dead characters in the same session, combined with the erratic nature of this campaign's schedule, will probably see this player depart for a time. :(

Last I heard, we be settin' sail on the morn'n of the 25th.

The fickle winds of fate have tied our crew's sails into a vicious knot. We do not anticipate sailing ahead into the rest of Chapter 2, to claim our island, until sometime most likely in mid-July as of this posting.

We managed to sail the Fever Sea a mite today. Visited "the Rock", dropped into a port o' call or two, fed our ghouls/ghast/lacedons some ill-informed sahuagin steaks before - after six weeks of prowling the high seas, coming across a Chelish ship rather a mite determined to burn another pirate ship and her crew to the waterline. Instead, we slaughtered a dozen Chelish Marines, gave the Chelaxian sailors "the choice" and took our second ship. With the addition of 13 crew to our existing roster, we now have two ships with which to prowl the shipping lanes.

We also made nice with the Ladies of Taldis Isle by way of messily dispatching a grouchy minotaur. For now we fly under her banner without tax since the pinkskins are now able to have tea parties and picnics to celebrate Taldan festivals that are probably currently out of fashion.

An old man scammed us out of 500 gp for his " treasure map" that led to the outer range of an entire tribe of tanned, green feathered harpies. We came across a pair on patrol during our digging. One made good her escape ... the other had no useful information after a "dragon's fang" grounded her rather severely. Cap'n Mug, satisfied that the sick freak didn't know where our treasure was, buried a light pick in her brainpan.

When we find that old pinkskin, we will remind him what it means to snooker pirates.

Especially us .

In the meantime, we have to debate the merits of simply seizing "the Rock" for our own.

At the moment, something is telling me that perhaps the Rock is not meant to be our base of operations. A conundrum no doubt clouding my brain due to a mostly pinkskin crew.

On the upside, the ghast we rescued had quite a talent for Dragon Style. His claws and fangs are certainly sharp enough to do him well...

The fickle winds of fate have tied our crew's sails into a vicious knot. We do not anticipate sailing ahead into the rest of Chapter 2, to claim our island, until sometime most likely in mid-July as of this posting.

Other stuff: I purchased 20 lizard men slaves at Bloodcove, then promptly bestowed upon them their freedom. 18 of them chose to come with me aboard the Keelhaul Circus as crew.

If all goes well, we set sail, Cap'n Harrigan sniffing around after us for stealing "his" ship, with 50 crew and 10 officers to an isle that most Free Captains pay no mind. For our needs, however, it may yet be made into our own home port.

For now, Port Peril serves as our "home port", at least by our steadily growing infamy.

The group got a belly laugh out of Plugg's bronze skull, engraved with "Plugg" on the forehead, of continual flame. I can't wait to track down a caster with access to Heighten Spell to ramp that bad boy up to a juicy spell level!

Our voyage begins in earnest as we set sail to Rickety Squibbs to 'squibb' our ship.

After a busy week largely involving exercising our bragging rights, dipping Plugg's skull in bronze, etching his name into the aforementioned skull and having the interior enchanted with continual flame, we were fortunate enough to have a Free Captain re-christen our vessel the Keelhaul Circus.

Oh, and we whacked a bunch of horse-sized wasps.

We then set sail to Bloodcove to sell our loot and plunder, get some goodies and so on.

Three more a&~&&%! spammer threads popped up within the last hour in the Off Topic Section. Not sure if anyone else flagged them, so I went ahead and did it.

Joined in on the maggot-needing-to-become-an-empty-skull-kegger-party flag-fest.

One does not monster hump one's food. ;)

Plugg's empty skull is now my drinking cup.

raises the skull in a toast

Empty skull KEG PARTY!!

Woe betide your group if they get captured by Harrigan...

Brain bleach keeps the doctors away.

Or is that an apple thing? Hrmmmm ....

Scales, teeth and cloaca don't often endear oneself to the pinkskins in "that way".

Friends, sure. Friends with benefits? Only if the benefit is that you eat them in case of emergency.

Quote:

He summoned about his frail form a living suit of armor with too many teeth, oversized legs, deep purple scales with green belly scales and a disturbing dearth of brains.

IT IS THE THING THAT SHOULD NOT BE!!!

How silly of me ... it's being so fortuitously eaten was a clear sign of Dagon's displeasure ..

