Here's where I'll start off the game when the players are all accounted for.

"Look here you rat!  Get yer arse up on deck and get ta' scrubbin'.  The First Mate be about ta' break your darned teeth ye lot!"

The glaringly ugly man stands at the door to your groups cabin.  The man's tteth are so disgustingly yellow that even swilling clean water through them must have been a chore, and in complemnt the smell emanating off of him is nigh choking.

You can see your companions in the various bunks gradually rising from their sleep - the side effects of too much ale in a tavern the night before.  Apparently you've been outright pressganged, dragged onto the ship as alcohol and exaustion fought an exacting war on your senses.

"Ye cabin boy rats movin' yet?  Ye be a toilin' on the bloody ayn now kiddies - don't ya ever let me catch ya slackin' again!"

Zorlax, normally never one to over indulge, glares at the ugly man and rattles off a light spell centered on the top of his cloak. He stands and walks past the "mate" not even bothering to look at him. He heads up to the main deck and glances around for the captian.

Gildor tried to hide a grimaxce of distaste at the smell of the man overpowered his keen elven senses. Once again it seemed that his love of a challenge led him astray. Why enter a drinking competition against a dwarf Gildor? he thought to himself. He smiled ruefully, he was probably drunk when he accepted. He dragged himself out of his bunk and wiped the grit from his eyes as he followed Zorlax out of the cabin and up on deck.

"And keep yer fancy tricks ta yerself lad!  The captain'll right belt ya one if ya keep that stuff up.

Noticing the elfs signs of disgust he gives him a particularily loathsome grin filled with rot and teeth in at least three different colors.

"Don't be too prissy yet lad!  We'll see how ye love spendin' weeks on this here wreck without bathin'  I kin teel ye now ye ain't gonna be no spring flower when we be offin' at port."


Upon deck the only thing that can be stated is that it is complete and utter chaos.  Men wind up and down long trailing rigging as the main sails are unfurled.  A particularily obese man carrying a bandolier of knives, caked with what appears to be food and wielding a massive dripping cleaver speaks gruffly to you both.

"Oy ye prisses!  Any a' ya can cook?  If not it don't matter much.  I be not to picky bout' me helpin hand."

Zorlax sniffs and nearly gags. What kinda of slave ship is this Where is the captian? he says simply not wanting to remain in the filthy brute's vicinity.

Gildor looks over the side to see if he can spot land.

Land is visible as a mere speck on the horizon, trying to swim the distance may yet be possible - but you don't know anything about the waters themselves or what lurks underneath.

As to your request for the Captain the cook responds with a hearty grin - this thankfully enough devoid of the heinous rot of his crewmate.

"The Captain be sleepin' off a bad night o' drinkin'.  He's not ta be woken for high noon 'e says.  Told me ta put one a ya wit' me, and the other in the gulls hangout."

Zorlax looks up at the "gull's hangout" then sniffs the "mate" Unacceptiable. I shall be in the officer's mess. Please send me word a soon as the captian is able to discuss his current predicament. With that the mage turns and heads aft looking for the officer's quarters and mess.

Gildor frowned, Gull's hangout? Whats that?

"I'll be answerin' ye lad, 'for I go coomandeer yer friend thar fer his right impertinance.  The gull's hangout be thar." he points to the high ships mast, where a rough wooden basket is tacked onto the main mast.  sure enough, several seagulls circle it lasily, occaisionally touching down to land upon it.

"It be a good post, most mean be sleepin' up thar and no one bats 'en eye at em.  Normal business thar.  Now I'm a scupperin' off."  With that he eads off towards the now departed mage.

"Oy!  What be all this high and mighty business boy?  I be more then apt ta take ye down a peg, and I've got a mind ta do it as well.  Yer friend found the hangout, so ye be followin' me ta the kitchen now boy.  I hear 'ny more a that there lip and the stew tanight may have a new meat in it."

Gildor sighed, Thats what I thought. He begins the long climb up the mast to the crows nest.

[private to gm: climb check 21]
This message was last edited by the player at 19:45, Mon 10 Sept 2007.

Zorlax's face turns several shades of red before all emotion is replaced by a looked that can only be decribed as glassy. Boy? Kitchen? You obviously have no idea with whom you speak. But before I give you a quick lesson in manners, I'll give you one more chance to save "yerself". I'm a mage of no small power. And I'm not about to be assigned to a lookout position, much less be be put on a "watch list". My talents are not suited for that type of labor. I'm not entirely sure I even wish to remain aboard as I have yet to know what this boat is about. I have my own agenda and currently slicing salt beef for a dirty mob, or sitting in gull poop for hours doesn't appeal to me. Now if you'd be kind enough to refer me to the captian, I'll see about his ability to even secure my services. THEN I'll tell you about my duties about this ship. Do I make myself clear? Zorlax turns and calmy begins running his fingers through a magical pratice routine and staring bullets at the mate. He works into a chant as he removes a small bit of webbing from a stairwell overhang.

OOC: Begin casting Web spell, stop bfore the final sylable. (hold Spell)

Gildor

As Gildor neatly scales the (surprisingly) well rigged netting, he gets a first hand look at the sails crew as they bustle about the rigging.  While most seem to be typical burly sailors, well suited to the life on the waters while braving wind and wave, there are others that some downright scrawny - definately not what one would ever call a strong sailor.

