Prince Likitt's page

Likitt stared at his sylvan companion for a moment, wondering if she had a difficulty understanding his speech, or if he just didn't explain things properly. Subtext, it seemed, was lost on the poor girl, bless her heart. "No, lass... Plan with Tamesis. Although I am grateful for you being complicit about the quartermaster, I am more concerned about the Tiefling. I can only assume from her actions that she retains considerable pride. Bolvak, good sir." He gestures to the mercenary as he arrives, bringing him into the conversation, "You two have worked together before. Is she always so... How do you say... Bull-headed?"

Likitt follows up Bolvak's question with a simple shrug, "I did not know if I could purify our drink, but I took a gamble and succeeded. If you desire, we will not have to consume swill or run the risk of getting flogged." He glances at Sandara from a distance, nodding, "It appears the Speaker for Besmara has respectable power as well... She has been and will be a potent ally..."

Finishing the last of the 'meal', the Grippli Prince considers the people who he has not yet met. Some of the larger ones seemed quite intimidating and moreso ready to fight... Perhaps it would be best to try and befriend more of his size, create an army underfoot, as it were. Perhaps that gnomette with the eyepatch.

I'll admit I just got lazy. Sorry.

Likitt took a moment to tilt his head, baffled by Airy's confusion. Perhaps in the haste of things, he wasn't able to explain himself properly but to be fair, he was terrified. "Look, I did something foolish and I would not suggest taking Grok up on her job, lest I get roasted on a spit."

Hearing the shouts of angry pirates, the Grippli cringed into a more defensive stance until he realized that they were directing their hate towards Tamesis. That woman had some mouth on her and didn't seem afraid to die.

Hrm... Wonder what that was like.

Taking a sip of his purified grog, he refers to Airy again, "Our red friend seems to have a habit of getting into trouble. She may just get keel-hauled before we can formulate a plan..." He glances meaningfully, inferring an eventual escape but keeps his voice low and smooth, "Have any ideas?

Likitt's satisfied grin shifts to a pensive one in a matter of seconds. Glancing about to see if anyone was listening, then leans in, muttering, "Well... I asked one of the local spirits to allow a sense of... friendship. I did not know the woman, so it seemed to make sense. With my full magic, The rats would have been asleep with no troubles... Now she thinks I was giving them a devil's eye..."

As the invisible but all-too-emotionally-charged spirits cease their endless circling of the cup, the drink appeared... halfway pleasant! As if swill of that nature could be made drinkable, but if the Spirits provided, he was grateful. swirling the mug in a gentle motion, the Grippli sniffs it, eyes it carefully, and does every sort of test he could figure out before taking a careful sip...

Great Spirits Above, You are a Genius!

Now that everyone appears to have left, he seeks out Airy, who seems less cheerful than usual and grins wide, tiny spiky teeth poking out of the upper half of his jaw, "Miss Airy, I believe I have found a solution to our rummery problems, if I may demonstrate." With an obscure gesture and a word of power, "Pia Fantomok , Távozz!", the ominous glow of spiritual cleansing leaves the drink purified, "It still tastes poor, but perhaps changing to Coconut Milk may be a better option... And Bolvak walked away before I could confirm... I believe he is still sour about earlier today."

Feeling sufficiently bitten and berated, the Prince of the Gripplis smolders with frustration as he takes his meal. Apparently the Bloody Hour presented some sort of human for flirting too much. Likitt was merely grateful that he wasn't taking the whip, for he had been slacking off as well.

To no success whatsoever...

Taking his bowl of fish stew and quart of ichor, he... really doesn't mind it. Fish was a standard on most boats when they could get it and fish stews were all pretty much the same. It wasn't fit for a king, but expecting such things from this vessel was asking for failure. The Rum posed another problem. He had been considering treating the rum as some sort of poison, which he might be able to cure. Seated at his usual table, he intones in a low quiet voice, asking the spirits to see what they can do to cleanse this foul substance. It was getting too risky to dump overboard and Velvet couldn't dance forever.

Likitt attempts to cast Purify Food and Water on the Rum. Will he be able to tell if it works or not?

The Grippli keeps himself silent as he takes the beratement because, in truth, he was in the wrong. Fear had gotten the better of him and the idea of returning to some degree of normalcy after such a sashay by death's door grew increasingly more important. As they continued to walk and eventually meet with Grok, he watches the way her eyes move, the color of the aura emanating from her skin, wanting to know if his actions had any lasting repercussions.

