The story of Argus Filch, summoner extraordinaire and his compatriots: Kurusk, a half-orc barbarian and scout, Siomara, a bard artfully trained as a Lotus Geisha and Falkirk, a warrior born to wield the blade left for him by his father...
At any rate we were awoken by a Master Scourge and his fellows. The symbolism in the name made me hope that perhaps this was a merely a foul dream while the lack of creativity it exhibited assured me that if so, the dream was most certainly not mine. I and my compatriots – others similarly disposed last night and similarly indisposed this morning – were informed that we had been taken aboard the Wormwood to round out their crew… ‘press-ganged’, I believe the term is, and a sorry need they must have had to have taken one such as me. Perhaps I was simply like one of those bait fish hauled ashore with the broader catch, though in truth that analogy brought no comfort considering the only use bait fish usually found. One of the others, a large, rather brutish fellow, seemed to take umbrage at having had his person seized and expressed it by seizing one of their persons in turn. Even battered as my senses were, I was astounded at the strength the man in question exhibited. He was huge, certainly, but seemed driven by a singular rage to have been caught so and in truth I believe he caught our captors by surprise. Two were down and another nursing a bloody nose by the time they finally beat him into submission, dragging his bulk up onto deck where the rest of us were herded and dropping him like a so much dead weight at our feet. Upon closer inspection, he did not appear completely human – or if so, he was one of the uglier specimens I had come across… more likely he had orcish blood running through his veins which would have explained both the freakish strength his anger had allowed him to summon and the rather foolhardy use he had put it to. We were, after all, at sea, and the open ocean was more formidable a foe than any gang of club-wielding toughs. There on decks we were met by the Captain, one Barnabas Harrigan by name, who introduced himself and then just as quickly dismissed us from thought as he went about the wider responsibility of his vessel. We were instead left to the tender mercies of his first mate Mr. Plugg and the aforementioned Master Scourge who set to with his lash as if every cut of it brought him as much pleasure as it did agony to its target. We were directed to climb the rigging of the main mast all the way to the crow’s nest and I – eager to escape the caress of Scourge – quickly complied. I managed to reach the top first, either due to my natural nimbleness, the love I bear for heights or perhaps simply because I can manage a morning hang-over better than most. By the time I reached the deck once more, Plugg was still kicking and taunting the barely conscious half-breed as if the man could managed to stand much less climb after the beating he had taken. He took pause in his abuse to name me to the rigging crew for my efforts and then glanced around asking if there was a cook amongst us. None answered, so he singled out a comely lass - one I remembered from the evening before for her story-telling and rather alluring smile - and directed her to the galley. His eyes were not the only ones to move over her in a licentious manner as she went, and I suspected that her being sent to the kitchens would serve primarily to keep her out of trouble with the rest of the crew, if only because the lecher intended to keep her to himself. The day was spent learning our tasks and brutal they were. I counted myself lucky to have earned a spot in the rigging, beyond the greater share of Master Scourge’s attentions and out of reach of his lash for the most part. My fellows who were relegated to duty as swabs fared worse though there were no more outbreaks of violence that day. As for myself, I found myself working with another halfling by the name of Ratline… he was a taciturn gent, quite unlike the usual gregarious nature of our race though I supposed life aboard ship had been hard on him. He was missing fingers and more than a couple of teeth, but he was as spry in the rigging as I was and despite his reluctance to engage me in conversation, we seemed to work well together. By the end of the day one of my witticisms managed to evoke a grin which I counted as a personal victory. As harsh as the day had been and as exhausting the work, I found myself in better spirits than I had expected by the time we were again assembled on deck late that afternoon. My positive outlook would not last long. A fellow was brought ondeck before those of us assembled, looking much the worse for wear, and introduced to us as Jakes Magpie, a member of this crew and an admitted thief from the quartermaster’s store. He was sentenced to keelhauling, something I had heard described but never witnessed and I pray never would again. Bound he was by stout ropes and tossed into the sea only to be drug along the boat’s bottom to the far side by several crew members – Mr. Plugg seemed to take a perverse and fiendish pleasure in handling the ropes himself as the punishment was administered. The keelhauling took long enough that by the time he was drug back up the far side of the ship it seemed certain he would have drowned… but I was quickly proven wrong as the bloody remains brought on deck could not possibly have survived long enough to suffer such a kind fate. What was left of Jakes Magpie was tossed overboard to