12 Gozran 4712: In which I employ a clever ruse…
This morning I found myself presented with a change of pace from my usual culinary tomfoolery. As I made my way to Master Fishguts’ galley, the luminous visage of Mr. Plugg disrupted my forward momentum. I must say, there are few things at this point in my life which are less welcome in my presence than the 1st mate’s countenance. It is perhaps second only to the itching sensation which followed my most recent stop at The House of Stolen Kisses…
Without proffering even the slightest of pleasantries, the gruff gentleman said only, “Get to the bilges.” There was a dark twinkle in his eye; sort of an anti-humor. Staring into his pair of black holes, I was merely able to respond with, “But I… that is to say… um... yes.”
Plugg then proceeded to strip me of all weapons. This turn of events quickly brought me back to my senses, and so I pointedly asked why I should be relieved of my equipment when he has full access to his own. He then forcefully reminded me that he is an officer aboard this vessel. Attempting a different tact, I pointed out the weapons still in the possession of the rest of the lowly scallywags in the crew.
“I am not concerned with them!” he admonished as he took my last dagger.
“Ah, but I am,” was my response.
And then he whipped me.
Realizing that the conversation had reached its inevitable conclusion, I decided it was time to see what fate awaited me in the bilges.
That fate took the form of Slippery Lonegan and Tam Tate. The two, among those who jumped us on our second day aboard as well as who pushed me into the fight with Owlbear, were unconvincingly attempting to uphold the pretense of also “working” the bilges this day. Meanwhile, I attempted to hide the fact that I was painfully aware of the daggers that were clumsily hidden on their persons. I gave them each a cheerful enough “good morning,” and went about my business; all the while keeping a weary eye in their general direction and working out a plan of recourse should they attack.
It wasn’t terribly long before Tate couldn’t take it any longer, decided to accuse me of slacking, and advanced. Immediately, I put my plan into motion.
“Look out! Rat!” I exclaimed as I stepped back from my would-be assailants.
In their moment of confusion, I called out for Besmara’s aid in the form of the same large rats that I and my fellows had previously dispatched from this very room. Over the course of the brief fight, I managed to summon forth three of the nasty things to aid me. While they bit and scratched with lethal ferocity, I punched and hit in such a way as to leave as little evidence of human contact upon my attackers as possible. By the time all of the rats had vanished back into the realm from whence they had come, both Tate and Lonegan lay unconscious in the bilge water. From there, it was a simple matter of turning them both face down and holding them to ensure a stoppage of breath had occurred.
Once sure of their demise, I grabbed two roughly dire rat-sized crates from the room, wrapped and held them discretely, and took them up to the top deck. When I was sure nobody was looking too closely, but chances were good folks might at least notice something in their periphery, I tossed the two items overboard. From there, I raced to Mr. Plugg and explained to him the horrific episode that had just transpired; how myself, Tate, and Lonegan had been suddenly beset by two dire rats in the bilges which must have somehow got in after my comrades and I had dealt with the last batch. I told him how my fellow workers had fought valiantly against the beasts, but had ultimately succumbed to their wounds before I could finish the creatures off.
After a short investigation, Mr. Plugg found the evidence overwhelmingly in favor of my story, and so ordered me only to arrange for the bodies to be dealt with, which of course, I was pleased to do. Minus those two foul souls, the Wormwood was suddenly a bit friendlier. To make matters even better, Braahm had managed to stumble across my equipment that Plugg had taken earlier in the day. For all his shortcomings, the half-elf does manage to put a silver lining on the horizon quite often.
This was a good day aboard the Wormwood.
11 Gozran 4712: In which I acquire two familiar items…
The days aboard the Wormwood bleed together, much like the swabs who kowtow to the punishments of Scourge and Plugg. The ocean is my home, and the freedom it represents calls to me with an insistent longing. But although I sail the Fever Sea, the life that has been newly thrust upon me does not sate the wanderlust that pulses in my veins. My soul burns for the true freedom of the waves, but in the meantime I hold fast to the belief that this is all part of my place in Besmara’s schemes for the Shackles. Gripping tightly each night to the pearl I wear around my neck, I find continued resolve in the Pirate Queen’s blessings.
