Game Thread Early Days Aboard the Wormwood

Icereach · #1 Nov 9th, 2021, 11:03 AM

The Wormwood Mutiny

Skull and Shackles, Book 1

presented by Icereach

Any Port in a Storm"So stop me if you've heard this one: a tiefling, a goblin, a lizard, and a sea turtle walk into a-

"I'll stop yer permanently ifin' ya don't get back t'tha music, Nightcaller!"

Daniel Nightcaller, famed singer of the House of Ejlvajn, wrinkled his aquiline nose in disgust. Normally as much a fan of a rough and rowdy audience as any itinerant troubadour, he took exception to the unwashed masses of the Shackles. No great lover of the sea to begin with, and more than happy to skip the poetry of her winds and waves, above all else Daniel simply loathed that scurvy-ridden, under-handed, black-toothed breed of near-sentience that called themselves pirates. Fortunately, his duties rarely took him to this part of the world.

As much as eating his heated retort galled him, picking a fight in the Forbidably Maid tonight -of all nights- ran counter to purpose. Not necessarily his purpose, per se, but as he aged, that became the case more and more often. Even worse, he'd have to sail out when his task was complete. No one sent word of a pick-up, despite Creyton certainly having methods to do so. Best not to leave any captain short a crew; or, unlikely as it may be, get his ass handed to him in humiliating fashion.

And if he sat here naval-gazing much longer, swallowing his words in the face of the tavern's fiery keeper wouldn't matter.

"Alright then," the deceptively ageless man murmured under his breath, rolling his wrists and splaying his fingers to stretch them. He then slipped his hands into either end of a surpassingly ornate concertina. Despite several arcane abilities available to him, this was Nightcaller's true magic. The wheezy instrument in his hands wailed out and his voice rose to match it, stomping along to a simple sailor's tune, though his own bright inflections were the ones to set the tone.

"There once was a ship that put to sea
The name of the ship was the Billy of Tea
The winds blew up, her bow dipped down
Oh blow, my bully boys, blow

Soon may the Wellerman come
To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguing is done
We'll take our leave and go

She'd not been down two weeks from shore
When down on her a right whale bore
The captain called all hands and swore
He'd take that whale in tow

Soon may the Wellerman come
To bring us sugar and tea and rum
One day, when the tonguing is done
We'll take our leave and go..." *

As he played, the bard squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, shutting out the world while the music skirled outwards. When he opened them again, the room appeared muted, its lively colors and livelier crowds dulled to their darkest shades. Not all of them, however. To the eyes of the House, four individuals in the motley assembly stood out, their tones vibrant and lively. One was a boisterous man, covered in the ink that marked a sailor's daily accountings, getting along far too favorably with the head knockers of the Wormwood's crew. Another, head-to-toe scales and muscle, traded lonesomeness for liquid courage and was soon to run out of steam to fuel either.

While he watched, a proud young goblin privateer exited a side door with yet another group of toughs, causing Nightcaller to wince even as he played. That was likely to be the most painful of the nabbings, though he imagined the others would wake in not much better condition. The last of the four was even now feeling the effects of the spiked drink she'd been fed; likely thinking the sea air would clear her mind, she stumbled to the front exit. Her shadows were not far behind.

Daniel felt empathy for them, soon to be conscripted and far from their lives and loves, set on a path none, not even the House, could fully predict. Destiny roared around them, a clarion song Daniel was only just learning to hear and heed. He felt empathy for them - even as he checked the cork on the small vial, mostly empty, tucked into his sleeve. It wouldn't do for the contents to get on his skin.

*Nathan Evans - Wellerman (Sea Shanty)

Ill-fatedNights at the Formidably Maid were often filled with song, strong drink, spicy foods, and no shortage of danger. Located on the mainland of the Shackles, Port Peril has long been a home for pirates and other miscreants with a might-makes-right attitude and few scruples to quibble over. The Formidably Maid, situated for decades right on the water line in the nefarious city, draws that sort like bears to honey. It's also, unfortunately, where newly minted sea dogs go to find their first taste of adventure and often instead find a taste of Oil of Taggit.

