[Game Thread] Part 1: Good Morning!

[MjkTheatre]

part 1: Good morning!

[MjkTheatre]

The first thing that hits you is the headache. Somehow managing to be dull and sharp at the time, it's like someone is taking a chisel to your brain. You thank thankful that it is so dark in the room your in that you can barely see your hand in front of your face. The sickly taste of cheap wine lingers in your mouth. Your clothing feels strangely rough and itchy and a slow rhythmic creaking fills your ears. Only after you notice the creaking do you realize that the hard floor below you and the dark room around you seems to be gently swaying in time to the creaking, making you wonder if you are still drunk... except the hangover kind of disproves that thought... You can barely see but you get the sense that the room is quite large and you can almost make out long flat shapes extending out from the walls.

With a start you realize there are other bodies in the room with you and they are slowly rousing themselves as well...

[Darkshard]

Sarah opened her eyes. They stared into the blackness, dark and wide as they tried to drink up the room and find some light.

All right. Creaking rhythm. I'm on a boat. Ow! My head...

First things first. Sarah rolled slightly sideways, making a small moaning sound as she kept her mouth closed. She patted the floor beside her urgently, needing to feel about and make sure that no one was there. Then, "Heuuuugh!"

She didn't actually Hey, high Fort save!vomit, but she did lean over her arms, head flopped forward, trying to control the vile sickness in her belly and panting. Then she forced herself back up, onto her arms.

In other circumstances she might have been inclined to flop back down and go to sleep, but she'd obviously been press ganged. Bloody crimpers. She felt around on her shoulder, feeling the rough fabric. Hessian? Sackcloth? It made her scowl, albeit momentarily.

Second things second. Feeling in front of herself again, she tried to find a nearby bulkhead to direct her senses, but none was within reach. "All right," she whispered aloud, her voice hoarse and low. She cleared her throat of whatever foulness was in it, then spoke again, grinning into the darkness. "All right. Any of you that's awake, sing out so I don't step on you when I try to move, 'kay?"

[Khodexus]

"Who the ****, hit me with the **** of the ****?!" Were Morgan's first words when she came around. She was not a complete stranger to hangovers and headaches, but was still basically a lightweight in the liquor department. Not that she'd readily admit that, and that was obviously what got her into the mess, cursing like the sailor she aspired to be, heedless of the possibly reckless ramifications of announcing to the world around her that she'd regained consciousness. "**** who ****** on me? Oh, ****, I think this **** is mine."

She did her best to focus on her surroundings, and reached out, both physically and with her more mental senses, "Jack, are you ****** there? Jack?!" She tried to get to her feet, trying to think back to what had happened to lead her to this odd place. Where were her clothes? And more importantly, the things she kept with her clothes? For that matter, how had she gotten changed, and was changing clothes the only thing she couldn't remember? In a moment of frantic panic she checked herself for any injuries, or worse.

[DraconigenaArma]

His mind rebelling against reality, clinging as hard as it is able to the darkness, Tom lays as still as he's able, considering the gentle motion of the deck beneath him. It is that gentle motion that keeps him from slipping back into the bliss that is unconsciousness. Something about it scratches at the numb bubble around his mind as important. Something both dreadful and wonderful all at the same time. The reason crashes down on him as the last tangible wards of sleep disappear: he's on a ship. That's good right? It is where he belongs. But he can't rember how he got here, and that's an undeniable poor move on his part.
Now that he's awake sounds other than timber and rigging assail his ears and they seem to involve a fair amount of cursing. One, no two, voices are discussing their predicament (or so to speak.) He's not the only one shanghaid. That's a good thing, as being the solo pressed man sounds like a death sentence. Speaking of being the solo man,
"I must be in heaven," Tom croaks with as much humor as he can spare, "all I hear are ladies voices."

[iwood2465]

Bharash awakens slowly, trying to will away the pain in his head. As he centers himself and stares at the wooden ceiling, he goes over the situation in his mind. His ale was drugged. He's on a ship; in what looks like a general crew quarters to be exact. What's more, the ship seems to be sailing. With a sigh, he swings his legs over the side of his bed and he sits up.

He counts five more people, three of them fully roused, the other two coming to. He speaks quietly to himself in Aquan, figuring that he's probably the only one who speaks it, "My mouth tastes like dead rat and fish. And now I'm here with drylanders. Besmara help me." He looks over the others closely, trying to remember tales of drylanders as much as he can. Three humans, a halfling and. . . a half-orc, if he recalls correctly. 'Stupid, larcenous and stupider. It's not like being in the company of proper people, that is to say, Undines.'

