Creative Director
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This is the campaign journal thread for Rob McCreary's "Skull & Shackles" campaign, a game he started up here at the office. The game happens more or less every other Friday after work—we've got a session this evening, in fact! Several of us are keeping campaign journals, so you'll be able to see different viewpoints from the different characters.
And it should go without saying: ARRRH! THAR BE SPOILERS AHEAD! Don't read this campaign journal if you want the contents of the Skull & Shackles Adventure Path to be a surprise!
The cast of characters:
Sasha Dracktus—female human rogue
Slivikin—male human cleric of Besmara
Madrid—female undine sorcerer
Klarg—male half-orc fighter
Calistril 3rd, 4712—I've managed to snag a beaten-up journal, a quill, and some ink, despite the fact that I've got nothing else but underwear to my name right now. I won't be able to record much at a time here, since I have to write when the officers aren't watching, but keeping track of what happens seems important.
My name is Sasha Dracktus, and one of these days, I'll be the one in charge.
My career as a pirate hasn't gotten off to a strong start, alas. As far as I can tell, I drank something that knocked me out last night in the Formidably Maid. It might have just been the fact that I'd had a half-dozen drinks before that. I was depressed, you see... the flying snake tattoo I wanted sort of, well... ran out of funding, and so now I've got a half-finished awesome tattoo that I couldn't afford to get finished. Not much more depressing than a half-finished tattoo.
But that's the least of my troubles. I woke up here, in the hold of some ship. I found out later the ship is the Wormwood, captained by one Barnabas Harrigan. A foul-mouthed and foul-smelling pirate—a man named Master Scourge (not sure if Master's his first name or not), ran a bunch of us up onto the deck and told the lot of us we were now the crew of the Wormwood, and that if we wanted to avoid getting turned into shark bait or WORSE we'd learn our jobs quickly!
He had us do a few tests—climbing the rigging—to determine who'd make good riggers. I'm normally pretty good at climbing, but hangovers do wonders to make you NOT good at ANYTHING, so I ended up being assigned to being a swab. I spent the rest of the day repairing stuff and stitching sails, and started meeting some others. There's a super-stubborn half-orc named Klarg; he ended up in the rigging. And a beautiful blue-skinned woman named Madrid who seems to have some sort of magic in her; she ended up being a swab too. And there's two priests of Besmara on board as well—I made sure to make friends with them as quickly as I could. One of them's a man named Slivikin—he ended up being assigned the job of assistant cook. Not sure if that's good news—Besmara's the goddess of strife, after all, not gourmet cooking. I guess I should just be happy we don't have a cleric of the god of poison helping to feed us. The other cleric is a woman named Sandara Quinn—she was also working as a swab, and from her I learned that one of the other crew members, a woman named Aretta Bansion, used to be a prostitute. I'm not sure why Sandara saw fit to tell me that.
Anyway, that night, a crewman named Jakes Magpie, who had been accused of stealing from the ship, got himself keelhauled. The officers obviously intended this as an object lesson for the rest of us. When they pulled his lacerated dead body up the other side, I'd say that said lesson left a mark. On me, at least.
After that, they gave us our rum ration. The stuff was hands down the WORST rum I've ever tasted. It burned. I coughed up blood, even. No more for me, thank you very much!
That evening, after some (surprisingly not foul) fish stew, I snuck off to scavenge some actual clothing so that I didn't have to parade around in my underclothes. That tiny triumph... finding clothes... is a small sliver of hope. And the fancy peg leg with the silver band I stole from the galley a few minutes ago is a much LARGER silver of hope. Should do as a weapon if I need it, and there's a quartermaster on the ship I could probably sell it to. I have a feeling I'll need to start stockpiling equipment and supplies for the days to come.
Not how I imagined my piracy career would start at all. But at least it's started!
Calistril 4th, 4712—Four of us... Madrid, Slivikin, Klarg, and I, were jumped this morning by a fat thug named Fipps Chumlett and his cronies, Jaundiced Jape, Slippery Syl, and ex-whore Aretta Bansion. We managed to turn the tables on them—I actually brained Aretta pretty good with that peg leg, but we still ended up being late to deck duty and were all assigned lashes that evening. Great.
