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"Aye...aye Ms. Astri." The two sailors lay out a couple different blades ad carving tools and get to work. They divide the task in to and get to work. One begins to whistle a catchy but off tune song that is quickly recognized by crew....The Legend of Thalios Dondrel.
The crew is scrambling around looking for bone and there seems to be some success there. A couple crew members step up. We've been carvin' fer a bit."
The peg legged man lowers his voice, "Talk t'Millauka he knows of herbs th't be good for bites." He scans the area before continuing. "Sarg. Darenar is bad people...bad people. He and Capt Donovan have bad blood 'bout the warhammer. Sarg won the ol' hammer Maelstrom from the drunken captain at dice." He hacks up another luggy and spits it out on the deck.
Da'rash of shark attacks have claim'd the lives of several sailors and fishermen, leaving more folks missing limbs like me. It ain’t natural. Dark times is comin’. A black shark means dark times.” He hawks up a big glob of spit brownish green spit, chews it a second or two, then expels it out onto the docks near Astri's sparkling boots. "'eard 'bout what y'all have been doin'." He nods approvingly. "“The sharks got their god back. The black shark comes. We’re all as good as dead. You ask the Tulita. The old shamans know about the dark times.”
To Astri and her group. "Ain't nobody ever kilt it. It just went t'other places or hunt'n grounds." He paves his iron hook. "Some say the Tultia helped push it off and the other ancient gods. Maybe now those gods 'ave left us with all this filth." he motions back a thte port. "Now as a young'un I lost me arm t'a tiger shark, just plain tore'd it off as casual as could be, when I's was passing near the edge of the
“The sharks got their god back. The black shark comes. We’re all as good as dead. You ask the Tulita. The old shamans know about the dark times.”
A voice, like a knife across a stone, cuts the air: “There be a black shark.” The crowd parts to reveal an ancient man of the sea. His leathery skin stretched over his bones, he raises his right arm to silence the boy’s reply. The arm ends in a cold black iron hook. The old man’s one good hand clutches a wooden crutch, supporting his wracked frame. His leather breeches are cut off at the knees and two gnarled wooden pegs, chipped and scratched from wear, extend from the stumps of what remains of his legs. “There be a black shark.” His voice rasps once more. A thick silence settles over the crowd then; no one wants to debate the shark’s existence any more. One of the younger fishermen even hazards a glance off the pier as if he expects a dark fin to crest the waves at any moment. With muttered excuses and leave-takings the crowd of fishermen breaks up, leaving the old man alone on the pier, his back to the dock, staring across the roiling sea. You've seen this ancient fisherman who appears to be a local authority on sharks and just about everything else on the docks before, but you've never interacted with him. He is known simply as Old Craw, no one remembers his given name.
The crew look a bit dismayed when Astri announces no loot. "So, we risk'd our lives wit pirates, storms, dragons, wereharks and rescuing folk and we don't got much to show fer it." Another sailor barks. When Astri offers Chell up in sacrifice all the crew looks to cleric to solve the problem. Several eyebrows raise. "Treasure...well..." The voices probe.
"Ja git much loot?" One of the sailors calls out.
There's a pause then a shout from the crows nest. "All's clear Captain, but I do see more wreckage a quarter mile off, looks like the main sail and mast. 3 more bodies floating."
"They enspelled." Commenting about the breathing underwater. "We didn't 'ave a choice."
Ptahh eventually leads the former prisoner back down and into the main cavern. There the former captives will advise they came in through a strange statue garden. They know of no other way out of the cavern system. although one will advise that he heard some talk about a "Sharkery, that lies below. The BIG black visits there." He points to the one of the lakes.
"Captain...30 fathoms" It's clear that water depth is becoming more shallow and the Captain orders the sea anchor dropped. You are in the thick fog and visibility is limited...although the outline of large ship partially out of water can be seen with flicking fire near what looks like it's bow.
A few minutes later the leadman calls out, "70 fathoms Captain." Then "50 fathoms."
Gloomy Gus mutters, "...bad omens, I tell you."
"100 fathoms." The call rings out.
The leadsman yells out a few minutes later, "Beyond sounding sir." The Captain nods approvingly.
“Not on the ship, sir. Off the starboard bow!” explains One-eyed.
The First Mate steers the ship trying to stay out of the sea fog but mother nature has other ideas as it rolls in and shrouds the ship in mist. Visibility drops to nothing. Small gusts of wind stir and roil the mist and bring with them a slight chill unusual for these warm, tropical waters. Eventually a shout comes from ol' One Eyed,
One-eye bellows form above.
One Eyed yells down form the nest.
A sailor hurries from the Captain's side and the quarterdeck. He is red faced, huffing and puffing, when he gets to your group. 'C...C...Captain wants to see you." He waves back towards the quarterdeck. "He wants you all."
As Gloomy Gus walks away there is splatter on his left shoulder, as whitish goo drips, and the seagull takes flight from the mainmast. Gus mutters his curse under his breath. The rest of the day goes by uneventfully.
Gloomy Gus smirks and his enormous red mutton chop sideburns and a mustache rise, "Clearly you're not the divination type." He mutters to the cleric. "You'd think you could've asked for some guidance....guess not."
Gloomy Gus responds, "Pirates, Krakens, and worse loom on the Razor Sea... just my luck a rogue iceberg it'll hit." he flexes his fingers, "Always know where the driftwood is my pappy use to say, never know when you'll need it." he then hooks one of the coils of rope to the mast.