Whether they were drugged or drubbed, the aging three-master the Wormwood found itself in possession of four new unwilling crewmen in the wake of the night's revelry. They were not the first -and not likely to be the last- unfortunate souls to wake in the belly of a rolling beast of the sea. The salt smell of the ocean permeated everything and the floor rocked, a nauseating state of affairs when combined with splitting skulls. At first, the hold was dark and empty but for the four of them.

This near-isolation changed rapidly as the thunderous slaps of bare feet on thick wood pounded through the mush of their besotted brains. Before the group of strangers could do more than sit, the cabin door explodes inwards, the heavy panel quickly trailed by six bulky forms reeking of sweat and brine. The way they moved, pacing confidently bare-chested in the gloom, made it clear they were experienced with the motions of the waves. The way their muscles flexed and the saps in the fists twirled made it clear they were experienced with unruly new mates, as well.

Following the heavy-shouldered crowd into the open birth was a man so tall and slim he almost appeared a caricature of humanity. He couldn't possibly be capable of beating a wet sack in a fistfight, and his gaunt, scabrous face wouldn't be winning any beauty contests. His clothing, thick and serviceable on the open water, appeared a size too large, further reinforcing the delicate nature of his frame. The chain of command was clear, however, for despite their far superior muscles the six faceless seamen deferred to this scrawny prick with haste.

As the four press-ganged newcomers struggled to do more than stir weakly, the reedy man clapped his hands together with deafening peels. The sticky thin line that stretched across his lips was clearly meant as a cruel grin, for the antagonism matched his ravaged appearance perfectly. "Still abed with the sun o'er the yardarm? On yer feet, ya filthy swabs! Ge' up on deck and report for duty 'fore Captain Harrigan flays yer flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry yeh up for breakfast!" To emphasize his command, the man slipped his spidery hand into a coil of leather at his hip that easily unlooped into a vicious-looking bullwhip.

pianoman90 · #2 Nov 10th, 2021, 12:11 AM

Graak Fishguts

Graak blearily opened his eyes and groaned. What had he been hit with last night? The little goblin wriggled his legs, trying to get blood back down to his toes and instantly regretted it. One seemed to be bent painfully the wrong way, so he bent down and with a loud *POP* and a painful squeal, he snapped it back into place. He reached up and rubbed his head, feeling a hard lump near his left ear. Graak snarled - they would pay for that with two of their own bumps and at least as many broken toes if he had any say in the matter. No-one knocks out a Fishguts and gets away with it.

He had been enjoying himself in that bar too - the bard was singing his favorite song and the drinks were flowing freely. That should have been his first clue, now that he thought about it. When did drinks ever get served to him for naught but a song anyway? Suddenly Graak was acutely aware of the rocking boat and memories of exactly how much he had drank the night before came flooding back. The little tough goblin lurched to one side and promptly emptied his guts right next to the half-conscious lizardman.

Now feeling significantly better, Graak's ears pricked up as the first clue to where he was and what he was doing here was coming to find them. He bared his teeth as the bosun (he could only presume) spoke and tried to size the big man up. "There ain' enough rum in the world t' make a face like tha' look good, an' make no mistake..." Graak muttered under his breath, careful not to draw attention to himself in the face of the painful whip at the man's side. He did note his own name mentioned here - could there be another Fishguts aboard the ship? It didn't necessarily bode well, apart from using his legendary forefather's name to get him access to places he otherwise couldn't go, Graak and the Fishgut clan weren't exaclty... 'family-friendly'.

Still, if it was a way of getting ahead in the pirating game, it was worth a shot.

"I am Fishguts, an' I don't think I better fry me-self up for breakfast. Graak Fishguts for that matter. One question first big guy: Where are we and what are we doin'?" Graak blinked and looked around at the others who were still foggy and slow. "Wait a sec... no-that's two questions. Two questions for ya then. Oh, right! An' one more... Who are you?"

Graak finally stood up proper, crossed his arms, and grinned while waiting for a response from the big man. He wasn't going anywhere fast, but kept one wary eye on the whip in case the bosun was going to get 'encouraging'.