I worked at rope duty during the day. Tying ropes. Untying ropes. Over and over. Master Scourge yelled at me all day too, just because it turns out I'm not all that good at tying knots. I'd like to tie his NECK in a knot! I did manage to sneak off to try to sell my peg leg. With the proceeds, I was able to buy a very familiar looking rapier and set of leather armor from the quartermaster. I bet my hand crossbow and a few other personal items are in there as well... hmmm.
Sandara Quinn gave me a holy symbol of Besmara! She said she'd managed to talk the officers into letting those of us who worshiped Besmara to have our holy symbols back. Which is nice.
That evening, at bloody hour, the four of us took our three lashes from Master Scourge. Not fun. I managed to endure without many tears, even though he kept hitting me on the half-finished snake tattoo. Damnit.
After that, Slivikin snuck us some healing to fix the whipping. That was nice too.
I played cards before bed with some others and won 20 gold pieces! Well... I bet my 5 gold coins and won 15... but still! Every day is better than the last on the Wormwood!
Calistril 5th, 4712—Today I manned the bilges.
Gross.
I also found a mace, and then bullied Aretta into not being as mean to me. Operation "hide the rum" seems to be working—other folks aren't so good at sneaking the rum over the side of the deck during the rum rations as I am though, and they get lashes for wasting rum when they get caught. Rum hurts.
Tried to befriend Slippery Syl, but it turns out she's FAR too frightening to make friends with.
Calistril 6th, 4712—We passed a big island off the starboard today, on a southwesterly course. My job today—I'm a runner! My attempt to further befriend Aretta only succeeds in undoing my previous day's work. Also, being a runner is very tiring.
That afternoon, the Wormwood floats by some strange flotsam. Klarg fishes out a barrel with a monkey inside of it! Jack Scrimshaw runs up on deck all freaked out just a few moments later... he got bit by something down in the bilge. We were selected to go down there to clean the place out.
Turns out, the bilge was infested by enormous rats. Rats that, as it turns out, are easy to kill.
Later that night, Madrid and I snuck off to rob Fipps Chumlet's locker —we take his hold, some thieves' tools, and a magnet. We stash the magnet in Slippery Syl's locker... after checking out her stuff, of course, which included a bedroll, a funny hat, some acid, and a few coins. I took some of those as well.
Klarg boxed with Shivikah... he won, but only barely.
Calistril 7th, 4712—Today's job: repair work! Aretta is still standoffish... starting to think she's a lost cause and not worth "saving" from Fipps's influence. That evening, Madrid earned herself six lashes for not drinking her rum ration for two nights in a row. I tried to make friends with Rosie Cusswell, but she does NOT like me either. This ship is filled with angry people!
Then Master Scourge brought up a huge lumbering man named "Owlbear" for some fun. This guy'd been tarred and feathered, and had apparently been kept as a pet or something in the hold. Klarg volunteers to fight him! The fight ends up a draw, with Klarg granting Owlbear mercy rather than killing him. As a result, Owlbear becomes Klargs buddy! How is it this stubborn longshoreman's making more friends than me? It's not fair!
2 Calistril, 4712—I awoke after a roudy night of Merrymead aboard the pirate ship Wormwood, and have been forced to work as a member of the crew. I have proven myself the best climber aboard and have been given the job of a rigger. I fear I won't be able to make it back to Port Peril to work—if I even have a job to go back to. For now, the other rigger is a fop of a gnome named Conchobhar Shortstone who seems to fancy himself something of a dandy pirate and whom I fear I will need to spend more time with than I'd prefer.
Aside from him, it seems I've been press-ganged along with a blue-skinned woman named Madrid, a red-headed weakling woman named Sasha with a pathetic, half-done snake tattoo, and a man in a dress named Slivikin. There's also a batch of new eggs a bit riper than us: a hot tattooed cleric of Besmara named Sandara Quinn; a quiet loner named Crimson Cog; and a muscley halfling named Rosie Cusswell (who certainly makes good on her name).
My first day aboard I was assigned lookout duty and used the opportunity to talk to the dwarf rigger Tam "Narwhal" Tate, who was pretty hostile toward me and wasn't at all interested in having much of a discussion. I'm not used to the movement of the boat on the water, and the pendulum-like sway of the crow's nest nearly made me sick, but I held it and the swabs got to clean up something other than last night's chowder.
