Third time's the charm!
Hello there
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General Grievious. You look different.
”Have you ever in your life seen such a collection of good for nothing bilge rats and filthy trollops? On your f!%+ing feet, the lot of you!”
You hear the words as if from a great distance. Your mind plays them over and over, but they’re just noise, and you struggle to attach meaning to them. You seem to think in slow motion, and it’s an effort at first to open your eyes. Even when you do, you’re hit with a wave of disorientation. The room feels like it's moving, and everything is fuzzy.
Suddenly, you’re drowning. You cough and splutter as an ice cold bucket of water is dumped over your head. It has the benefit of pulling you from your haze somewhat, and you begin to see your surroundings more clearly, even as you expel water from your sinuses.
You’re in a hammock, one that’s now drenched and dripping on the worn, stained floor. It’s attached to wooden beams that have an aged, weathered look about them, and reach from top to bottom in a dimly lit room that's fairly large but low-ceilinged. The hold of a ship, if the small, round portholes and scraggly individuals around you are any indication. You’re wearing your own clothes, but feeling around you seem to lack all your other personal effects, weapons and armor included.
There is a man sneering down at you and a handful of other people who seem to have been similarly rudely awakened. He's lean and tall, his clothes almost appearing too large for his frame, and a mouth full of golden teeth are gritted into a painful expression that you're pretty sure is a smile. A half dozen assorted, smirking individuals carrying saps are setting down the now-empty buckets they just woke you with. From the smell of it, the water was from the bilges, not the sea.
”Get up on deck and report for duty before Captain Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry you up for breakfast. Move!” He snaps his whip in the air with a loud crack to punctuate the command.
Your brain seems to be coming around now, and the words register. What in the world happened last night? Where are you?
Shaking his head, and regaining his bare feet to the deck.
Bare feet, I was wearing boots last night. What in the gods happened, and where am I
Seadreamer looks with bleary eyes at the others that got woke up the same way and responds with a curt Aye
takes a moment to ensure that all his limbs were still attached, and then thinks
Wait, where is all my gear, those bastards stole it
He makes a quick mental assessment of the others while he starts to stumble for the ladder to the weather deck.
Katara shakes her head, a bit dizzy. Girl, whaddya do this time?, she thinks, slowly cursing her own taste for cheap alcohol. She taps herself, almost oblivious to the people around, finding out that she has been robbed again. Figures...
She finally blinks to see the menacing man nearby with the whip. Her first instinct is that of looking for ways to run away from there, but she is quick to figure out she's in a ship. Instead, she starts standing up. As her left hand touches the wooden floor, she lets out a small puddle - as if just checking if her water powers are still there. She pushes herself to avoid smiling when she's finally up.
She takes a moment to let her eyes circle around - there are others on her situation. Pressganged, she imagines, as she hears the name of the captain. She doesn't really know who he is, or who this guy with the whip is. Would maybe these pirates know about her parents? Mouth closed, Katara's tongue passes through her teeth, feeling that they're all still there, and in her mind she's already plotting a painful, drowning death to him.
Yet, she is smart enough to just keep her mouth shut for now, limiting herself to do small nods to the others, greeting them with a certain grin. As she sees the Dwarf stumbling up deck, she follows.
An average sized, curvy woman with white hair and brown eyes slowly lifted her head off the hammock. She made an attempt at landing on her feet... which only amounted to rolling onto the floor. She at least got herself to a kneeling position as she placed a hand to her head to steady herself.
Why do I have the feeling I've been through this before?
Well, it wouldn't be the first dream she had and it likely won't be the last. Last night almost felt like a vision to her. Her time at the Formidably Maid, the ruckus of the crowd, the offering of free drinks.
The drinks! Godsdammit I've been shanghaied! That sleazy bartending bastard set her up!
And there was likely no way out either with the number of pirates watching over them. Not much of a choice but to comply, she nodded as she slowly got to her feet and walked towards the ladder.
Paying very little attention to the voice in the background, Joran finds himself waking quickly when the disgusting bilge water finds the top half of him. Not realizing where he is, by mere reaction he rolls off the hammock and hits the floor with a solid *thump*. Shaking his head, he quickly picks himself up, looking quite confused.
