[Game Thread] The Wormwood Mutiny

[Tripod]

The world swims around you. A dull pain throbs behind your eyes and you feel your body lurch to the side as you come to consciousness. You each remember things differently, a raucous party, a peaceful moment at sea, a gorgeous serving wench... but you all share similar experiences. A sharp pain on the back of the head, a strange taste in your drink and then, blackness.

The world comes into blurry focus as you each wake from your violent night. It takes a moment to get your bearing as the ground underneath you shifts to and fro but as soon as your eyesight returns, you each know where you are. The room is wide with wooden floors and walls. There are rows upon rows of hammocks with small chests underneath each. At the west side of the room is a set of stairs. You are definitely in the hold of a ship! There are five people in the room, including you. Four humans and a half elf make up the group, all of them looking as confused as the other. Before any of you have the chance to get your bearings, the sounds of footsteps echo through the chamber.

Down steps a tall, lanky man who looks like he hasn't eaten a good meal in weeks. His black hair is hidden behind a red bandanna and his facial hair, a beard that reaches his chest, is braided and laced with beads. He wears a long dark coat with a dark tunic underneath. In his right hand is a long whip that he snaps as soon as he steps down onto the lower deck. A look of pain crosses his face, a grimace that looks as if someone was digging a finger into a new wound, but you soon realize that is what passes for a smile on his haggard face. He snarls at the group of you and waves a group of six pirates up to stand around him.

"Sleepin' where there's be work ta be done? Get yer arses on top deck an' report to Cap'n Harrigan before I slice ye up and make the cook make sausages outta ya!" With that the pirates all separated and allowed the Whip Carrying Man to climb up out of the hold, ignoring any questions or comments you may have. The gang of cutthroats stood around waiting for you all to comply, most of the eager to force you if they had to.

As you pass by, one pirate, a red haired young woman follows close. She wears a wide brimmed tricorn hat on her head and a white tunic that falls of her shoulders. Around her waist is a leather corset and tattoos litter her arms. She smiles gently as the other pirates move off to the upper deck and leans in, whispering. "Ah'm sorry this happen'd to ye. I'm Sandara Quinn an Ah'm not fer likin' the way Master Scourge there does thin's. Ah found this in the store," she said producing a leather spellbook, "since Grok ain' likin' no mystical stuff. Come an see me later an Ah'll try to answer ye questions." She offered the book to whoever wanted it and moved off, joining the others.

OOC There you have it! Lot of things happen at once so I hope you don't mind if I go through it real fast. Now you have a chance to describe a little about yourself and your reactions to being beaten and press-ganged! Master Scourge does not entertain questions and leaves as soon as he makes sure you're all awake.

[zevonian]

A tiny, young man slowly stood up, patting himself on the hip as he did so. Barely five feet tall, hardly a hundred pounds, he took up the least amount of space amongst the group that looked to be on the bad end of a press ganging. He knew that's what had happened, but he surely didn't expect it when it happened. With the results now unfolding before him, the incident served as a sudden reminder to never drink whiskey and ale again.

Bigger man with a whip had unkind things to say, every word sounding like it had been said before, ingrown into the man's soul. The littler one just gave a nod, acknowledgement at least, if not acceptance.

And then a voice, feminine, somehow familiar, was heard. Apologetic, at least a little. Was she with that group two tables over? The small guy started to recall his previous evening, at least he thought he'd only been knocked out for a single night, when the lady that owned that slightly sorrowful tone offered a small book. "I...can write. I had...pens on me." He took the leather bound tome, he took it before he could regret doing so.

In reaching for that book, he revealed his blotchy, red, right hand. The blotches formed a pattern, one of what many on board would likely see as a familiar sight. They looked like a skull and crossbones.

[RedMoon]

Jeska groaned as she sat up, wincing and rubbing the back of her head. She could feel a lump there where somebody had struck her, the pain was still throbbing through the back of her skull. She looked around blearily, feeling the familiar rocking sensation that accompanied being on a ship, and noting that there were others who looked just as confused as she did. Frowning, she rose from the cot, looking about for her weapon. Had she been kidnapped? Were these other people in the same situation? These questions were soon answered by the arrival of the rather frightening-looking man with the whip, accompanied by some muscle.

Growling with irritation, she grit her teeth, her fists clenching. As much as she wanted to lunge at the man and punch him right in his ugly face, that didn't seem like it would be a wise idea. As much as she hated not leaping directly in to action, she needed to figure out where she was first, who these people were, and hopefully find her weapons. The man with the whip barked some orders, and the other goons looked all too happy to enforce them, so reluctantly, she marched up to the deck of the ship, glaring at the pirates. At least the situation was clear. Pressganged. She had wanted to work on a ship, she supposed, but these weren't exactly the circumstances she had imagined.