feed the sharks that had gathered at the scent of so much blood and that was the story of him. The evening was a sober one, with even the rough chuckles and sneering comments of those who had participated in the keel-hauling subdued. There was little conversation as each of us reflected on the new reality of our lives and alternately contemplated escape or resolved to simply be put to a better end than what we had just witnessed. There was another halfling aboard – the only other as best I could tell – and her name was Rosie Cusswell. She turned out to be as aptly named as our friend Master Scourge as she and I and Ratline gathered together in the shadows of the sterncastle, content to be out of sight for a time. From that vantage, I listened as Rosie told her story, one not terribly dissimilar from my own as she too was newly arrived, and kept an eye on the rest of my kidnapped compatriots. The big half-breed had retired early belowdecks, no doubt exhausted as much from the day’s hard labor as from its inauspicious beginnings… another fellow whom had been taken with us, nearly as large as the first, spoke quietly with a redheaded pirate of solicitous nature, and from the look Master Scourge gave them both in passing, I expected that bit of intimacy would cost him. Our newly-made cook’s mate stood at the railing not far away looking out to sea, conversing with a rather dramatic and foppish gnome who’s gaze seemed drawn to our hiding place as often as it was to her rather impressive bosom. From her demeanor, I suspected that she was good-naturedly patronizing him in the manner of beautiful women faced with well-meaning but self-involved males… and in the manner of well-meaning but self-involved males, he seemed quite oblivious to that fact. I close unsure of what the future will bring, having resolved only to escape notice of the first mate and his lackey as much as possible and to keep a weather eye out for any opportunities to improve my situation…
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Day 1
This morning was the very definition of a rude awakening – little is remembered of the night before… I had found myself in what could hardly b described as a reputable establishment, though being a bit low on funds hardly put me in position to be choosy. The Formidable Maid it had been called, though the pounding in my head makes it difficult to be certain, a doughty place not far from the docks of Port Peril – an aptly named little Thorpe if ever there were one. The crew of the Wormwood had apparently put into port with booty to spend and as is my wont, I had joined in the celebration of the rough-tongued but seemingly good-natured fellows. Alas, nothing comes free and it seems that I would be paying for my excesses at a far steeper price the customary aches and pains of a morning come too soon and too bright.
Day 2
I learned a bit more about my fellow captives today – the woman is named Siomara, and from both the grace she displays and her artful ability at conversation, from inflection and intonation to seemingly casual touch to emphasize this word or that, I suspect that she has had some formal training in such things. Kurusk, the half-breed who had such a rough time of it our first day is her exact opposite, as brusque with his words as he is with his actions. It is not as if he is openly hostile – not towards myself at least – but simply that he is indifferent when it comes to how he is perceived by others. I have often found that there is a touch of nobility in such a perspective, if more than a bit of naiveté as well. At any rate, it seems that he had been press ganged before and had recently escaped only to find himself back at sea in the same circumstance… which explains both his initial outburst and his current resignation to his fate. The fourth member of the Woemwood’s haul in Port Peril – apart from myself – is a fellow named Falkirk. He moves with the easy deliberation of one well-accustomed to combat if not quite with the rolling gait of a sailor-born. He is quiet and keeps to himself, seeming to save his conversations for the redhead who has all but adopted him, and ever watchful of the first mate and the master-at-arms Scourge. Of us all he seems the most comfortable with his situation and I suspect that he is already considering a move up in the ranks of this crew. The way Scourge eyes him whenever he and Sandara cross paths I fear such a promotion would only come as a result of violence. Speaking of Sandara – the redheaded pirate who has taken to Falkirk – I have discovered her to be a fascinating individual. Of the ship’s crew she seems the most amenable to conversation, perhaps too much so at times, though without the braggadocio that makes Conchobahr both amusing tedious in equal measure. She amused us with tales aboard ship, including how she duped the quartermaster – another orcish halfbreed – into returning her belongings by playing on her superstitions and intimating that they were cursed. It turns out that she is an ardent follower of the pirate goddess Besmara and despite her personal distaste for Plugg and Scourge, she has a care for both this ship and many of its crew. She has warned us that Captain Harrigan is a fearsome and capable man and a captain infamous for both his brutality and daring. He is clearly not a man to be crossed lightly. In the evening, I again gathered with my countrymen – I believe that I am beginning to win Ratline over as again we worked well together in the rigging. Rosie on the other hand remains guarded, content to keep our company only because her easy dominance of the group I suspect, but this eve she mentioned ruefully that her fiddle had been taken from her when she was brought aboard along with everything else, and that more than anything she longed to have back. From what Sandara told us, all such possessions were claimed as ship’s booty and are being kept in the quartermaster’s store. After witnessing the fate of poor Jakes Magpie only yesterday, I have little urge to try my hand at thievery but I wonder if Grok’s superstitions can be successfully played upon a second time…