While the unaimed threat sunk into the Grippli's soul and lingered there, it was a comfort to see that Grok was not only aware but hardy. Clearly she had some sort of resilience that he could not have predicted... Some may think it odd for him not to speak or try to console the quartermaster, but he was already in deep enough. He was no masochist.

Perhaps giving Bolvak a word of caution was unwise and he seemed to catch on quickly. Curses...

Keeping his voice low and his words terse, he responds, "I need my spells, that battle taught me that more than anything, and I have no means to promise a drink, so I asked the Spirits to assist me in persuading her." Pausing a moment to look about, he continues, "I could not have expected her to resist it, or else we could have gotten more... You know full well I cannot carry Tamesis and you had full success in finding Besmara's Speaker, so I did the best thing I could to avoid the lash. My Work." His voice turns a bit softer, regretful, Even if I do not secure anything, I feel obligated to see if Grok suffered any ill effects. Those beyond our sight often have little grasp of mortal frailty.

From atop his perch, Likitt watches the quartermaster grimace, the spirits of glibness shying away from her baleful eye and the Grippli Prince bemoans his poor luck. Who would have known a mere pirate quartermaster to resist the clarion call of the Otherside? Still, he wanted a chance to retrieve his rightful possessions and as he watches Bolvak stride his way across the deck, the Grippli takes an opportunity to clamber down the mast and intercept the berserker.

"Ser Bolvak, I don't suppose you are seeking out the Quartermaster. I would like to join you, but I've been watching and... She doesn't seem in all that fine a mood. An air of ill spirits seem about lately." The last sentence was said with an air of cryptic knowing before he smiles, small pointy teeth revealing on the upper half of his jaw. I thank you for your phalanx against those rodent ilk. If only I had my ingredients.

With the day's peril at least halfway over, Likitt returned to his regularly-scheduled work; in this particular case, it was as a lookout, a position that was often a point of ease in the middle of the open seas. Climbing the rigging with only the faintest twinges of pain from his wounds, the Grippli Prince watched the great expanse of sea and quickly grew bored. There wasn't anything around and his job was entirely redundant. At least it gave him an opportunity to keep an eye on his wounds and make sure that they weren't infected.

Opting for the Shop option for the Daytime Actions, although it might change to influence if later actions turn poorly

Perception DC:10: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

After an hour or so, the Grippli became restless and decided to use his magic to help spur conversation along. Climbing down the Rigging with the agility of a nautical spider, he pops his head through the sail and watches the various people, seeing who he should try to work his powers on. The Spirits were fickle and he'd still have to exercise his words, but then his eyes fixed on Grok, who was said to hold all his possessions... Perhaps he could do some good with it after all. Keeping a distance enough away to avoid notice and sitting on some of the rigging, he began his chant in praise of the Spirits, sinking the persuasion into the mind of Grok and allowing her to part more easily with his items.

Likitt casts Charm Person on Grok with a DC of 15.

For a moment, he watches the half-orcess to see if the spell takes hold. It would be less useful if the Spirits did not will her to be persuaded and he could turn his attentions elsewhere

Prince Likitt falls his knees as the wretched bite marks began to take hold, nodding almost unconsciously at Bolvak's command before he snaps back to attention, "No healing for now... Let me see if I can help though."

Standing over his fallen ally, he mildly curses his luck as he oversees the wound, drawing pure water to cleanse Tamesis' bite wound. He had no tools and only a cursory knowledge of human-like anatomy, but he needed to stabilize his ally.

[dice=Heal Check to "Stabilize"]1d20+4[/dice]

His talents were limited at stemming the bleeding, but he realizes quickly that the Tiefling wasn't actually dying. "Bolvak, let us get her up for Sandara to revive her. She isn't dead just yet."

And with their near-death experience almost over and weary as hell, Likitt climbs up to the deck, triumphant over rats... Hurrah...

Likitt, urged by his wounds, steps back from the enemy rat, bracing for another attack

Thanks for letting me know. I shall do that

As the enemy forces begin to crumble, Likitt's morale increases, thrusting another sphere of water at one of the nearby rats. The wounds were starting to build up, but he was used to facing down swamp rodents.

Wave Strike Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 19
Wave Strike Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3

I blame you,YBD

The line held, but at a terrible price. The rat facing against Tamesis, truly a paragon of its kind, brought the Tiefling down and in the heat of the moment, Likitt acted, seeking to split the rodent from his prey. Letting forth a low intoning croak, the Grippli releases a greater torrent of water from his hands then before, gallons issuing from his open hands to knock the rat away and allow his ally a moment's peace.

