[Game Thread] The Storm Breaks

[GleefulNihilism]

"I am whatever I need to be." Boz replies with a bit of a chuckle in a hushed round of the Cant. Clearly, yes - he was trying to pass for mage after all. In fairness, he could legittimately cast a few spells so it's not like he was completely lying there.

"But as a rule I prefer a chance to think, yes." he adds with a nod. Rash? Him? No, no sir. He was careful about this sort of thing. Except when he wasn't. The "got the crew thinking he's a mage" not withstanding.

[Noctem]

Marek turned back to the man who had ingested the poison and noticed he had already given his last breath. I'll have to try and get some of that poison to analyze..

He then turned towards the wreck of the ship. Apparently the Goliath was able to do some interesting things beyond his combat prowess. Hopefully this pays off.

[kingmonkey]

It is not long before the ship is as clean as it was before the battle, notwithstanding the age of the thing in the first place. While it was in excellent repair, a testament to the diligence of its current and former crews, the Skyborne was an old ship. The joining of the timbers, the inlaid ebony that decorated the base of the masts, the peculiar hinges on the doors-- these all spoke of a classical shipbuilding style that was once prominent, but has sadly been forgotten in modern times. The time and expertise needed to build a ship like the Skyborne are too costly for most navies, today. Outside of the dwarven ships only invented for the great exodus from the Regnir, few can boast quality like this.

How, then, it came to be in the possession of former pirates, now in service to the joint council of kings, is somewhat of a mystery.

Snow now begins to swirl on unsees eddies and tides of wind, disappearing as it lands on the churning, frigid waters. The sun has set, and the last grey miasma of cloud-veiled sunlight fades. A crewman passes Boz and Marek, among others, fur cloaks. They smell musty, but their warmth is welcome. Voices call out orders and replies. Somewhere below deck, the man who joined Jenaya in the funeral dirge can be heard. His clear, deep voice, like black velvet, rises up in a song of hardship overcome and bravery at sea. He is soon joned by other voices, and it is not long before a chorus sings below, warming spirits, if not toes.

Marek sees Ugly Jane disappear below deck, and Stonehead has not yet returned from the black hulk of the Queen's Harlot. Chalke and the girl-bird, Veera, now sit on the rail and squawk in the tongue of hawks. The captain is not seemingly concerned with his first mate's absence. Instead, the fiery bulk of a man approaches Marek, then Boz, to invite them below for supper.

Boz notices his own bulky companion's surreptitious departure before the captain approaches. It is unlikely anyone else did, though.

In the captain's mess, a table is set by a round-faced, thick man dressed in an apron. The man's hygiene, upon first glance, is questionable, but it has been a long and hard day, and the smell of savoury stew steaming on the tables reminds all present that they have not eaten all day, or barely. Mouths water reflexively. Ulric sits and Marek and Boz note that his crew does not stand on ceremony. Handsome Jim, Ugly Jane, Mr. Tasker and some others sit around the table. Tasker glowers at the newcomers, but it begins to become apparent that his smile and his sneer are indistinguishable.

The cook, Rotgut by name, ladels out generous portions of the brown food and Ulric beckons the pair to sot near him.

[Noctem]

Right.. food. Of course. Marek thought. It's true he hadn't eaten in quite some time but his mind was a whirl of thoughts. Food was the last thing he would have thought about at the moment, but he grudgingly sat with the rest of the crew.

Suddenly feeling the exo-oil on his bare skin, Marek decided he had had enough of the sensory distraction. Pulling out his tools and some various patchwork materials he started unbuckling his suit.

[GleefulNihilism]

The brisk air isn't welcome but neither is dying, so he takes the cloak with a smile. His Brother in Shadows disappears, and that might be for the best. Instead he took a moment to catch his breath, and when invited by the captain he took it. He's a Mage now after all, Mages do that sort of thing. Right?

Which is awful when he thinks about it. The main mage of this ship is such an addict that Boz was an attractive alternative in comparison. How awful is that?

The stew he smiles and thanks Rotgut. He's eaten worse. He's eaten worse this week, obviously.

"Why do they call you Rotgut? I don't see it." he chuckles as he goes in for a seat, hoping the captain just felt like company though he doubted it.

[kingmonkey]

Rotgut laughs. His face is greasy and round and the laugh looks a little obscene on his face.

"Oh, hmmm, not worry," he explains, patting Boz on the shoulder, "small misunderstanding in kitchen, one time. Not too many dead, though. Enjoy stew!"