Our second day began almost as roughly as our first. We were met in the passageway by a handful of crewmen, toughs looking to haze their new fellows or perhaps simply ensure that we knew our place in the hierarchy of things. Harsh words were exchanged and predictably and altercation ensued – I avoided entanglement by muttering a few words of magic and dazing the one sailor who had thought to accost me, slipping by as the scrum began. The Cook’s mate was caught up rather eagerly by another crewman as the scuffle became an all-out brawl between the remainder of our assailants and the two remaining. In a bit of ill-conceived gallantry, Conchobhar (the gnome) attempted to intercede on her behalf and took a kick to the gut for his troubles – I suspect that his flair for the dramatic and his weakness for damsels in apparent distress will be his undoing one day. On the balance, I can say with some pride that in the cramped confines of the passageway, my two compatriots gave far better than they got and no less than five of our foes were nursing broken noses and split lips by the time all made it out on deck. The boatswain was indifferent to whom had started the fracas or why, and all involved – excepting myself - received lashes for being late to the muster bell
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We had an odd occurrence today – young Jack Scrimshaw, an affable enough lad all things considered, was on rat-catching duties below decks and came out of the bilges with a nasty bite. Upon hearing his report, Plugg immediately chose Kurusk and Falkirk to go investigate, and then tossed me in as well as an afterthought. It’s becoming clear that he bears no love for our little group and I’m beginning to suspect that all such unpleasant duties shall begin to fall to us. We ventured down into the bilges uncertain what to expect – we had heard there was a fair infestation of bilge spiders down there from other members of the crew but I doubted that would have accounted for Scrimshaw’s piqued look. Sure enough, there were a number of rats of monstrous size – dire rats – milling through the bilge water, their sleek coats all but obscured except when they moved about. Neither of my compatriots had any weapons handy except for a dagger that Sandara had slipped Falkirk and that would hardly be equal to the task… fortunately my particular talent was. I had the other two secure the trapdoor – I was not yet ready to have my abilities become common knowledge – and I summoned spectral counterparts to the rats themselves, enough to ensure that they would be more than a match for the disgusting creatures. The battle was joined and within a few moments it was over. As my summoned creatures dissolved into the ether from which they had come, Falkirk and Kurusk gathered up the dead rodents, six in all, and laid them out to show to the First Mate. We also took the time to examine the bilge area closer, in part to make certain that we had dealt with all the vermin and in part to see what we might discover among the refuse. There were several weapons, spotted with rust from disuse but still serviceable which we took care to secret away on the off chance that they might be needed at some point… I also turned up a pair of tindertwigs and a small pouch of gold which I kept to myself for now. We brought the nasty beasts on deck to show the first mate and deduced that they had come from a dodgy consignment of grain picked up in Port Peril. The grain and the rats went overboard (which I was pleased to see given the uncertain origins of dinner the night before) and we were returned to our tasks. Falkirk was selected by Scourge to replace Jack Scrimshaw belowdecks in the bilges which had been stifling and miserable in the brief half-hour or so we had spent down there – I did not envy the big man the enmity he had earned from the boatswain. That evening, Siomara entertained us all with stories of ghost ships rumored to have plagued the Slithering Coasts, and of the hook-handed captain who commanded the undead crew. All listened both enraptured and with a healthy dose of sober respect, superstitious lot that they were, but I’ll confess that I did not sleep as well that night as I might have, so good was the telling.
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Day 4
Opportunities to write are becoming fewer and further between as the exhaustion common to such labors begins to wear on me. Our third day aboard brought little of note. In speaking with Siomara, I have learned that the Cook if a fair enough fellow, especially compared to many others aboard, but that the nature of this ship has all broken him and that he spends much of his time aboard in a drunken stupor – even more so now that he has a mate to assist him, often leaving her with the lion’s share of the thankless task of feeding such a large and raucous crew.
