[Game Thread] Early Days Aboard the Wormwood

[Admin Dirk]

Badger sighed and moved to do as ordered. He wasn't a rigger, a sparman. He could do well enough, but scrambling above the decks without care was not in his bones. The monk preferred to take it slower, and more sure, than the more dexterous sailors who seemed to leap and jump among the rigging.

He took his time, judging each sway of the ship and roll of the waves, and held on longer than many of the others as they moved above the decks. If it were his decision, he would lash himself in place, and do his job, then move on, and secure himself again. Instead, he held on with both hands, walked slowly on the roped spars and moved carefully on the oiled, slick canvas.

[Ysolde]

Lyneth the witch makes a sandwich? She shrugged at the orders and headed down to the mess. Hopefully the turtle they were about to prepare was not Testuda. Beyond that small fear she was more than happy to head down to the galley and start helping the cook to prepare food. First, it would get her in close contact with knives and other sharp implements that she could later use to gut someone with. Second, it would get her close to the food that every sailor on board ate and she knew at least a few ways she could ensure that said food killed people. Finally, it was a bit easier than trying to get up in the rigging or working all day on the deck. Not that it was a walk in the park or a stroll on the beach but she knew she would not end up getting sunstroke from doing this sort of work. She went into the kitchen, introduced herself politely, and asked what needed to be done. After that she got right to the tasks and put her mind onto just how she was going to kill the scum on this ship that needed killing.

 

Lyneth
HP: 7/7 | AC: 12
Fort: +1 | Ref: +2 | Will: +2

Stat	Bonus
Str: 8	-1
Dex: 14	+2
Con: 12	+1
Int: 18	+4
Wis: 10	0
Cha: 13	+1

Hexes: Claw 1d3 and DC 15 1d2 str Poison Touch
Melee: -1 | Ranged: +2
Skills: Acrobatics: +2 | Climb: -1 | Craft (Fishing) +8 | Heal +4 | Knowledge Arcana: +8 | Knowledge History: +8 |

[Icereach]

Badger, Vizk, Graak; Main Deck (A3) As the three scrambled up the rigging, Mr. Plugg curled his thick upper lip in a show of disgust. Truth be told, the trio did a phenomenal job, flying up the spar with the speed of the wind, only one slipping near the midpoint and then recovering himself admirably. The agile goblin, however, proved best suited for the task, reaching the crow's nest and descending several body lengths before the ferociously strong lizardman ventured to the highest peak. Mr. Plugg had a pecking order to maintain and he wasn't about to show the newcomers any open approval. Master Scourge wandered close as the three performed their test, flanked as always by two other sailors, their faces seamed and scowling. The whip-thin whip wielder made a show of observing them with a critical eye, sneering and guffawing loudly the one time Badger missed a step. As Graak set his wide foot back to solid planking, Scourge snorted even louder and turned to Mr. Plugg, dramatically apologetic in the face of his superior officer. "Beggin' yer pardon Mr. Plugg. Wishin' I'd known how useless t' lot of em would be before lettin' em aboard. Bu' worry not sir, 'orry not! I'll soo' 'nough whip 'em into shape!" "As yer wantin', Scourge," the first mate replied with no warmth, though his hard lips twisted faintly. "Firs' show t' new cook's mate the galley, make sure'n she knows the rules. I'll get these'n a workin' and you'll come back an' make sure they's a doin' right, eh?" "Yer," the slender man replied neutrally, casting a glance at the three gathered around the main. Whatever his thoughts, they clearly weren't positive; as his eyes took on a speculative gleam and he turned his head to spit over the rail. He then spun and tromped off after Lyneth. Their conversation over, Mr. Plugg resumed his ugly scowl and stomped over to the rest of the new crew. "You," the balding man began abruptly, pointing a heavy ginger at Graak Fishguts. "Get on t' lines. Yer helping with t' main." He then moved his pointing finger at Badger and his scowl deepened perceptibly. "Sor'est display I seen in my life. Get below and pump out the bilges, yer skunk lookin' waste o' life. Sorr'n I have to even send someone wit' yer to show yer t'way." "You!" Mr. Plugg raised his voice commandingly after a moment of considering, his hand streaking out past Vizk's meaty shoulder. Startled at having been caught lurking, the woman in the tricorn hat rocked back on her heels and fluttered her hand against her breast, the image of shocked innocence. Mr. Plugg made a snatching motion, then indicated Badger. "Yer you, sea queen. Yer t' leas' worth here, so you's can show the new swab the bilges. Then get yer back here on the double." As the goblin took off to the rigging and the woman led Badger back below decks, Mr. Plugg finally turned his attention on Vizk. "Shor'brain," he barked suddenly, startling a less experienced member of the crew that happened to be working nearby. The small man, a gnome by all appearance, straightened from his task of repairing a frayed bit of rope with a deep gulp. He approached the first mate and the lizardman with wide, cautious eyes, but he didn't hesitate. His foppish lavender suit was definitely the worse for wear in this environment, and he carried a dandy's cane, though clearly, he knew better than to use such affections in Mr. Plugg's presence. "S-sir?" "Take this'n down to the hold," Plugg ordered, pointing at Vizk,"an' help him shif' them barrels to t' back. Then yer both t' run errands fer the off'cers and t' regulars. Show the croc-o-dile here t' ship propper." With that, he swept his hand dismissively and began to turn away. The gnome, at first shocked by the order, suddenly spoke up. "But I'm a rig-" The other man's long ponytail whipped viciously as Mr. Plugg spun on a well-padded heel and raised his arm overhead, the vicious cat-o-nine raised and thirsty. "T'was that Shortmeat!" The little gnome dandy shrunk even smaller, quailing under the vicious human easily thrice his height. "N-n-n-nothing, sir, right away sir!" He moved so quickly in his panic, Vizk had no defense against the man's tiny fist curling into his tunic and pulling him along. The gnome even managed to budge the lizardman a step when he didn't move fast enough, though that single jolt of adrenaline strength was all the purple and lilac clad man could muster. As the pair retreated before him, Mr. Plugg's sneer turned even uglier with glee.