Brian · #3 Nov 10th, 2021, 01:40 AM

Vizk Ichimal

In the haze over his mind, time was strangely juxtaposed for Vizk. He was once again an adolescent, crawled aboard a strange ship and sleeping after eating from its stores. At the same time, the uncomfortable sloshing in his stomach, counter to the comforting rocking of the ship, the pounding headache, and fuzzy thoughts overlaid those memories and brought the knowledge of his recent troubles.

He began to stir as muffled, unpleasant sounds assailed him, but his fugue state abruptly ended as a retching sound was immediately followed by a noxious odor that his sloshing stomach protested vehemently. He shot to his feet.. well, lurched awkwardly would describe it better, banged his head against a low beam, hissed angrily, and braced a hand against the beam, his claws scoring it lightly as he gripped tightly to hold the room still, his tail thumped the deck angrily.

Blinking and swallowing hard to keep his own vomit from joining that already on the decking, his brain finally pieced together the disjointed sounds into words and replayed them through his head, just as the goblin near him was saying, "I am Fishguts, an' I don't think I better fry me-self up for breakfast. Graak Fishguts for that matter. One question first big guy: Where are we and what are we doin'?"

Piecing it together, he, along with the goblin and the two other forms on the deck, had been swept up from the tavern. And I'm just a damn fool for getting drunk like that with no one to watch out for me he thought. As he faced the burly men his scales puffed out, making himself look bigger If I can reach the water, I can get free he thought, while at the same time trying not to think of how far from land they might be.

Then he paused and remembered the strange sense he had just had about being an adolescent again. His life had changed for the better the last time he had been alone and found himself on a ship, maybe this was fate pointing the way to his destiny. After all, he received divine gifts from someone or something up there, so maybe he should give this some time and see where it led. His scales smoothed over and his posture became less aggressive.

He narrowed his eyes at the goblin, who he suspected had nearly thrown up on him. The stare was several grades below its usual effect given his eyes' bleary and watery nature at the moment. When he spoke, his voice has a raspy quality that was distinctly different from most mammalian tones and slightly diplophonic, "Aye aye, ready to move. Should we assist these two others to their feet?" he asked, watching the thin man closely to see his reaction.

Ysolde · #4 Nov 10th, 2021, 12:30 PM

The Sea Witch Wakes

She sits watching the waves listening as they crash on the sand over and over again. There is a tune to go with the waves, something that speaks of fish, salt, and a never ending dark with a will that can not be understood by mortal ken. It is that dark, that mysterious force, that the song comes from. It calls to her from the uncountable fathoms, it calls to her and she walks into the water listening to the tune as the waves cover her head. She breathes in and is unharmed...she walks...moves deeper and deeper as the song calls her further and further from shore. The words are almost, almost, within her ken. Then the explosion of sound as the door explodes inwards and she wakes.

Her eyes open as the bulky forms smash into the room. Testuda, her turtle and best friend, is nowhere to be seen and her head is pounding something fierce. These ugly, smelling, brutes of men come into her room and one of them. The thin, foul breathed, cretin begins to speak to her as if she is some servant. Not to say she hasn't ever had a serving position but she'd never seen this man and certainly wouldn't take a position with someone who smells like the man does and never would she agree to help someone who yells orders out.

Somehow her mind figures out that she did not volunteer, she was keelhauled, and now she is a servant. No, say it for what it truly is, she is a slave aboard this ship and the thin ugly man who yells is in charge of her. She stands and moves her fingers through her pale white tresses feeling all sorts of horror as she does so. A lump from where she was hit, seaweed and sand from the beach, tar and pine sap from the floor of the ship. Still, she makes it to her feet and makes some attempt to right her hair. The rest will need to be done later when the foul wretch who thinks he can control her is not around.