Quite a large fellow with muscles to spare, he sports blue eyes and his black hair reaches down towards the middle of his back. Wearing nothing but his pants and a shirt, he also appears to have lost his boots just like the dwarf.
"You have GOT to be freaking kidding me! Where in the blazes am I?!" He then turns and looks to the guy with the whip. "And who in the Nine Hells are you?!"
Turning at the outburst and now fully alert, Seadreamer looks back to see what is going on.
Atia had never been in this kind of situation before. Honestly, Atia had never been anything but perfumed and pampered the majority of her young life. She had toned down her ostentation for this trip just a tad, just so she wasn't targeted so easily.
Judging by the foul-smelling water dripping from her blonde hair, her slender face, and her formerly-nice clothing...her attempts might have failed. She tried to remember what might have brought her here, but the only thing that surfaced in the fog of the night before was being at the Formidably Maid and drinking a little bit too much. The drink had made her vulnerable, but the atmosphere in the place demanded her participation in the fun, and she had dove in feet first to the party...she understood now why her parents never let her go anywhere fun without a guard.
Atia scrabbles to exit the hammock, succeeding only in thumping to the ground in a tangle and a soft cry. She scrambles to stand, still dazed, gagging a little bit at the smell that she was certain would haunt her memeories, and pats herself down. It's gone, my spellbook is gone...years of research... She thinks, her eyes darting frantically around the room to see if there was any hint of belongings being so nicely stashed somewhere for when they wake up... a pipe dream, she knew.
The large, shirtless fellow's outburst knocks her out of her own head, and she turns to look at the scene play out. Her older sister always told her that if she was in a bad situation, find the biggest man in the room and hide behind him... this one seemed like he would be someone she could hide behind. She does not, however, move at this point: the man with the whip terrifies her. She doesn't move quite yet, watching the scary man like a deer about to be mowed down by a out-of control wagon.
Noise ringing in her head like a temple bell, suddenly bringing the waves of throbbing headache to her attention, Ming took a deep breath and smacked her lips, just to notice the foul aftertaste of too many drinks and something even fouler she could not place.
She tried to turn around and hide under the blanket for more sweet sleep as shock seized her.
What was that noise? And where was she? There was certainly no blanket!
Luckily she had not changed her appearance in her slumber it seemed and she slowly opened her eyes, taking the scene in.
An ugly man with a whip, a dwarf, another man and some other females, all of them only wearing some sort of rags except for the man with the whip.
And her own clothes gone too!
More importantly, a reeling floor and suspicious noises from outside, which could only mean one thing: They all had been shanghaied!
With a grunt she got to her feet, holding her head and shielding her eyes against the light outside, slowly staggering to where they had been commanded.
Better get up and follow folks, that whip looks thirsty...
As the noise starts, his face scrunches in agony. The third thought is "Bad night . . .." which he recognizes floating through his noggin about the time he's hit in the face with the stagnant sea water from the bilge. He falls out of the hammock with a perfectly executed roll demonstrating how many times he has rolled out of a hammock before, but just falls to the deck as he forgets to try to put his feet under him, his attention on trying to breathe instead.
His head bounces off the deck, leading to a low groan. He grunts and squints, even in the familiar darkness below deck, as he looks around, attempting to understand the situation as he rolls over and stands.
"Press-ganged? I was LOOKING for a ship! Doesn't say much for this captain. He's probably Bosun's Mate. Too big and aggressive to be the First. Some really green hands here. Better get them moving.
Terry realizes his boots are gone after the fourth step or so, barefoot being how real sailors walk the deck, regardless, for stability and grip. "Yep, press-ganged. Forcibly starting at the bottom."
As that thought runs through his head, the recruit who looks like a portable wall let loose with his displeasure.
"Feel of the deck says we're at sea. Worry about which ship after we convince them not to kill us. He's the guy in charge of the group that will punish or dispose of anyone who's too much trouble. ZERO point in letting them kill you here in the dark. We want to see where we are, and they want us to go see where we are. Get up on deck. Worry about after, AFTER." Terry addresses the thug as he walks.