Lyneth; Middle Deck (A6) The coldly calculating sea witch didn't get far before she was caught up by a face no mother was happy to claim. Master Scourge stomped his way to the middle deck announcing his presence with much loud swagger for such a fragile-looking person. As Lynth made to descend to the next level, Scourge's spidery arm shot out to block her path. This close, his breath was positively rancid, though Lyneth knew for a fact there were plenty of ways for one to brush one's teeth at sea. "No' tha' way luv," he positively hissed at her, his eyes narrowed and mean. "Ye'll no' be makin' many fren's round these parts iffin' yer caught sneakin' around when yer s'posed to be workin'. Looks like 'm takin' yer to old Fishguts personally, 'does." As he withdrew his arm from her path, his hand settled on the coiled whip at his side and he bobbed his head back towards the middle deck. Here several pens had been fashioned of wrought iron and fastened to the gently wallowing ship's planking. Inside the cages were a number of pigs, fourteen by a fast count, that seemed to be snorting and snuffling peacefully at the moment. The witch could also make out the faintest sound of clucking through the near wall. In the furthest corner of the room opposite the main stair were two doors, one to the right and one leading to what could only be the stern of the ship. Master Scourge led Lyneth to the second one and nudged the wooden slab open with his outsized boot, then held the door until she crossed in front of him. As soon as the woman stepped over the threshold, her senses suddenly sizzled alarmingly. The witch's eyes shot to the corner of the messy galley, the heavy iron cage anchored there drawing them like a loadstone. Imprisoned by thick bars of iron, a deep, bluish-green sea turtle returned her gaze and vocalized plaintively. "B' all t' gods o' land and wa'er, Fishguts!" Master Scourge's bull roar filled the air at startling volume. The galley itself was a shambles and had the feel of constant and profound neglect. Two doors exited this room, though the one that surely opened unto the hull was heavily bound by and studded with dull copper. Next to it, a heavily padded man with a bulbous red nose and rancid, mossy teeth snored drunkenly on a stool. Master Scourge stomped his way across the galley but stopped short of uncoiling his whip on the man. Sailors that beat their cook didn't often survive the voyage. Seemingly at an impasse, the thin boatswain flung up his hands and stormed from one side of the room to the other, muttering to himself. He even seemed to forget Lyneth for a minute. A minute only, however. When he turned on the witch his eyes were positively venomous. "Ge' out! Go'on! G' back up and join t' fishers. Got enough t' deal wit' here."

---

Vizk; Lower Deck (A10) As the lizardman and his tiny escort make their hurried way down the main stairs, the vibrantly colored gnome huffed quietly to himself for several minutes. The instant Mr. Plugg was out of sight, his narrow cane began to tap tap its way along the wooden flooring. The man even dropped into a casual saunter. No matter how he felt about Mr. Plugg, he seemed comfortable enough onboard the ship, even if he looked a bit foolish. "Shortstone. Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone," he finally grumbled loud enough to be overheard. "It's not that hard, really." As if suddenly realizing he'd spoken too loudly, he shot Vizk a hard, unfriendly stare. Perhaps he wanted to go for intimidating, but he didn't quite have the charisma to pull off such a feat facing a solid wall of reptile. The little man didn't speak again until they reached the lower hold. Luckily the gnome knew which barrels needed moving even without direction; the task had a feel of routine about it. "Redistributes the weight a bit," Conchobhar grumbled at a volume clearly meant to be audible. "That is why I am a rigger, not a swab like you. So I do not have to move these stupid heavy barrels every day. Back and forth, back and forth. Yet here I am today, all because of you. Thank you. I feel so incredibly honored by your gift." When they eventually finished, hindered as they were by Shortstone's sour mood and unfriendly demeanor, the gnome sat down on a barrel and waved the back of his hand in Vizk's direction. "Go on then. Find your own way. Just go find an officer and ask what they want run. I am going to sit right here until I either must go back or Mr. Plugg goes looking. Serves him right, putting me down here to move barrels."

Badger; Bilges (A11) As the pirate woman and Badger reached the lower deck where the four newcomers had first awoken, she turned sharply away from the stair and quickly motioned the stripe-haired man to follow. The room currently appeared empty, though Vizk and his escort would soon arrive to shift the ballast. The woman in the tricorn hat motioned again, this time more urgently, and spoke in a quiet voice as soon as he approached. "I'm Sandra Quinn, been aboard the Wormwood a few weeks now. Know the cut of the wind in these reefs, if yer catchin' my drift. They've got me, a woman with the ear of the Pirate Queen, swabbing decks and running errands like you. Damn pity I'm not runnin' this ship, instead." As she paused, she looked away for effect, then snapped her hypnotic chocolate gaze back on Badger again. "But I'm naut. Master Scourge, however, is, and he's not to be trifled. Dunno why but I can tell he's already taken a dislike to the lot of ya." "That can spell real trouble for yer and yet mates, iffin' yer not careful." Suddenly, her serious face broke into a confidently mischievous grin. "Fortunately that puts yer square on my side, wether'n know it or not. I'm gonna kill Master Scourge one day, and I'm thinkin' for long you'll beg t'help me do it. 'til then I got a present for yer. Best I could do with old Grok. Shrewd nut that'n but superstitious if yer knows how ter use it. Convinced her these were artifacts sacred to Besmera and 'twas wrong to take them off yer." The bundle the fierce woman passed him rattled slightly though he could feel a razored edge beneath the somewhere beneath the homespun. She swatted his hand as Badger made to peek inside, shook her head a negative, then lead him through the maze of strung-up cots between the room's sixteen main pillars. She stopped short at a small hatch set into the floor, then kicked at the ring embedded there. "Good luck down there. Watch out for spiders." "Oh, and another thing... There's a man down there. Jakes Magpie. Dunno if yerrin' prone to tender feelings but don't give into 'em iffin ya are. He's the Captain's special treat at the blood hour later tonight. Best not touch him. Yer really don't wanna end up there next t'im."

---

Lyneth, the Cook's Mate Fishing: Catch tonight's supper using the ship's nets. A DC 10 [Profession (Fisherman)] or [Survival] check provides enough fish. A failed check results in a day in the bilges as punishment the following day (see the swab task Man the Bilges)

Vizk, the Swab Runner: Passing messages to the crew and officers of the Wormwood in all parts of the ship except officers' cabins (area A4 and A5), requiring a DC 10 [Constitution] check. Failing the [Constitution] check results in the PC being fatigued at the end of the shift. A PC with the Run feat automatically succeeds at this task.