The officers seated at the Captain's table laugh. (Except for Ugly Jane, whose sour-yet-gorgeous face remains impassive.) They dig in with gusto and, truthfully, the stew is quite good, made better with hunger. Rotgut bows to the captain and turns to usher his pair of aides, a pair of teenage girls, out, closing the door behind them. There is a silence, next, filled only with the sound of eating, drinking, baskets of hard buns passed around the table, wine being poured.

Once the meal is partly eaten, only then does the captain begin to speak.

"Vat haff you all to report?"

Chalke enters the room as Ugly Jane begins to speak.

"We've got most of the refugees squared away," she says, "they've been mostly co-operative. A few troublemakers have been educated on the rules. I expect no difficulties from them."

"A handful're experienched shailors," Handsome Jim adds, "there's one fella has been fishing on a large boat for almosht shixty years. His arms and hands are shtiff, but he knows more about fishing than anyone I've ever met. I've ashked Rotgut, Evers, and Aruma to meet him tomorrow morning. With a couple of the local fishermen, they may be able to help ush shtock our larder."

The captain nods gravely. It seems he has not advised the crew of their food shortage, though they can perhaps guess the harsh truth, if they put their minds to it. He turns his attention back to Jane.

"We'll know more tomorrow, sir," she continues, "but I don't think security is going to be a problem, especially if you allow me to confiscate any alcohol I find until things are more settled."

Ulric nods. Jane returns to her stew. Sister Chalke rises from her seat.

"If I may, sir," she says, taking a small, sleeping cat from under her cloak and resting her next to the stove, "I have some questions for Mr. Boz."

She smiles in Boz' direction. Her pale face is soft. She smiles warmly, but her appearance is so like alabaster, that she almost feels like snow on the nape of Boz' neck.

Next to Marek, another man he has not yet met leans back in his chair. He addresses Marek.

"You need help with your... armour, buddy?"

[GleefulNihilism]

Sister Chalke looks like something he's dreamed about once or twice, and not the dreams particularly fun or nice. It wasn't fair to her, but he was starting to feel a bit paranoid when she requested an audience with him. It makes him wonder if she's going to show a stinger and lay eggs in his abdomen or something - which he, again, knew wasn't fair.

Either way though, he nods - taking the stew with him of course. It really is actually pretty good. A little meeting near the stove, let's do this. He's going to eat anyway though, just to show that he's not intimidated if nothing else but in a casual way.

That was the one problem with lying so much, you have to remember to keep your story straight which takes more effort then just telling the truth. He's a mage's apprentice, his last teacher died early in the invasion, he couldn't get a teacher before that. Can do.

"Anything to help."

[Noctem]

Marek spends the time it takes the hungry group around him to eat half of their food before he finally gets to the final buckles and secured cords. As he's about to remove his mask and hood, the man next to him offers his help which startles him a bit because of how focused he was on what he was doing.

"Oh... Thank you but I've got it. I need to make repairs after the battle on the deck earlier." Marek answers while turning to the man. "We haven't met, I am Commodore Marek. What is your role in this?"

As he asks the question, the hood and mask give way and Marek removes them both.



Marek blinked a few times as he adjusted to the ambient light. A reddish liquid began to bubble up from Marek's shoulder and he quickly dabbed at the liquid before removing enough of the buckles to slide his shoulder partially out. A vicious looking bruise had begun to bloom in the form of perfect teeth marks. The infected has an overbite. he notices. Well.. had. Flashes from the battle come to him then, a sharp crunch as the infected's neck was broken. He would have to make sure to thank the friendly Goliath for his help.

The suit had been slightly damaged from the attack. The exo-fluid was leaking from a ruptured tube in the second interlaced layer. He had some replacement tubing but it would require a more in-depth job to repair properly. In the meantime, removing the shoulder from the exo-fluid system would suffice to stop the leak. Marek reached into his bag and pulled out a small metal box. Inside were some delicate looking tools that Marek began using to turn a miniature valve on the inside of the suit. To anyone paying attention to what Marek was doing, the intricacy of the suit would have been baffling without some form of engineering knowledge. ((DM feel free to make a roll here for anyone you feel might know a thing or two about this stuff, I'll give more info on a success. you can set the DC))

Marek took a bite of the stew then and smirked as he had to admit it was better food than he had had in the last several days.