As she is about to respond she notes the goblin who makes his own response. She doubts that the foul smelling, thin human, with a whip was speaking about the goblin though. Some other man named Fishguts she supposes though perhaps the goblin's questions will get answer? Perhaps not, but either way she's starting to move when a huge black dragonborn? Alligator spawn? Whatever he is he proposes helping her up and she shakes her head. A huge mistake with the headache and she winces something fierce as she answers. "No need, I am fine and if the...." she tries to clear her dry throat before she insults the foul whip wielding man, "man with the whip will point the way I suppose. I'll get right on whatever tasks he thinks I need to perform."

Now is not the time to fight. So, she's agreed to the man's insane demands. She looks to the piece of fecal matter inhabiting a human body and gives him a sharp triangle toothed smile as her blue eyes go black so that, for a moment, she looks like a female shark. Those sharp triangle teeth glint in the dim light and then they are gone and her eyes are back to being simply blue and her teeth those of a normal human. Making it all seem as if it could have been a trick of the light. But, in all actuality she is a predator, a smart one waiting for her chance to swim in and rend her prey.

That said she will need allies and the dark skin scaled man and small goblin named Fishguts are currently the best options. So, as she moves, she looks back at them, "Seems we are together in this situation. I am Lyneth and if you are injured please come to me. Even without some of my gear I know ways of healing." That will let them know she can be a useful ally without letting the thin and rot toothed man know she is a witch.

**Admin Dirk** · #5 Nov 11th, 2021, 09:10 AM

Badger woke up, the feel of ship's wood hard on his back. Worn smooth and oiled by grime and mildew, he could tell by the gentle rocking motion it was a ship he was on. The smell, too, gave him clues. No ocean breeze or anything simple, but bilge, oil, sweat from a hundred different people that stayed in the moist hull for years. Fish, urine, and vomit mixed in, with the dampness of algae and mold. He smelled decay. But not, he thought, death.

Good sign.

He lay still. Badger heard others speaking, and given that he hadn't been beaten or rolled by them, considered that to be a minor blessing. Maybe they thought by the number of scars displayed on his lean body, he had been beaten enough.

Another good sign.

The tiefling made a noise, then slowly sat up. He was tiefling by heritage, but it was difficult to tell by looks. His eyes, nearly coal black, were perhaps a bit too big for human, but given he only showed one without the patch, it was forgivable to not notice. He had no horns, or tails, or cloven hooves, just a slightly tougher constitution and hardier nature than many. The ravages of heat and cold seemed to bother Badger less than many, but other than fingers slightly longer than average, and a build slightly thinner, perhaps, than many humans, he had no outward signs of his heritage.

As he rose, he assessed his own condition, and found it... remarkably hale. He nodded to the others, a female, a lizardfolk, and a goblin seemed to be fellow inductees. A rather reedy looking foreman stood above, leering down, but Badger ignored him. If he had any true power on the ship, he would not be in charge of the bilge crew, for that is what (and where) he suspected he had begun yet another sailing career.

"Badger" he said with a nod to the others, introducing himself. He gathered his long, black hair back, and began to tie it with a leather thong. As he did, a thick white streak became obvious, starting at his scalp, and creating a weave of white stripe through the thick pony tail he was creating. Happy with the knot, he sighed, and nodded towards the deck above.

"Seems it would smell better up there," he said, "so shall we?" He pointed towards a ship's ladder at the end of the small hold, his hand and arm covered with intricate tattoos. Some were well done works of art, others looked as if they had been drawn by a drunken sailor during a hurricane. "You were about before me, you should taste sea air first," he said.

Badger leaned over slightly, towards the goblin. "And, since I doubt the squidmate will answer you, you've been press-ganged into service." He pointed again to the opening in the deck. "Once we get up there, we'll see what kind of ship we're on, and probably figure out or get told which one."

He straightened back up and looked at the other two. "After that, we'll either work for a bit, or plan our escape. Either way, there's going to be work." He smiled, a somewhat crooked smile due to the scar on his face pulling it slightly to one side.

Brian · #6 Nov 13th, 2021, 02:51 PM

Vizk Ichimal

With the others having, directly or indirectly, given their names he added, "My name is Vizk, but you may call me Scales if you wish, I am used to it. I welcome your company, though I wish we had met under better circumstances." he considered adding that he could also aid with healing if needed, but decided to hold back for now. Even in low tones, he wasn't sure he wanted to give away many details or discuss future plans with the unpleasant thin man at hand. Despite enjoying the shipboard life, his height wasn't well suited to being below decks; he began moving slowly and non-threateningly towards the indicated direction.