Badger, the Swab Man the Bilges: Vile and sweaty work cleaning out the bilges (area A11), requiring a DC12 [Strength] check. The PC must also make a DC 10 [Constitution] check to avoid being fatigued at the end of the shift.

Graak, the Rigger Mainsail Duties: Tough work raising and lowering the mainsail, requiring a DC 10 [Profession (Sailor)] or [Strength] check. The PC must also make a DC 10 [Constitution] check to avoid being fatigued at the end of the shift.

---

Treasure Badger: Dagger x1, Thieve's tools (Common) x1

---

Direction Along with clearly stating your ship actions, I'd like a brief description of how you complete your jobs, leading into any other tasks you'd like to accomplish such as sneaking off to explore a room. The next step for me is uploading all the maps, which should be numbered and lettered correspondingly. When tactical movement is important, I'll upload a map with a defined axis in the game thread, but keep an eye on these information threads for the important stuff. The full rundown of Ships Actions and Jobs can be found here. Some new information for existing NPCs has been added, as well as new NPCs introduced, which you can read about here. As always, ping the heck out of me with any questions.

[Admin Dirk]

Badger took the bundle, but responded with nothing but a grunt. It could be taken in many ways, as affirmation, or simply acknowledgement. Or, as a grunt.

Politics are a treacherous path, the monk told himself. Best stay off the path until you are forced on. He didn't want to side with the woman, or prick her off, and so he simply adjusted his clothing a bit to hide the bundle, and moved towards the bilge. If the woman succeeded, so be it. If not, he was in no position to help or harm.

The tiefling shimmied through the small hatch, and dropped into the water and muck beneath. The smell was instant, an assault on his nose, lungs, and stomach. The bilge water was a mix of seawater, tar, and oils leeched from the keel, which did not bother him. Rotten algae, rancid fish, and salt tanged the air in the hold. The bad parts were the other things in the water, the detritus of life aboard a ship. Small bones floated by, pieces of gristle still attached, rotting after weeks, perhaps months of being here. Globs of oil, fat, grease, and mold floated as well.

Badger wasn't sure what to do. Bilges were pumped from the upper deck, not from the bilge hold itself. Even in the dark, his eyes cold see the ship had a common double elm bilge pumping system. At the deepest point of the hull, two slime slick tree trunks poked down, and rested on an equally slime coated platform, knee high off the hull. Water, about waist deep, surged as the ship rocked.

Badger looked around, and spotted the other man. He nodded and shrugged. There was little he could do here... the windlass for the bilge pump was on the upper decks, where the chain looped over the pulley, and pulled the water up one of the hollowed out trunks. The rope, or chain, looped over the pulley, and came back down the other trunk, to run through a smaller pulley under the small platform, under water, then return up the first trunk. Badger wasn't sure if the system used buckets or seals, and he knew better than reach under the platform to discover which. If the sailors up top started winding the pump wheel, his hand could become snagged, and jammed in the mechanism. Even if it didn't severe his arm, it would likely cut him, and the resulting infection would put him out of action for months.

And I doubt they'd waste a healing spell on me, he thought.

He turned, and spread his hands wide towards the other man. "Is this just punishment then, or are we to do something here? Push the worst towards the elm, when they start?"

[Brian]

Vizk Ichimal Vizk was glad to leave the whip-bearing Scourge and Plugg behind, following his small guide, starting to learn the rhythm of this ship's lower decks, when to duck and when to straighten. When the gnome muttered his name, Vizk took the opportunity to say, "Nice to meet you, Conchobhar Turlach Shortstone. I am Vizk Ichimal, but you may call me Scales if you like." he ran a claw across his blue-green scales, as if to draw attention to the obvious source of the nickname. He responded to the unfriendly stare with a A slight tilt of the head to the side a fluttering of the scales along the jawlinesmile, and otherwise followed along quietly. As they arrived at the barrles and Shortstone said, "That is why I am a rigger, not a swab like you. So I do not have to move these stupid heavy barrels every day. Back and forth, back and forth. Yet here I am today, all because of you. Thank you. I feel so incredibly honored by your gift." Vizk replied, "No need, master Shortstone, you are, as you say, a rigger and not a swab. I merely ask that you observe to make sure I place everything correctly. As he worked, he spoke, "Those like Scourge and Plugg... they insult and belittle others to make themselves feel better. This is a poor way to lead. Sometimes it creates a chain reaction of everyone trying to bully whoever they can, just to feel some sort of power, no matter how brief. He grunted, moving the barrels, "It often ends poorly though. If Plugg ever got into trouble, who would be willing to help him? Respect, that is a far better foundation than fear." Finishing up, he nodded to Shortstone, "Very well, I will go see to it." For the rest of the day he worked diligently running tasks for the officers and sailors of the ship. He looked around the ship curiously as his tasks took him too and fro, but he did not deviate from his tasks. By the end of the day he was sore from moving the barrels on his own and worn out from climbing the ship's ladders.   Acrobatics= 20 (success) Constitution check= 4 (Fatigued)

[Icereach]