He stands up and moves to the foot of his bed, and looks at the chest there. It's highly unlikely that his captors put his things in there, but perhaps they did. As he's doing that, he asks in common this time, "Who is Jack? Doesn't seem to be one of us six, human." He looks at Sarah then, not helping her, hoping she steps or trips on the halfling. He could use something to smile about, as he bends down to check the container.

[Khodexus]

"Jack is my familiar." Morgan looked towards the sound of the voice that had addressed her, though she couldn't see much in the dim light. Then she switched to Aquan, "How the... I don't know the word for that in your language, but... how do you even know what a dead rat tastes like?" Focusing on something other than the problem at hand was helping her to regain her composure, she supposed it could be considered a defensive mechanism that... and there she went self analyzing again...

She turned then towards the hoarse male voice still lying down, "Don't make me come over there and kick your..." matching actions to words as she got to her feet, glad that her legs seemed more or less steady beneath her. This wasn't the first time she'd been on a boat, for certain, but definitely the first time she'd been one this large, or without the memory of how she'd gotten here. As her bare feet hit the floor she scowled and addressed the room in general, "**** ******* ****, where the **** are my ****** boots?!"

[Darkshard]

Sarah couldn't help it. She burst into laughter when she heard the stream of cusswords issuing from the woman's mouth; she only laughed the harder when she heard some man saying how he must be in heaven with all these ladies about. "Out to flirting in ten seconds? Atta boy," she told him, still laughing. "It can't have been that great a night, sweetheart, I'm still wearing clothes." Then, in response to the cussing woman, she held up her hands, still half-laughing. "Easy, girl. I don't know where your boots are. Gorum's cock! I don't know where my boots are. Which reminds me."

Sarah finally pushed up, wobbling as she stood. Without a point of reference, and sick as she was, her balance was off, and she lurched sideways. Thankfully, she managed to step heavily into the empty patch of floorboards she'd ascertained earlier, and not onto, say, the halfling - whom Sarah didn't yet know about - specifically onto the halfling's outstretched hand.

Woozy and still with a throbbing head, she straightened up slowly, feeling above herself to touch her hands to the low ceiling. Sarah was tall, and there were never high ceilings belowdecks. "Oi!" she bawled at last, bracing herself against the beams above and ignoring her splitting headache. Sarah filled her lungs to yell upward, loudly enough that it might be heard through the planks above. "If it weren't a woman who undressed me? there is going to be some serious trouble, all right?" Aware of the flirtatious lad nearby, she conscientiously amended as she lowered her head, "Don't get me wrong, nothing wrong with being undressed by a guy in the right circumstances. Just not if I don't remember it."

[DraconigenaArma]

Rolling over, achy and slow, Tom laces his fingers behind his head and relaxes. It was black as night and he wasn't going to volunteer to stumble about like he hears others doing. He let's the conversations in various languages was across him like water. He thinks about the rough fabric on his chest and chuckles to himself that of course a woman's first thought would be about her clothes.
"Rendevous accepted lass, but I'll be kind enough to spot you a drink and a name first. Mallory." Tapping a foot through the air in an idle manner Tom waits for the nausea to subside. The gentle pitching and rolling goes a long way to quell the sailor's stomach. He finds himself land sick more often than seasick, and even then only in the most violent of seas, and then he only gets sleepy (not ill.)

[Aerandor]

Kevaran awoke to quite the commotion. All around him he heard yelling and cursing. That wasn't odd for him. For a moment he thought he must be back at the Thieve's guild common room. But then, it was women who were yelling and cursing, and that was a bit odd. Just as he processed that thought he was hit with a massive headache, followed by the sudden need to spew. His eyes darted around to find the nearest object he could safely hurl into. His eyes fixed on the chest a few feet away. Despite how groggy he was, his sudden need and naturally good agility made it possible for him to quickly get to his feet and nimbly dash to the chest without stepping on the others in the room. Kev noticed a strange blue man near the chest, looking like he was about to open it too. Well... he might not want to after Kev was finished. Kevaran threw open the chest and leaned into it...