Day 5
Falkirk came on deck in time for the Bloody Hour clearly on the brink of exhaustion and was met by Sandara which openly infuriated Scourge to no end. When Plugg brought his ‘pet’ the creature known as Hartshorn onto deck for a bit of sport, Scourge was in his ear almost immediately. More and more its becoming clear that there is no separation between the two of them, apart from that of bully and lickspittle. Plugg challenged the newer crew members to a bout with the big man, singling out Rosie and Falkirk. Despite his fatigue, Falkirk began to rise to the task – I suspect in an effort to spare Rosie – but he was forestalled by Kurusk who saw an opportunity to exact his revenge on Plugg’s pet if not on Plug and the boatswain themselves. Now, with regards to Hartshorn it must be said that I’ve rarely seen a more pathetic figure. He was massive, certainly, and looked able to rip a yardarm free if he wished, but it was clear that he had been poorly treated. He was blind in one eye – or appeared to be – bore far more scars than he could have rightly earned on his body and even still sported poorly-healed burns infected with white feathers – apparently the results of a jape by some of the crew when they tarred and feathered their ‘Owlbear’. Worse yet it seemed the dim creature had surrendered to their abuse, actively making a greater fool of himself to curry their favor. Despite his hulkish size, I could feel little more than pity for him. The fight itself was a of an event. Money changed hands as bets were made, and the two fighters circled one another warily before Kurusk finally took the fight to him. Again the half-breed channeled this inner rage he seemed to keep a tight lid on and used it to his advantage – Hartshorn was no trained fighter, no nimble blade to use Kurusk’s size and aggression against him. No, he met him blow for blow and while Kurusk seemed to shrug off his clumsy attacks, the blows he gave in return were staggering. Hartshorn was overcome fairly quickly and began to retreat before Plugg admonished him cruelly and tossed him a greatclub that the big man apparently favored. Kurusk showed little concern that his foe was now armed, and the first blow that landed seemed only to enrage him further. It was not long before he had Hartshorn in full retreat, reduced to a blubbering mass as the rest of the crew mocked him – our comrade, caught up in his rage, moved in to finish him but Falkirk chose then to intercede, calling the half-breed off and attempting to restrain him until he calmed down. The crew grumbled over that turn of events but their hearts were clearly not in it, and while Scourge and Pluggs enmity towards Falkirk and the rest of us no doubt grew, I suspect we may have made a friend for life in the beleaguered Hartshorn.
As suspected, Falkirk found himself assigned to the bilges once more, as miserable a chore as I can imagine. I had my hands full working the mainsail today, but again Ratline and I were able to move more nimbly in the rigging than the larger crewmen working with us and I managed to avoid the lash of Scourge. Karusk unfortunately did not – he was set to making repairs and splicing rope and large as his hands were they did not prove so dexterous. Scourge made sure he felt the lash more than once, darkening the half-breed’s mood to the point that I was surprised he did not erupt in anger. That evening, however, he got his revenge in a manner of speaking.
Day 6
Siomara found out from the cook Kroop – during one of his lucid moments I imagine – that Hartshorn has an affinity for small, live crabs that he usually uses to flavor stew. She managed to pilfer a small sack of them and brought them down to him to try and make amends for his hard use yesterday. If Falkirk earned his respect, I suspect that Siomara has earned his undying affection. She has that effect on most of us whenever we become the sole focus of her attentions and to be honest, I am beginning to think that at least some of it is sincere. Weather is getting rougher and word is that a storm of some intensity is brewing. Should it catch us, I do not know when next I shall get the opportunity to write.
Falkirk continues to draw bilge duty but endures it stoically. Sandara seems to help a great deal in both his keeping an even keel and in his physical recovery as well. It seems his curt and at times brusque manner matters not at all to her.
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When the storm hit not all of us were prepared for its intensity. Ratline and myself took lashes for how poorly we handled our tasks in the rough weather that presaged the storm’s full fury. By the time it had us in its grip most of the crew were in the rigging, tending to sails, loose bow lines and the like. It was both unrelenting and exhausting, carrying us through the night and into the morning of the next day. Sometime during the night when we were rocked sharply to one side by a rogue wave, Ratline lost his grip and tumbled from the rigging into the sea. Kurusk and I reacted as quickly as we could, trying to get him a line before he disappeared beneath the waves, but the sea took him too swiftly and there was naught we could do. It is with no shame that I admit that by the time the storm had subsided all of us had felt the lash more than once for how poorly we reacted, for how unprepared we were for such a fury. As uncouth and unclean as these pirates appear, the crew is a capable lot, and there is no doubt in my mind that we would have been lost if not for such experienced hands. The following day was almost unbearable as fatigue set seep into our bones and the weight of Ratline’s loss bore on me like a stone about my neck. Still, the ship had repairs that needed to be made, more than I can count and there would be no rest until they were tended to. Hungry as I was, I collapsed into my bunk and slept until awoken the next morning.
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Day 10
I write with a heavy heart today. The storm did indeed catch us and for a time there was genuine concern that we would not survive it. In point of fact, not all of us did. My friend Ratline is lost.