While the Captain adjusts his course and orders the sails trimmed. Gloomy Gus comes on over carrying two coils of rope and sure enough he is wearing his favorite color: green. He glances up and sniffs the air, "Smells like storm's brewin', there's always a storm brewin'" Even though there is barely a cloud in the sky. "So, you're the sellswords...guud guud, so when do you think we'll 'ave trouble?"
The lookout yells, "FINS CAPTAIN, lots of fins." Sure enough there is a pack of shark fins trailing the ship's wake dining on garbage. Taht is one thing you've noticed over the last couple months is there has been a large increase in shark activity in and around Port Shark, lots of reported shark attacks.
"Yeah...yeah, I've got you 'ere on the list. first mate's on the quarterdeck hurry off now." He points to Jean-Phillipe and Davkas then shouts,
Rex sees stars and crumble unconscious to the floor. There's a bit of drool coming out of his swollen bloody lips, his left eye is completely closed and purple. Dravkas: You manage to find one person who will talk to you. He's in a good mood being that he just won some coin on Markus. "yeah, I'm shippin' out wit 'im in the morning too. So you all comin' along? Seems like the capt, ships lots of spices and grains in his holds, some exotic clothes too. At least from what I've seen over the last couple days. Not countin' you all looks like a full crew of 45 plus officer." He points to one. "don't know where we are goin' not privy to that ...I guess. Hope you like religious items...cuz the ship be full of many carvings to Quell and other gods." He pauses.
RD 3: Markus vs Rex The stunned bareknuckle fighter shakes the cobwebs out of his head. "Someone needs t'be knockout out, too much money bet." The crowd is cheering for blood and battle. To simply give up would cause unrest among those watching. He tries to jab twice to keep the monk at bay.
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The monk strikes hard and fast, nearly taking the wind from his stocky opponent. The man recovers quickly and unloads a quick two punch combination. ; ;
Rex is a fierce-looking bear of a man. His bony, crooked nose indicates he learned his pugilistic skills the hard way, and he is indeed a veteran of numerous bare knuckles matches. His eyes go dead and holds his opponent in a rock-steady unwavering stare.
"Gather 'ere you foolish scallywags and list'n up. There be wretched creatures as big'n as this tavern, twice as wide too, that'll swallow ya whole out there under the sea, but that's a better fate than those sailors cursed wit' the black spot. Some say it's a curse from th' Demon Below other's say it a mark of a traitor, but mark me words, those bearing the judgment of the ace of spades... doom all t'death." - Drunken sailor the night before setting sail
"Gather 'ere you foolish scallywags and list'n up. There be wretched creatures as big'n as this tavern, twice as wide too, that'll swallow ya whole out there under the sea, but that's a better fate than those sailors cursed wit' the black spot. Some say it's a curse from th' Demon Below other's say it a mark of a traitor, but mark me words, those bearing the judgment of the ace of spades... doom all t'death." - Drunken sailor the night before setting sail
Roughly 39 hours after you set sail from Sharkjaw, 8:00 am on the second day. You get a shout from the crows nest, "Land HO!!! 10 miles...Northeast."
Astri: The crew members that were set adrift by Capt Dre was a brig, sort of like this a bit bigger. Had more ballistae. Capt Dre b' a raisin' in name stake. Ruthless, surprised he let us live actually...being sick n' all. Hails from carcass but he was lookin' to hunt in the north. Merchant rich area around beacon Island, the pearls and Darkol Islands. He dreams big like. He's some hocus pocus diviny types onboard to."
As the night shift readies to grab a bit of breakfast and bunk down they gossip and tell other crewman about the night's adventures and losses. "Right out of the riggin'...one minute he's thar, the next poof..gone to Davie Jones locker." ---
RD 4 Marines/vetran on the Aft deck The veteran (-B:15) continues to steady the wheel in order to free up the navigator's hands. The second marine (A:15) moves past Bri and stabs at the slowed raider that is in the burning web. ; He fails miserably but has put himself between the enemy and the navigator. A marine (-B:14) moves up from the waist deck onto the poop deck steps. A veteran moves from the bow of the the ship to waist deck (D:12).
After several long minutes two crew members on deck manage to pole and manipulate a crate against the starboard side of the deck. Astri had directed a block and tackle to be set up there, so it can be used to pull the crate up. Meanwhile two crew members finally get the fishing newt around a body near the bow of the ship. "Got a body. Need 'elp pullin' i'm up."
"Chaplain, whatcha want us to do?" As one on the crew toss out a fishing net off the bow towards the bodies. He makes sure that he has enough rope attached to the net, so he can use it to troll the waters.
Bri the wheel slips from your grasps and does a complete rotation, you loose some of the wind in your sails. You have a difficult time holding course as you grasp the wheel in your hands. the bow of the ship crashes hard, jotting into the waves as the water sloshes over the decks.
The riggers release enough sail just as it's about to rip in the wind, but they save the situation. Drenched as the rainfall whacks the ship.
He secures himself to his position.
Chell you find 5 or 6 crewman who have working knowledge of wounds care. There is some grumbling to be on the medic team as opposed to a borading party but the grumbles subside. Less risk, I suppose. No dagger in me side.
"All's clear!" The lookout calls down on the hour.
"What arrr ssss...ssiphers?
"FFFF..alll..gorrrrrr yer me fffav'rite barkeep. Keep 'emmmmmm comin'" the drunken sailor rambles. Two nearby veterns thump their empty tankards on the bar for refills. The happily paid dwarf bar owner obliges the request.
"Yeah...whose hiring, now I'm jsut drink'n and list'n, I'm not comitt'n to 'nothin' yet. not till I'm guud and convinced." The sailor thumps his empty tankard on the bar three times. "Ain't no wheres near being convinced of nut'n." He adds.
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