Badger, Bilge (A11) The bilge itself was much as Badger expected it to be. Roughly twenty feet wide and thirty feet from port to stern, the bottom of the ship stank of a mealy grave doused in fermenting fruit. Much of the brackish water had been pumped earlier in the day, evidenced by the high water line of rotten algae around the unfortunate Jakes' pale, shrunken neck. What remained was a foot or less of pure sewage, growing gradually deeper as it sloughed backwards to the well-kept double elm, where the level of waste rose to engulf Badger's waist and gut. Of Jakes Magpie the new conscript would get no answers. The manacles securing him to the bulkhead might well have cut off his voice in addition to his circulation. Instead, he watched on with mute disinterest, never quite daring to meet the outsider's gaze. Badger wasn't completely without direction, however. "Almost certainly punishment," the woman called from above. Sandra's strong hand appeared through the trap and fiddled with the small lamp firmly mounted to the underside of the deck. With a twist, the narrow beam of light it cast on the bottom of the bilge widened until it lit the whole room with a dim glow. The broader field of view illuminated the numerous thick webs plaguing the ceiling, which the behatted pirate woman pointed to warningly. "Should have told you 'fore you went down. Those things bite something vicious but the light here keeps 'em mostly away." Noticing Badger's eyes fix on the luxury (and danger) of a lantern used only to illuminate the bilge, the woman half-shrugged, framed by the trap door. "Some failed spell Scourge picked up in Port Peril and thought he'd keep to himself. Plugg didn't care f' that for some reason and stuck it down here. Doesn't give off much light as ya can see but it doesn't heat up, either. And you're not just there as punishment You're s'pposed to be breaking up any large chunks and shift around anything too big to suck up and spit out. Sometimes they'll send us down with a scraper to get the walls or some chunks of smelly rock salt to crush up and throw in the stew." "I've gotta get back up top. Plugg'll send Scourge to check on you soon, and look for me if I'm not on deck. The less I run across him the better." With an apologetic wave and a sympathetic frown, she looked around the disgusting bilge once more. "One last thing... Don't talk to Jakes. Or don't get heard to talk to him. And turn the lantern till it full shutters when you're done here. The Captain wants him left in the dark until its time. I won't tell anyone about it being on when we got here, though. Dunno who would risk crossing Harrigan for Jakes Magpie... But don't make the same mistake." With that the woman lowered the trap until it closed with a soft thump. The air down here was absolutely rotten and hard to breathe, but not immediately deadly. Jakes was still alive, after all, and he'd obviously been there for at least a day. The tiefling got the sense that working down here would be exhausting, regardless of the actual work his muscles were made to do.

Vizk, Lower Deck (A10) At Vizk's pronouncement, Conchobhar gesticulated grandly as if to say, 'As you wish.' The obvious attempt to mollify his prickish behavior only seemed marginally effective, for he did little more than glare suspiciously at the lizardfolk while he worked. It was the unexpected observations tripping from other's tongue that finally seemed to break through his shell somewhat. As he finished, Vizk noticed the diminutive humanoid nod and then blink, as if he'd surprised himself with the motion. Then his eyes cut towards the scaled male and went flat again. Suspicion lingered in Conchobhar's gaze but he let the swab go about the business of gofer without further comment.

[pianoman90]

Graak Fishguts Graak grinned and bounded along after Mr Plugg as his nimble feet had won him the race. He knew he was fast across the ropes, he was born to be up high on a ship. Watching one of the other riggers be sent off with Vizk only affirmed Graak's self-belief that he was in the right place and he jumped to attention when directed up the lines. "Yessir Mr Plugg sir!" Graak shot up the rigging towards the mainsail and started straight to work. He was going mostly by feel here, having never worked on this ship before of course. He had heard of several rigging systems that sailors had used - would this be the Lazy Jacks, or the Dutchman perhaps? Or some sort of furling mainsail? Graak knew there was hard work ahead of him and he was already tiring halfway through his shift. The little goblin knew he would be waking up sore in the morning, but the feeling of the breeze in his hair (or what few wisps he had stuck on his balding head), the sun on his face and the smell of the ocean made it feel like heaven. Bloodly, sweaty heaven perhaps, but it would all be worth it. He just had to keep up with the demanding pace of the job and not fall flat on his first day, relative slave or no. Up and down, in and out. The sails danced to his and the other rigger's tunes all day long until he finally heard the call from down below to get some rest. Graak was exhausted, his arms and legs felt like jelly. He would sleep well tonight, but there was something he wanted to do first. He idly thought of his other cabin mates and how they fared, but it was the cook that was the main target of his attention. Fishguts had stuck in his head from the moment he heard the cook named that and he just had to know what a relative of his was doing down below on the same ship he was on. Graak wandered down, hoping to move about the ship as if he knew exactly where he was going and observed the comings and goings to locate the elusive Fishguts. Graak couldn't have been more disappointed then when a thickset man with a bright red nose was the one referred to as 'Fishguts'. He was no goblin, no vaunted relative of the famed pirate lord who Graak could claim as his own. Graak could see stains of what probably were once fishguts all over the man's singlet and the overweight and disheveled appearance of the man put even goblinkind to shame. Graak curled his lips and retreated back to the main deck, not bothering with an introduction at this point. If he had been goblinkind, perhaps Graak would have spent his well-earned downtime working on fostering a connection, but it was clear that the 'Fishguts' name was not an honorary one for this cook, and Graak would have to prove the name's worth all by himself. He resolved to impress Mr Plugg and Master Scourge instead. Go for the top, lad... It's the only way they will give you any respect.

OOC Results: 13 (pass) on Profession (Sailor) check, 6 (fail) on Constitution check. Graak will be fatigued at the end of the day. He also wants to Sneak a look downstairs in the Galley to check out the cook. Perception check: 10 for this roll. Rolls

 

Graak Fishguts

Vital Statistics HP: 12/12 Armor Class 16 Strength 11 Speed 10ft climb speed20 Touch AC 16 Dexterity 18 Initiative +4 Flat-Footed 12 Constitution 13 Fortitude +1 BAB 1 Intelligence 17 Reflex +6 CMB +4 Wisdom 7 Will -2 CMD 14 Charisma 12 Weapons None     Details Skill Mod Skill Mod Acrobatics +8 Knowledge: Religion +3 Appraise +3 Knowledge: The Planes +3 Bluff +1 Linguistics +7 Climb +12 Perception +6 Craft (weapons) +7 Perform +1 Diplomacy +1 Profession (sailor) +3 Disable Device +4 Ride +4 Disguise +1 Sense Motive -2 Escape Artist +8 Sleight of Hand +8 Fly +4 Spellcraft +3 Handle Animal +1 Stealth +8 Heal -2 Survival -2 Intimidate +6 Swim +4 Knowledge: Arcana +3 Use Magic Device +1 Knowledge: Engineering +3 - - Knowledge: Dungeoneering +3 - - Knowledge: Geography +3     Knowledge: History +3     Knowledge: Local +3     Knowledge: Nature +3     Knowledge: Nobility +3     Skills Spell Level Spell Level - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Prepared Spells Equipment   None   Equipment

[Admin Dirk]

Badger went to work as best he could. There were better ways to do the job, he knew, but it was punishment, so the better ways were withheld. He attempted to slosh through the muck slowly, and get a bigger clump of something pressed against the keel, then use his boot to slowly stomp it into smaller pieces.