These men cramble amazingly quickly through their tasks, far faster than you would have thought ever possibly through the maze of rigging.  One thing remains the same though, al eyes lie upon the cook and Zorlax below.  One of the scawny men sniggers to himself and blurts out, "Likes like that lad is bout ta' meet the Doc's temper!

"Can it Nesk!  Doc's got a sharp aim with those kitchen knives of his."


Zorlax

"Oy lad... Ye just had ta go and made it hard on yerself didn't ya?  Look here boy, I could right easily throw ye off the deck here.  Ye won't make the swim back ta shore lad, there's plenty a lovely critters that be under the waters here.  That little web trick o' yers ain't too hard ta figure out me boyo.  Thing is lad, you forget me friend here.

With this he hefts the massive cleaver.  How exactly he knows about your intentions is downright strange, and probably more than a little unsettling.  At the very least, you can tell this big burly chef is not at all intimidated in the slightest by your threat.

Gildor stops climbing and stops to look down. If a fight started he wanted to be in striking distance...

While the other too wandered out onto deck Flik stayed behind and prayed. His hangover made it a bit harder than usual, but it went smoothly enough. Now Flik knew his goddess loved him and that her blessings where always with him, but that said Tymora loved to tease him on occasion. Oh well soon enough th coin would spin once again and this predicament would turn out to be a stroke of good luck.

Flik:

"Oy!  Ye goin' up ta the deck 'nytime soon lad?  Ye got ta earn yer board me lad, methinks from tha silence, Doc is about ta lay out some pain on one'a yer crew.  Best ta stay clear a that lad, the wheelhouse may have need of ye lad, tha navigator be in a right spot o' trouble, some nasty afflcition from some tavern wench methinks!  Best see if ol Rockbottom needs a spot o' help!"

Zorlax eyes the cleaver, then eyes the cook. He notices the pause about the whole ship and calmly waits to see what the cook will do next. He continues to hold his spell at the ready.


OOC: intimidate 11
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Wed 12 Sept 2007.

Flik sighs, it was going to be had to get some good quiet time for prayer and meditation on this ship, not the Flik had much use for meditation anyway. "Yes, I'll be up shortly, although for future notice you shouldn't rush a man when he's with his lady. Especially when She's the goddess of luck. She can be fickle enough to normal men as it is wouldn't you agree?"</blur> Flik replies as h finishes his prayer and heads up on deck. <blue>"Now what was this about laying Pain upon one of my crew?" Flik asks whoever had called down to him.

Flik:

You emerge on deck in an apparent stalemate.  On one side stands a massive ebony man, wielding a humoungous meat clever and a bandolier of knives - all seemingly encrusted with various pieces and amounts of food.  You can almost swear that one of them still has a dead rat impaled upon it.  On the other stands the smalleish wizard, holding forth in his hand a bit of spider wed like some form of talisman against the darkest evil.  The arrogance of his eyes is quite honestly a little bit extreme.

Behind you steps the same man that initially woke you up.  Whispering quietly he speaks, "Aye lad, Doc Killingsworth be both the ships cook and our surgeon.  He be more than a little bit mad and one doesn't ask where the meat from the stew comes from.  He's got a way with people that makes em' listen right quick.  If you watch closely, Wait!  There he goes!"



Zorlax:

The cook takes one look at your resolute stare and gives an impish grin.  In the next seconds you find yourself grasped in hands easily the size of a traditional dinnerplate as they encircle your arms and are pressed roughly to the side of your head.  You feel like nothing more than some form of disturbed bird as your arms can't swing far enough in any direction to even meet.

With a hoarse whisper, smelling a little of pepper the massive cook whispers into your ear.

"Ye chose the hard way lad...  We can either make it be real ugly or you can come work with me right quick...

The unmistakable undertone of menace leaves you no question of what he will do if he is not obeyed.

Zorlax grins and lets the web spell fade. He keeps a stoney silence as his eyes burn into the cook. Sure thing "matey" The grin remains in place as he attempts to slip out of the cook's grasp.

OOC; Escape: 15

Flik quickly advances towards Doc and Zorlax and casts Calm Emotions centered on Doc. As he continues to concentrate on maintaining the spell he starts talking "Please calm yourselves. There really is no need for this sort of behavior is there? Doc, my companion Zorlax probably has been trying your paitence, but please forgive him. He's had a taxing night followed by quite the rude awakening. He usually acts far more prudently, but suddenly becoming conscious on a ship already out at sea is very disorienting and, if his current experience is anything like mine he has a splitting headache to boot. I'm sure an experienced and obviously hardened sailor such as yourself understands that and how it could cause someone to act a bit brash."

OOC: Should I make a diplomacy check?

"You just be tryin' ta bloody well make me snap yer scrawny neck ain't ya?"

His big meaty hands tighten around your skull, increasing the pressure to become extremely uncomfortable.

Eyes then flashing to the new arrival he gives him a quick once over apparently giving an assessment.

"Tha last 'brash' sailor found himself swimmin' ta shore.  Not that he got too far what wit' all the Dragonfish in da water.  This little shrimp will be apoligizin' ta me right quick - and then he's gonna be peelin' potatoes till I tells im' ta stop!"

Zorlax falls limp in the man's arms.