Throughout the voyage, I have taken note of the beautiful artwork made by the young Master Jack Scrimshaw. The pieces for which he has acquired his name are of startling quality, and as a collector of things of startling quality (not to mention a collector of allies aboard the Wormwood), I saw fit to approach the boy. After complementing young Jack on his creations, I inquired as to his asking price for a commissioned piece of work, at the same time pulling from under my shirt the pink pearl bearing Besmara’s Skull & Crossbones. For a scrimshaw replica the boy asked 5sp, and so I gave him a gold up front and walked away.
Over the next few days, I had a series of small victories. Jack’s newfound loyalty was but one. Separate to that was the beautiful piece he had rendered for me (well worth the additional 5sp I gave him upon retrieving the finished product). That bit of personal treasure rekindled within me the lust for things fine and shiny, and so I decided it was time to explore some of what might be found aboard the Wormwood. After procuring a set of tools from Mistress Grok, I soon found myself a bit richer and the new owner of a fancy lantern. Finders keepers and all that…
During this time, I also have managed to increase my talents at the side of Master Fishguts. His tutelage, though often drunken and unconventional, has nonetheless yielded promising results. Despite the fact that Scourge and Plugg seem to have only grown more and more ill-tempered, even they had nothing negative to say about my personally-produced turtle stew. My dear Braahm felt Scourge’s whip that night, and I ensured him that a taste of what I’d whipped up would make him all but forget the lashings.
Today, I had perhaps my most important victory thus far on this dreadful voyage. Once again set to the never-ending turtle hunt, I noticed the distinct lack of officers upon the poop. Having not yet set foot upon that particular part of the ship, I made my way up under the pretense of securing a more promising vantage for my undertaking. Aside from the ship’s ornate wheel, there is also the curiosity of the iron cage hanging from the mizzenmast containing the dead remains of a former crewmember named Harmak Gruft. Even more curious was the parrot resolutely perched atop the cage, awaiting its former master to awaken from his unending slumber.
As if acting on the whims of the very sea breeze, I called out to the bird, beckoning him to join me on the deck. Much to my delight, he acquiesced to my request. Cautiously, I approached the haggard-looking thing, reaching out my hand as if to touch it. Once again, I was granted permission, and so I laid my hand upon him and passed the calming, sweet aura of Besmara into his spirit. As it looked at me, I saw a surprising element of intelligence its shining eyes. Struck by this notion, I spoke to the parrot as if to a person, inquiring as to its name. In a shockingly refined and proper voice, he responded, “My name once was Pluck.”
“Well,” I said, as I raised him up to sit upon my shoulder. “You seem familiar to me. You remind of someone I once knew. If I may be so bold as to take your phrasing as a hint, I do believe that ‘Pluck’ is behind you. Perhaps now, you would accept the appellation of my dear old learned friend, Master Giles.”
“Master Giles…” the parrot repeated, as if rolling the name over his tongue to see how he liked the taste. “I like it.”
And so my purpose aboard the Wormwood started to become clear. For it had granted me something I never thought I would have; something I never truly needed, for as long as I had the sea I was fulfilled. And yet, here it was… an actual friend.
It's not that your successes go unnoted, my friend. They simply go unrecorded.
7 Gozran 4712: In which I get thrown overboard, procure a rare culinary delicacy, and get yelled at… a lot…
During my 10th Bloody Hour aboard the Wormwood, I felt Besmara’s Fingers upon my flesh for the first time since arriving. And it wasn’t a cuddle. Mr. Plugg did not enjoy my cooking that day, and so saw fit to flay me in a manner befitting the fish left uneaten upon his plate. I had never understood the mentality of the cannibal race of kuru, but Mr. Plugg is a man determined to force that mindset upon me. Dreams of the first mate flayed upon my own platter grow more and more frequent…
The next day saw Mr. Plugg calling myself, Braahm, Indranna, and an unusually quiet Melia to the main deck, away from the rest of the crew. He had 4 crab pots at his feet, and pointed to a large reef about 200 feet out from the ship. He informed us that we were to swim out to the reef and not come back until we had filled our pots. The captain apparently desired fresh crab.
As often happens at times like these, a most reasonable question occurred to me, and I saw fit to voice it. “Where does Owlbear acquire his crab? Could the captain not simply apprehend some of Master Hartshorn’s stock?” And once again my rational inquiry was met with Mr. Plugg’s characteristic flair, as the man brusquely took hold of my person and thrust me overboard. Ah, Mr. Plugg. You and I shall have a dance, methinks…
My companions were soon to follow, and we made our way to the reef. Crab could be found in abundance, and our pots quickly began to fill. Unfortunately, our string of rotten luck was soon to tighten its knot on us once again, leaving me to rethink my dismissal of the old Shackles superstition that it’s good to have a tengu aboard to suck up a ship’s bad luck. I believe it might be time to get a bird. For you see, while we were on the deepest part of the reef, we spotted two reefclaws heading quickly in our direction. They did not appear to be in a gracious mood.