The light above did nothing for him. Despite his human appearance, his heritage allowed him to see perfectly well in darkness. But, he left the glowing orb as it had been left, for the sake of his silent companion. If a bit of light brought any relief to his days of punishment, far be it from Badger to take that away from him.

It was nasty work, but Badger did it slowly, and carefully, trying to avoid over exerting himself in the hold. Sweat went no where in the humid environment, and he wanted to avoid splashing anything higher than his knees. Eventually, the elms began to shift and move as the chain between them started up, and slowly, materials were lifted up the hollow trunks to the upper decks, and over the sides. The monk began to slowly push materials towards the small platform where the leather scuppers ran down and back up the pump tubes, and slushed the muck into the system as best he could.

[Ysolde]

Lyneth in a Minute She rushed to the cage these monsters had dear sweet Testuda! Her hands touched the turtle's head as she whispered soft words and promises of freedom. Now she knew Testuda wasn't exactly as physical as these brutes thought she was the poor dear was still trapped and she could not easily return to her spirit form at the moment. Though she certainly would if the brutes attempted to serve her up for a meal! "Dear Testuda, we'll get out of here together as soon as I can manage it." Then she was under Master Scourge's scrutiny and she had to scurry off before the man decided to send her to the bilges or simply beat her. She was pretty sure he'd enjoy the second and well she wasn't sure her body would be unmolested if she was beaten unconscious so she scurried.

 

Fishing = 12

 

Lyneth
HP: 7/7 | AC: 12
Fort: +1 | Ref: +2 | Will: +2

Stat	Bonus
Str: 8	-1
Dex: 14	+2
Con: 12	+1
Int: 18	+4
Wis: 10	0
Cha: 13	+1

Hexes: Claw 1d3 and DC 15 1d2 str Poison Touch
Melee: -1 | Ranged: +2
Skills: Acrobatics: +2 | Climb: -1 | Profession (Fishing) +8 | Heal +4 | Knowledge Arcana: +8 | Knowledge History: +8 |

[Icereach]

Vizk; Ship Scrambling too and fro about the ship gave Vizk the perfect opportunity to get the lay of the land. Not only did he learn the various compartments of the ship and their common uses -a simple task, really, on a ship this size- but it also gave him no small amount of insight into the social hierarchy of the ship. It became readily apparent who the officers and crew leaders were, for their needs were usually simple and straightforward and typically related to the operation of the ship. The more seasoned hands with less authority took it upon themselves to give the lizardman a welcome they felt more appropriate. Vizk spent the better portion of an hour looking for a port hole stretcher before the woman in the distinctive tricorn hat explained it was a euphemism for an entirely different activity than the one he imagined. Finally, there were the other newcomers, of which the woman in the hat was obviously one. There were three others, set apart from the crew not only by their cleaner appearance but also by their general demeanor. To a one none seemed well pleased to be there and were getting along to get by, some more successfully than others. Aside from the woman in the tricorn hat and the foppish gnome that had escorted him below decks, Vizk also made note of a halfling woman with a mouth fouler than a forty-day old catch and life-long sailor whose anger burned just beneath the surface.

Lyneth; Galley Whether by deft hand or dumb luck, once the sea witch figured out how the nets worked she proceeded to fill them admirably. Admirably enough, in fact, that she drew the attention of a nearby sailor. The halfling woman gawped at Lyneth's catch for a full thirty seconds before realizing that she had stopped her own work to watch. It was impossible to determine if the blue stream of foul invectives that shot from her mouth were directed at the other woman, Scourge, or the sea in general, but she comported herself quite admirably. Her return to the galley found the cook up and moving, finally, and Master Scourge nowhere in sight. As soon as Lyneth passed through the door into the cramped room with her caged spirit companion, the portly man looked up from his stew and wiped both hands on his apron. If he was attempting to clean them, he failed; the apron he wore was far filthier than the grime beneath his splintered and broken nails. "Ambrose Kroop," the man explained hastily, poking his thumb into his chest to clear up any confusion on the matter. "Ship's cook. You must be the new mate." Though he moved with reasonable certainty, the slurring in his voice indicated he hadn't yet slept off the effects of his early drinking. His cultured tone, possibly Andoran, was a wholly unexpected surprise. "We're behind; got no time to chat. Bone and chop, and be quick about it. The captain expects you topside in a bit. Something special." As she finished preparing the catch, time was seemingly running short. The cook eyed the cage in the corner regretfully before shrugging and returning to his soup, murmuring aloud, "No choice for it, I'm afraid. Not enough time to prepare turtle the way the captain likes it. Guess we'll just have to save it for another day. Throw it some scraps on the way out so it'll keep a little longer."

Badger; Bilge "Braindead work, innit?" Interminable hours passed in the working punishment that was cleaning and securing the bilge and its pumps. The only break in the thankless, useless chore was when a couple of hands descended into the bilge to fish out Jakes Magpie and drag him up. If the work had a purpose, it was one Badger failed to realize. A floating island of waste had calcified into a hard lump that resisted all of the experienced sailor's efforts to break it up. Worse still, the disgusting raft drifted into the intake of the pump and lodged there firmly. Fate decided that that was the perfect moment for Master Scourge to appear. So caught up in his doldrums was he that Badger missed the hatch to the lower berth opening above his head. The tone the bossun used was obviously meant to convey sympathy, though this was quickly disproven as his inflection changed to outright mockery. "Breakin' up turds don't call for a 'lot o' thinkin'... And yet ya' failed anyway! Must'a had some symp'thy fer yer kinfolk,eh? Get up here a'ready an' mind ya turn off that light." The minute Badger stepped off the ladder, the whip-thin man caught him full across the face with the back of his hand. The lack of force behind the blow, despite Master Scourge's apparent effort, gave a good deal of insight into why he carried the whip in the first place. The open-handed slap was clearly an insult to be taken; the bossun didn't even bother carrying it any further, instead jerking his thumb at the stairs leading up to the top deck.