Speaking of chowder, that meal the cook Fishguts cooked up was pretty bad, but it didn't hold a candle to the wattered-down grog they forced us to drink. That loosened me up a bit for the evening but tore up my insides something fierce. I gotta find a way to not drink the stuff or drink it without such strong side effects. It musta been stronger than I thought, cause that Rosie halfling beat me at arm wrestling! I gotta get my skill up and see if I can't make some money betting on it in the future—just not against her.
4 Calistril, 4712— The next morning we got jumped first thing in the morning by a couple of other members of the crew. We knocked one of 'em out and the others fled, but the hold-up made us late for work (that's two days in a row for me!) and got us three lashes at Bloody Hour today. I ran my mouth off and got myself another 3, but I told Pegg to bring it—I expect he will.
This morning I was assigned ropework, and I struggled mighty hard tying all those knots and coiling them. My climbing skill got me assigned to rigging, but they never checked to see if I could tie ropes first. Their loss, I guess, promoting such inefficiency. In any case, I got a rope bash from Master Scourge for my mistakes. I wanna gut that sunuvab&+!~.
At the end of the day, Bloody Hour came as scheduled, and along with it came the lashes I was promised. I remember the pain from the first three lashes that connected to my bare back, but I don't remember the last. I awoke in the hold with my friends around me and the taste of saltwater in my mouth. Sasha lent me some gold to gamble with in a game of bare-knuckle boxing. I won, of course, but ended up making only 25 silver pieces after repaying her. After that, night passed without event.
5 Calistril, 4712— The next morning I was assigned rigging repair, yet another task they assume I'd be good at, but I keep telling them, "just 'cause I can climb doesn't mean I'm made for tasks up in the riggings." I'd still rather be working on the docks, but even if I got back to Port Peril today, I likely wouldn't have a job to go back to after three days of absence. I snuck down into the bilges to see what I could find in the ship's least visited area, and I ended up scavenging about 22 gold pieces. That night I went back and I got a few tindertwigs and a heavy mace. That bilge is a frickin' goldmine!
6 Calistril, 4712— I worked the main sail, which was tiring work, and again not something I was well-suited to do. I spent some of my newly found money to buy back my greatclub, sold my mace, and got a good look at what else she's got to offer. Midday, a mass of flotsam floated by and I hauled in a barrel that had a monkey in it. I named him Chuckles but he doesn't seem to be trained. Shortly thereafter, Mr. Plugg sent us down to the bilge to get rid of some giant rats down there. I had a tough time hitting any of them, either cause they kept swimming around through the murky water or just because I'm not used to fighting with my greatclub anymore. In any case, we beat them, and I finally got some armor, albeit leather instead of my own chain. Slivikin got himself a fine hand axe I'm hoping we can trade in for money to buy back some of the rest of our gear. Later still, I boxed Shivika and barely won, but got myself 20 gold in winnings.
7 Calistril, 4712— Today saw more of the same, line work, looking around for valuables on the foredeck, you know. After rum rations (which I continue to avoid drinking, though I know there's a steep punishment for shirking that crew duty) Plugg brought out a behemoth of a man covered in tar and feathers and challenged me to fight him. The simple man, named Owlbear, had a blind spot I exploited to avoid some of his heavy hits, but when the officers gave him a club—in a bare-knuckle fight no less—Owlbear really started to clobber me. After another hit, however, he seemed to give up, but the officers kept calling for the fight to continue. He surrendered, and I stepped back, and the great oaf seemed startled that I wasn't hitting him. Plugg called the fight and declared all bets forfeit, so no one made any money on the fight, but I think in the end I made a new friend of Owlbear, and ultimately that might turn out to be worth much more than a few gold pieces. Later in the evening, I played my first game of hoglob and beat the tar outta my opponent for even more winnings.
8 Calistril, 4712— Today was rather uneventful. If this is the average life of a sailor, I miss land even more. I hope I can still find work on the docks when we next see land.
9 Calistril, 4712— On the 9th, our seventh day on the Wormwood, there was a gale blowing, and of course I got myself assigned to high rigging work for the day. I focused all my energy on getting the job done and not getting blown off the mast into the water. Despite my efforts, it was tough to get up the slippery mast and Master Scourge harassed me. I lipped off, challenging him to attempt the same, and he promised me a few lashes. I further pissed him off by saying he'd be welcome to come get me off the top of the mast when it came time to deliver such.