One of the beasts approached Braahm while the other charged at me, claws outstretched. The pain was immediate, and on the verge of fatal. I had never encountered a reefclaw before, but from that moment I knew that I was not a fan of the creature. I immediately backed away, attempting to put Braahm between me and the beast, and I called out to the ocean for aid. Immediately, a dolphin appeared before my foe and inflicted a potent bite. Knowing that my marine ally would be gone before long, I ineffectually attempted to magically cure my gruesome wound. Unfortunately, my underwater status was hindering my capabilities. Instead, I resorted to Plan B. Stab it with pointy things!
The dolphin vanished, but where my magic may have failed, the Pirate Queen guided my rapier true, skewering and finishing the job my summoned friend had begun. Meanwhile, Braahm appeared to be doing little more than picking his teeth with his kukri while Indranna sent crossbow bolt after bolt floating pointlessly to the ocean’s surface. With a garbled sigh, I charged forth and speared the creature that floated between them, thereby putting my companions out of their misery. Meanwhile, this entire time, Melia apparently just continued to fill his crab pot. While I do admire the man’s priorities, I’m going to have to do something about his whole “not putting his life on the line for me” schtick. Does not work for me.
Nonetheless, we now found ourselves in possession of a meat far more valuable than crab. As such, in addition to 2 pots filled with crabs we loaded 2 others with our fallen foes. We arrived back at the Wormwood soaked in victory, and received a rare non-violent acknowledgement from the officers. “We aim to please Captain Harrigan, Mr. Plugg,” I said with an elaborate bow. To which he replied by shoving a few potions into our hands as rewards from the captain, and then stalked off across the deck.
This morning, while eating my glorious biscuit, I noted that the Wormwood continued to head south by the Slithering Coast. Beyond that, I am unsure as to where we are headed. I suspect the captain is getting a bit jumpy, however, as he chose today to provide us with boarding lessons. To be perfectly blunt, this was not among my finer moments, and so I have no intention of dwelling upon it here. Although, let it be said that Master Gunner Riaris Krine is a delightfully charming teacher who, quite frankly, makes the astonishing Rosie Cusswell sound more like Rosie Cusspoorly. And loud! My Goddess, can that woman open her mouth…
Sigh…
As I said, boarding school was not my favorite day aboard the Wormwood. However, I must admit that I took great delight in being granted the opportunity to throw some random objects at Braahm as he made his own attempts at climbing aboard. I somehow felt as if I owed it to the man. It is also a reassuring feeling that while the Pirate Queen may not always grant me strength, she does seem poised to guide my aim.
And it is getting to be time to start setting my aim a bit higher…
2 Gozran 4712: In which I teach an Owlbear to act, work much too hard, and valiantly rescue a foul-mouthed ally…
The day subsequent to the rat incident turned out to be relatively interesting. It began innocuously enough, where I was once again sent by Mr. Fishguts to secure food for the ship’s stores. This time, however, rather than harpooning turtles I was to net fish. Knowing full well what my fate would be on such a task given my track record, I decided that some of my time could be better spent exploring my surroundings. As such, I soon found myself in the Wormwood’s middle hold.
Unfortunately, I found nothing of particular interest; certainly nothing shiny. All that I was met with was the toothy grin of Mr. Plugg’s “pet,” Owlbear Hartshorn, as he broke into his live crab with his teeth and bare hands. Adding to this image is the tar and feathers sporadically covering parts of his body from some past misdeeds of the crew. Master Hartshorn is a rather simple man whose intellect goes about as far as his knowledge that if he makes a fist and moves it very quickly towards somebody’s face then Mr. Plugg will be happy. Upon thinking this, I realized that Mr. Plugg has the right of it, and I could do well to have Master Hartshorn hit people in the face on my own behalf. Before returning to my task on deck, I greeted Owlbear and commented on how delicious his meal looked. He grunted. Progress has been made.
Unfortunately, my small victory below deck did not translate to my assigned duty. I succeeded thoroughly at nothing more than entangling my nets, thus earning 3 lashes from Master Scourge during the Bloody Hour. I grow weary of being struck by that man. Something will have to be done about that soon.