Graak; Main Deck Of the four fresh conscripts, Graak found himself most in his element at the start of the work day. Hoisting the main sale was undeniably very physical work his smaller frame struggled with, but the Wormwood was no stranger to diminutive riggers. A few block and tackle hoists had been combined with rudimentary gear works to keep the main from slipping between pulls and in no time the canvas billowed and bellied with the wind. The main job accomplished, Graak managed to slip away from his fellow riggers and do a bit of exploring all on his own. By the time he made his way midship, the cook had began to prepare, leading the goblin to the galley by the unmistakable smell of boilinng root vegitables. He was nearly discovered by a wildly swearing Master Scourge storming out of the small galley, leaving the door swinging open behind him. Graak hid until the man with his whip and over-sized boots clunked past, taking cover between various boxes and chests assumedly stuffed with provender for the sentients aboard. If the pigs gave him any notice, they kept quiet about it. "Wassat," a voice slurred from the partially open door, prompting the goblin to poke his head out curiously. "Jus'Scourgebein'anass," another voice, just as worse for wear as the original, replied. Seeing no one coming from any other direction, he crept forward until he could peek into the galley itself. Inside the cramped room, Graak finally got his first look at the man called Fishguts. The hefty man sat on a stool near another door, bent over near double as he apparently calculated the contents of his stomach and the effort required to clean it up after emptying. Though no cleaner than many imagined goblins to be, the man's undiluted human ancestry was plain. It was doubtful a goblin's nose could even become the shade of red that Amrbose Kroop's currently displayed. "Scourgen'a'ways'nass," came the pained reply. The top half of the door beside the cook hung open. In the shadows, Graak could just make out another figure, possibly female from the voice it used. They seemed to preside or guard over a room full to the brim with provisions and supplies the newcomers had yet to see elsewhere aboard. The goblin was reasonably sure he'd found the quartermaster and her stores in his search for kinship. Seeing nothing else to do here, Graak slipped back up the stairs before his abscence could be noted.

---

Badger [Strength: Failure], [Constitution: Success].

Graak [Profession (Sailor): Success];[Constitution: Failure]. Graak is [Fatigued] at the end of his shift. [Success] He learns that the galley is full of foodstuffs and is connected to the quartermaster's stores. Additionally, the galley seems to have plenty of knives lying about rather haphazardly. It's doubtful Kroop is capable of keeping track of them all.

Lyneth [Fishing: Success]

Vizk [Athletics: Success];[Constitution: Failure]. Vizk is [Fatigued] at the end of his shift.

---

Graak, Vizk, Badger, Lyneth; Main Deck [A3] For some the day's chores seemed to move quickly.For others, they dragged on interminably. Regardless of the success or failure of their individual assignments, however, all four found themselves back above decks, huddled together in an unconscious group as the sun began to sink beneath the waves. The bloody hour was soon to begin. The more experienced members of the crew had formed a semicircle near the starboard rail, with the newer conscripts pushed towards the edges. Sandra Quinn and her hat were there, as well as Vizk's new acquaintance Canchobahr. The pirates had all gathered around three figures, none of which made anyone happy to see. Mr. Plugg and Master Scourge held court on the top deck and between them stood poor Jakes Magpie, bound hand and foot and attached to a long lead secured around his scrawny throat. "What'sin that you was tellin' us, Jakesy my sweet," Scourge crooned at the hapless sailor, jerking on the length of rope dangling from Magpie. The bound sailor stuttered for a minute, obviously working moisture back into his mouth, before answering. His voice was soft and raspy but carried in the sudden hush with ease. "Was me, sirs. I took it from the quartmaster's stock wi'out tellin' no one." "You's stole it then, did'ya, ye whelp," Mr. Plugg shot back harshly, treating Jakes to a backhand similar to the one Master Scourge had administered to Badger earlier. This one, however, didn't seem to lack any force. Jakes rocked heavily on his feet before he found his voice to answer. "Y-y-yes sir, I s-s-stole it." The unfortunate man took a deep breath before continuing, enough to bolster his flagging voice a bit. "But it wa' mine though! Ya's took it off'n me when I came 'board. Ya stole it from me, first!" Mr. Plugg didn't bother with the back of his hand this time. No, instead he curled all five of his surprisingly meaty fingers into a tight fist and laid Magpie low with a single blow to the gut. "Y'wrong in tha' cully! E'ry t'ing on the Wormwood belongs to Captain Harrigan, y'ken? And y'know what happens when y' steal from the cap'n, don't ya Jakes?" Fear bypassed nausea in the bound sailor's gaze as he attempted to get quickly to his feet, a plea on his lips. "No, wait, please, mercy-" he managed to squeeze out before Mr. Plugg intervened. Wasting no more time, the first mate took hold of Jakes Magpie's tattered tunic by the shoulder, then pushed him over the rail. [Passive] Silence fell on the main deck, even among the old hands. At one point the halfling woman Lyneth and Vizk had noted earlier attempted to pull away and retreat from the spectacle, but Master Scourge called her back with harsh words promising far worse punishment than Jakes was facing. There the crew stood, assembled quietly, for a full ten minutes before Mr. Plugg broke the tableau. What the bossun and first mate managed to haul up between them hardly appeared human anymore. The rope around his neck had clearly snapped the scrawny twig - hopefully immediately before the body hit the water. Blood from countless lacerations, made by the barnacles clinging relentlessly to the hull of the ship, mixed freely with the seawater streaming from the body, forming a morbid pool on the wooden deck. Mr. Plugg then leaned back against the railing and Master Plugg stepped forward. "Never'n forget ye scrubs. Yer all just meat aboard this ship, and meat follows t' rules. Now get ye down to the mess. Sick o' lookin' at yer ugly mugs. And someone throw this trash over the side to the sharks."

---

Direction Plugg and Scourge wander off after the keel-haul, leaving you all a few minutes up top before you have to head down to the galley and get your dinners and rum rations. There's not much up here besides Jakes' body, which another crew member will attend to if one of you doesn't. After dinner, you'll be able to take one [Nighttime Ship Action]. Check here for additional details.

[Admin Dirk]

Badger took his meal and rum ration, and returned to the upper deck. He sopped the gruel with the hard biscuit, which had probably been made before his birth, from the feel of it, to moisten it a bit. He gnawed on the hard tack, far too salty for his liking, but at least it tasted less of sawdust than he had feared it would. Or perhaps, his sense of taste was still impacted by his own body odor. At least, he thought, no one complained when he left their company, to seek the open air and salt spray of the deck.