When he was finished, Kevaran was able to focus in on his surroundings. Rough clothing, not his own. The floor swaying back and forth. The conversation he had woken up to. Rapidly, Kev started to piece it together. Those weren't just shadows after all it seemed... He slowly turned around to face the rest of the group. Sorry for the poor introduction there. Seems our captors forgot to adjust the dosage of... whatever they gave us for someone of my stature. A little more and I would have slept for good. Kev unconsciously reaches for his pouch where he keeps a stash of pipeweed and his pipe, then sighs when he realizes he doesn't have them anymore. Kevaran notes the people in the room, especially the females, and though he takes in their physique and beauty, he tries not to make it obvious that he's looking. After all, he may need these people to like him if he wants to get out of this situation. So, now that we're all awake, anyone want to figure out how to escape? Or at least take command of the ship? While he waits for a response, Kev

Dice Perception:

d20+7

(4)+7

Total = 11

looks for any doors that might lead out of the room.

[MjkTheatre]

Just as Kev starts to scan the room, the sound of several sets of heavy footsteps followed by a bolt being turned cuts through the commotion. A door about five feet away from the group opens and the harsh light fills the room and stabs directly into your hangover sensitive eyes. When your eyes finally adjust you realize the light is coming from a covered lantern and that lantern is in the hand of a tall man with a long, thick black beard. He has a gruff looking face and a tattered black trench coat covering leather armor and loose brown slacks. His dark red bandanna covering the top of his head makes a striking contrast due to its color... something like dried blood.

He is accompanied by six rough looking men carrying saps. A pained grimace, that seems to be an attempt at a smile, cracks the bearded man's face as you notice the long, loosely coiled whip in his other hand. Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? Blackbeard growls, thick spittle getting caught in his thick beard and glistening in the lantern light, On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap'n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!

[Kshnik]

OOC: Pre Blackbird entrying

Jaala groans at the pain in her head as her eyes flutter open for a second. Her mouth opens, her tongue moves in and out, as she tries to remove the dryness and awful taste. She opens her eyes flutter open, a bit longer, as her senses take in the smells, sounds and view. She closes her eyes again as her mind rolls back. I entered a tavern, I drank, not much and .... dont remember more of that. She opens her eyes again, allowing her senses again to take over. The sounds of others, appearing to be in the same predicament, as herself, rolling motion, wood, creaking of wood, cots, chests, smell of salt in the air, and this weird taste in her mouth, like cotton.

On a ship Jaala sits up slowly, pats herself No weapons, clothes gone replaced with rags. are thoughts that pass through her head. It appears we have been taken, most likely as slaves.

Jaala listens to the others and states, when there is a break in the conversation, in a low voice The name is Jaala.

[DraconigenaArma]

Tom's hands immediately cover his eyes against the light. Once he can focus all he sees is the whip. Being whipped like a slave was the single most humiliating thing in his life, above and beyond the pain. He leaps to his feet and though he doesn't shout, he keeps any resentment from his voice.
"Aye aye bosun." He makes the assumpetion of rank considering no self respecting deck officer would go below to rabble up pressed men. He eyes the rest, both pleading and advising them to be as compliant.

[MjkTheatre]

Blackbeard eyes Tom for a second before grunting, At least one of 'em isn't completely worthless. He looks expectantly at the rest of the group...

[Darkshard]

"Ar!" Sarah said, wincing away as the light struck her eyes. When she finally opened them again the man was halfway through his spiel, and the afterimages had mostly cleared from her eyes.

Even had Sarah been inclined to fight her way out, they were outnumbered and unarmed. She recognised that voice though - not the man himself, but the tone he was using. This was a man who was paid to whip a crew into line - and did it well.

"Mornin', Jaala, unlucky you," she said as her feet were already taking her straight towards the chest in response to Blackbeard's command. Now, he looks like the sort of b*stard who'll give someone a taste of the lash, just because. Still. I'll set to with a will, but I'll not be cowed either. Of course, I'll likely taste the lash myself, but thems the breaks. "Be fair, now," she went on, now addressing the man, "We can 'ardly be expected to be up and lively after them knockout drops." She said this last with some emphasis, but in deference to the man she did keep moving fast. There was nothing in the chest but clothing, now covered in vomit. Of course, they're not going to give us our weapons back yet. "See, I'm up, I'm up," she said placatingly, "I'm going, I'm going. Sir." And with that she hurried forward, ready to dash out on deck as she'd been told. Keep moving.