Icereach · #7 Nov 13th, 2021, 05:52 PM

Lower Deck - Graak, Vizk, Badger, Lyneth"Whas'at love?" Crossing the darkened hold with the swaggering walk of an old salt, the rail-thin man paused in his over-sized boots right in front of Graak. "Kin to Fishguts are ye? Now's ya say it, we can see the resemblance, can't we boyos?" This inspired a round of grotesque laughter from both the man and his thuggish cohorts, and one voice that rose above its place. "Thas righ', thas righ', lookin' righ' like the old cookie he is, Master Scourge, you sure got tha' righ'!"

Scourge spun on a heel, his arm flashing overhead in a tight arc that ended by connecting the offending speaker's jaw to the leather knot balancing the handle of the whip. All thought of laughter cut off with a surprised yelp as the thick-set, bald man stumbled backward, clutching at his face. Meanwhile, his compatriots formed a terrified semicircle behind him, keeping the poor man front and center for Master Scourge's displeasure. Despite the fury that rode his ugly features as he struck, Scourge now regarded the cowering man with cold disdain. "Who askin' you, Fipps?" Clearly, Fipps knew well enough not to respond; the man with the whip turned away from his subordinates perfunctorily.

"Don't care who yer kin to on th' Wormwood, m' dearie," Scourge continued, addressing Graak initially but casting the other three a significant glance as well. Apparently noticing they dared make pleasantries instead of carrying out his orders, he flipped the grip in his hand once more and flicked his wrist. Surrounded by empty air and resonant wood, the crack of the weapon shattered the peaceful groans of the ocean outside like lightning striking. "An' yer names is mud 'til Mr. Plugg finds a duty for ya, ya' brick skulled bilge pumps! No job an' we throw ya' overboard, see, and none here ta' mourn! Now go, run, get yer asses up that ladder an' on deck or we'll carry ya' up and throw yer over ourselves!"

With a sharp jab of the whip handle, the overbearing scarecrow indicated the ladder up to what was, presumably, the middle deck. His half-dozen toughs parted into two ranks, giving the four strangers a clear path to follow. They bounced the short, thick truncheons in their hands eagerly, perhaps none more so than the disgraced Fipps. The suety man glared at the unfamiliar companions with undisguised hatred.

DirectionI'm going to go ahead and include the maps for the next few areas. If you all choose to follow Scourge's orders, we'll skip straight to the last one labeled maindeck and I'll describe what you can see from A3. You are currently in area A10 of lowerdeck, with Scrouge's six men between you and the stairs.

**Admin Dirk** · #8 Nov 13th, 2021, 06:40 PM

Badger sidled up to the large Lizardfolk, and whispered quietly for his ears.

"If I had any gold, I'd give you ten of them to toss that man over the side."

To the others, as they moved into the sunlight on the deck, Badger spoke a slight bit louder.

"I'm a bit of a ship's carpenter, and a chirurguen in a pinch," he confided. "If you've no other skill for sailing, stick with me, I can teach you a bit about woodcrafting." He eyed the sailors, as he walked on the deck. He knew some of them would be dishing out a beating or two, and he knew he could take a fair bit of punishment himself. It wasn't his first time to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But the monk still looked at each of them, judging their status on the ship, and if they got it through skill, or politics. His goal was to decide which one to take out first in a fight, and which ones to endure their taunts.

Icereach · #9 Nov 13th, 2021, 07:20 PM

Lower Deck - Graak, Vizk, Badger, LynethWhatever the six sailors' natural comportment with each other, that camaraderie was openly overwhelmed by the presence of Master Scourge. Outwardly, they numbered three female and three male, with a bearded half-orc mixed among the variously tanned humans seemingly for spice. Though all shared the hard demeanor and layer of personal filth one would expect from a pirate, individually they didn't appear that tough. Together and armed, however, they exhibited more than enough muscle to carry out Scourge's threat.

pianoman90 · #10 Nov 14th, 2021, 02:31 AM

Graak Fishguts

Graak grinned. His name spoke volumes it seemed. It always did, he was used to the fame that the Fishguts name brought. The chatter from the stooges behind the bosun was a good portend by Graak's imaginings, right up until one of the men was decked by Mister Scourge himself.