Picking at the stuck pieces of dough in his cheek with a tongue, he moved towards the body of the former sailor. Badger himself did not imbibe... the monk knew the effects of alcohol, a poison, and refused to willingly intoxicate himself in that manner. He tipped his rum cup towards the dead man, and nodded his head downwards towards him. He slowly poured the ration onto the lips and mouth of his bilge companion. "Last call," he said solemnly. "Be well, sailor." He poured a little on the man's lips. "For you," he said, "to warm your way." He paused, then poured the rest on the man's mouth from the cup. "And some more, to spit in the Dark's face, if you meet 'im."

It was an old sailing superstition, and ceremony. A drink for the road, and a drink to ward off bad luck. Even with the sailor far past caring about bad luck, Badger felt it appropriate. He did not know what beliefs the man might have once had, but everyone believed in luck.

He set his wares down on the deck, and began to prepare the body to go overboard.

 

Not going to drink the rum. Lawful Monk, seems like something I would avoid, polluting my body for no reason.

I can't make a trained only skillsleight of hand check, so... no way to hide it.

I will do a small ceremony and get rid of the body. If others join me, be welcome to join in, do a ceremony, etc..


I will simply sleep, if able to, as my nighttime actions.

[Brian]

Vizk Ichimal Vizk accepted what passed for the evening meal and a cup of powerful-smelling alcohol. While he wasn't very enthused about drinking after his last bout had landed him in this situation, he also understood the situation and the rum was preferable to a lashing. What was clear after a day and a keel-hauling, was this situation was not tenable. It was apparent that the captain did not care for his crew, and his overseers were cruel and viewed them all as expendable, easily replaced through more snatch and grabs. They would be used up until they were disposed of, either from sickness or injury or via incurring the spite of their keepers. The crew was split between established members and the newcomers. His most likely allies lay among these newcomers, though they were fractured and held the least power, stripped of their belongings. He slugged down his rum, gritting his teeth against the burn. he was tired from his day's work, and wanted nothing more than to rest. But he knew time was limited, and so instead sought out the Gnome he had met earlier, approaching him when no one else was nearby. "Hello Conchobar Turlach Shortstone. What did you think of the Keel-hauling of the man today? It seemed very undignified. I see from your finery that you are an important person. Surely they took things from you that you did not appreciate losing? Surely you do not appreciate being told where and when to work? And today I wondered how long till I am dragged beneath the hull, and I feel it likely it caused you to query your own fate." Vizk leaned against the railing, "Seems to me we need a weather change. A calmer sea where an important person such as yourself gets your fair due and has a say in their own fate. I feel the wind is shifting, and just want to know, can we count on you when the winds are high? Diplomacy 19Will you reclaim your prestige, control of your own fate, your own name... or will you be content to be Shortmeat until the not-to-distant day when they drag you under and then toss you to the sharks?"   Rum: 3 cha bonus, fatigue 3 hours, 3 con damage; Addicted Sleep+Nighttime Influence Shortstone: Diplomacy 19 Constitution check for fatigue: Failed. Fatigued tomorrow

Equipment Equipment Item Cost Backpack 2 gp Bedroll 1 sp Scroll Case 1gp Wooden Holy Symbol 1 gp Gauntlet 2 gp Belt Pouch 1 gp Waterskin 1 gp 50' Hemp Rope 1 gp Wooden Holy Symbol 1 gp Chain Shirt 100 gp Great Club 5 gp Light Hammer (2) 1 (2) gp Wealth Platinum 0 Gold 59 Silver 9 Copper 0

[pianoman90]

Graak Fishguts Graak was proud of his sleuthing skills, already he had seen something of extreme value to him in the galley. That Fishguts himself was a poor mockery of all he held dear in his own name was a minor inconvenience, HE was going to be the Fishguts name that struck fear in the hearts of those who heard it before long. He just needed a few more things first... Graak was witness to the first thing that might slow his thinking down, the uncovering of "Jakesy's" deception. Stealing from the ship was not something he wanted to get caught doing, no-sir, not when he witnessed the painful and humiliating way that Mr Plugg dealt with the man. Oh, he fully intended to steal, that food and those knives were far too much temptation for that, but he would be clever about it. Graak wouldn't be caught, not when he was going to spend the time to make sure he did things right. To err once is human, to err twice is careless. It was a saying Graak had heard at the Formidable Maid as he watched another drunkard get booted out of the bar. Graak thought the saying was stupid - to be human was careless in his books. Yet the sentiment remained useful - he wasn't going to be as careless or as stupid as a human and make a single mistake when so much was at stake. As they settled in for dinner and rum, Graak wandered over to poke at Jakes' body. He wanted to rifle through the pockets, but strongly doubted that there would be anything of value on the man. When his brief search was done, he returned to his food and drink and, watching how quickly Vizk downed his rum, followed suit. Immediately he felt the buzzing effects of the drink take hold - he liked this stuff! Graak started to move towards Vizk and Badger to chat about the day, but the powerful drink addled his mind. He found quicker solace lying on his back in bed and before long, the goblin was sound asleep, snoring with his hand still resting next to the rum flagon.

OOC Graak will simply sleep after dinner. He is content with the little bits of knowledge he has gained thus far and will likely not risk incurring a painful beating and an unplanned swim for a failed thieving attempt before getting more information.   Passed Fort Save. +2 Cha bonus, 1 hour Fatigue penalty, -2 Con.   Rapier - 20gp Studded Leather - 25gp Swashbuckler's kit - 9gp Masterwork Artisan tools - 55gp Common Thieves Tools - 30 gp Acid flasks x 3 - 30gp Remaining gp - 6 Rolls

 