Day 11
As afternoon wore on, she and I were called down and assembled, along with Siomara, Kurusk and Falkirk. Siomara was carrying six crab pots and Mister Plugg informed us that since we were nearing a host of reefs, the Captain wanted to take full advantage and have some crabs gathered for his supper. We were the ‘volunteers’ who would swim out to reef while the ship anchored for a couple of hours to make the last of its repairs and return with pots full – or not at all. I doubted the veracity of the threat as the ship was already undermanned, but I did not doubt that if we failed in our task, it would provide Plugg and Scourge the excuse to all but flay us alive. That was more than motivation enough. As we lowered into the water and began our swim, Falkirk and Kurusk took the crab pots interwoven with a bit of netting and began to swim. Siomara had had the foresight to swipe a couple of hand axes that the Cook used to butcher the ship’s pigs in case we encountered any trouble at the reefs. To be honest, it was a pleasure to be out from under Scourge’s thumb and Plugg’s eye, even if it was for a fleeting hour or two. The crab gathering began without incident as the reef was alive with crabs of various sizes. Rosie and I scoured the shallower reefs, some shallow enough to walk upon if one tread carefully while Kurusk and Falkirk explored the deeper shoals and lagoons. Siomara was content to keep an eye on the ship and on all of us, to make sure none wandered too far and no greater threats emerged – a good thing too, for Rosie and I disturbed a reefclaw who was making its home in the caves beneath the reef. I was snatched without warning and immediately drug below the water. One arm was pinned and already growing numb from the creatures venom before I even realized what was happening. Rosie cried out to the others and bravely dove after me, using her own handaxe to hack at the beast in a frantic effort to get me free. By the time the others reached me she had managed to hack off its claw and was dragging me to the surface. She and Siomara tended to me while Kurusk and Falkirk fought off the creature who followed, clearly unwilling to lose such a tasty morsel as myself. The attack disturbed a second reefclaw who joined the fray. By the time it was all over I was too weak from the reefclaw venom to stand and Falkirk had been horribly wounded by one of the creature’s death throes. Siomara healed him as best she could, well enough to make it back to the ship if just barely. Kurusk had the sense to gather up the creature’s claws to fill the rest of our crab pots and we made our way slowly back to the ship. We required help to get back aboard, Falkirk and myself having to be hoisted up on a line which drew the attention of many, including the captain himself. He expressed an absent concern until he heard the entire story and discovered that we had managed to bring back the claws of the beast, regarded by many as a delicacy. I was given a shot of brandy from the galley stores to counter the effects of the poison and Sandara did her best to heal Falkirk’s remaining wounds. Harrigan himself made a grand speech about how a sailor would risk life and limb to see that his captain ate well and how such devotion should be rewarded. He had Grok return all of the equipment that had been seized from him the day of his capture, including the ancient and superbly-made falchion that he had apparently inherited from his father, an act for which Falkirk was sorely grateful. There was no mention made of my own brush with death but in truth I was content for the brandy and the rest of the even off to recuperate.
This morning we awoke to clear skies and a cooler breezes, the sort that can only follow a violent storm. We are approaching the Slithering Coast and extra attention needs to be paid to navigating the shallower waters. Rosie has been moved to the rigging to make up for Ratline’s loss and she has shown a greater natural aptitude than I – in fact, the only advantage I have over her is my love of heights, a love she most certainly does not share.
Day 12
Also, in gratitude for her saving my life, I was able to sneak to the quartermaster’s store and barter Rosie’s fiddle back from Grok, using some of the coin I had found in the bilges. She was understated in her acceptance of the gift, but I could tell by the light in her eyes that I had cemented our friendship for good. Siomara entertained the crew once again with storytelling, this time with a series of rather bawdy tales concerning a local magistrate’s daughter, his wife and a rather well-endowed pirate with a peg leg. The woman remains a jewel, seeming at times as if the filth of this ship does not touch her – I know that she has gotten on well with the Cook and the Quartermaster and even today went down to look in on Hartshorn, bringing some of the tiny crabs she had caught just for him on our little expedition. In truth, I begin to grow concerned for her because not all gazes cast in hr direction are innocent in their admiration.
We set sail once more shortly after our party returned from its crabbing expedition and the next day passed without incident. Well, more or less without incident – Scourge was clearly frustrated by the Captain’s favoring of Falkirk and both he and Plugg have been watching him more closely since. Falkirk has returned to the bilges and I suspect that they hope to make his favor short-lived by keeping him out of sight until something more permanent can be arranged.