Graak kept his grin of course - it wasn't he who got knocked senseless.

It did teach him plenty about how the man who was issuing orders felt like throwing his weight around, and Graak made a mental note not to get on the wrong side of him too easily. He liked his jaw in its current configuration.

The one called Badger was right, they were being put to work. "Press-ganged, was it? Well why didn't they just ask us, eh? We wanted to work (well least of all I did). I don' know about these other slang term for common folkscuggers, but a knock to the head wasn't needed here." Graak rubbed his head and shot a glance up at Scourge before wisely deciding not to push the matter. "Anyhow. The name's Graak Fishguts. Moka Fishguts were my ancestor, an' no mistakin' it. He left me with my climbing legs and my big ears, so send me up the rigging and don't worry a thing! Ol' Graak will see yer all to harbor, and guide yer through the storms, eh? Just point me in the right direction and leave the rest of these good folk to the hard labor - looks like they need the work..."

Graak winked at the other new recruits. He had no intention of escaping or carpentering like Badger did, but could appreciate the skills of healing that the strange woman appeared to possess. Graak was looking forward to finally being a part of the crew here, even if the circumstances of his being here was convoluted and messy...

OOCGraak plans to forge his own path for now and make his way up onto deck with the intention of scaling his way up to the crow's nest.

Brian · #11 Nov 14th, 2021, 04:36 AM

Vizk Ichimal

Vizk moved between the parted crew members quickly, but not at a panicked pace. He knew there was a fine line between a disciplined hustle and a fearful scramble, and he already sensed that the thin man, this Master Scourge, was not one to show fear to, he enjoyed it too much.

As they moved through the mid-decks, the tattooed man, Badger, sidled up and whispered, "If I had any gold, I'd give you ten of them to toss that man over the side." which caused him to For those without experience in reading lizardfolk expressions, Vizk's mouth gapes open slightly and his eyes nictate rapidly a few timesgrin. Clearly Badger had the same dislike he did of the thin man, but much as the thought of tossing the man overboard was satisfying, he knew it would cause more trouble than it was worth.

Vizk could tell Graak was proud of the name 'Fishguts', he had mentioned it too many times not to be, so Vizk made a note to act suitably impressed, even his limited experience had taught him such people could be very thin-skinned if they aren't recognized. Then he had a thought, he had heard this name a lot, but he thought it was a term for cleaning fish, his old crew had always been saying things like "throw the fishguts overboard!" and "fishguts make for treacherous footing." and "fishguts draw sharks.", he had always thought this was reffering to the parts of the fish removed, but what if this was an error in his learning of Common? Maybe all of this referred to Graak's family. Didn't the thin man say there was another Fishgut aboard who was the cook? Maybe their family invented the method used to clean fish and were famous chefs. Though he was pretty sure they had cleaned fish the same way back in his village, and given his people's desire to cling to traditions going back thousands of years made it unlikely... but maybe.

At last they made it to the top deck, and he took a moment to enjoy the sway of the ship beneath his feet, the sun warming his scales while the breeze rushed over them, keeping it from getting too hot, and the occasional refreshing spray of water. The slap of bare feet on the deck, the hum of taught ropes, the creaking of the sails. The scent of salt, sun-bleached wood, and tar. It was good to be on a ship again.

He looked about expectantly for the Captain of the ship, or the First Mate, who would likely give them a speech about the ship and their place on it, but also a wary eye for Master Scourge; they may do it differently on this ship. He took note of any nearby tasks that Profession: Sailor 13needed to be done that he could jump to if it looked like the thin man was going to start using his whip for loitering.

OOCVizk's short-term goals are to observe the ship and crew in order to gather information before acting or making longer-term goals. He is cooperative towards the other captives.