After dinner that evening, Mr. Plugg gathered the crew on the main deck. “Time for some fun!” he said, and I found myself questioning whether Mr. Plugg and I would share the same definition of the term. The 1st mate had brought with him Master Hartshorn and announced that it was time to test our mettle. He dropped a heavy coin pouch on a crate and said it belonged to whoever defeated Owlbear in a wrestling match. While Master Hartshorn might not be strong of brain, the man’s muscles do much more than think, and so I made sure to blend in with the crowd.
Much to my surprise Braahm immediately stepped forward, declaring quite bluntly, “I’ll do it.” His eyes were firmly rooted on Mr. Plugg’s coin pouch, and so I cannot entirely blame the man. That being said, the last time I had seen Braahm in a fight he had hit himself square in the face. “Wish you all the best, mate!” I called to him, and already knowing how the outcome of this bout would go, I instead turned my attention to another line of thought concerning the regularity of these special events with Owlbear. I spied Mistress Quinn amidst the crowd, and intending to go and speak with her on the matter, I made to sidle over in her general direction. Alas, I promptly found a hand upon my shoulder hindering my progress and found that I was surrounded by Scourge’s lackeys. “Ah, I’ll stay here then,” I said and turned my attention to the fight.
Surprisingly, Braahm managed to hold his own against the big man. At least, at the beginning. But it wasn’t long before Master Hartshorn put his challenger in his place. “Thought you had him, Braahm!” I called to him, and to the scowling gentleman next to me I commented on the decent nature of the fight. His response was to smirk and then shove me into the ring with Owlbear. Mr. Plugg subsequently informed me that it was my turn, and he threw a club to my opponent.
“Does this mean I may use my rapier?” I inquired. To which he helpfully responded, “Shut your mouth, scum!”
As I turned to face Master Hartshorn, I perceived a most fascinating curiosity. Unless I was most mistaken, it appeared that the large man was blind in his left eye. As he made his first swing, I put my theory to the test, quickly dodging to his left side. The clumsy man missed by a wide margin, and my suspicions were confirmed. From there, my path became clear. “I do not wish to do this, my friend,” I said quietly as I began landing punch after punch. Eventually the man tried to escape me, turning to Mr. Plugg for refuge, who simply spun the fighter around and pushed him back towards me. I used the distraction to get up close to Owlbear, and I whispered into his hear that I would pretend to hit him, and that he needed to convincingly fall. As I pulled away, I thankfully caught a glimpse of understanding in the dimwitted man’s eyes. I sold the blow; he sold the contact; and I was 100 gold richer… Well, 50 gold, as I gave half to Braahm. Between that and the look of gratitude on Master Hartshorn’s face as Mr. Plugg led him past me, I began to feel much better about the loyalties of my future crew. Mr. Plugg, however, did not wear a look of gratitude…
As the first of Gozran approached, The Wind and the Waves looked to welcome in their namesake month with a first-rate show. The rains surged in, the winds began to howl, and the sea began to beat against the prow as if the Hurricane King’s own cannons had caught the Wormwood’s number. And seldom a more beautiful sight have I ever seen…
I spent the early part of that torrential day tying and untying knots alongside a marvelously vulgar halfling by the name of Rosie Cusswell. I peppered the lass with topics and questions throughout the day while she in turn peppered me with more blue words and phrases than I had ever heard in my entire combined time spent in the taverns of Quent. This is a special lady that I should like to have amongst my crew, a wish that would be most dramatically challenged that very night.
After a satisfying dinner of… biscuit… I found myself in the position of lookout, basking in the open arms of Gozreh. When the boatswain asked what I saw I called out, “Rain, Master Scourge! Rain on the horizon! Rain as far as the eye can see!” And it was a glorious sight indeed! That is, of course, until a crew member shouted that there was a man overboard. I’d be lying, of course, if I said I didn’t have a momentary blissful image of Scourge or Plugg disappearing in the shadow of a large, sinking fin… but alas… it was my dear new friend, Miss Cusswell.
Whilst I wriggled my way down from the nest, the endlessly ineffectual Braahm was making piteous attempts at tossing a rope to the sodden halfling. Taking pity on the man, I snatched the line from the half-elf and easily tossed it into the hands of the waiting victim. After throwing Braahm a quick wink, he, myself, Indranna, and a couple others then heaved the lady back aboard most swiftly.