Blood and Souls for Dagon!!

Faces for Croaker!

And a drinking skull.

Life is good.

Recap in a bit more detail:

Team Skyrim continued their adventures of foolishness, mayhem and violence after our final rest before entering the grindylows' lair at low tide.

We first encountered 8 of the little football-headed goblin-octopi beginning to munch upon some hapless half-elf. Initially the odds looked grim as the nimble little half-calamari buggers skewered us with their rusty little spears.

Quickly, both the alarm was raised, enhancing and protective spells flew and gobli-octopi were slaughtered in droves.

As an aside, only the lower half of grindylow taste like calamari. The upper half definitely doesn't taste like chicken.

After a mildly glorious slaughter of gobli-calamari, we liberated the Half-Elf with No Name from eminent mastication. He summoned about his frail form a living suit of armor with too many teeth, oversized legs, deep purple scales with green belly scales and a disturbing dearth of brains. Yes, the synthesist summoner's eidolon is Barney with Teeth. The Horror! THE HORROR!!

One of the gobli-octopi surrendered before I could rip off a tentacle and see if tasted any different from the rest of them. Fortunately, the little appetizer was quick to provide useful information, such as the whereabouts of Quinn and Tulley, whom we hoped to rescue from the lair. We also found out that there is a "Big Nasty Fish", Mammy Grindylow and Big Junior Grindylow.

Not wanting to miss departure for safer, saner shores than Bonewrack Isle, we pressed onward.

A chamber wherein the devilfish resided was our next obstacle. A hobbit-sized crawlspace behind the devilfish led to where we needed to go in order to rescue our crewmates. Amazingly enough, the Half-Elf with No Name promptly leaped into the drink to do hand-to-hand battle with a horse-sized devilfish.

Sadly, the pointy-eared lummox lasted all of about five seconds, getting himself powerglomped and his face half-eaten by the devilfish. The creature took his meal into the depths of the chamber in a jet of opaque ink that filled the water for a minute. We waited. The orc witch doctor placed a light spell on a fishing lure and baited the creature into coming back up to play.

I never did find out what devilfish tastes like.

Squeezing through that passageway nearly spelled my messy demise at the clutches of Big Junior Grindylow. While the three of us had managed to inflict grievous harm upon Big Junior, Mammy Grindylow awoke from her brief magical slumber to aid the jumbo-sized gobli-octopi in binding me fast, a sure death, a horrid death being eaten face-first by a .. goblin. The shame of such an ignominious death with have ensured my happiness in the afterlife.

However, the fearsome orc witch doctor Mug not only made Big Junior frightened out of his mind, he also magically blinded Big Junior. Nasty combination being afraid and blind - glad it was Big Junior and not me.

Mammy Grindylow negotiated with us to escape the isle and acquire more corpses in trade for aiding us in our pending mutiny. Quinn and Tulley were rescued, as was the Half-Elf with No Name's brother - who at least could summon "armor" that had swimming capabilities.

"Pale Eyes" convinced the trio of ghoul whores to willingly sign on as our crew while retaining command of the ghast and a pair of lacedons - aquatic ghouls - from within the bowels of the grindylow lair.

Altogether, we recovered from the ordeal, departed Bonewrack Isle with water barrels and rescued crew aboard the crowded dingy ... and a gaggle of amphibious murderous grindylows, Big Junior grindylow, Mammy Grindylow, a ghast, 2 lacedons and 3 ghoul whores using the deep shade of the combination of the pre-dawn light and the dinghy to remain unseen by our unsuspecting foes aboard the Man's Promise. An animal messenger to our allies aboard the vessel forewarned them to fasten red armbands about their left arms when the signal for mutiny was given.

Using a stalactite of conveniently torch-like size as a focus upon which to cast light, we safely approached the side of the ship. The despicable Chumlette was on watch. We got the water aboard, clambered aboard ourselves and "the signal" was given.

Mug casually tossed the 'light torch' over his shoulder into the drink. The grindylows surged up the side of the ship. The crew freaked. The undead devoured Big Junior and Mammy Grindylows - the agreement she wrought with us did not extend to the undead. Oh well.