Hydraulic Push Bull Rush Attempt: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

Cast Hydraulic Push on Blue Rat, ready 5 foot step to move south if Bolvak moves SW to close the line.

Oddly enough, Likitt finds himself on the front line, hand to hand against the rat menace. One of them had already fallen to his gift, and he intended the other one to hit as well. Pulling more moisture from the air, he thrusts his hand forward, attempting to blast another foe.

Wave Strike Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 11
Wave Strike Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Likitt uses Wave Strike against the rat previously damaged by Airy, if she damaged it.

Setting his webbed foot backward in a battle stance, Likitt engages the ferocious rodent with open fists. Magic tingles along Likitt's skin, the air seeming to dry out and shifting all nearby moisture into a spinning and coalescing orb. With a rumbling battle cry that does not befit his stature, he thrusts the sphere towards the nearest rat, hoping to blast it into unconsciousness.

Wave Strike Attack: 1d20 ⇒ 18
Wave Strike Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 6

Watching the rodents of unusual size press their party into a corner, Likitt feels the urge to flee, to save his slimy skin from any needless bites. However, watching the group tighten up, commands shouted by Bolvak, desperate swings, he couldn't bear to flee. Falling to all fours, he squats down and opens his mouth, the strong muscles in his tongue flinging out and sending it past Airy and sticking right against Tamesis' back, the power of his faith running through the conduit and sending roaring healing energies to the Tiefling.

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Making sure not to pull the Tiefling back with his retracted tongue, Likitt moves quickly, sliding in a position behind Bolvak to close up the line. He may not be a master fighter, but he could take on these fiends.

Likitt releases his Cure Light Wounds spell with Agile Tongue's Touch and moves NW 5 feet

As soon as the rats plunge upon them, Likitt takes a quick hop backwards, not wanting to get anywhere near those ugly brutes. Letting a chant begin at the back of his throat, he curses that he couldn't heal the wounded Tamesis without incurring the rodent's wrath. "Hold on a bit longer, Tamesis. I've got your back"

Likitt Moves 5 feet to the right and holds the spell Cure Light Wounds

"So perhaps when our spirits meet in the next cycle, we can share that story... For now, keep an eye out for Baby Krakens..."

Why in all the pirate ships in all the seas in all the world did this have to happen? It'd just be my luck that they were smuggling a baby kraken or something...

In all honesty, the sour sarcasm was just compensating for his own cowardice. He was a Grippli with fine talents, but meeting unknown foes in battle were not one of them, especially when barefisted.

Creeping down the ladder of the bilges, he keeps close to Bolvak, eyes darting about with each creak and moan of the ship's interior.

perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15

The day began groggy and crusty, the sea air stiffening his skin and making his eyes crusty, yet Likitt seemed confident in the rest of the day. He had been thinking about the rum for some time and since it had such a foul stench and effect, perhaps it could be effected by his magic and be cleansed of any inimical effects. As he goes through the ritual of cleansing and prayer to the spirits of the ocean, he asks for the ability to purify his food and drink, to hamper his foes in a haze of confusion, and to be blessed with pure water drawn from the air. They seemed to have developed a report with other members of the crew and might not need to fight as much, so opted to receive the blessings of healing and of charming. A glib tongue would be needed today.

Lookout seemed a nice and steady job that would leave few chances at screwing up. After all, unless they ran into some shoals, there was nothing to blame the Lookout for. The entire crew would have to be drunk to run into a cliff wall or something...

The sounds of pain and the scent of fresh blood filled the air as one of the men rushes out, leg freshly cut into. Likitt had to hold himself still and watch, unable to help the swab lest he out himself. Was the man just being a fool, or is there something worse below deck?

He had an odd suspicion that this question would be answered soon.

Spell selection:
L.0
Purify Food and Drink
Daze
Create Water
L.1
Cure Light Wounds
Charm Person
Hydraulic Push (Spirit Magic)

*Snoooooores*

Wha, who? Yeah just do that...

*Snooooooores*

Secure in the knowledge that they no longer needed to feed Grok gallons upon gallons of rum, Likitt noticed that Fipp was not nearly as an idiot as he previously assumed, or at least had an element of canniness that made him wary of the Shaman. While entirely justified, this made trying to convince the man of his good intentions somewhat difficult. He would have to be careful with his wording and with a bit of luck, he might be able to befriend an enemy.