Well, Bloody Hour came around and I was called to deck for my lashings, but I again challenged Scourge to come and get me. He sent up Slippery Sil and Tam "Narwhal" Tate to bring me down, and when I refused, they attacked me. In the end, I clean killed Tate with a sock to the jaw and he fell the 50 feet to the deck with a crunch, quickly surrounded by a crowd of crewmen and a growing puddle of blood. Sil let off with a simple glance from me after that, but then Captain Harrigan ordered Plugg and Scourge to bring me down. They shot some arrows and bolts at me, and eventually knocked me out, but I managed to lay down in the crow's nest before the lights went out.
I awoke restrained by several members of the crew, and was quickly healed by the resident Besmaran clerics before being keel hauled. I just remember the pain of being dragged around the keel of the ship, the barnacles tearing into me with each heave of the rope by the crew on deck. I don't recall when I lost consciousness, but I didn't die from the barnacles or drowning. Don't mean I got healed upon being brought back on deck, though. Not much more to say about that day, but I think I made huge strides toward earning the respect I'm deserved.
10 Calistril, 4712— The next morning, Sandara Quinn healed me and urged me to hold my insolence, hinting that the time will come for me to exact revenge on Plugg, Scourge, and all the rest who haven't respected me. Instead of openly defying them, it was suggested I keep a list of those whom I want to teach a lesson to, as there are "talks" going on among some of the crew, and my chance may soon come. Amidst the storm, however, I had little time to think on it, as I spent the day doing high rigging work and helping guide my inexperienced friends among the ropes so they didn't fall and die. I tried talking to "Ratline" Rattsberger, but he seems not to like me much, despite me showing how tough I am by living through yesterday.
That night, while the entire crew compliment was busy fighting off the storm, I went to the foreward hold and asked Owlbear about the hatch to the officers' quarters above. He said only officers were allowed through it and that he was supposed to keep anyone from going up, but that I was ok. I didn't find anything useful or particularly valuable in there, other than seeing the lay of the cabin and how high-quality the locks seemed to be.
I told a rousing story that evening, loved by longshoremen throughout the Shackles, and it went over quite well with the crew. Perhaps they're starting to take a liking to me now that they know the hard work I've put in on my time as a dockhand. Scourge is still giving me crap, but I've started throwing him my toothiest smile and telling him how good I bet he tastes. But if I must take his undeserved lashes to earn the respect of the crew and show that corporal punishment is no way to motivate a crew then that's what I'll do. Should he learn I would work even harder were he simply to recognize my contributions to the ship, I would stop this whole stupid dance.
I took my nine lashes that night with defiance and my toothiest grin, and was healed by Slivikin. Sasha and I played blind man's spike and won handily, winning us a nice sum of silver.
13 Calistril, 4712— I was assigned more line work, and it was more of the same old same old. I won't claim that dock-working isn't monotonous, but I'd take it over this roping every day of the week.. . if I still had a longshoreman job to go back to. This afternoon I bought myself a few flasks of acid, and at this point I feel like I've recovered just about everything I had when I got press-ganged into this terrible lot.
14 Calistril, 4712—Today I got assigned—you guessed it!—more line work, which I'm getting somewhat better at, though I still hate it. It was so unbearably hot, though, that I wore myself out something fierce. We got sent to swim out to a reef to catch crabs, and got jumped by a pair of reefclaws. Those things are rough, and I could barely move after all those claws injected their weakjuice in me with every pinch.
15 Calistril, 4712— It's still really hot, and I've been sent to do linework. We seem to have built up a routine in this regard. It's almost two weeks I've had this new "job" and I believe I may be getting the hang of it. Turns out moving crates teaches you a few things that help atop a mastpole.
In the middle of the day, Ratline Ratsburger got himself caught in the riggings, choking himself on the mainmast. I swang down from the foremast to help lift the spar from pulling the rope tight, and with the help of Madrid and Sasha we managed to get him free. One more friend for us!
A bit later I heard from Slivikin that Mr. Plugg has nut rabies. I didn't know that was a thing, but now I'm going to gut him double twice just for having such a weird affliction.