As he moves he makes a point of passing close by the soft blond, placing a hand as politely as possible in the small of her back, pushing gently. "Gotta move or they will punish you. Just stay with the crowd."
Atia allows herself to be moved along by the gentleman who seemed to know what was happening and quietly follows the directions. "Thanks." She whispers, wringing her hands as she makes her way up onto the deck, looking around nervously to try to take in the details of her surroundings.
As consciousness slowly creeps in Randall begins to wonder "Who are all these people in his room and why are they all shouting? and why is the room...moving?" as he opens his eyes and rubs the sand from them he begins to peer through the relative gloom and notices the crowd of people all milling around, looking as confused as he was until it finally sank in, the hammocks, the rhythmic swaying of the room, the creaking noise of a ship at sea "Son of a B@@#$. I've, we've, been Shanghaied"
He rolls out of bed and as he his bare feet strike the deck he thinks to himself "Okay, taking the weapons and other gear I can understand, but to take a man's boots? That's just low." He looks at the sneering man with the whip and the gang of toughs behind him "Ahh, the Welcoming Committee. Just looking for an excuse to beat someone, anyone, just to prove how helpless you are in this situation. Better not give them one"
Randall begins to make his way up the ladder to the main deck, wincing as the light of the sun stabs his eyes.
The man in charge moves to close the distance between himself and Joran, standing nose to nose with the hotheaded young man. Joran's much stockier, but this fellow is a match for him in height. Joran can smell his unpleasant breath as he speaks, loudly and clearly, for all to hear.
"You've got that right, shark bait. You are in the Nine Hells, and I'm one of the devils that's going to spend eternity tormenting you. You lot can call me Master Scourge. And while I'd dearly love to break your f!~#ing jaw right now, the Captain has called all hands on deck. And he's not a man to be kept waiting." He spits on the floor, the splatter hitting Joran's feet. "Best follow your lily-livered companions, boy. Now."
Those of you heading up on deck blink as your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight, a lingering headache reminiscent of a hangover pounding in your skull.
You find you're on a fairly sizable ship, and you've put quite some distance between you and the shore. An ochre haze on the horizon, far astern, is the only sign of land, with brilliant blue seas all around you in every other direction. It's going to be a hot day, already quite warm with the sun low in the sky.
A small crowd of people is gathered around the mainmast, looking up at the poop deck where two figures stand. One of them is a young man, bald but for a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails. His expression is entirely unreadable, but his eyes are cold and cruel as he looks over the new arrivals.
The other figure is clearly, unquestionably, the captain. He's a broad, muscular Garundi man with a shaven head, a long beard bound with gold rings, and an eye patch. He's smiling at the moment, but somehow the expression makes you worry, rather than putting you at ease.
They wait as the large group of you trickle up onto the deck. Most of the crew is looking you over appraisingly. Some are curious about you, others seem apathetic to your plight, and still others grin menacingly, looking forward to hazing new crew members. Only one returns a pleasant expression. A young woman with red hair and a stylish tricorne hat flashes a sincere, friendly smile. Seeming to note the distress on Atia's face in particular, she gives the woman a little reassuring wink.
Katara steps in and aligns with the others, looking with curiosity around the deck as her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. She is Garundi, like Harrigan, and this was obvious through her Osiriani accent; but their appearances couldn't be more different. She is younger, much smaller, leaner, and absolutely non-impressive or intimidating, almost hiding behind her very long badly brushed hair.
It is almost as if she prefers staying that way; she assumes a position throughout the middle of the group, and the only reason she doesn't keep her head down is her own curiosity to look around the crew. While she is starting to identify the officers of the vessel, in her core she knows she will have to mostly depend on the lower decks to survive.
She crosses her arms behind her back and, dissembling her intentions, circles the eyes outside the ship hoping to see some resemblance of land somewhere to find out where they are.