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Day 14
Today we had a break in our routine as the ship’s master gunner, Riaris Krine has been instructed to begin educating us on boarding techniques. All members of the crew are expected to fight when we overtake a vessel and as such we were taken out two at a time in the ship’s jolly boat just after dawn to practice throwing grapples, securely hooking the ship’s railing and then pulling ourselves up. To make it interesting, a few members of the crew were given license to try and knock us from our perch with rotten food and other refuse. Rosie and I were taken out first and while she did well, I failed miserably, getting knocked from the rope three separate times and earning myself more than a few rope bashes for my efforts. Sandara and Siomara went next – Siomara struggled as I had, but Sandara mastered the task as so often seemed to be the case with anything remotely involving piracy. Kurusk and Falkirk were last up and while Kurusk successfully navigated the climb aboard ship, his throwing one of the offending crewmembers overboard earned both a few lashes and a host of laughter from the sailors who had gathered to watch. Falkirk was exceptional, crossing the distance smoothly and easily, avoiding most of the detritus hurled at him and boarding the ship with ease. The captain took note of his performance, as did Mister Pluggs.[/b]
Day 15
Now, our first mate has ever had a distaste for magic to begin with, and in this case a malevolent spell had cost him the life of one of his sailors, indeed one of his cronies if truth be told. The little gnome was seized immediately from his bunk and thrown in irons until the Captain could render a decision. This evening we learned what that decision was to be – keelhauling. I suspect that Mr. Plugg pushed hard for this in part as a means of retribution towards our little cadre within the crew, aware as he was that Siomara had a fondness for the little gnome. Siomara herself, along with Fipps were severely lashed as well for whatever involvement they may have had – Siomara in an effort to deter her from using her feminine wiles from inciting the crew and Fipps I suspect because Harrigan did not want the women aboard his ship to think that he turned a blind eye to rape aboard ship. At any rate, the little gnome cowered and pleaded for his life, his dashing demeanor finally escaping him but Plugg would hear none of it – our first mate seemed emboldened by the gnome’s weakness in fact and took a fiendish pleasure in carrying out the sentence. Needless to say, Conchobhar did not survive and Siomara, I fear, is inconsolable – Rosie and Sandara are with her offering what comfort only women can, but the incident has clearly embittered her towards the entire ship, Plugg in particular. That’s two friends we’ve lost now since coming aboard… the crew seems to be dividing between Plugg’s lackeys and our own little group. If not for the presence of Kurusk and Falkirk I suspect that there would have been more incidents, more ‘accidents’ but since Siomara’s attack we have all resolved to go nowhere alone when it can be helped and stay watchful for an opportunity to improve our situation.
Last night after most had turned in, an incident took place. A couple of the more scurvy members of this crew – a mute orc halfbreed aptly named ‘Jaundiced Jape’ and a fat greasy fellow named Fipps Chumlett accosted Siomara when she was returning from a visit to Hartshorn. The details, as best as I’ve been able to put together involved the two cornering her near the aft deck after having lain in wait, and their intentions were as clear as they were dishonorable. Siomara was about to use magic to turn Jape on Fipps with an intent to escape in the scuffle, but Conchobhar interceded instead. The gnome had been keeping a watchful eye on Siomara for quite some time, having been smitten with her since our arrival onboard – he fancied himself some romantic notion of a pirate rogue and has often been more caricature than not. At any rate, the little gnome used magic of his own to inspire an unnatural terror in Jape, causing him to flee overboard and threatened Fipps with the same if he did not ‘relent in his unwanted attentions’. Fipps did exactly that, but apparently as soon as he was below decks sought out scourge to make a full report, minus the unsavory details of his own involvement and the two immediately brought the matter to Mr. Plugg.
Day 17
I have had little time to write. Scourge has singled our little group out for the worst duties and has been quick with the lash even they are performed quickly and well. Exhaustion and resignation have begun to take over and tempers are getting frayed. Several fights have broken out though blessedly nothing that would inspire more than a lash or two in discipline. I suspect that Plugg is trying to break us, to get us to react in a way that he can finally be done with the lot of us once and for all.