I got caught sneaking my rum ration and got a few lashes. I'm feeling stronger of late and can take more of a beating and I wanted to make sure Master Scourge knew his disrespect was even less skin off my back than before. He asked after a few extra lashes if I was good, and didn't like my honest response that I was better than him, so I got put in the sweatbox. Not so bad, all things considered; reminds me of when I was a boy growing up on the docks and the local bully locked me in a crate, gagged, for three days before I got found.
16 Calistril, 4712— I sang myself a little song about being in the sweatbox all night and much of the next morning, and I even heard a few people outside humming along as they heard it over and over for hours on end.
Midday they pulled me out and Riaris Krine put me and my friends on a jollyboat to teach us to board a ship with a grappling hook. Krine's method of discipline is similar to the rest of the officers', and I wasn't particularly motivated by her disrespect. To try to convince me that I should be climbing faster, she told me how she lost her leg, which I found to be a pretty funny story. She didn't like my laughing and drew her sword and cut me something fierce. With my already weakened state from being in the sweatbox all day, I felt my head go light, so I sat down and told her that she could do the boarding in my place, then it all faded to black.
I woke up in the water with two of my friends about me, who pushed me back on the boat. Seems Krine shoved me overboard. I'm gonna stab her through the throat with her own peg leg when her day comes, and that'll be soon. I refused to jump through her stupid hoops, so I stayed down and she seemed to think I was still unconscious. They put me back in the sweatbox for another 24 hours, but with the extra healing Slivikin gave me, it wasn't too bad.
17 Calistril, 4712— After they let me out that night, I showed my scars to Sandara Quinn and told tales of how the officers tried to keep me down but how I survived and have been galvanized against the tyrants. She seemed impressed and finally helped me get that sea monster poison worked out of my system. Then I went to bed.
18 Calistril, 4712— On the 18th I was assigned line duty on deck again. Seems they don't want me up in the riggings any more. Maybe they're afraid more of 'em will fall to untimely deaths. I got caught dumping my blasted rum ration and got six lashes from the cat. Managed to take all six, just barely, but taking these beatings is earning me respect, so I'll keep taking them. I beat that pansy carver Jack Scrimshaw in arm-wrestling and made myself a few pieces of clink.
19 Calistril, 4712— The next day, I got sent to the bilges—a welcome change, cause I was starting to stink and could use the bath—which seemed to give Mr. Plugg quite a laugh. He won't be laughing when he's hanging from the mainmast by his tongue. Before I went down, though, Scourge and Plugg took my greatclub so I wouldn't "get in trouble." I managed to keep my brass knuckles clinched in their hiding spot (festering so they smell better when I punch with 'em) so I had those. It seemed I was being sent into a trap, so I pulled 'em out while I was bilging. Lucky I did, too, cause my fellow workers down there—Jaundice Jape and Maheem—pulled shivs and attacked me, saying it was time I "leave the crew."
I managed to take both of 'em down, but Maheem bled out. I was hanging by a hair of energy, but had the sense to take Jape's knife and stab up Maheem's body so it looked like he died from knife wounds and not my fists and teeth. I hid my brass knuckled in the bilge, then I played like I was knocked out until the officers came down to check on us.
I fooled everyone and they healed me to wake me up then asked what happened. I told them Jape attacked me and that while I was defending myself, Maheem attacked him. I got knocked out, and I guess Jape killed Maheem. He's got no tongue and couldn't tell his version of the story, so they had to believe me, especially seeing as I didn't have any weapons on me. Jape's in the sweatbox now and they're gonna keel haul him tomorrow.
I got caught not drinking my rum again—that stuff tastes like my brass knuckles—and they gave me more lashes with the cat. This time I succumbed to the blows and fell unconscious, but Slivikin healed me up after carrying me back to my bunk.
I bare-knuckle boxed that night and won a bit more money.
20 Calistril, 4712— I again worked in the bilges. Not much to report about that. Sometimes on a ship nothing happens. It's those days I wonder if maybe I wasn't more cut out for this than I thought. I can put in a good day's work here just as well as I did on the docks. I even found myself a nice patch of fur among the bilgewater. I wonder what I can sell it for.
While I was down working, I heard some commotion up above and went to see what was going on and apparently there's a ship on the horizon. Maybe we'll get to take part in a real fight for once and finally get us some respect. I lost some money that night at cards. Maybe I'll stick to fighting.