Terry gathers into the mass, stopping once he knows he will be recognized as compliant. He scans the horizon, noting the haze indicating landward. He, of course, notes the officers, but he focuses on the ship herself, on the deck, rigging and sails. He's looking for anything wrong, out-of-place, or done differently than he's seen before.
Terry knows that how the crew works the ship is going to be a major player in how much pain he was going to have until he could find another option.
The man in charge moves to close the distance between himself and Joran, standing nose to nose with the hotheaded young man. Joran's much stockier, but this fellow is a match for him in height. Joran can smell his unpleasant breath as he speaks, loudly and clearly, for all to hear.
"You've got that right, shark bait. You are in the Nine Hells, and I'm one of the devils that's going to spend eternity tormenting you. You lot can call me Master Scourge. And while I'd dearly love to break your f$@~ing jaw right now, the Captain has called all hands on deck. And he's not a man to be kept waiting." He spits on the floor, the splatter hitting Joran's feet. "Best follow your lily-livered companions, boy. Now."
Joran narrows his eyes at the man, trying his best not to take in the man's smell. He calmly looks down at the phlegm that hit his feet before looking back up at the whip-guy. Well, you know that's gonna cost you your head, right? Well, maybe you don't. But you will! Don't you worry about that, buddy. With a matter-of-fact look about him, "Master Scourge, huh? Boy that's original," he comments before making his way up the ladder with the others.
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When he makes his way up, he takes a deep breath to take in the smell of the sea. Noticing the pony-tailed wonder, That one looks like he's going to be some trouble. More so than that idiot Scourge. He then catches sight of the captain and raises an eyebrow at the sight of him. Now THAT one...," he shakes his head, That one looks like he wants to cut the population of the WORLD in half just so's there's more room for him. That one is going to be a force to be reckoned with. If I get out of here alive, it won't be because I had to go through him. Give him credit where credit is due. For now. He then catches sight of the good-looking redhead. Now what in the world is a gorgeous gal like that doing in a place like this? I'd ask her but the miniature giant they call 'Captain' may not like that too much and have me killed... or worse. So Joran keeps to himself, knowing too much talking on a ship that you're a prisoner of never results in anything good.
As soon as Joran turns his back to the man, he feels the whip bite into his shoulder.
"You'll learn your place, shark bait. And if you don't, well. Maybe that'll be more than my pet name for you. Now get moving."
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As the last of you file up onto the deck, the captain begins to speak. While you listen, you can't help but notice an unpleasant taste lingering in your mouth. The bilgewater, perhaps?
“Glad you could join us at last! Welcome to the Wormwood." The captain's voice was very deep and rich, and carried across the deck with ease. "My thanks for ‘volunteering’ to join my crew. I’m Barnabas Harrigan. That’s Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. If you've a question about your duties, speak with Mr. Plugg here." He indicates the bald man with the ponytail. "Or Master Scourge, whom you've made the acquaintance of already. Do your job, and don't question orders."
He turned to go, then paused and turned back around. "“Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhauling for anyone caught killing anyone aboard my vessel. Mr. Plugg! If you’d be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers."
He turned and strode away from the rail, out of sight.
Mr. Plugg stepped forward. His expression was one of distaste, looking down at all of you figuratively as well as literally. "New blood, step forward. The rest of you, back to work." The rest of the crew, aside from the nine of you, did not hesitate, scattering to their various jobs. He looked over you each one by one, imperiously. "First, I am in need of a cook's assistant. Who among you can cook a palatable meal?"
Cringing at the lash that takes him across the back and draws an unseen stripe of blood that he clearly feels, Joran pauses a moment to let the pain subside a moment before moving along. Shark bait, hm?
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As the captain leaves and Plugg steps forward asking for a cook, Joran looks around at the others, hoping one of them can at least cook.
Smacking his lips at the odd taste, recognition comes over him. Well that clears things up. Drugs. I wonder if that's going to be a common theme around here. Drug us night after night. Ugh.
He then glances around and catches sight of a familiar face. Eyes going wide, You! Me and you are going to have a talk at some point, lady. Not about the position I was in the night of, mind you, he gives a slight grin at the thought, but for sure about the position I'm in now, witch. Looks like Korg was right. Stupid Korg. Gonna have to remind myself to punch him if I can avoid getting keelhauled.
