Weakened as he is, the sailor is able to bring little strength to bear to his own re-embarkment, and most of the work is Billy's. The man ends up lying sprawled in the bottom of the boat nursing his injuries.
That brings Round 7 to an end, and begins Round 8 with Sailor 1's action. I propose we end initiative order there and go back into RP, but if anyone wants to keep attacking the remaining sailors say now, and we can continue in order for the rest of Round 8.
Otherwise, Billy will 'encourage' the two sailors to start rowing back to shore, an instruction with which which they seem more than willing to comply.
Seri surfaces to the north of the rowboat, once it is clear that she no longer needing to push it towards shore. Seawater streams from her silvery-blue hair, though in a sense, that is how her hair always looks. The sea elf youngster stares hard at Billy through her aquamarine eyes. Murmuring for Trondro'sGuidance she glances at the surviving sailors and then back at the big bearded sea dog.
This man was once a captain who sailed Trondro's waters, that much I respect, pirate or not. Yet he seeks to rebuild his crew from... these profligates?
"Tell me true, Billy Flint. You are a pirate, are you not? Or perhaps a privateer, but a pirate more likely. The line between the two being blurry and nearly inconsequential. I swear that neither I nor Trondro shall judge you for it. But know this. If you turn slaver as Belua did, then we shall be enemies, and if so, then one day you too shall meet the fate he did, whether by my hand or another's, or by the crashing wave of Trondro's inescapable justice."
"No sailor need be a saint in Trondro’s eyes. That goes hand in hand with freedom. Yet there are lines that should never be crossed. Would you replace your lost crew with those who would stab their shipmate in the back while they slumber in their hammock, Billy Flint? With those who would force themselves on the ship's boy in the cramped darkness of the cargo hold? For such is the vileness of slavery's sin. These wastrels are eagerly and remorselessly complicit in the trading of human flesh, robbing their victims of Trondro's free horizons to which all free peoples are entitled."
"Not one word of remorse or repentance have I heard from them despite my repeated entreaties for such. Only pleas to preserve their own worthless hides once the tide of battle turned. Let us see if that changes once we reach the shore, but have a care, Billy Flint. Choose your new crew wisely."
"In the meanwhile, answer me this. What do you recognize of the ship we see there which accosted the Veridian vessel? One of your pirate friends?"
Seri'sInsight on Billy's response plus Guidance: 16 + 4 = 20 (dirty)
Seri waits briefly for her answer, then turns away from the rowboat, ready to dive down and drag the corpses below the water to shore (the marine and perhaps one or two sailors) so their belongings can be sorted on the beach, including the firearms and other weapons.
'You are outmatched and outgunned.' William told the surviving enemies. 'Comply with our demands and questions and this will be over without more bloodshed.'
While waiting for the sailors to come back on land, William moved over to inspect the marines and see what of their equipment is still functional.
Satisfied that the two sailors are more-or-less willingly applying themselves to the task of turning the boat and setting off back towards the shore, Billy spares a glance for the cowardly interpreter before his attention turns to Seri. His face betrays no anger or discomfort over her words. As she finishes, he gives a half smile.
"Pirate? That's a word of empires. Of small men in big palaces jealous of their power. A free man, is what I call meself. Free o' the tyranny o' the likes o' him." He gestures carelessly at the lifeless form of Belua at his feet, the crimson of his blood almost matching the rich velvet of his doublet. "An' I fear the judgement o' no mortal being, so don't you go worryin' about that."
"And these?"he gestures at the sailors heaving on the oars to turn the boat. "Just ordinary men. Families to keep, most like. Bellies to feed. They don't make the rules. They follow 'em or perish. No place for high morals when yer choice is work or starve. I'd give 'em a chance at freedom, if they'd take it. Give 'em a taste o' how a man can live out from under the boot o' kings an' princes."
Seri’s insight reveals no attempt at subterfuge or deceit in Billy’s reply.