While the rest of the crew promptly returned to their business, I approached Miss Cusswell and spoke a blessing of the Pirate Queen over her. I let the magic of the goddess flow through her as I touched her shoulder, and I looked down at yet another person aboard the Wormwood looking at me with gratitude in their eyes.
As I lay in bed that night, I’d swear I felt an energy coursing through The Black Lady’s mark upon my arm…
28 Pharast 4712: In which I make new friends, fail to slaughter a pig, and aid in preventing an infestation…
It has been three days since my last entry, and for that I apologize to the great journal gods of yore. However, I must confess that I am not used to the menial labor that I have been put to during my stay aboard the Wormwood. It has been quite taxing, and sleep is becoming as appealing to me as Besmara’s bosom. But today I did have a bit of respite owing to my labors being cut short so that I could aid in the slaughter of some vexing vermin. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
My second morning on board was a significant letdown when compared to the prior night’s successes. Myself, Braahm, Indranna, and Melia (for I have confirmed that Melia is, if fact, the elf’s name) found ourselves accosted by a band of Master Scourge’s lackeys. These men managed to separate us from our cohorts and deemed themselves gatekeepers to the main deck. While apparently unarmed, their intent was quickly obvious as they began to shove us while asking if we were going somewhere. Clearly we were making our way to the deck, so I took the question to be rhetorical. A fight is what they wanted, and so a fight ensued.
While my allies began to engage in fisticuffs, the image of Mr. Magpie was still fresh in my mind. The captain had made the punishments for murder aboard the ship very clear. He did not wish to lose any more crewmembers, and personally, I did not wish to lose any flesh. Knowing full well that I could lay out any of these men without needing to mop my brow, I simply took the man’s hits. At one point the man tapped me so lightly that I informed him that it had hurt more when the midwife smacked my bottom at the event of my birth. I grew bored and eventually sat down, which seemed only to further anger our antagonists. But Indranna and the rest did seem to be getting the better of them, and so it wasn’t long before they withdrew, just barely allowing us to make it to deck in time for morning assignments.
I had the honor of working in the bilge that day, on account of Frumpy’s cunning brethren. There are many things aboard a ship that I excel at, and there are many bodily features that I possess of which I am especially proud. However, tasks that involve physical might and muscle simply do no justice to my particular strengths. As such, the bilge looked much the same at the end of my time there as when I arrived. I did explain to Master Scourge that I tried my best (honestly!), but that declaration was met with some skepticism and frighteningly squinted eyes. I do foresee my relationship with Master Scourge going downhill from here…
That night I decided to pay a visit to the quartermaster’s store. The quartermaster, a half-orc named Cut-Throat Grok, gave off a fierce aura, but I had it on good authority that she could also be quite reasonable and friendly. A brief earlier conversation with Mistress Quinn had revealed that her friendship with the quartermaster was her means to securing some of our equipment on the prior day. I wasn’t in the store long before I beheld a locker containing the rest of our belongings.
I opened our conversation by referencing our mutual priestess friend, and then also made mention of the tale she had witnessed me tell the night before. When asked if she would like to hear another, she gruffly responded that she generally has little patience for tales and would much prefer a song. As I said before, I know my strengths; I am a spinner of tales, not a weaver of melodies. But, a performer must give the public what the public desires, and so I sallied forth with an old favorite ballad of mine involving a Chelish Diva, a kuru, and a sinking ship. However, it wasn’t long before my ineptitude at a singing became all too obvious and both Mistress Grok and I devolved into a fit of laughter. Since that night, I am pleased to call Lady Cut-Throat a friend of mine. When I visited her during my third night aboard the Wormwood she gifted me with all of my and my companions’ belongings, I ensured her, with a wink, that I would not forget her generosity.
Earlier yesterday, I was tasked by the cook to slay a pig for the Captain’s special dinner. I performed that task with roughly the same success as my tasks from the previous 2 days. Should this trend continue, I do no foresee getting the opportunity to put my various schemes into action. On this day, however, Mister Fishguts seemed to be particularly sober and was thus able to concoct a dish for Capatain Harrigan which was so spectacular that our fearless leader apparently forgot all about the ham he had earlier desired. I cannot count on this string of luck to hold out much longer…
Today, I was to make another attempt at securing turtles for Mister Fishguts’ food. I must speak with my friend about expanding his menu. One can only live on turtles for so long… especially when I am the one expected to retrieve them. Fortuitously, the turtles did not ultimately end up being the target of my keen eye on this day. Not long after the morning’s work had begun, a young man came rushing up to the deck, white of face, complaining to Mr. Plugg that something had bit him in the bilges. Rather than asking for volunteers, Mr. Plugg sent down his favorite new recruits to look into the matter. And so Indranna, Braahm, Melia, and myself were soon to be found fighting alongside one another once more.
