#1
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The beginning
Most of you remember it this way: You were walking in the countryside near your homes, strolling home from the tavern after a night’s drinking, walking down to the river to fetch some water, or gone to visit some lass or lad in neighbouring village. And, suddenly, you heard a thrashing in the underbrush around you, and before you could turn you felt a whale of a blow to the back of your head, and everything went black. When you awoke, you were in the dark, tiny, stinking hold of the pirate galley, shackled by your wrists to the sturdy beams of the slave bunks, bunks stacked like cordwood. There were about 40 other captured folk there. You were sick from the blow to your head and from the tossing of the ship, from the revolting gruel the slaver pirates occasionally fed you, and from the knowledge that you were bound for one of the western slave ports, never again to see your own home. Mockingly, the keys to your shackles were hung from a hook right by the hatch to the deck, only 5 or 6 feet from the lot of you. They might as well be miles away. |
#2
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My head...what happened...is this another one of my brother's schemes?
Gradually, it becomes clear that things are far worse than she expected....how to escape from this mess? |
#3
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Lyndon slowly comes to as faint light shines through the planks of the deck above them. He rubs the back of his head, That was some shot. As his eyes adjust to the dim light he begins to realize the situtation he's in. How were they able to sneak up on me? I know those woods like the back of my hand. Lyndon looks around the hold of the ship, it's a depressing sight. The sick and injured left unattended and the dead just rotting in thier bunks. The dozens of other human livestock expressionless, resigned to the fate that had befallen them. This is not my fate. There has to be a way out. Lyndon tugs on the shackles but they hold firm and, in his weakened condition, he knows there is no chance of breaking them. I'm going to need some help to get out of this. He quietly asks "Hey, is there anybody else that wants to get out of this hell hole?"
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#4
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Trader's stomach heaves, bringing him instantly to full consciousness. Ugh... I hate the sea. Slowly opening his eyes and sitting up, he looks around the cramped cargo space. What would slavers want with me? Certainly not as a house servant... perhaps a gladiator contest? He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. Plenty of time to wonder later. He tests the shackles at his wrists and ankles, knowing they will be held firm. After just a couple moments he gives up. Those nearest to Trader detect the faintest scent of ham.
At the sound of the man's voice, Trader looks up. He begins clanking his shackles together rythmically, tap-tap, tap. Tap-tap, tap. When the man looks his way, Trader holds his gaze for a moment, then nods.
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This space reserved. |
#5
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"Why were you taken? Who is running this, and why do they want us?"
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#6
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Lyndon looks around for the source of the clanking and sees the lizard looking creature rythmically tapping his restraints. I can't recall seeing any creatures like that before. He looks to be a valuable ally though and any help in this current condition is welcome. He returns the nod from the lizard creature and adds a friendly wink.
Lyndon replies to the young woman, "Don't know why, other than they want bodies to sell, or atleast that's my guess from the look of things. I haven't seen any of our captors." He looks around again at the hold, "Maybe, if we get enough help, we could subdue the guard when it's feeding time. If we get the keys from him there's enough of us down here to overwhelm the crew. Anybody up for that?" Lyndon scans the bunks for response. |
#7
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Hundreds of scenarios run through Roland's imagination as he listens to his fellows plot escape. Ending up a slave in some horrid mine, dying of disease during the journey, perhaps living as a house slave on a rich estate being treated well, dying of de-hydration at sea after a successful uprising... Resigned he comes to a conclusion. After whispering a quick pray to Oghma he speaks up. "Perhaps we can fashion a rope long enough for some one up front to lasso those keys, everybody look around at what material you can reach or are willing to rip from your remaining clothing"
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#8
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Breck slowly stirs to the sound of unfamiliar voices. The Badger? I've overslept? Before she even opens her eyes, Breck is accosted by the stench of the dead and dying. No, not the badger-- and why does my head hurt so? Breck sits bolt upright-- or rather, she attempts to-- smacking the front of her forehead on the bunk just atop her. She reaches to steady herself with her hands, but finds them tethered to the wall of the room. No, not a room-- we're rocking--I'm in teh hold of a ship. Slavers! Slavers, by Chauntea, I've been taken by slavers!