At Seri's question about the ship accosting the Verdian vessel, he cranes his neck and shields his eyes with his free hand. "Can't see much past that fine sloop. It's a small'un. What say we heave to an' introduce ourselves? Whoever they are, they seem to have gained thesselves a new vessel."
You realise as he says this, that the sounds of battle have ceased, and the flag of the Imperial Verdian Navy is working its way down from atop the mainmast. The last of the powder smoke is slowly drifting away on the breeze, and you can make out figures heaving bodies over the rail and into the water. One or two seem to have paused in the rigging or at the rail to peer in your direction. They are watching to see what you do next.
One of the marines is dead in the boat, with his musket, breastplate, powder flask, and shot. Billy has his cutlass in hand. The other has come to rest on the sandy sea bed, about 12ft down. All his equipment is down there too.
Sailor 4 is now lying on the sand, curled up and protecting his head with his arms, as the three islanders lay into him with kicks and punches.
The boat moves slowly with only two oarsmen, but it covers the 60ft or so back to the beach easily. By force of training and practice, the navy sailors jump out and haul the boat as far onto the sand as they can, so the waves cannot carry it off again. Billy reaches down and hauls the diminutive interpreter to his feet. The man whimpers in fear. Billy looks at Kairouani.
"I think this is yours, matey."
There is a sudden clatter of wings and foliage, as Roger emerges from the trees at the edge of the jungle, swooping down to perch on Billy's shoulder. "Fire Island!" he squawks, causing Billy to chuckle.
"You need a new script, bird," he says, with a hint of affection.
Kairouni glared at the interpreter, then looked out at sea, " You, speak now on everything you know about your former masters and their intentions here."
She kept staring at the ships concerned, " We need to get out there.....we do not know their intentions and they may harm those held in bondage."
She looked to Billy and the sailors, then sighed, " Very well, they are free to go.....the smarter option would be to stay here and hope the people are forgiving....but they are free to come with us if they choose."
She headed towards the boat and picked up an oar, " Wise One, can you aid our passage there?"
Seri's wrath at the surviving sailors rages unabated. She appears plainly on the verge of executing them. Her Veridian is clipped and flat.
"You speak blithely of freedom, Billy Flint, as if I have not been harping on freedom all along, and the lack of it that slavery imposes. What these men have done - laughingly, eagerly as we witnessed in the village and forest - is to take freedom away, willingly complicit in selling person-flesh. NOT solely to avoid starvation as you imply. I have sailed these waters. There are plenty of other ships NOT dealing in slavery and taking on sailors for coin."
"Speaking of slave ships, I agree with my Elder Sister that we must parlay with whoever has taken command of Belua's vessel as there may be others shackled below decks. I can swim and cause currents to propel this boat out into the lagoon as you row. But before I continue sharing breath with these Veridian sailors, I need to hear sincere remorse in their voices. For being party to slavery, aye, and a solemn pledge never to do so again. Otherwise, I swear by the Wave Father's new moon tide, I will bind and drown them in these very shallows. And that goes double for the cowardly renegade."
She murmurs for Trondro'sGuidance before turning to face the captive sailors and the interpreter. Her voice becomes quiet, but clear.
"So speak now you three, and you, the apostate who should know better than to be party to such anathema. Do you see the abomination you have wrought in so eagerly and cheerfully choosing to be party to slavery? Do you sincerely repent? If so, you may continue to breathe the ocean air and enjoy the freedom of Trondro's horizons, perhaps even as future shipmates. But if not... Trondro will know truth from a lie told to save your own skin."
Seri'sInsight plus Guidance on the sincerity of any expressions of remorse she hears from the sailors or interpreter: 24 + 2 = 26
Her aquamarine eyes gaze unblinking into theirs, as harsh and unyielding as the storm which brought doom to the Horn of Plenty.
The interpreter's eyes dart about in fear as Billy drags him from the boat and onto the sand, where he looks up sheepishly at Kairouani. He speaks haltingly, but wheedling, eager to please, if it might mean his life is spared.