As the grindylows and crew - Plugg's Pukes caught squarely between grindylows and "our" crew - whirled in a bloodbath melee, the Half-Elf with No Name roared out a challenge to Scourge and 'acting captain' Plugg.

Sheena did her job and graced me once more with the strength of an auroch. Scourge and Plugg ineffectually flanked the Half-Elf with No Name. Whom I believe is "Trogdar II", although don't quote me on that.

Mug promptly scared Scourge and Plugg.

"Plugg, your face is MINE!!" I would not be denied making a drinking vessel out of his empty skull. Not without being sent off to meet mighty Dagon.

At this point is when Missus Turin, Sheena's player, came up with "Oppa Dragon Style!", making everyone laugh.

Plugg was quickly rendered into a bloody mess by tail slaps, claws and fang. Still plenty able to fight, although even less effectively due to being shaken.

Scourge, wetting his pants in magical fear, promptly turned and dove over the rail only to be chased down by snapping turtle and lacedons, devoured alive faster than he would have drowned.

Trogdar II and Pluggs did ... something, I think. Sheena added further protection via a deflective magical field courtesy of Gozreh's lesser magics.

Mug's powerful slumbering hex promptly sent Plugg into nappy-nap land - directly adjacent to me. I straddled his torso, pinned his legs with my tail, his arms with my claws and ate his face off of his skull. Game mechanically, this was a coup de grace. There's no way you don't wake up in the middle of CDG bite attack - 2d3+16 damage resulted in 21 damage, requiring a DC 31 Fortitude saving throw to survive. Plugg did not survive.

Four of Plugg's Pukes were slain during the mutiny, which took less than 15 seconds to execute. The other six, confirmed in their hatred of us, were looted, manacled and marked for sale into slavery at Rickety Squibbs - our next port of call. The ship must needs be refitted so that Harrigan's vengeful eye would not easily espy us prowling the high seas before we are ready to settle the score.

Today's mutiny went far better than expected.
Given that I very nearly wound up as gwindilo chow, a fortuitous combination of blindness and scare spells by my scarred orc witch doctor friend permitted us to negotiate with the gwindilo queen.

Once we rescued Quinn and Tulley, we returned with 2 barrels of fresh water per Plugg's orders.

Boarding the Man's Promise, the mutiny was over scarcely after it began.

We had the gwindilo queen, her mutant son, eight or so gwindilos, three ghoul whores, two lacedons and a ghast backing our mutiny in addition to our allies.

The gwindilos were messily dispatched by the undead and the crew. Scourge, wailing in pants-wetting fear courtesy of the aforementioned scare spell, dove overboard only to be swiftly caught and devoured by the lacedons.

Plugg, while merely scared by the witch doctor's spell, succumbed to the orc's slumber hex adjacent to yours truly. Needless to say, he died screaming as I ate his face off of his skull.

Chumlette and "the other guy" were executed as mutinous scum. Another six sailors will be sold into slavery at the earliest opportunity.

I now have a bronze-dipped drinking cup made out of Plugg's empty skull.

We have set sail for Rickety Squibs' a few days distant to refit the ship. This will buy us time to avoid Harrigan's vengeful eye. There Quinn and Tulley will part ways with us for a time. We know some good salts that should be able to join us there as well to fill out our crew.

These last are our back-up PCs should our primary PCs buy the farm. Norker Norge - a nagaji naga aspirant druid with the Scalykind domain per GM permission - and Orangebeard the Pirate - a one-eyed peg-legged dwarf rogue pirate - are my backup characters for this campaign.

Loot, pillage and pluuuunder .. eat some faces ... eat some faces ...

I believe that douchey little spammers should be beaten to within an inch of their misbegotten lives.

I believe that I'll just have to settle for flagging their spam threads and watching them get nuked.

I believe that I'd rather we make drinking cups out of their empty skulls. Have ourselves an empty skull keg party. Maybe do a little dance over their decapitated corpses.

Been flagging these maggots' posts along with everyone else. It's pretty crazy.

Anyone able to track the maggots down so we can make empty skull drinking cups for PaizoCon?

Chumley. Hate that fat bastard. Might just eat his face after I eat Plugg's. Definitely making a drinking goblet out of his empty skull.

:) The Deadliest Catch crew has a number of great ones I plan to elaborate upon. ;)

Will definitely add more by pillaging Wikipedia. ^____^

Love it actually. I'd already come across the "don't set sail on Friday" - which is going to be used.