"I don't have a game Fipps. However, we are stuck on this vessel for a long time. I don't see a need to become enemies while we're here. I'd like to call an end to any grudges so we can work together. Syl... Well you've seen her up there. I can't be too careful around her. It's not as if my skin is made of mithril or something."

diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23

Likitt generally viewed himself as a sensible amphibian, used to the ways of the Tall Folk. After all, aside from the proclivity to murder, they were not all too different. However as he watched the exchange between Bolvak, Velvet, and Airy, the air humming with mammalian musk, the young Grippli was struck dumb. So logically, he did the only sensible thing and let out his mating croak. In a sudden intake of air, his vocal sac swelled to an impressive degree as a low and notably interrupting croak, as the Tall Folk seemed adamant on ignoring the mission in favor of their wanton desires.

"I did not realize that your kind needs three to fertilize the eggs. It's interesting to find more and more out about Humankind... And Elemental-kin."

As the ship's attention literally gets turned on its head, Likitt refuses to continue such sensualisms and throws himself entirely into his job, grabbing all four bottles in a cluster and nudging Airy briefly to allow her to work her magic, just in case the drinks needed to be fed to Grok immediately. After that, he sneaks about only with the expertise of a small creature, keeping himself hidden behind table, mast, and whatever he could squeeze his diminutive body behind. Upon reaching a clean bucket, he lays the drinks inside, covering it with a bit of tarp to give it the impression of leavings.

Stealth: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

Naturally, he is the finest at these sorts of things and makes his way back to the group with the greatest of ease, just as the performance is about to end. Nudging Bolvak, he murmurs to the giant, "Grok's present has been dropped. Bucket with some patch tarp over it. I must go and see what can be done about Fipps."

With that, he rises from the table, keeping his eyes on Velvet's performance. Perhaps the steamy talk was entirely justified. He seemed a capable and lithe member of his race. Eventually, he made his way around to Fipp's seat, looking in awe of the dance of plates, "Wow... Never thought I'd be sitting here on a boat, seeing something like this. We got off on the wrong foot, you and I. My name is Likitt."

There are many things that were taken from me; My armor, my family's rapier, my pouch of spell components, but most important is an etching of an ancient Grippli Language. It is the only link I have to the culture that came before me, lost to time. I must have that back..."

Glancing about at the nearest hiding places, Likitt found there to be few. Buckets could be had and there was always over the side, but if they were going to use this rum, there was no point in wasting it. Muttering lowly, Likitt explained, "I may be able to hide all of your drinks, but I'll need a distraction... Something to take Scourge's attention without causing anyone to be hurt..." Glancing into the distance, he waited for something he could use to cover, raising his tin of skilly to his lips and swallowing the ill-heated substance.

I realize that you were waiting for everyone to take their rum action, but when Tamesis rolled, I had the idea to use the cover of Scourge's whipping to spirit some of the drink away. Also, if I was to try to hide three or four quarts of the stuff, would it require separate rolls? I doubt the dice would be so kind to me.

Another day on this accursed vessel and another Bloody Hour. However, the tables seemed turned as Syl and Fipps are the ones on the whipping block. Of course they were all in alliances, weren't they? A show of force needed to be made, but not enough to break a man, or a halfling for that matter. The Prince felt drawn on the issue, a natural careful and somewhat cowardly approach urging him not to stick his neck out, but his brain telling him that it would only be a matter of time before he'd be flayed alive for some transgression. He needed to find a way to escape.

The tantalizing aroma of roasted goose floated around the Cap'ns chair and while he was in good spirits, none of the other crewmates appeared to be pleased by their leftovers, turned even sweeter with a day's fermenting. Kings of Sloth and Greed are overthrown if they lavish in front of their citizens. Do you not read history, you fool? Likitt kept his head down.

All the easier to hide his grin.

Tall folk tended to congregate in groups and it showed. The sycophants generally chatted together, drank themselves silly, while others tried to form groups. It seemed Likitt had his own party he felt comfortable with and sat comfortably next to Bolvak, his minute form dwarfed in a way that made him quite tough to notice. All was good.

In a hushed croak, the Grippli speaks, "Rattsberger is an ally with us, and still we must drink this swill. I worry I shall not be able to hide it all without catching Scourge's eye."