"The people from over the sea are strong, and clever. We cannot fight them, but if we work with them we can be strong too. Our enemies are made slaves. Is this not better than us becoming slaves? Please, I had no choice but to help them. You must believe me." He reaches his hands out in supplication. "The Legati is... was... a powerful chief, very rich. He travelled the islands seeking workers for the mines and trading with our people. I learned their tongue quickly and could help him. My village was spared and our enemies laid low by his warriors as long as I helped."
To Seri, "I repent, sister. I beg Trondro's forgiveness for all the wrongs I have done. I have been weak, but thought only of my family and village."
He cuts a dejected figure now. Exposed and unprotected by his erstwhile patron. Utter misery is etched on his lined face.
Tsara, Mitombo, and Herim have stopped beating the sailor, as they watch and listen to the conversation. "He lies!" shouts Herim, clearly angry. "I've seen him before with that... that... slug! He enjoyed sheltering under rich man's leaves, doing what pleased him without punishment. No more shelter now. We punish him!"Herim starts toward the interpreter, followed by his two friends, leaving the battered sailor moaning on the sand, bruised and bloodied. The interpreter cringes away from them, and seems on the verge of fleeing, now that Billy has released his arm.
Billy responds to Seri calmly. "Men like these know little more o' freedom than slaves do. They were raised with the boot o' Belua and his ilk on their necks, taught that the poor and weak are disposable to the powerful. Have you ever served on a navy ship? I have. The brutality would shock yer eyes wide open. Cap'ns are tyrants o' their own domains and rule with violence and fear. I've seen men's backs stripped to the bone for sharin' rations, or lookin' wrong at an officer." He gestures to the two sailors who pulled the boat in, who are shifting slowly so that Billy is between them and Seri's wrath. "Is it any wonder they behave like brutes when that's their example? Now, I'm not excusin' it, sister. That I'm not. Men do terrible things to one another, that's plain. But bad deeds don't make a bad person. Does your Trondro believe in redemption? In second chances? Because I do. Give a man a second chance, and you've got his loyalty. That's my experience o' this life. An' let me tell ye, I've seen plenty of it."
At Billy's talk of redemption, the two sailors nod enthusiastically, and words of remorse and pleading tumble over each other out of their mouths. Both take off their caps and wring them in their hands.
"I'm sorry, I always knew it were wrong, but I'm just a humble sailor. What could I do?"
"I repent! I did wrong, I know. Let me show you I'm a good man."
"We'll sail with you, if you'll let us. Please?"
"Don't let the water witch hurt us, will you, sir?"
Seri's insight tells her that these sailors' comments are more motivated by fear and self-preservation than genuine remorse, but they are beginning to see that their actions might actually have been wrong and that they might have to bear some responsibility for that. Meanwhile, she can tell with little doubt that the interpreter is a wheedling bully who will say anything to save his own skin. If he has any principles, they are undetectable.
While these conversations are going on, William is in the boat inspecting the dead marine's equipment. He was approximately William's height, but leaner. He is wearing the Verdian uniform of buff-coloured soft leather doublet and hose and stout brown boots, with a steel breastplate and crested helmet. His sword belt bears an empty scabbard, as Billy has taken his weapon. Also on his belt is a coin purse, whilst a cross belt over his shoulder bears a powder flask, and a pouch containing 8 lead shot and a spare flint. The musket, lying in the bottom of the boat, is of a simple, unadorned design, but is functional and well cared for, as one would expect from a professional soldier. It feels solid and reassuring in William's hands.
Also lying in the boat is Belua, his rich red velvet doublet ruined by seawater and blood. At his waist is an exquisitely wrought basket-hilted rapier. This is no ornament. It is not decorated with gems and precious metals, but in its craftsmanship and symmetry it is a thing of terrible beauty. To William's eye, it is an extremely fine weapon designed to be used, not for show. It must be worth a pretty penny. Still clutched in the late nobleman's hand is his pistol. Like the rapier, this is clearly an expensive piece, made of a polished black wood with silver filigree inlay and an exquisitely crafted mechanism. He is also wearing several rings and has a coin pouch at his belt.