Hadn't heard the tattoo one nor any explanation re: albatross, which is fascinating.

Blood and Skulls? Wait..wrong genre.

Kali Ma ... Kali Ma ... ;)

Need to research some mariner superstitions. I didn't see any mentioned in the players' guide, so it seems appropriate to pillage some from the interwebz. After all, we already have "gnomes are bad luck"...

Croaker Norge wrote:

BLOOD and SOULS for Dagon!! I get the faces and loot. Sounds like an equitable arrangement. >:)

And the necromancer gets raw materials for new crew members! Everybody wins. :P

Honestly, getting to create my own ghost ship sounds like a pretty cool reason to play Skulls and Shackles all on it's own.

Indeed. Skeletons don't even require flesh, only a full set of bones.

In other words, I like the cut of your jib, sailor.

Get out there and get me twenty!

Blood and souls for Dajob... err I mean Dagon!

BLOOD and SOULS for Dagon!! I get the faces and loot. Sounds like an equitable arrangement. >:)

Upon being informed that the campaign I am GMing has a thread I feel obligated to provide some additional narratives so that aspects of the game Croaker is not aware of can be shared with those who have an interest. I initially called this group of PCs the monster mash but have since come to realize its actually Team Skyrim. Without prior coordination, there is a Kajit/catfolk tiefling, a lizardman/argonian, an Orc (not a 1/2 orc), a sea elf, and a human.

Team Skyrim for this crew, the Candybar Brigade for the other crew. ;P

What's particularly humorous is that I don't have Skyrim and don't remember enough of Morrowind to have made the connection. Too funny!

Session 2

Everything in session two went pretty much as scripted. The one exception being Grim "Pale Eyes" Scrant's vital role on the island of commanding the available undead so that the campaign doesn't end with the fight between the PCs and Mr.Plugg's pukes.

As scripted, the players are highly unlikely to have enough crew to sail away without taking the -10 to sailing checks. At the player's current level, this is likely a campaign ending event since they would crash the ship on the first day from repeated failed sailing checks.

Its reasonably possible to have fewer than 10 survivors meaning there isn't sufficient crew to even launch the ship and the campaign ends from there not being enough people to leave the island.

To mitigate this mechanical campaign kill (game mechanics killing the campaign) I inserted the necromancer Grim "Pale Eyes" Scrant as a relatively new addition to the Wormwood crew. As a cleric of Besmara he was friendly with Sandara Quinn and an easy catch for the PCs (who need all the help they can get on the diplomatic front).

I thought that Grimm's [misspelled due to not knowing it] contribution was very cleverly done on your part.

The one thing that I believe is assumed by the writers is that the PCs won't kill too many of the crew besides Plugg and maybe Scourge.

Knowing our group ... it'll be a slaughter ... :D

EDIT: Plugg's face will be eaten, oh yes....

During the morning of our 15th day aboard the Wormwood Quinn espied our crew's first victim of piracy. A Rahadoumi ship named "Man's Promise". Under Harrigan's exceptional hand we closed to within firing distance over the next 15 or so hours.

As we closed, the female pinkskin First Mate perfectly placed a bead of fire 'twixt the aft and main masts, roasting their lookout and riggers in an inferno of fiery death. Scourge has been chumming the waters in our wake, resulting in numerous fins representing Dagon's insatiable hunger for blood and souls. The sizzling long pork barbeques plunged into the waters, bounced off the deck, splattering lunch everywhere.

Myself, She Who Has No Name and Mug took up positions atop the sterncastle of the Wormwood accompanied by Quinn, Tulley, Grimm and Machariel - along with a now-armored turtle.

Now at a decisive speed advantage, the Wormwood closed upon its foundering prey. Crossbow bolts, arrows and sling bullets flew back and forth. My aim with such weapons is mediocre at best, but I did manage to stave a pinksin's chest in with a perfectly aimed lead slug.

We finally closed to grapple throwing range, Mug tossed a rope across after magical sleeping spells and summoned monsters nommed a clear space close to the ship's wheel. Shimmying across gave me leave to slay many pinksins with my trusty trident. SWHNN - henceforth Sheena - finally remembered her ability to coalesce and project lethal slivers of ice that punch through armor, hide and shield as easily as the accursed firearms of Alkenstar.