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Falkirk has been assigned to the bilges almost since he arrived and has endured the stifling conditions and exhausting labors stoically, managing to be noticed more than once by the captain for his performance. Clearly Plugg despises him for that and Scourge is equally vindictive towards him over the interest of Sandara who apparently spurned his own advances not long before we came aboard. Well, today before he was sent down to the bilges he was searched to see if he was carrying anything he shouldn’t be – specifically weapons – on the pretense that he had been seen with one. Nothing was found but it was enough to get his guard up, and his suspicions were confirmed when he arrived in the bilges to discover that he had two additional crewmen assigned to the bilges as well. That had not been the case for the entire voyage apart from the days during and immediately after the storm, so clearly something was amiss. Falkirk kept his head about him, remembering the heavy maces we had concealed in the bilges the day we had had to deal with the infestation of dire rats. When the two pirates – Fipps and another of Plugg’s lackeys named Maheem – began to accuse him of shirking as a pretense for conflict, he moved near the weapon’s hiding place and was able to react when they drew hidden daggers and pressed their attack. I don’t doubt that in those cramped confines the men had an advantage with the lighter weapons, not to mention that there were two of them, but Falkirk has proven himself a capable and resourceful warrior. He took several minor injuries but succeeded in killing both of his assailants before they were able to do the same to him. Now, I have no idea what the pirate’s plans were – I assume they had intended to somehow stage Falkirk’s death as an accident rather than risk being keelhauled themselves, but in truth I don’t doubt for a moment that Plugg saw them as useful pawns, dupes he would have been perfectly content to sacrifice if it meant also doing away with someone he perceived as a rival. Regardless, when Falkirk came on deck bleeding but victorious both Plugg and Scourge both reacted with surprise and then rage, immediately seizing him and asking him what happened with only a cursory glance into the bilges before declaring him a murderer. Later it would be said that he had stolen the weapons and hidden them in the bilges with the intention of inciting a mutiny amongst the crew and that no doubt Fipps and Maheem had discovered his treachery and confronted him. Captain Harrigan was enraged at this apparent betrayal though I don’t doubt that he suspected his first mate’s story to at least some degree… regardless, Falkirk had been publically favored by him, had had the gift of his weapons and equipment restored to him and had apparently betrayed him aboard his own ship. Such a thing simply cannot be allowed if one hopes to maintain discipline aboard ship. Moreover, the loss of two valuable hands meant that the short-handed crew would be even further beleaguered by long hours and difficult duty. He has sentenced Falkirk to keelhauling, making the third such sentencing in as many weeks and our friend has been thrown into the sweatbox to await his punishment until tomorrow. Tonight those of us who are left – Siomara, Sandara, Rosie, Kurusk and myself have begun discussing plans for a mutiny in truth, if only to free our companion and make good an escape. The thought is that a fire could be started and perhaps we could try and take the ship’s jolly but to have any chance of success we’d have to kill the ship’s sorcerer, a woman named Peppery Lomgfarthing whom the captain seems to hold in high regard. Of course foodstuffs and water would need to be secured beforehand as well as the disabling of the ship’s weaponry if possible… it simply doesn’t seem like something we could pull off given our short supply and so little time.
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Day 19
The worst has happened.
Day 20
We’ve pursued the merchant vessel all throughout the day and as evening draw late, it appears as though we may yet overtake them well before they reach the safety of port or cove.
It seems the fates may have granted us a reprieve. Early this morning whilst we were still debating what to do, the lookout sighted sails on the horizon. By all appearances we have found our first victim on the slithering coast – she appears to be a merchant vessel and a fat one riding low with spoils at that. The captain has delayed Falkirk’s sentence while we make chase and we have begun to wonder whether or not the chaos of battle might present us with a better opportunity to free our friend.