Rats. Big ones.
I have a distaste for the things, and so I had no qualms with skewering them upon the end of my rapier straight away. Unfortunately, not all of my cohorts seemed particularly up to the task at hand. Indranna quickly found herself looking quite green (which, for one with her already… interesting appearance… is saying something), and spent a good amount of the battle simply trying to keep down her turtle stew. Meanwhile, Braahm literally struck himself in the face with his kukri. I find that I am questioning my choice of allies aboard ship. Tomorrow I will begin widening the circumference of my inner circle. Perhaps I shall begin by seeking out the company of Mistress Quinn…
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25 Pharast 4712: In which I find myself aboard the wrong ship…
Yesterday morning I awoke to find myself in the unenviable position of being in the hold of The Wormwood; a ship decidedly NOT the one I had arrived in Port Peril aboard, nor the one which I had intended to leave aboard either. The last thing I remembered from the night before was the enchanting scenery of the Formidably Maid, and by that of course, I mean the delightful serving wench arriving with yet another beverage to sate my greedy palette. Upon further reflection, I should have noticed a certain oddity which might have served to clue me into my imminent predicament: had this been any other evening in a pirate tavern for myself, said serving wench would have by then been sitting upon my lap. But hindsight, as they say…
The first thing I noticed upon waking was the odd aftertaste of an oily nutmeg, which a gruff elf nearby was quick to identify as oil of taggit. One mystery solved. The next thing I noticed, of course, was I was most certainly aboard a ship, and an unfamiliar one at that. The third thing I noticed was that I wasn’t alone. Also, it smelled something fierce.
It wasn’t long before an angry looking gentleman and some cronies most rudely thrust a lantern light unto our unadjusted eyes. The man, who I would come to know as the aptly named Master Scourge, then proceeded to unjustly shout at us, while being rather twitchy with the whip in his hands, to get on deck. It was quite a nice whip, and I told him so. For some reason, he did not appreciate the complement and barked at me to shut my mouth. Since the door to conversation had been opened, I seized the opportunity to inform Master Scourge that I appeared to have boarded the wrong ship in my drunken stupor over night. This was met with a most unhelpful admonishment and a crack of his whip across my back. I took the hint for the moment and followed along with my fellows.
We emerged from the bowels of the ship to find a deck populated by a mixture of Wormwood regulars and newcomers like myself. There appeared to be 8 or so of us fresh faces, some more appealing than others, and all of their attention was firmly on the imposing gentlemen looming over us, Captain Barnabus Harrigan and his first mate, Mr. Plugg. There have been many delightful people I have had the privilege of conversing with in my day, and upon first impression, I do not foresee either of these men making that list. The first reason being Captain Harrigan’s most unfriendly rule of “don’t speak to me.;” the other reason being that I have every intention of killing them both.
After a less than inspiring speech from the captain, Mr. Plugg set about “making pirates out of us.” His first instruction was to tell all 8 of us new recruits to climb to the crow’s nest. While most folks immediately did as they were told, I found the direction a bit peculiar. “Mr. Plugg,” I asked. “Does the ship really need so many lookouts?” His response to this reasonable inquiry was to immediately strike me with Besmara’s Fingers, and then to once more emphatically tell me to “GO!!!” Which I did.
I made a decent attempt at the race, but was ultimately overcome by a rather homely looking creature that calls herself Indranna. I would come to find out that she is, in fact, a tiefling whose fiendish blood runs particularly strong in her veins. To be honest, I find her fascination with things that poke and stab to be rather off-putting, but I foresee her being of some use in the schemes which are already taking form in my mind…
Duties were then assigned, apparently based on Mr. Plugg’s highly scientific assessments, and I soon found myself in the galley alongside the loveable Mr. Ambrose “Fishguts” Kroop. Mr. Fishguts is an affable enough drunk, and I was happy to do my best at aiding him in procuring the missing ingredient for his turtle stew: turtle. Alas, I was not apparently born for such a task, despite the numerous targets which presented themselves. At the end of the workday, with no deceased turtles at my side, Master Scourge approached and asked what I had been doing all day. I explained that I had been attempting to harpoon turtles on behalf of Mr. Fishguts, but had ultimately found the slippery beasts to be quite wily. He proceeded to inform me that I would be relegated to the bilges on the morrow, took the harpoon from my hand, and smote a turtle forthwith. I named said turtle Frumpy.