So the halfling grew up under this sort of treatment, at least in a sense. Still, it seemed the lad had some grasp on the situation and could certainly lend a hand. The distant noises below alerted Likitt that the night's festivities may be coming all-too-quickly, so he could not sit and chat, "Stay strong and silent until the time arrives. There shall be a reckoning."

With that, he patted the Halfling's back, letting loose a pulse of healing energies on what wounds remained from the Bloody Hour. Sure, he might have needed it later, if he was the one to be whipped, but his new ally was worth investing in.

The bait has been set. Likitt looks the halfling with utmost seriousness and mutters, "I had my freedom and my dreams stripped from me over a shot of fine rum. I don't intend on spending the rest of my life doing this." In the isolation of the highest part of the rigging, Likitt feels comfortable speaking the truth. "We are all captives here and the time will come... Until then, we have to keep together and prepare ourselves. Did they take anything important from you?"

The Grippli Prince nods in understanding, grateful to know he could smooth over such a faux pas. "That's the truth. Even the liquor is tar-rate. Could do better to fill cracks than down our gullets." He pauses a moment, looking into the distance as if listening to something. The spirits always had something new to say, but interpreting it was another story. "Not to pry too much, but we're all stuck here. Might as well help each other out. I saw you take a beating last night and yet you're back up here. Must be brutal on your back." He leaves his last statement subtle, his tone offering assistance and healing, but with the caution not to wound a halfling's pride. Likitt mutters a quick thanks to the Spirits, hands cupped as it miraculously fills with pure water.

All of this was in full sight of Ratsberger, not only as a acceptance of trust, but to instill him the realization that if he could conjure water, perhaps there were other things the amphibian could do.

It all relied in the mind of the halfling. Likitt wondered if he was also a half-wit.

Well then...

Clearly he's too impressed by Likitt's regal bearing to be canny,right?

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (15) + 11 = 26

"I certainly hope you didn't get any aftereffects of Syl... I knew she had a fondness for blades and one has to watch out for their skin. My name is Likitt, scion of the Grippli peoples."

A wave of realization crept down his spine as he realized a key problem with what he just said. Ratline wasn't apart of the bullying party A wash of fear and embarassment ran through him as he tried to rectify what he blurted out, "I mean, I've seen her about, whispering sweet nothings to herself, it's inevitable she'd just go screaming mad, right? Heh... Course around here, people would start to snap eventually."

So I was a dumb, and possibly sleep deprived, imagining that Ratline was one of the four who attacked us. This was my bad, and since it was an error, I would prefer Likitt not to sound like a twat and change up what he said.

Calm, cool, and slightly moist, Likitt followed his larger comrades to assignment duty and he was tasked with the illustrious goal of realigning the upper rigging, a treacherous task for most human. Fortunately, Likitt was not most humans and as his dexterous hands maneuvered up the mast with the speed and surety of someone born for the job, he savored this moment. The winds up above always had a different taste as he rose twenty or thirty feet into the air and as he worked, his Toucan was close by to provide colorful company. Above it all, Likitt had freedom to work, repairing the sails and ensuring that the rigging was still in tact after the previous night. It was boring but comfortable.

Likitt will seek to influence someone
Profession:Sailor DC:10: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

As the hours passed, he noticed that Ratline had been tasked to be a lookout, peering up through the crow's nest at distant objects, trying to see them clearer. Prince Likitt always felt more comfortable around halflings and gnomes and the fact that Ratline was apart of that crew of bullies may have been a matter of survival. After all, he was putting his life behind a bunch of abductees for a very similar reason. He had his own goals at this. Confident that he did his job to perfection, the young prince hailed his fellow captive and clambered on over, croaking out an apology, "I certainly hope you didn't get any aftereffects of Syl... I knew she had a fondness for blades and one has to watch out for their skin. My name is Likitt, scion of the Grippli peoples."

Perhaps this was a fool's errand, but everyone had a lever that could be used to create a camaraderie. The goal was in fact, finding that lever.

As his shuffle-step ceased and the inspired words of his ancestors faded from his mind, Likitt felt that he had done something rather cruel, but also entirely justified and mildly hilarious. The look in the madwoman's eyes as she stuttered back, then with a sound that more approached Grippli than Common, scampered away with her tail between her legs. There was something entirely satisfying about triumphing over bullies who underestimate their prey. Even so, what the rest of the renegades did to Fipp was something of wonder, a cavalcade of acid and lighting in staccato succession followed by hamfist for the K.O... These were no mere peasants brought to bear. Why didn't the spirits tell him about their capabilities?