[GleefulNihilism]

Well, what do you say in situations like this? 'Hello, I was going to at least check out that thing you snuck onboard if not steal it but I realized I'd have nowhere to stash it so I'm holding off?'. Awkward of course. Fortunately, Boz has a little more tact than that.

"Call me Boz. And apparently I'm the highest ranking Arcanist Mage on this ship that isn't a drugged to the gills on Lotus all the time. Which, trust me, is less impressive then it sounds." he speaks. Technically, that wasn't a lie. He really did seem to be the highest ranking Arcane Magic User on this ship that wasn't below decks stoned out of their senses. He could mention that he's a Guild Thief but that would only make the situation worse really.

[kingmonkey]

"Well, I think he was talkin' to me, chief," says the man leaning back in his chair. His beard is trimmed neatly, and his blond hair is close cropped. After he answers, he turns back to Marek. It is only then he catches sight of Marek's ears.

"Mah-fa'ah!" he curses, toppling back in his chair, "an elf!"

The assembled crew stops at once, and all eyes turn to Marek. Chalke stares in disbelief. The captain's eyes narrow in intense concentration. Ugly Jane is instantly at her feet, a look of fury on her features, but she doesn't move as Handsome Jim rests a hand on her forearm.

Tasker sighs with resignation, looking back down at his stew. He is the only one to keep eating as the rest focus on the revealed Marek.

[Noctem]

Marek stops what he's doing and slowly puts the tool he was using into the metal box while taking in the scene around him.

[GleefulNihilism]

You ever lose step in a conversation by not knowing one thing that everyone else knew? Boz was feeling that right now, double apparently. He didn't realize that Marek wasn't talking to him yes but the Elf thing surprised him.

Boz's mother was an Elf, he missed something apparently. Of course, she was also a Thief and a Criminal, some things sort of balanced out. Boz looks between Marek and the blond man a few times then nods.

"You know, I think you're right. He wasn't talking to me, my mistake." he replies and slips back toward Sister Chalke. He leans in with a bit of a whisper to see if he can clear something up.

"I must of missed that conversation, why do we care if he's an elf again?"

[Noctem]

Oooook...

"To be clear, I am half Elven and I didn't think this would be such a shock to you all... Captain Bloodhull?" Marek said while turning to the Captain who looked at him with narrowed eyes. Suspicion? Hatred? Marek couldn't tell.

He was at a loss as to what was going on and so was Boz from the looks of him as he moved out of seat. Was there some kind of superstition about Elves on ships that could explain this? He couldn't think of any and he didn't think that consulting to Blood Memories at this moment would be wise. Best not to pour oil on the fire Marek... The insult the blond man had uttered didn't immediately give any clues either. What language was it?

Marek looked to each person in turn and found a mix of confusion, curiosity and... anger? No, fury coming from Ugly Jane. "If someone could explain..?" asked Marek as he raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

[Mal Radagast]

"Now, fly. Away." Chalke screeched and pecked at Veera. "Swift." Another peck. The boat lurched heavily.

Veera had not anticipated this. She was too many shapes, not the right shape, and the ground was moving. Too many hands and feet pinwheeling, slapping and grabbing at wet flat ground, she felt them too much to feel the wings and the shape didn't come and then...no more ground...

Spinning in the air off the side of the boat was...better. Closer to flying, closer to wing-shapes, except....*SCHLAP.*

In an instant her entire world was cold and wet, it filled up her eyes and pushed at her skin and it was all there was. Without even thinking, Veera took a breath, and knowing what she needed to breathe, found gills, found scales, found fins. A small, sand-coloured shark swam just below the surface of the sea in a half-circle before it did a somewhat unsharklike thing and heaved a little sigh of relief. The moment's chaos receded. This was more like it...calm, cool, open....

A great white osprey dove and snatched her out from under the water.

Flying back to the ship, Chalke dumped her unceremoniously onto the deck. Veera-shark fish-flopped back to girl-shape in the least graceful manner possible. Drenched, coughing, still flopping a little, she whipped her head around all rusty-coloured mats and snarls, expecting more danger, people yelling or attacking or...something? It's quiet, though, just a few sailors staring at her with some concern. She relaxes.

Chalke is watching from her perch on the railing, a picture of dignified patience. Standing straighter, Veera wrings out her hair and pads over and hops up onto the rail by the bird. She squawks a thank you that sounds more like when a cat imitates a crow, crabbing at the trees, than it does like an actual bird.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before someone called them to over food and other business.