When the female pirate approached, speaking in a low voice, Jeska raised a wary eyebrow. A potential ally? Or at least a sympathizer. That could be helpful. What was more helpful, however, was the book she offered. Jeska's eyes lit up as she recognized the small leather-bound tome as her own spellbook. That was convenient. As much as she hated to agree with her mother, it was perhaps her most dangerous weapon, and most useful tool. And here her captors were giving it back to her. She cast her eyes about warily, missing her chance as a small, frail-looking man took it. She did frown slightly at the slight glance she was provided of the mark on his hand. A tattoo? A brand? Or some strange birthmark? Regardless, there would be time to ask about that later.

"Ah, that's-" She cut herself off as she spoke up, lowering her voice before speaking again. Wouldn't do to attract attention, or alert anyone to the importance of the book. "That's mine." She said again, quieter. "If you don't mind?" She asked, extending a hand to the young man. She tried to keep her tone polite. There was no sense in being rude to these people who were in the same situation as her, but, at the same time, there was no real reason to trust them.

[zevonian]

The thin man switched the book from one hand to the other, as he just barely heard someone speak up about the ownership of it. He knew they couldn't stay still long, lest either of them get whipped. He held his reddened hand up, thinking any pirates still paying attention to him would focus on it, and him. The other hand passed off the book, as nonchalantly as could be done under the circumstances.

"You all well?" Somehow he worked up the nerve to just speak to one of the cutthroats. It was just to buy enough time to give one good look in the hold for his own belongings before moving topside.

Maybe they won't bother the woman for her tome, if they just stick to hassling me .

 

Apologies for posting twice before everyone introduced their characters into the game. Just wanted to hand off the book before I got busy with posts for other games.

[Cidolfas]

The night had been one of his best. Young Kaelan Crimsonblade had finally found a ship to take him on and he was celebrating that fact. With a wench on one arm and strong ale in the other, he was truly loving life for the first time. Smile on his handsome face, he barely noticed the slightly different taste to his drink and hardly cared.

Grimacing at the pain still felt in his head, Kaelan eyes the pirates with a scowl while trying to remember exactly how the night before ended. He has always wanted to join their ranks, but not this way. Each of their faces is etched into the young man’s memory as he vows silent retribution against those who dare treat a Crimsonblade in such a manner. That goes double for the man with the whip. Reflexively he reaches for his blade which is nowhere to be found.

Shaking out his long hair, Kaelan moves forward while brushing off his clothes. Brown eyes then downcast, he glances around the floor for anything which could be used as a weapon in case of an emergency. “I’ll come up,” he says meekly. It would prove useful if he was underestimated, so he gives off the appearance of a coward while rage boils within. To further the guise, he shifts noticeably from one foot to the other. For the time being the would-be pirate ignores his fellow companions in the same predicament.

[mountainbound]

The smell of the sea was something that Al-Muqtadir could never resist. Inhaling deeply, the dervish can barely restrain from smiling. It was a glorious morning. If only he could see properly. Two black eyes made that part difficult. Still, he was alive and he had made it! Arriving only yesterday, he was now here, wherever here was. It didn't matter, he had finally reached the wild, barbarian lands of the Uninitiated... where men wear earrings and outlandish tattoos, and women smash bottles over the heads of their lovers. In retrospect, being drugged and then beaten senseless with the cock of a whale (or maybe it was a particularly ugly sturgeon) were perhaps not so uncommon in these parts.

He wasn't alone at least.

Standing beside Kaelan, Al-Muqtadir notices the young man instinctively reach for the missing weapon at his hip. It was an action that the dervish knew well, having been raised among warrior-saints, but was not something he ever had need to do. His weapon was his practice, the teaching imparted to him by his venerable mentor.

The very thought of his teacher helped calm his mind as he considered the sun -- not the ruby globe bleeding over the sea, but his inner Sun, the infinite source of his power. Plus, one didn't need eyes to look inward. Cheeks swollen, two teeth dangling, the foreigner dervish smiles at Kaelan, "I too am a swordsman." Looking around, Al-Muqtadir can see his five companions have all fared as he had. "If they had wanted my money, they might have asked first," he says, spitting a tooth onto the deck. "I am Gemel... Might I ask where we are?"