As the face of one woman in the crew hits a familiar note in the back of his head, the young elfling considers. There's one. I wonder how many more of the crew were at the bar last night?
Wormwood. Right.
Terry moves forward as instructed. He just shakes his head at the first question. Would be better for her if blondie can cook. She's not going to do well as a swabbie, I don't think. Neither will the white-haired one.
Atia takes in the scene around her, trying to tap into some of her wizardly training: clearing her mind, controlling her emotions, and not letting her fears get the better of her in the face of a challenge. Her training had helped, just a little. She was still shaking as badly as a small dog when it hears a loud noise and her internal monologue was serenaded by a high-pitched screeching, but there was some room for coherent thought left.
Atia swallows hard and shudders at the lingering taste. She rolls her tongue along the inside of her mouth, the slight nutmeg flavor sparking a realization: she didn't overdrink as much as she thought...she was drugged. She surveyed the crowd and didn't see anyone she really recognized from the night before, but given how fuzzy most of the details were, she wasn't surprised. It would explain the static in her brain and the lethargy she struggled to shake with all of the adrenaline pumping in her veins.
Atia steps forward as instructed, finding some comfort in clear expectations and instructions. She didn't immediately answer at the call for a cook - she could cook, but her strengths lay in more...academic ventures. She met Plugg's gaze head-on, shaking like a leaf, and shrugged a little bit at the question. "It's not my strength, but I'm a quick learner." She squeaks, flushing red.
As the taste comes to her mouth, Katara recognizes it and what it can do; it seems this time it wasn't her fault, but rather someone had spiked her drink. Worse, she recognizes the short haired woman with the eye patch, and immediately grins. Someone just climbed on her list to throw overboard.
When Plugg steps forward and asks for who could cook, Katara just keeps her shy look, this time letting her head bow down. Don't I wish?, she thought, not really capable of putting together more than the regular burnt bread with old cheese. At least one of them could, to her relief. In her core she was already imagining she'd be sent to swab decks, but if they needed someone for little repairs around, maybe she'd have a chance to find something less tiresome.
There was no way she could prove it, but she knew it had to be something about that drink. Or maybe it was stronger than she thought. Frowning at her predicament, she sets her eyes on who she's stuck with. Most of the onlookers felt predictable... but the redhead gave her pause. An ally perhaps? It's hard to say right now.
For now, she did her best not to show fear in the face of the officers. When the captain speaks up about a cook, she's about to open her mouth... only for the young blonde to beat her to it. The girl seems like she's faring much worse up on top. "Working here's gonna be terrible, but she needs this more than me.
She signed in resignation and decided not to say anything else.
Ming tried to stay in the back and taking good care to watch all the faces of the old crew and new recruits alike.
The aftertaste in her mouth was becoming worse and worse. Smacking her lips and dry tongue she slowly recognize the taste of nutmeg. Nutmeg which was often used in concoctions to knock people out.
Something every gal like her knew and was always on the lookout for in a bar.
She also recognized one of the crew's women from last night.
She had definitely been at the bar, so much was sure.
Very suspicious. Probably not a coincidence.
She recognized some of the new recruits faces as well.
Then one of the blokes started a speech, introducing himself as Captain Harrigan and pointing out a Mr. Plugg, telling him to make pirates of them. Making her a pirate. The audacity made her jaw drop.
She hurried to nod and stutter out an Aye Captain.
The pieces fell together. The crew was short staffed and had been shanghaiing people in the Formidable Maid last night.
Quite unlucky for her. Now she was stuck on this worm eaten barge with a bunch of stinking blokes.
Best to make some new friends. Fast.
"It's not my strength, but I'm a quick learner."
"You'd best hope so. Captain's particular about his meals." He signalled to one of the crew, a woman with her hair chopped short unevenly, likely with her own blade, and a long, jagged scar across her face. "Show the little mouse to the galley. She's Kroop's now."
Mr. Plugg returned his attention to the rest of you. "I need three more in the rigging. The rest of you will swab for Scourge. First three to the crow's nest never have to work the bilges. Begin!"