Listening as the rest of the party discusses their cover story, the prince throws in his two coppers, "The Ta... Bolvak speaks wisely. The Lady will not find pirate gold in this one's undergarments, and the risk for such little reward seems... pointless." Muttering briefly, his hands seem to moisten with conjured water as he rubs it against his dried scalp. Fights always seemed to dry him out and it was important to prevent cracked skin and retain his royal visage. "No matter if we hide him or not, the Captain shall know, and I intend on being well behind someone who can punch better than I." With a nod of appreciation to Bolvak, he follows the giant to the main deck, wondering if the winds will favor his work today.

Roiling seas flashed across Likitt's mind as he found himself lost, adrift in the mightiest storm these waters had faced, a tempest that could only manifest in the deepest crevaces of the mind. As the sleeping prince tossed and turned in his bunk, the dreaming figment of Likitt struggled to keep adrift of the waves. No familiar in sight, he feared that he was lost to the spirits that he worshiped.

Then, from the corner of his fading vision, bright slips of light amidst the ebon waves, bodies, amphibian and gorgeous, flowing through the surf like a Grippli might climb trees. In his heart of hearts, he knew them to be the Ancient Grippli, adorned in gold and racing through the seas as fast as any vessel. As he reached out for their aid to stay above the surf, he could see in the brief flashes of thunder that they were laughing, mocking his ineptitude. What a foolish frog this was, they chanted chidingly, Thinking that he could roam the seas of old. As life drained from his lungs, Likitt could faintly see the three brightly colored figments in the distance; so many mirages in the night.

Jolting awake with a croak of surprise, he found himself in his bunk upon a rolling surf, not sunken beneath it. It was simply a dream, was all it was... What comfort and relief, but was it perhaps the Spirits trying to send a message? Glancing at his Familiar, Pauline, he rests a slimy hand upon its shimmering aqueous form and closes his eyes, vocal sac bulging faintly in a prayer... He still lacked the power to invoke many spells, since he lost all the little ritual bits for some of the stronger magics, but he still held a few spells which could be cast on the fly... Cause Fear He was in a place of great danger, and to scare away Scourge at least for while enough to hide would benefit. No one seemed in danger of dying at the very least, so perhaps Touch of Fatigue could serve a purpose instead of his Revival Orison. He still help onto his healing, mostly out of paranoia that one of this new comrades might get keel hauled and need a rapid rejuvenation.

Traveling in the group, Likitt found it surprising when his party was stopped by a group of toughs. More specifically, the skinhead with a scarf and various cronies, the literal cutthroat half-orc, a ill-at-humor halfling who probably could only count to seven, and a woman who he noticed seemed reaaaaally interested in talking to her daggers while they were working. A merry crew of ridiculous villains, no doubt. Likitt loathed the idea of picking a fight, but it seemed inevitable.

On the plus side, he did not have to regret preparing Fear...

Letting his vocal sac engorge to an enormous degree, Likitt's eyes seemed to bulge as he croaked the intonations of his spell, feet shuffling in the complex tribal dance as his mental magic began to wrap around "Slippery" Syl Lonegan. "Félelem vezet a düh , a harag vezet a gyűlölet , gyűlölet vezet a szenvedés." In the mind of the already slightly mad woman, an image of the Frog Prince grows to monstrous levels, bulging and ichor dripping as an armada of flies swarm out of the amphibian's opened mouth. The woman seemed none too capable in the mental faculties, so flooding her mind and disabling her knife hand seemed the wisest plan. Likitt was no fighter, but he had other means to contribute.

Likitt casts Cause Fear on "Slippery" Syl Lonegan
This spell has a Will Saving Throw of 15

Hrm perhaps Is should try that with Grippli. Any languages fit the bill well?

Once we get our own boats, we shall have all the fried pork! Mwahahaha!

We... We really are. I recall spending the better part of an hour discussing the cooking of a bacon-laden breakfast.

Sorry about the double post, but I cannot edit this one in, so here goes! Likitt's job of the day is...

Rigger Job: 1d6 ⇒ 3

Upper Rigging Work! Good thing I took a nap.

EDIT: I don't think the question got answered directly in the forum, but does Likitt have to roll Climb Checks normally (with DC:10s which seem standard right now) since he can take a 10 naturally with his Climb Speed?