[TheChuck]

Oh no, not again. Was the first thought that crept through Nori's groggy mind as he came to. Without having to be prodded or whipped he rose from the grungy horizontal pile that he was to a vertical pile of dirty human and made his way across the hold floor and up to the ladder. Scraggly, mud colored hair hangs unwashed and unbrushed to his shoulders, and bits of seaweed and other detritus peek out from between the matted waves. While the small human, if that's what he really is beneath all that dirt and mud, doesn't smell exactly bad, he sure isn't going to win any prizes for best smelling either. The most complimentary that one could call his odor is natural, and it is true that much of the olfactory trail that follows him is similar to that of the sea.

Of all the prisoners it looks like he has had the least taken from him. Perhaps that is because literally everything he owns is caked in dirt and mud, or more likely it's because he owns nothing of value to thieving pirates. There is one bag that catches the eye of observant onlookers. At fist glance it looks like just another sack, but underneath the years of (perhaps purposefully?) applied grime it is waterproof. Whatever is in that bag is apparently important to Nori, though you wouldn't know it from the way he acts about it.

If the little man is afraid of what is to come he is hiding it well. In fact one might say that this very thing has happened to him previously. He is obviously comfortable on a ship, having started moving with the slow roll of the sea as soon as he stood up. He does stop next to Sandara briefly as he heads up on deck. He is forced to look up over the swell of her breasts in order to meet her eye, but doesn't seem embarrassed by the effort. "I'd've come willingly if they'd just asked. Been lookin' to get a deck underfoot for a few days anyway." Scrawny shoulders shrug as if to say it matters not, and he continues on his way up the ladder.

[Cidolfas]

The seemingly meek young man glances at the foreigner with a mixture of wonder and distrust on his face, It was clear from the look he gives Gemel that he wasn't one who is quick to open up. Shrugging, he gestures to everything and nothing all at once. "On a ship, what does it look like." The words are terse as Kaelen returns his gaze quickly to the pirates around them. "And I'm Kaelan Crimsonblade," he adds almost as an afterthought. Yet there is something prideful in the way he says his name that strikes a cord, almost as a haughty noble might pass along his titles. It would also be a vaguely familiar surname to those who had spent any decent amount of time in the area.

[mountainbound]

Kaelan Missingblade, from the looks of it. Gemel grins, "Crimsonblade. It seems an ill-omened name. Unless the crimson is a reflection of the morning sun. Then that would be auspicious indeed." The foreigner dervish doesn't seem to recognize Kaelan's disdain, nor the significance of the pirates' cursing and repeated demands to shut his trap. He had no traps, so they obviously weren't referring to him.

Wondering still about where he might have landed, he begins again with Kaelan. Of course, he wouldn't know the difference between King's Landing, Waterdeep and Gondor. Still: "No no, I realize we're on a ship, but I wond--" A rude crack across his face cuts short his chatter. He spits another tooth onto the deck along with a wad of blood.

It was the kind of thing that could make even the calmest ascetic feel a bit testy. He looks at the offending pirate through eyes already black and blue, remembering vaguely his face from the previous night.

Breathing heavy and trying to keep his growing anger in check, he offers himself a reminder: Ours is a peaceful way.

[Tripod]

The other three pirates that came down with the dark coiffed man step behind the group of you and start to push. One big fellow, fat with a shaved head pipes up, "Oy, get on wit' ya! Tha Cap'n don' like waitin'." The cutthroats coral you up the stairs, going up three decks to the main deck where a large group waits you. Standing on the upper deck above the main deck is a huge man with sun scorched skin. His beard is long and laced with gold rings and he wears a leather patch over one eye. The way he is flanked by several others certainly indicates this gentleman here is indeed Captain Harrigan.

As you step up to the other crewmates you notice four people stand on their own, including the woman who spoke to you earlier, Sandara Quinn. She stands with a sour looking halfling woman whose muscles look like she hasn't spent a day without doing some sort of hard labor. Next to them is a seething human wearing a blue bandanna that covers one ear and perhaps the strangest looking gnomes you've ever seen. The gnome looks like he picked his outfit based on some bard's tale of swashbuckling dandies, with his wide brimmed purple hat and matching tunic, coat and breeches. He wore a patch over his left eye and had the most luxurious curling mustache you'd ever seen. The four of them were apart from the others, not just in proximity but in cleanliness too, as if they hadn't been on the sea for that long.