Maybe she should have taken up on that cooking job. But her conscience wouldn't let that girl take up the same challenge. So she decided she would try and perform the task on her own.
Unfortunately, she couldn't get any higher than 3 times her own height.
And or every time she managed to get that height, she landed on her back with a thud.
Joran looks over at the squeaky girl and gives her a nod of confidence if she takes a moment to look his way.
He then turns and looks up at his own challenge. Three more for the rigging. Time to go to work. Joran takes off his shirt, checking out the bloody slash on the back of it before tossing it aside. Built fantastically well, one can't help but notice the much older whip-scars - as well as the latest one - upon his chest and back. Circling his arms to work the kinks out and popping his neck from one side to the next, Joran starts to climb.
As Joran makes his way up, the climb turns out to be far easier than he expected. Finding it so simple, he takes it for granted and winds up losing his grip right near the top. Managing to catch himself, he pauses a moment to catch his breath. C'mon, Joran, you know better than that. Pay attention to what you're doing and stop jackin' around. Rolling his eyes at himself, he gets back going again and successfully makes it to the top.
Plugg watches Destinie's repeated attempts end in failure. "If any of the rest of you plan on making as poor a showing of it as her highness over here, give up now and go tell Scourge you're ready to take on whatever s+~# work he wants to give you. Stop wasting my time." His voice was cold and uncaring. He gestured for Destinie to stop and pointed towards Scourge, who was leaning against a door across the main deck, watching Joran's success with a bitter expression on his face.
Katara tries, regardless of her inaptitude, and after some attempts finally reaches the top. Yeah, I ain't cut for it..., she thinks, happy that at least she didn't fall from all the way up.
Running his hands through his hair as he breathes a sigh of relief, Joran finds himself glad the the good-looking gal with the platinum blonde hair decides to call it quits. Man that's a relief. I thought for sure she was a goner. Gonna have to find a way to get her fixed up, if that's even possible in this rathole - at least for those of us who are expendable. She won't last long at all if we don't find a way to tend to those wounds.
Joran catches sight of Scourge watching it all play out. He's tempted to smile and wave at the man in mocking but thinks better of it. Can't do much good if I get myself whipped to unconsciousness.
"Three for the rigging? Better then deckwork."
Despite the comment, Terry stands there until "Shark Bait" is near 10' up. Then he grabs a rope and begins scrambling, passing the bigger man with ease.
Once he reaches the nest, Terry perches on the rail to watch the others. He gets into position in time to see the white-haired woman's second fall. "Yikes! "
Atia catches Joran's look as she follows the short-haired woman and flashes a small smile in return. She snaps her attention back to the woman and frowns at the suggestion of ransom.
"Ah...I doubt they would be able to afford it," She says, not making eye contact with the woman. "What is your name?" She asks, attempting to shift the conversation away from her noble origins. As they walk, Atia wrings her hands absently as a relief from the anxiety. Once she notices it, she drops her hands to her sides abruptly and clenches her fists open and closed.
Oh thank the gods.
The white-haired woman breathed a sign of relief before she slid down back onto the ground. She couldn't help but grimace at some of the others making the trip look easy. But it was probably for the best. So she limped her way back to where the swabs were standing. But there was no way she was standing near Scourge, instead standing next to the redhead.
"Atia. And yes, I can do better than a watery fish stew." Probably... She allowed herself to relax just a little bit, feeling comforted by the gruff woman's demeanor. "Ambrose is the head chef? What's he like?" The chef her family retained had been a terrifying woman, skilled in several different cuisines, and had maintained an expansive garden to supplement their meals. Occasionally, Atia had snuck in to steal sweets, but mostly, she spent time in the kitchen when she had misbehaved and was being punished by peeling vegetables or washing dishes. She could cook herself a meal in a pinch.
She imagines that the fare provided on the ship would not be anything like that and wonders why she even bothered to volunteer. Climbing and deck-scrubbing just seemed like something she wouldn't be capable of and cooking seemed safe...