Ysolde · #12 Nov 15th, 2021, 12:58 PM

Lyneth on deck

Up the ladder, and out onto the deck the smell was immediately ten times better. The salty breeze with hints of fish, kelp, and other oceanic life was a balm to her nose. The morning sun kissed her skin and filled her with warmth making some of her aches and pains vanish. She took a step to look over the side and felt her Testuda. That was the final thing she needed to know that everything would be okay.

With all of that done she looked to see who was in charge up here. Foul stench, Scourge, or whatever his name had been below was assuredly just the servant of someone even more powerful and she wanted to make sure that person was, for now, happy with her.

Icereach · #13 Nov 18th, 2021, 01:24 PM

Main Deck - Badger, Graak, Lyneth, ScalesSeeing his new victims compliant, if not cowed, Scourge curled his upper lip in an ugly sneer before turning on a hell and marching from the hold. The other six crewman piled in behind him, forming a tight cordon around the waylaid quartet. Up from the hold they went, quickly past the middeck and out into a sky so blue it could have been painted by a master with the brush. Once on deck, the six dispersed to mill amongst their peers.

True to the size of its hold, the Wormwood proved a large ship. Roughly one hundred feet from stem to stem, and thirty wide, the carrack boasted three masts that soared far overhead. Square-rigged and full, the sails boomed with the wind that carried them further and further from the long vanished shoreline.

Despite the hot sun beating down on the well-sealed deck it seemed like the entire ship was up top this morning. A trio clustered around the thick main mast, a restless pond of body oder and unwashed faces. Most of these men and women went bare chested or only lightly bound, with a range of skin tones bronzed and burnished by years in the harsh oceanic elements.

Slightly apart from the group stood a larger contingent, noticeably cleaner and better dressed than the rest of them. None had yet earned the deep tan of the sea or their own personal layer of grime, but they were clearly on their way. Whenever their on-boarding, it was clear they were just as much crew as the rest, for all stared raptly towards at the foredeck elevated some ten feet over their heads.

As Graak surged ahead of the group, eager to be in the ratlines, a slender hand shot out and snagged the little goblin by the shoulder. With steady force, the owner of that hand pulled the youngest Fishguts back and held him firmly against her thigh. The smile she flashed at the goblin from her crooked mouth was both warm and lovely, but it disappeared immediately behind a hard, thin line. Hiding the motion by adjusting her battered tricorn hat, the woman indicated the forecastle and returned her gaze to that railing. Fortunate for Graak that this woman was clearly part of the newer crew mates, for she smelled only of the salt sea.

Two figures suddenly stepped close to the high rail, making them clearly visible to those gathered below. One, a swarthy, broad shouldered Garundi man, kept his head neatly shaved. The gold rings in his long, braided beard and the ruby set within the eyepatch covering his right eye spoke to no small measure of wealth, and unlike the rest of the crew he was reasonably clean looking, his clothes freshly washed if somewhat faded and worn. Beside him stood a younger man, balding but plagued by irregular patches of hair on top. The rest of his hair he kept bound in a long tail that straggled half way down the long coat he wore. One hand he kept tucked into his belt, but the other wielded an ugly cat-o-nine.

When the older man opened his mouth to speak, it became apparent that he was the captain. All charter around the main mast ceased and all eyes locked in the Garundi. When his gaze swept over the four newcomers, he scowled.

"Glad you could join us, at last! Welcome to the Wormwood. My thanks for 'volunteering'. I'm Barnabas Harrigan. Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you'll ever need to address me. I have only one rule - don't speak to me. I like talk but not your talk. Ever. Follow that rule and we'll get along just fine.

Oh, and one more thing. Even with the new squibs we're still short-handed, and I ai m to keep the crew I have. Anyone caught killing else gets a short tow along the bottom of the ship. Ya got it? Good. Mr. Plugg! If you'd be so kind as to make pirates out of these pups it'll save me from having to put em in the sweat box for the next year and a half."