Graak Fishguts

Vital Statistics HP: 12/12 Armor Class 16 Strength 11 Speed 10ft climb speed20 Touch AC 16 Dexterity 18 Initiative +4 Flat-Footed 12 Constitution 13 Fortitude +1 BAB 1 Intelligence 17 Reflex +6 CMB +4 Wisdom 7 Will -2 CMD 14 Charisma 12 Weapons None     Details Skill Mod Skill Mod Acrobatics +8 Knowledge: Religion +3 Appraise +3 Knowledge: The Planes +3 Bluff +1 Linguistics +7 Climb +12 Perception +6 Craft (weapons) +7 Perform +1 Diplomacy +1 Profession (sailor) +3 Disable Device +4 Ride +4 Disguise +1 Sense Motive -2 Escape Artist +8 Sleight of Hand +8 Fly +4 Spellcraft +3 Handle Animal +1 Stealth +8 Heal -2 Survival -2 Intimidate +6 Swim +4 Knowledge: Arcana +3 Use Magic Device +1 Knowledge: Engineering +3 - - Knowledge: Dungeoneering +3 - - Knowledge: Geography +3     Knowledge: History +3     Knowledge: Local +3     Knowledge: Nature +3     Knowledge: Nobility +3     Skills Spell Level Spell Level - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Prepared Spells Equipment   None   Equipment

[Icereach]

Badger; End of Day 1 Badger wasn't alone in his observances, though the sparse few that dared attend did so in silence. They refused even to watch directly, instead arranging themselves in a haphazard manner while nonchalantly eating their own meals. Among them were Conchobar Shortstone, the gnome rigger from earlier in the day, and Sandra Quinn in her distinctive hat. Close to them lounged another diminutive crewmate, a halfling woman with a salty complexion and remarkably clean-looking russet hair. Another lurked as well, though it was doubtful he did so out of respect. Fipps Chumlet was the only other man that dared to glance in their direction, though his attention was all for Badger. As the self-proclaimed chirurgien finished, so did Fipps. The rat-faced fellow threw a sneer in the other man's direction, then disappeared below decks. Afterward, Badger was able to retire to his hammock near the back of the rafters without incident. Sometime after the veteran sailor fell asleep, a scabrous silhouette appeared at the foot of the stairs to the upper decks. It remained there motionless for a time, then returned from whence it came.

Graak; End of Day 1 The goblin ended his evening, supper cold in his belly, with a well-earned sense of pride. He had, indeed, discovered much with his day. His instincts would come to serve him well enough in the trying times ahead. He bedded down for the night directly across from Badger, and his rest went blissfully undisturbed.

Vizk; End of Day 1 Dinner, such as it was, left a foul taste in the lizardfolk's mouth. Or maybe it was the burning-sweet rum. Either way, air was called for to help it all go down. Following several other crewmates topside, Vizk found himself falling in line behind Conchobhar Shortstone, the gnome from their ignominious task this morning. The diminutive man thumped his dandy way across the planking to the portside, where he was joined by the woman in the tricorn cap that he so blatantly been inserting her influence throughout the day. The scaled male found himself approaching soon after. Set to a backdrop of rowdy pirates gambling and tossing a wrapped lead ingot across the decks, Vizk made an impassioned case. Clearly his words had their intended effect, as both Sandra and Conchobhar visibly blanched beneath their sunny tans. Unfortunately his tongue proved too clever by half. The minute the mocking moniker Shortstone slipped past his rigged lips, a flushing blaze spread across the gnome's angular cheeks. [Diplomacy {Aid Another}: Success] As he surged forward, the woman's well-worn hand fell on his thin shoulder. Though it forced him to come up short, her true attention was turned to Vizk. She held the lizardfolk with her hard, sea-green stare for a several moment before cocking her gaze back down at Conchobhar. "S'not wrong, though, is'ee mate? Been tellin' ya. Poor Jakes is likely jus' th' first." "Y-yes," the gnome finally replied, his anger petering out. He sighed deeply as he cast a look back out over the rolling waters, then turned to face Vizk fully. He plucked weakly at his faded finery before letting out a deep sigh. "You're not wrong... But you're not entirely right, either. I wanted to be a pirate, and this is certainly a pirate's life. Do whatever it is you're wanting to do, scales. Just don't expect me to stick my neck out." With that, he retreated from the deck, his cane seemingly forgotten tucked under his arm. For her part, Sandra threw Vizk a hard glare and followed. His goal for the night completed, the lizardfolk found his own berth near the softly snoring badger and the faintly murmuring Graak. Results Conchobhar has taken a step towards helpful, becoming Indifferent

---

Day 2

Vizk, Graak, Badger; Main Deck The second day of the party's enlistment dawned bright annd clear, with their persons unmolested in the middle of the night. The other sailors drove them topside by the time dawn broke, where their tasks for the day were doled out by one of Mr. Plugg's many henchmen.

Vizk Hauling Rope and Knotwork: Tying and untying knots in the ship's ropes and moving heavy coils of rope from one part of the ship to another.

Graak Rope Work: Handling the ship's ropes, including coiling them, stowing them, and securing them to cleats and single and double bollards.

Badger Swab the Decks: Backbreaking work mopping the decks and scrubbing them with sandstone blocks called holystones.

[Brian]

Vizk Ichimal Vizk awoke still sore and tired, his jaws creaked in a mighty yawn and his tail was somewhat listless. Nevertheless, he set to his assigned task diligently, his experience aboard ships Profession: Sailor 23showing through. At one point, working on a knot, he found himself next to the woman with the Tricorn Hat. Softly, not looking at her, Influence, Diplomacy 18he said, "Appreciate the assist last night. I wasn't trying to insult the idea of being a pirate, but I always heard a pirate's life was being free from the strictures of society... right now, I don't feel very free. I think there is a result where a pirate's ship can run without half the crew being little better than galley slaves. Always looking for advice on how I can be better though. Vizk, by the way. You can call me Scales if you like." his tail tip traced a circle on the planks of the deck in a friendly greeting before he moved on, not wanting to draw unwanted attention. By the end of the shift the lack of sleep from the night before was Constitution check 7, exhaustedwearing heavily on him.

Equipment Equipment Item Cost Backpack 2 gp Bedroll 1 sp Scroll Case 1gp Wooden Holy Symbol 1 gp Gauntlet 2 gp Belt Pouch 1 gp Waterskin 1 gp 50' Hemp Rope 1 gp Wooden Holy Symbol 1 gp Chain Shirt 100 gp Great Club 5 gp Light Hammer (2) 1 (2) gp Wealth Platinum 0 Gold 59 Silver 9 Copper 0