Wasting no time, Captain Harrigan steps to the edge of the upper deck above you and calls out. "Well good morning and welcome to the Wormwood! he bellowed, not looking pleased or welcoming in the least. "The name is Captain Barnabas Harrigan, though you whelps'll be callin' me Captain or nothing at all! Actually, you won't be calling me ANYTHING. I have one rule: do not speak to me in any way! I like talk but I don't like you. You report to my associate Mr. Plugg. Plugg, c'mere." With that a younger man, probably in his twenties steps up. His head was shaved except for a patch on the back that is braided into a long ponytail. He wore a long blue coat and had a cat-'o-nine-tails strapped to his side. Harrigan motioned the man back and continued. "You've been volunteered aboard the Wormwood because we're gettin' shorthanded and it's Mr. Plugg's job to make pirates outta ya. Since we ain't got enough folks to be playin' about there'll be a have a rope tied to you and toss over the front of the ship, only to get run over by itkeelhaulin' for anyone caught killing someone. Plugg? If you would. I'm tired o' lookin' at this scum."

Master Scourge steps up to Mr. Plugg as he starts to climb down the stair. Captain Harrigan leaves with his other officer, a woman, ignoring the new crewmates as he entered his chambers on the Main Deck.

OOC On your way to the Main Deck, if you were knocked out via heavy drink, make a Perception 10 check. If you pass it make a DC 15 Craft Alchemy or DC 10 Knowledge Nature check as you notice the strange taste of oily nutmeg. Mr. Plugg chats with Master Scourge for a moment while he steps down, giving you all a moment to make comments or short actions.

[RedMoon]

Jeska nodded her thanks to the young man as he passed the book over, quickly secreting it away. She tucked the small, leather-bound volume in to her belt at the small of her back, before covering it with her shirt. She would need to find a better hiding spot for it later, but, in the meantime, she didn't want it on display where someone might question it or take it from her. While waiting for their new 'employer' to approach, she took a quick glance around, looking for land on the horizon to try and determine how far they had gone from port, or how much time had passed since their abduction. It was at least a good distraction, something to focus on instead of seething anger about the predicament, and how much she would enjoy strangling everyone on-board with her bare hands. Keelhaul indeed. She'd show him keelhauling, the filthy, stupid - But no, concentrate on landmarks.

Beyond that, she would remain quiet and try not to attract attention to herself, alternately plotting escape or burning the ship to the ground and then escape. Or strangling, stabbing, incinerating, poisoning, hanging, keelhauling, drowning...

 

Rolling profession: sailor to attempt to determine position and time.

Roll: 15

[zevonian]

The thin man said nothing to the Captain. He said nothing to anyone. His red right hand was visibly in front of him, but not prominently raised. They'll ask, I'll answer, now that I know how. They'll not throw me over.

He did not look to the seas, he just tried to maintain his balance. When the Captain spoke to the one called Plugg, he whispered to his fellow recruits.

"Any of you hurt? I've got healer's training."

[Cidolfas]

The young would-be pirate rubs his heads as he tries to shake the rather evident headache. Squinting up at the sky, he wonders how long they will have to bide their time. With their captors occupied, Kaelan then leans over to his new companions and keeps his voice low. “Do not use what I do here against me. We must bide our time and look for openings while winning their trust. Will speak more later.” With that he again turns his eyes to the wood beneath his feet. After trying all his like to stand out from his peers, it seemed fitting that he needed to blend in upon beginning his career on a ship.

[mountainbound]

Al-Muqtadir had seen many wonders during his brief few weeks among these savages, but nothing so far to compare to the marvelous eyebrows of Mr. Plugg. He could only gawk at the man's fastidious appearance. And that skull rapier... surely the man was quite a dandy. And one Gemel would not wish to cross, especially with two black eyes swollen almost to the point of blindness.

His attention is stolen only when one of his fellow unfortunates whispers an offer of healing. "My eyes, yes, it would be well to see again." It was a fear of Gemel's, to lose an eye, or be blind. Gratefully he accepts an orison deftly administered, which does wonders to relieve the pain in his forehead. "Teşekkür ederim... blessings of the Wise upon you, my friend..."

 

Perception DC 10

Dice Roll:

1d20+5

(14)+5

Total = 19

If I pass...
K Nature DC 10

Dice Roll:

1d20+1

(17)+1

Total = 18

[zevonian]

He was worried, visibly worried. But then he heard others talk, others in the same fate as him. "I had, healer's kit. They took it."

But then something happened, it happened after he heard a specific word.

Friend.

Left wrist pressed upon chest, fingers extended out an inch- but then curled around so fingernails met the skin above the sternum, but not so curled as to make a full fist. Right palm over the left hand, fingers outstretched, redness displayed. Thumb met thumb, body standing straight and upright, eyes cast towards the water, the thin man was obviously posing himself for a reason.

"Eyes. We live, for she saw us...she sees us...with her eyes. I believe this."

It was only in this quiet utterance about...her...that he showed no fear .