For a long moment, Seri's aquamarine eyes remain expressionless. As Billy finishes speaking, she nods almost imperceptibly and her posture towards the three sailors changes as a dawn tide might. No longer hostile but instead brooding, like a grey sea under a grey sky.
She turns to the interpreter, reaching out to gently brush his cheek with her fingers. A hint of sorrow crosses her brow.
"Billy Flint. Do not release this man. Hold him." (Seri gestures to the interpreter). "Tsara, Mitombo, Herim. There is rope in my pack. Bind him well."
Seri readies Thorn Whip to yank the interpreter back with her spiked kelp, should he attempt to flee.
"Elder Sister," she addresses Kairouani, "I will help propel the boat and use water currents to take us with haste to meet those on the the ship out on the waters. But there is something which must be done here first. The Wave Father requires it."
(Seri has more to say to the sailors, and will say it as she deals with the interpreter, but no longer plans to execute the three. She also has no issue with William and others claiming what they can from the corpses, as the ocean claims the contents of a wreck, yet for now, she takes no part in the salvage.)
Perhaps to Seri's surprise, Billy does as he is bid, grasping the diminutive islander's upper arm in one big hand. Seeing Billy take hold of him, and hearing Seri's words, Herim and his two comrades pull up short of laying into him, though the violence in their eyes is plain for anyone to see. The interpreter shrinks back from them as far as he is able. The three islanders also follow Seri's instructions, pulling the rope from her pack and binding the man perhaps somewhat more tightly than necessary, drawing winces of pain from him.
"I can help you," he whimpers, as the ropes cut into his wrists. "Anything you need. I can take you to many riches. I know the sea-people and their ways. Let me help you."
Perhaps to Seri's surprise, Billy does as he is bid, grasping the diminutive islander's upper arm in one big hand. Seeing Billy take hold of him, and hearing Seri's words, Herim and his two comrades pull up short of laying into him, though the violence in their eyes is plain for anyone to see. The interpreter shrinks back from them as far as he is able. The three islanders also follow Seri's instructions, pulling the rope from her pack and binding the man perhaps somewhat more tightly than necessary, drawing winces of pain from him.
"I can help you," he whimpers, as the ropes cut into his wrists. "Anything you need. I can take you to many riches. I know the sea-people and their ways. Let me help you."
"Trondro awaits us all, but you my lost brother, he claims this day. You have learned the wrong lessons from the 'sea people,' as you falsely call them." Seri's voice is resolute despite her sadness. "My shipmates from the east are not slave lords as Belua was. William with his diligent resourcefulness and Thea with her rebellious courage. Even Billy Flint, who remains a mystery. None of them would be complicit in shackling me to sell as chattel."
At least I hope not... glancing at Billy,Seri's zealous faith wavers ever so slightly before steadying. She turns to Herim, Tsara and Mitombo and gestures for them to drag the bound interpreter into the lagoon, just deep enough that the ebb of the shore break still leaves a thigh-high depth of salt water.
As she gently but firmly submerges and holds the intepreter's head down near the bottom, she looks to the three surviving sailors of Belua's crew.
"Do not think Trondro fooled, crew of the once Veridian slave ship. The gap between your near lack of remorse and this apostate's self-serving mendacity and greed is thinner than an anemone's arm. Yet it is this narrow margin which separates his fate from yours. I sense in you at least the capacity for self-reflection and repentance. I do not ask you to answer me now. Only think on it. Alone in your hammock or on a midnight watch."
"You may have been wronged yourself. Your freedom all but taken away by rich and powerful men like Belua. Consider then, the further abomination of slavery. A debased condition you were ready to make japes of during our walk from the village to the shore. No man who sails the Wave Father's oceans need be a saint, and His wild wrath falls even upon the virtuous at times. Yet some lines should never be crossed. Deep down, you know this."