Likitt will leave Mr. Bolvak to the... acts of persuasion. I'm certain he can rise to the occasion.

Aha! Besmara. Likitt has noticed a tendency for the Tall Folk to bundle up spirits of certain locations or climes under a single name, calling them Gods and one of their names for the Spirits of the ocean was Besmara; The Pirate Queen. Many of his shipmates... Scratch that, Former Shipmates used to pray to Besmara to keep their travels free of squalls, swashbucklers, or other such nasty impediments to sea travel. The Grippli in his enlightenment, allowed others their perception of the deity, as it didn't hurt the spirits any. Even the fact that she seemed to rhyme spontaneously didn't bother Prince Likitt much. After all, anyone on this ship for too long would be driven at least slightly insane. "Then a warm greetings to you, speaker of Besmara. It is good to see those with reverence. Sir Bolvak, since it would be less-than-subtle for me to carry a bucket my size, I relocated a portion of our daily drink into the bucket five feet to your immediate right. Use at your leisure, or throw it out with the swabwater. I am beyond such foul substances."

The young prince's smile broadens as he steps backwards, moving towards the cabins. His legs were leaden as they moved and he knew if he did not get a proper sleep, the next day's climb would be excruciating. As much as he'd like to court favor, it would have to be another day. He could rest today and save finding the Lost Grippli Empire for tomorrow... Or perhaps it would just be another day of line rigging. Only the mercurial seas could answer that question.

NOW Likitt rests for the evening.

hrm. I really ought to have Likitt sleep for the night. I will allow the tall people to... bond in whatever way they seem fit.

I am Likitt, and I speak for the Seas.

Hehehe. This story will now turn into Prince Likitt's quest to impotently convince entrepeneurs to stop consuming kelp forests for the sake of rampant consumerism.

Needs more moustache.

Thank the spirits that Scourge had been too hasty with his whip and the aim, perhaps marred by an overmuch of rancid rum, veered off. Likitt could not tell whether the misaim had been a clever ploy or merely a fool's strike, but considering what he knew about his new 'boss', it figured he might have enjoyed a bit too much of a careless aim. With brash and bluster, Scourge stormed away and the Prince was free to let forth a weary sigh, muttering, "Fool of a boy. We are prisoners and must buy our freedom with whatever favors we can allow. So kind of you to drop two quarts of favors into the gangplank, when it can be stored... Still, I cannot discount your bluster. Since we've gotten in enough trouble, what's the worst that can happen. Look here, let me see those bottles."

Snatching up Airy and Velvet's bottles as well as his own, he glanced skyward, where his Spirit sat innocously as a toucan could. With a flutter of wings, the colorful bird landed on his shoulder delicately, without a word but with a faint rippling of form, as if broadcasting its unearthly qualities to these set three. One webby hand over the three bottles, Likitt muttered a faint prayer in his native language; a squishy and gutteral sort of croaking that had an oddly pleasant melody to it. From this hand fell a small torrent of water, filling the quarts and the surrounding table with the scent of fresh rainwater with a tinge of oily rum. "As fresh as I could make it... At least you won't shrivel up." Likitt takes a gulp from the freshly conjured water and unceremoniously dumps it on his hands and face in the manner of washing up. The salt made his skin awfully dry, so fresh water was a blessing.

Still, there was much left to do. Without so much as alerting the Outsiders, Likitt rose from his spot and walked towards Tamesis, Bolvak, and Sandara, stopping at the baling bucket to check to see if anyone had thrown out or spit in his rum. Approaching the trio, he remained cautious for those around him but nodded towards the redhead, "You saw beyond my stealth, so I will have to consider you a RIBBIT comrade or get whipped doubly. I am Likitt, and I speak for the Seas."

And with the utmost of courtesy, he sweeps his cloak aside in a courtly bow, something mildly ridiculous on such a small body, but having some sense of nobility about it.

As soon as Likitt was about to return to a comfortable and truly soothing nap, he noticed that Master Scourge, Sadist Extraordinaire had caught a leery eye and was approaching them with tromping footsteps. In the back of his mind, a small animalistic creature was screaming to run, to flee, to hide in whatever spot he could avoid that whip.

But was that right? Was it just for him to leave other people to suffer like this?

Of course it was!

Still, Prince Likitt could not depart quickly enough and that moment of indecision might declare him courageous, or just a fool.

Hey YBD. do you have a preference of whether Likitt is present when scourge comes knocking?