Day 21
Evening entry – Victorious! I shall recount the battle as best as I can remember, focusing of course on our role in it. As we began to close on the merchant vessel, we were outfitted with standard suits of leather armor and given weapons with which to fight. For Siomara and I that meant hand-axes while Falkirk was returned his falchion and Kurusk issued back a weapon he called an ‘earthbreaker’. Well does it resemble its name as it stands almost twice as high as I with a massive spiked hammer’s head on the end. I sincerely doubt I could lift the thing much less carry it on my back when crossing – should Kurusk fall I don’t doubt that he would be drug straight to the bottom, but the he did not seem concerned in the least. At any rate, our role was to grapple over to the sterncastle, to secure the steerage and prevent the ship’s boats from being used by crew attempting to flee. Falkirk requested and got Rosie and Sandara assigned to our force due to the perceived importance of our task – a task made both easier and more difficult by the heavy fog that closed in around us, summoned by the ship’s sorcerer. We kept to cover, avoiding the missiles fired in our direction when we drew near and as Falkirk and Kurusk prepared to make their grapple throws, I began summoning sea skrikes – a half dozen of the marine eagles – to harry the sailors who defended the area where we meant to board. The gambit was successful – Siomara began a chant intended to focus our efforts and assisted the crossing by dazing our foes with words of magic as first Falkirk and then Kurusk successfully gained the merchant ship’s deck. Rosie and Sandara followed to help hold our position before Siomara and I followed, admittedly with some difficulty. We were assisted aboard while the warriors first defended us and then pressed the attack. During that time I witnessed Captain Harrigan fighting his way across the deck, menaced by another sailor creeping up behind him. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but before I could Falkirk had stepped up to cut him down. The captain turned just in time to catch sight of the threat as it was dealt with, and he exchanged a nod with the warrior. I suspect in that moment that our comrade saved not just Harrigan’s life, but his own as well. Our strategy was simple – we split into three groups: Falkirk and Sandara moved to deal with the sailors atop the sterncastle who were peppering us with crossbow bolts while Kurusk and Siomara secured one boat and Rosie and I secured the other. It is at this point that I want to say that however an effective warrior Falkirk may have seemed before, he moved with that falchion as if he had been worn with it in his hands – and to hear him tell the story he may very well have been. He and Sandara made a potent team as did Kurusk laying about with his massive hammer and Siomara backing him up. As for Rosie and I, well our diminutive size may have made us appear to be the safer challenge, but my summoned shrikes harried more than one hapless sailor into the sea while Rosie’s strength and quickness with her axe caught our foes off guard. Twice we had to defend the boats from being taken by fleeing sailors – the last time by several sailors led by a ship’s officer – and each time we repelled them. The battle as it took place around us was quite dramatic in the lulls where we were able to watch it unfold. Mists parted to reveal that sharks had been drawn by the fury of combat and blood of dying sailors, making the ocean as perilous as the decks above. At one point the entire ship rocked and shook with an explosion that I found out later was the detonation of alchemist’s fire below decks, and for a time the fire that raged was as much a foe to us all as anything else. I cannot be certain, but I believe that I even saw our good Captain Harrigan emerge from below carrying a bloody human heart in one hand. Who’s and to what purpose he had acquired it I may never know, but the image was chilling to behold and I doubt I shall ever forget it. Needless to say that by the time it all ended we were exhausted and sporting our share of injuries, but all still alive and exhilarated in our victory. Captives were rounded up and paraded before the captain and his officers before being shackled and sent below decks until they could be sorted out for ransom, potential crew or shark bait. The celebration of our victory spilled over onto the Wormwood and continued amongst the crew all night and well into the following day.
Morning entry - Despite the distractions and conflict aboard I find all are flush with the excitement of the chase. As the dawn sun broke we found ourselves less than half a mile out from our prey and closing. Preparations are being made all over the ship – the captain has even ordered that Falkirk be released against Plugg’s explicit objections. I suspect that he has had time to consider the curious nature of the conflict that Falkirk found himself in, but more importantly with the ship short-handed we shall need everyone in the fight and Falkirk proved himself the most able of the ship’s newest recruits during boarding training. He has not fully commuted Falkirk’s sentence but has intimated that if he performs well and proves himself, he may only earn a week in the sweatbox while the entire incident is investigated.
Day 22
One such instance involved the crew of the Man’s Promise (that was the name of the ship we had captured) being offered the opportunity to swell the Wormwood’s ranks. Few took him up on his offer until he made clear their only other choice by tossing one of the female crew members overboard to where hungry sharks still circled. The line formed up right quickly after that, but the woman’s cries took a long time to stop echoing in my ears. More and more I found that the life of piracy appealed to me, the freedom and opportunity of it - but not the cruelty I had seen on display up to this point. A fine line it might seem to some perhaps, but one I felt it necessary to draw for myself and I suspect my comrades felt much the same.
The celebration continued on til mid-day when finally things began to settle down and the business of pirating was tended to. The captain and his officers divvyed up the spoils and I was pleasantly surprised with our share – it seems that Captain Harrigan was pleased with our performance and the keelhauling of Falkirk forgotten about. We each received about 350 in gold coin. Kurusk and Falkirk both claimed chain shirts from the fallen Rahadoumi sailors and Kurusk claimed the ship’s officer’s pike as well which appears to have magical properties. We also received a share in the potions found aboard and for his assistance in the battle Captain Harrigan also rewarded Falkirk with an amulet he said would help protect him from harm and an exquisite shortsword that he had personally taken from the body of the ship’s captain. These last gifts were done quietly and away from the crew as there was no doubt still some suspicion with regards to Falkirk’s alleged intentions of mutiny. It seemed that Falkirk had succeeded in impressing the captain, but as more of the man’s despicable behavior was revealed, the less interested in doing so I suspect Falkirk became.