While Mr. Fishguts was less than enthusiastic about having only Frumpy to work with, in the end he took my suggestion of simply padding the stew with extra boiling water. While we worked, the cook and I struck up conversation and I found myself rather taking to the man. When he asked, “So what’s your story,” I allowed that he should be the first to know that I am going to become the captain of this ship. He promptly started and informed me that such talk would be best left unspoken. Probably not unwise advice at the time, and so I let the subject drop.
The Bloody Hour lived up to its inauspicious title that first night, as we witnessed the keelhauling of one Jakes Magpie. Poor Mr. Magpie had apparently been caught engaging in thievery within the quartermaster’s store and his punishment was to serve as an example to us new recruits. I was struck, however, with the memory of Captain Harrigan’s speech from earlier in the day when he mentioned the Wormwood being low on crewmen. Keelhauling one of the few fully trained members of the crew seemed to me counterintuitive. I moved to say as much to Mr. Plugg when I felt the heavy hand of the cook upon my shoulder. He simply should his head and whispered, “Let it go, lad.” And so, with great effort, I held my tongue and agreeably learned my lesson with the others.
That night, I decided that it would be most prudent to begin sowing the seeds for my plans sooner rather than later. As such, I gathered within the lower hold as big an audience as I could, comprised of those aboard who I felt could eventually be persuaded to my cause. Basing this off of only one day of observations, I acknowledge there was a certain amount of risk. But then, I am a pirate…
My little gathering consisted primarily of the ship’s newest faces, but also held a smattering of the regular crew, including Mr. Fishguts and Mistress Grok, the quartermaster. I told them a story that I have told many times. It is a story which must be told well and sincerely; for it is imperative that any who sail with me know exactly what it means to be sailing with me. That story, shortened here for the sake of brevity, is thus:
“It’s the story of a baby born aboard ship just before reaching The Holy Isle at Besmara’s Throne. Born to a devout priestess of The Pirate Queen on her pilgrimage to the isle, the child bore the goddess’ mark on its right forearm. It was brought before Laharra Seaspray, the high priestess of the isle’s temple, upon the ship’s landing. After communing with the goddess, Seaspray became wracked with visions which brought her to her knees. In the aftermath, the priestess refused to reveal the contents of her visions, but only told the young mother that her Holy Labor would be the most difficult that Seaspray had ever assigned. The mother must fully offer her defenseless, infant child to the Pirate Queen. It must be placed into a boat, all alone, and set adrift for The Black Lady to do with what she would.
And so it was that a freshly born babe was washed ashore by the docks of Quent nearly 22 years ago.”
And with a dramatic flourish I rolled up my right sleeve, revealing The Black Lady’s Skull & Crossbones upon my forearm. All gasped, oohed, and aahed in all the right places. It reminded me how much I do enjoy the center of attention. To be honest, it all went over far better than I could have hoped, and the prospects for altering the destiny of the Wormwood took a decidedly positive step in my favor.
My first day aboard the Wormwood ended with one more positive surprise as one of my fellow recruits, a half-elf by the name of Braahm, gifted me with my beloved rapier. He had apparently received it and some other items from another of us relative newcomers, a priestess of Besmara named Sandara Quinn. I look foreword to getting to know her better…
As we settled in for the night, the gruff elf from earlier (whose name, I believe, is Melia), called into question some elements of my behavior from earlier in the day. I explained to him that it is important to me to find out where the proverbial line is, and then to not be afraid of putting a foot over it on occasion, knowing how to hold that second foot back.
“And what happens when you slip?” he asked.
“Well,” I responded. “That’ll be interesting, won’t it?”
Our first session is this Wednesday. Very excited!
My character's build and background are in this profile.
I've started putting together my character stats (posted in this profile). I'm still tweaking things here and there, particularly with spell selection. I opted to go multiclass with the Sorcerer based on what I came up with for a background. Should be interesting to run.
Also, I think I did the hit points correctly, based off of your equation. The 1/2 HD + 1 goes for first level also, yes?
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