We gave an excellent accounting of ourselves, losing none of our number while slaying or capturing the sterncastle Rahadoumi pinkskins, commandeering the wheel and securing the ship's launches in the span of about 30 seconds.

Mug, ever perceptive orc that he is, espied a pinkskin attempting to shiv Captain Harrigan, promptly compelled the SPFR into a magical slumber and gave warning.

During the boarding the one-handed gnome Conchabar managed to fall in the drink and sate Dagon's thirst for blood and souls. It did not help that Grimm drove the sharks towards the forward halves of the ships by way of the power of his faith.

As we finished securing the launches one of the Rahadoumi pinksins, well armed with boarding pike, a pair of well-crafted shortswords and a mail shirt attempted to make her escape in a launch. Her strength of will was insufficient to the task of resisting Mug's wonderful compulsion to sleep for a short time. Her posessions became ours.

36 hours of partying pirate style ensued. Ironically, myself and Mug spent our shares of booze plying a couple more ears to our sympthathies well guided by Sheena's recently honed diplomatic prowess.

As spoils, Quinn claimed the officer as her slave for first pick. Mug was handsomely rewarded by Cap'n Harrigan for so easily thwarting the attempted shivving with a magical trinket and a magical short blade.

In the end, we finished the collecting of booty and were assigned under acting Captain Plugg with as many of his peons (including Scourge) as there are of us and our allies. We can ill afford losses to crew this new vessel.

During the second night a storm blee up and crashed the ship atop a reef just offshore of Bonewrack Isle. Our freshwater stores were compromised, Quinn and Tulley were abducted by aquatic goblin-like creatures known as grindylows and Plugg gave us two night's time to reprovender the ship before they effected repairs and set sail without us on the following high tide.

Grimm and the turtle wrangler accompanied us to shore where we navigated the fetid swamp, Grimm enthralled three harlot ghouls and the last survivor of a wrecked Chelish ship, a particularly foul smelling ghast. We set up an ambush outside the cornfields the ghast had planted some time ago for what turned out to be an ankheg.

I did forget to mention how closely we avoided being eaten alive by a trio of pony-sized crabs, teamwork and Dagon's blessings saw us through.

Lastly, we looted the remains of the Chelish ship, although the young giant moray eel nearly slew me in a single bite. I am grateful that it was an immature specimen...

We await the low tide to affect the easiest entry into the grindylows' lair to either rescue Quinn and Tulley or messily avenge them.

We feast on the succulent meat of the eel and crab while I finally perfected the Dragon combat style of the Norge Dragon warriors.

We advanced to 3rd level, with Croaker picking up his only level of monk for the campaign. While we remain depleted of some spells and channels and some hit points, we are hoping to vanquish the grindylows before resting to return to the ship with any hostages the grindylows snatched well rested and ready to throw down with Plugg and his peons. We csn make use of the ghast and the trio of ghoul harlots as sailors if we slay too many of the peons.

"Loot, pillage, and plunder! Eat the prisoners, eat the prisoners." Done as a cadence.

Bad news for the GM is that none of the PCs got themselves killed.

Good news for the PCs is that they attained 3rd level.

The path of the Dragon is now open - Tail Quan-leep's rudimentary secrets have been unlocked. Sadly, despite the cadence "loot, pillage and pluuunder, eat the prisoners, eat the prisoners", none of the pinkskins seemed up to the idea.

A more detailed account to be posted on the morrow methinks.

2 players have other obligations on the morrow.

Blood and souls for Dagon! Ia! Ia!!

Or ... yet another example of chum ... ;D

(a) Was this a situation where the whole party ran away from something, and you didn't make it? Because that tends to open the door to being taken prisoner.

(b) Was this a situation where you were surprised to find yourself playing with PvP minded trolls? If so, keep the character sheet/concept and find a group that doesn't do that to play with.

(c) If this was just stupid dumb luck/not being clear on the rules, see if maybe people are willing to treat the first session as a practice run and roll things back?