Breck listens briefly as others in the sorry lot discuss ways to snare some nearby keys. Better to rely on oneself first. I think da' always used to say something like that. It's so hard to remember him, I mean little things like stuff he used to say. Breck tries initially to simply slip her hands through the shackles. Failin that , she spins herself around on the bed, plants her bare feet against the ship's wall and strains to dislodge the shackles from the wall. |
#9
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Lasso keys hanging on a hook, that would be some trick. "I like that your thinking of ways to escape but, even if we could fashion a rope, I don't know how one would lasso keys hanging from a hook against a wall. We could probably lasso the hook but I don't think the rope would be strong enough to pull the hook out of the wall." Lyndon shakes his head. "We need a way to get a guard close to us while he has the keys." Lyndon scratches his head as he thinks. "Maybe if you," he points the prisoner in the bunk below him, "pretend to have a seizure and go into convulsions when the guard comes around. Maybe he will get the keys when he comes to get you. We could grab him, someone could take the keys from him and unlock the others. It's risky, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life in the slave mines." Lyndon lies back down on his bunk.
If we do get the keys, then what? Are we going to take the ship? He looks at the prisoners in the hold. Not with this lot. How do we get off the ship? If we do get off, where do we go? Heck, I don't even know where we are. I don't know if dying from exposure is better than living as a slave. After a few minute he sits up, "We should probably do something when the ship docks, I don't want to be stranded out in the middle of the ocean. But it will have to be quick and we will need everyones help." Lyndon again looks around soliciting affirmative responses. |
#10
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A few hours after you guys wake up and face reality, the ship was hit by a squall, which turned, after a couple more hours into a full fledge storm which blasted spray and curses into the hold everytime the hatched was opened. Your jailer, a man called Hafkris - maybe a half-orc, it was hard to tell under all that grime and walrus ugliness - brought about half the shakled slaves abovedecks to man the oars vacated by sailors washed overboard.
The storm continued on another day , and Hafkris took another one-fourth of the slave cargo abovedecks. He looked worried. The last time you all saw him was yesterday. You haven't seen any of the pirates or the slaves since then, and you haven't been fed. Early today, the shouting and cracking whips indicating that rowers were being kept in line finally faded away to nothing. Right now, as you're waiting for some sign of life from abovedecks, there's an enormous crash - a grating, grinding noise and hurrible shuddering of the ship around you as it runs aground. Abovedecks, there's the sound of snapping spars and a great crash on the deck which you know must be the mast coming down. You're all thrown towards the bow, but are still held fast by your shackles and suffer more bruisers to your wrists. The bow of the gallery is shattered by the impact, and as the gallery grinds to a halt, the bow is torn away entirely, letting in a ferocious blast of numbingly-cold air and ram; the port side of the galley is laid open by a huge boulder that the galley has grounded against. A moment later, there's once again only the sound of wind and pounding surf. Out the open bow, you can see a section of rain pounded beach; you seem to have run aground where a cliff face meet a cove beach. |
#11
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"Can anyone reach the keys yet?"
Have to stay calm...we've run aground, so we might be able to escape. Perhaps the pirates abadoned ship... |
#12
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"Is everyone OK?" Lyndon looks around at the wrecked hull of the ship. Great, shackled to a wrecked ship. Atleast it appears to have run aground and isn't sinking. "I'm not sure where the keys ended up. Is anyone free? Do we know where the keys are?" Lyndon scans the wreckage for the keys.
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#13
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Me, I'm free, Breck answers tentatively, or, at least my shackles pulled free from the wall during the wreck. As she struggles to her feet, Breck immediately realizes that being shackled for so long has left her legs weak and wobbly. Cold sea water swirls around her bare ankles. Breck moves as quickly as she can toward the hook where she last saw the keys. Chauntea, let them still be there.
Last edited by copatt; Jan 12th, 2011 at 10:35 AM. |
#14
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Seems like the pirates made sure those key wouldn't go anywhere, as they are still hanging on the hook.
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#15
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"Don't forget about the rest of us little lady." I can't wait to get these cuffs off. Lyndon yanks on the shackles. I wonder where we are? Well...anything is better than the fate that awaited us at the hands of the slavers.
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