It seemed his statement about keeping apart from the crew was accurate for without further ado, the captain nodded at the balding man beside him and disappeared towards the front of the foredeck. The younger man, Mr. Plugg from context, turned an ugly grin on the assemblage and tapped the cat against his free palm thoughtfully.

Descending from the fore, Mr. Plugg arrowed directly for the four newcomers. With a tiny snarl and a roll of her eyes, the woman holding Graak in check released her ward and gave him a gentle nudge back towards the other three. By the time Plugg had approached, his ponytail saying behind him with the gentle rocking of the ship, all traces of amusement had faded from his sunburned features.

His eyes settled immediately on Lyneth and he curled his mouth to one side to spit. "Lucky we're needing a second cook, girl. Ya'd be fish chum otherwise. Off to the galley with you, Fishguts has a turtle to prepare."

"Now," the man continued, apparently dismissing the witch completely. He turned his perpetually angry gaze on the other three, perhaps especially the small goblin, and scowled again. "The rest of you, up in the lines. Get to the crow's nest and back, and don't ye dare be slack about it!"

DirectionNot counting Plugg, Scourge, and Captain Harrigan, another 19 people are on deck. Of them, 16 appear to be new crew. Some watch dispassionately as Plugg puts you through your paces and some go off to do other tasks in other parts of the ship. The one exception is the woman in the tricorn hat that surely saved Graak from a vicious beating, who watches the PCs closely, her kind eyes full of encouragement. Let me get six [Climb] checks for Badger, Graak, and Scales. If Lyneth is inclined to follow orders, she's off to to the galley. See below for additional skill- check information.

Incidental Skill Checks

Brian · #14 Nov 18th, 2021, 06:51 PM

Vizk Ichimal

Vizk wasn't entirely sure what was going on. The ship seemed fairly clean and well maintained, which seemed to indicate a captain well off enough that they wouldn't need to resort to forced labor. Yet here they were.

Once the command to climb was given, Visk wasted no time, he had seen once what a nine-tail's caress could do to a man, and he had no desire to experience it himself for so small a task. Visk lacked the finesse and grace of those who truly excelled in the ship's rigging, but he was strong enough that he was competent at the task. He climbed through the rigging to the Crow's Nest, hesitating a moment over what the definition of 'getting to the Crow's Nest' would be, ultimately deciding to step fully inside the nest before climbing back down. There were a couple of tricky transition points that slowed him down a little, but overall he felt he had done about as well as could be hoped.

pianoman90 · #15 Nov 18th, 2021, 11:59 PM

Graak Fishguts

The woman intrigued Graak - she was nice, and nice was not anywhere near where it should be in a place like this. Graak wasn't even sure why she was being nice, but it didn't matter. If she stopped the overeager goblin from a bollocking at the hands of Scourge, or any of the other seasoned crew, she was alright by him. For now.

Graak's eyes widened with awe as the captain spoke directly to him. He wasn't about to go angering the bigwig anytime soon (Scourge was fine to give a bit of flak to, but this heavyweight? Not while he still wanted his legs attached to his body...) and he listened intently to every word, nodding earnestly to show his understanding. He could toady with the best of them, and this would be the perfect person to bow and scrape to if he wanted a favorable position aboard.

Then the challenge was issued and Graak's eyes lit up. Up the lines. It was everything he could have hoped for on his first day of proper pirating, and Graak took it as a race against the others. Quick as a flash he shot up the rigging, clambering and swinging from line to line as he surged ahead. He delighted in the fresh sea air and reveled in the freedom of the high ropes. Very soon he found himself at the top of the crows nest, scanning the horizon with glee. He didn't dally up there long though, noting the others weren't far behind him and so he shot down again, stumbling a little more on the descent, but making good progress.

It was only once he reached the ship's deck again in a slightly awkward tumble that he realised he had recognized Master Scourge - he shouldn't have been surprised that the man was there in the Maiden last night, Captain Harrigan wouldn't just let anyone choose the new 'recruits' now. He stored that little tidbit away for now and awaited the next command.

OOCClimb checks in order: 23/31/22/18/22/16

Are you confused and wondering what is going on here? Check out this YouTube video to get the scoop.

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