• (a) Bloodclaw was "on duty" away from the rest of the PCs, not abandoned by her erstwhile allies.
• (b) Bloodclaw did not die from PvP but PvE.
• (c) This was the first session of an AP campaign. I don't think the rest of the players are going to want to "rewind back to the beginning credits" and have to slog through all of the introductory material again just to permit one character to draw breath once more. That is not a reasonable request to make of the GM or the rest of the group.

Pinkskins have a problem with taking no for an answer. In my case as with so many sailors in Port Peril, it would have been wise to look the giving equine in the mouth to check for sharp teeth.

What had been a good celebration of some pinkskins' "pirateness" open to all turned out to be an oil of taggit-laced press gang in polite form. Waking up with an almond flavored hangover is not a good omen.

As it was, the familiar roll of a hull on the open sea, the tromping of shod pink feet instead of properly clawed feet on the deck overhead and the short, stabbing pain of the bright sun of nautical morning woke us all.

A quick scan - yes, there's the others from the "party" last night. None of us have our armor, gear, or weapons. The latter is not of a concern for scaled folk such as I; dagger-sharp claws and proper fangs are lethal enough. Especially against the humans that have so carelessly built a cattle pen atop the Peoples' ancestral grounds along the Tarwen River.

Eventually an orb of storms will be mine. The cattle pen-town will not be long standing afterwards.

The orb is the goal, piracy is the means. For now, survive, learn, master the seas.

I am twice as fast as the pinkskins climbing the masts, so I became a "rigger".

The female pinksin servant of Gozreh became the cook's peon. Her ears were not long and ponted, her eyes have whites. The other servant of Gozreh has delectably long, pointed ears and eyes well suited to seeing in dimly lit waters. At least they should know how to properly wield a trident. The sea elf joined the battle-scarred orc witch doctor and this female cat-demon-thing as new swabbies.

During the ensuing two weeks we have become better sailors. The pinkskins' inability to eat uncooked meat is of endless amusement to myself and Mug the orc. Despite the tameness of the food, the crew and officers did not want for grub. The pinksins talk too much for my taste, as if they cannot simply enjoy each others' company without an endless chatter filling the comforting silence of wave, rigging, bird and wind.

The pinkskin Pluggs is overly cruel a disciplinarian. Most of the crew hate him for this. The gnomes of the Wormwood cannot seem to keep all of their body parts. One of them, the one that has both of his beady eyes in his head, lost his hand when the profanity-spewing hobbit caught him "slipping a magical Mickey" into her rum. Sure enough, she kept her promise and took the little pinksin's hand with a swipe of her hatchet.

A week or so into our voyage, after we enjoyed an excursion to fetch reef crabs - and incidentally a pair of tasty reefclaws - Pluggs decided to trot out his "pet". Owlbear they call this brawny simpleton pinkskin, whom they keep chained up in the center hold. Admittedly this seems as much to keep the pinkskin out of harm's way.

Nonetheless, Pluggs decided that there was to be some sport at what he believed was to be my expense. The arm wrestling contest that I handily won the other night must not have reached his fleshbag ears.

"No magic, no claws, no fangs, lizard man!" I gave him my best crocodile smile. Incisions seem to believe that a toothsome smile is a sign of friendship. It is not amongst the People - it is s promise to eat that person's face at the earliest convenience.

Owlbear is near-blind in his left eye and slow to act. There would be no sport in killing him later, so I struck him soundly with claws retracted, "ringing his bell" mightily with both blows. The wretched imbecile curled into a ball, blubbering that he did not want to be eaten. I promised him that I would not eat him. Even with the -4 attack penalty, Owlbear has as crummy an AC as Croaker does without armor. Rolling 4s on 2d4+12 nonlethal damage ended the fight faster than it began.

Being a lizard of my word I did not eat him. Sadly, none of the pinkskins want to arm wrestle any more.

The boarding training affirmed my current choice of body armor. An armored coat is extremely fast to don and remove, making it ideal for demanding activities such as these. It protects as well as a mail shirt, although it is not as accomodating of battle mobility.

Strangely, the cat-demon-thing got herself killed while working the bilges. It seems that some cargo conveniently fell on her head and killed her. I hope that the ship's chirurgeon will affirm my suspicion of foul play. Harrigan is a pinkskin that is not to be casually crossed. Two men that stole from his quarters died painfully at the business end of the Captain's blade.

Murder is punishable by a triple keel-hauling. A bad way to go... fitting though.