Likitt had to admit, this particular cabal of people had guts, or at the very least a sense of foolish defiance that the Frog Prince found amusing. As he observed the Blue One. er... Velvet Abs-a-plenty follow his dumping of the rum and then immediately after assist Airy in her plight, the Grippli nodded in appreciation, "No doubt the stuff will rot our minds and our resistance. It would be a crime to subject ourselves to this filth. I will try to see what Fresh Water I can come up with, but not now... Not in the open."

As he keeps his bulging eyes open, the Rum-enjoyers also appear to be rather chummy with the bosses. Certainly they were old hands and enjoyed their sense of seniority. None of the more hesitant and frightened captives seemed to enjoy the Rum. While he could use it to bribe, it seemed like a difficult plan to cause an old salty to rebel, at least not without good reason. However, the fluttering of a particularly colorful scarf caught his attention, followed by a knowing wink from a redheaded Tall Folk. Paranoid out of his wits, Likitt turned back to the group, hyperventilating as he tries to alert Airy, "Cueball... twenty feat behind me... Wearing that... Kapenya thing."Then after a moment of recollection at the sheer fury of the Sylph, adds, don't let him see you notice. Stay calm and wait..."

Confident in the knowledge that the Sylph will hopefully not make a scene, he turns to the Lady Kieran. The insistence on the name seemed to imply some sort of nobility, but he did not recall anything from his travels. She seemed a good head on her shoulders, although he wondered if the horns caused her to be top-heavy. She also appeared to be one of those fighting wizards that all of the young sailors wanted to aspire to. Derring Do, cunning escapes, Panache and Gung Ho. He had occasionally seen Copper Dreadfuls with stories about them, but these heroes never spoke to the spirits and Likitt was convinced it was a complete falsehood.

Meanwhile, the big bruiser by the name of Bolvak seemed to be evolving into an ideal sailor, cursing and slurring all over. There was a plan in motion and while everything was looking cheerful, Likitt felt too drained to cooperate, "That is all well and good, but I must rest my weary bones. See what information can be had, but don't act sloppy."

Likitt rests for his night action to remove Fatigue

Pulling himself down from the ropes with a sulked posture, Prince Likitt was feeling the hurt and would have given anything to just flop into his bed and sleep the night away, but his life was no longer his own and the cavalcade of drudgery was only beginning for the day. As the crew congregates for the Bloody Hour, those who worked insufficiently or with a lack of diligence were whipped with an increasing glee by Master Scourge which seemed more and more a fitting name as time went on. While the Prince felt pathos for the whipped, it really only convinced him to avoid such a fate by doing the best work he could. Negative reinforcement seemed to have its benefits.

The unlucky thief was given a quick dip, which answered the question of sharks in the area... Yes... There were sharks and that scared the crap out of Likitt. Cringing away from the sight, he noticed the rising bruises on Airy. While the Grippli was grateful that she was attacked in his place, he recalled that the Sylph was actually very kind if not talkative the night prior. The pangs of sympathy sounded out, but not yet enough to overcome his own self-preservation.

The Skilly 'n' Duff seemed too sweet with not enough meat, but he was not in the situation to complain. However as Likitt considered the rum, he thought about the night prior and how being unprepared and drunk got him into this mess. If he was to behave like proper fake royalty, he shouldn't be sullying himself with such poisons. However in that same vein, everything was a tool and there were those who enjoyed their rum something fine and could become great friends and possible mutineers. Using his natural talent with going unnoticed and unhindered by any silly things like armor, Likitt spirited away the quart, allowing it to fill the first few inches of a nearby bailing bucket. He would have to return to retrieve his prize and figure out who to grease.

With an unsatisfying dinner finished, young Likitt padded his way around before getting nudged over to the rest of the crew, at least many of those who visited the same bar as he. They were trustworthy to some degree, or at least less likely to stab him in the back. With a low murmur that seems more like a croak, he addresses those who arrive, trying to remain out of earshot of any 'superiors', "Name's Li-kitt, not Froggy or Toad. Keep calm... The spirits will not abandon us." Every so often, he glances back, the general nervous tics of someone expecting betrayal, but actually checking for telltale signs of drunkards in the crew; those who might be tempted by an extra portion of rum for the evening. Although the siren call of sleep beckoned to him, he may not have time to rest. There was much to do if he was to survive and overcome.

Stealth to Hide the Rum: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19
Perception to Check for Rummys: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11