"Well done there, buddy," he congratulates the half-elf. He then slightly turns his head away at the unexpected yelling. "Yeah I think she's wised up on that now. You bust yourself up like that a couple of times, doesn't take long to figure out that climbing is not your cup of tea. Hopefully we can get her some healing somehow, someway. No idea how but if we don't, she won't last. Name's Bravestone by the way. Joran Bravestone," he says, nodding, before looking back down to see who's next.
As soon as you two were out of sight, she placed a gentle hand on your arm to stop you and spoke quietly. "Hey, are you okay? That looked like it hurt. My name's Sandara Quinn. I can help, if you'll let me." She pulled an amulet from her blouse, a piece of ebony carved with the jolly roger -- the symbol of Besmara.
"Hey Kroop. Got you a little helper out of the new batch." Tilly glanced at Atia. "Sorry, uh, an 'apprentice' eager to learn from a true master chef." she chuckled.
A filthy man with an honest to goodness chicken on his shoulder turned to face you. "Heeeey! Is about time. Too many mouths to feed for one man, even me." His voice sounded permanently hoarse like a man who'd been shouting too much, and he had a thick Kelesh accent."Ready to work, girly?"
Seeing she is only halfway through and at least three of the new sailors are already up the crow's nest, Katara simply smiles and climbs down. She is happy to have at least tried - and it seems she didn't call too much attention by doing so, which she likes. To the swabs, I guess! - she thinks. She decides to go talk to Destinie, as they were likely both assigned to the same station, but it seems the other Human is already engaged with the red haired crew member, so she limits herself to cross her arms and wait.
She stopped in confusion before her eyes opened wide in astonishment. "You're a cleric?" She gasped. She suspected a lot of people herd to be worshippers of the Goddess of Piracy. It was another thing entirely to meet one of her chosen clergy.
Destinie looked around to see if there was anyone else in the room before she replied in a similarly hushed tone. "Thank you for the offer... but I can't accept it without telling you a secret of my own. I can heal myself too. I... don't need a deity to do so either. It's something I've had since a few years ago. I'd like to think it's Desna watching over me."
Hearing about their reaction to Sandara being a cleric gave her a nervous laugh. "Wait until they see how I react in combat. It looks like I get possessed out there."
That aside, she was a bit hesitant on the tour. "I'm sorry but I have to ask. Why are you helping us and what are tou getting out of it? Where I came from, Besmarans don't exactly have the best reputation. No offense."
With a still throbbing head Ming swung herself into the rigging, trying to make her way up.
Randall looks around the deck at his new shipmates, noting the redhead with interest. He joins the others as they scramble up the rigging to the crow's nest. After an initial misstep he soon joins those who made it to the top.
She glanced up the stairs and lowered her voice, though no one was visible. "Good Master Scourge up there took a fancy to me and decided to help himself to a kiss my first day, and got himself a hard slap on the face for his trouble. Luckily, Plugg found it amusing and I didn't face a flogging for it. But let's just say he holds a grudge, and I'd feel better with a few more eyes watching my back. I'm a pretty good judge of character, and most of you new folks don't seem like the murderous psycho types, so here we are!" She winked. "You'd tell me if you were a murderous psycho, right?"
You would guess the lad to be a year or two younger than you, though he's on the short side and it wearing clothes that are much too big for him, likely all they had aboard. The oversized garb makes him seem smaller, so his age is hard to hard to pin down. He glances back up at you and sees you're still looking and quickly averts his gaze again, mopping the deck with more vigor than before.
But more to the point, she rubbed her shoulder with an arm. "I look more like a princess... or a 'trollop' as I heard Scourge say," She frowned. "But I'm neither of that... and I came from a rougher crowd than you'd think, so I'm a bit of a hyprocrite in that regard," she winced. "I thought I'd be done with that life... but the gods seem to have other plans for me."
Remembering she hadn't formally introduced herself yet, she place a hand out to do just that. "Destinie Nicholae." A pause. "That's what my parents gave me... my adopted parents." She shook her head. "Des is fine by me if you want." She was beginning to warm to the other woman and her mouth form a small smile.