"Redemption is no easy path and none of us is perfect. Yet do not waste this chance you have been given. I know from my own storm-driven shipwreck that Trondro's forgiveness and mercy are rare and wondrous things which seldom come even once."
Seri turns her gaze down towards the man she is drowning in the shallows. "And never twice."
----- -----
When it is over, Seri asks the three islanders to drag the corpse back to the shoreline with the others.
She is ready to help propel the boat out to the waiting ship, using her own swim speed to push it and Shape Water to bear it along.
The sailors watch, horrified, as Seri marches the interpreter to his fate. Herim, Tsara, and Mitombo provide the muscle, while Billy lets him go, and watches impassively.
He struggles, but the three islanders are stronger, and Seri guides his head under the waves until the struggle ceases and his body goes limp.
When it is over, and his body is dumped on the sand, the two standing sailors move to help their bruised comrade to his feet.
“These were seamen,”Billy says, indicating the dead sailors and marine in the boat. “They lived on the sea and should be given back to it. Not left to rot on a beach.”
He points at Belua. “I don’t know about that one. If he’s as important as our late friend here thought he was, then someone might want his body back. Or might come looking fer him.”
The bodies remaining in the boat, less the interpreter and those that perished in the water, Billy and the three sailors push off and take up the oars, as the rest of you pile in.
Aided by Seri’s magic, the boat skims over the waves more easily than it ought. Before long you are approaching the shore-facing side of Belua’s ship. It is a fine vessel. A two-masted brigantine approximately 70ft from stern to bow. There are five gun ports on the nearest side, and you can see a chase gun mounted on the deck near the bow. The timbers are painted a glossy black with red accents, and less the slight damage observable to the rigging, seems to be an exceptionally well-kept ship. Of course, to those who know the Verdian Imperial Navy, this is no surprise. The Verdians are renowned for building fine ships and taking great pride in maintaining them in top condition. Even by their standards, though, this is a jewel.
The name blazoned on the bow is ‘Al Dracon,’ Verdian for ‘Dragon,’ and the beautifully carved figurehead under the bowsprit is a sinuous, winged serpent of the same polished black as the timbers.
Your inspection of the brig is interrupted by a diminutive figure hailing you from the rail. Boyish in build and with short-cropped coppery hair, she is unmistakably an Azeri woman of no more than 25. She is dressed in a loose shirt that might once have been white, and close-fitting breeches perfect for action. In her right hand she is holding a pistol, though casually and not in an immediately threatening manner. A cross-belt slung from her right shoulder to left hip supports a functional-looking blade, whilst a long-barreled firearm can be seen protruding above her shoulder. Her voice carries well across the water and is not unfriendly. As she speaks in accented Verdian, the sailors ship the oars and turn on their benches to look.
“Ahoy, rowers! You won’t be looking to steal my Dragon, now, will you?”
At this, the few men and women flanking her at the rail s****** at the implausibility of such an action. They are a mixture of dark- and light-skinned people, wearing all manner of fashions from across the empires. Behind them, several more can be seen moving about, though from your low vantage point you cannot see what they are doing. All is calm on the deck now though. Whatever struggle that took place is now over. The Dragon currently flies no colours.
The woman continues, “I suppose I ought to be thanking you for tying up the captain and a good portion of his crew while we liberated this fine vessel.” She considers a moment, eyeing you all intently. “You’re an interesting bunch, to be sure. Five islanders, five easterners, and a… I’m not sure what you are, big fella. Did they just dredge you up from a midden-pit? Are you simple, or something?”
Billy, seemingly oblivious to the insult directed at him, is standing staring at the woman. He is open-mouthed and pale-faced, as if he’s seen a ghost. His normal self-possession seems to have fled.
Turning her attention from the big man’s gaze, she says, “I suppose introductions are in order. O’Malley’s the name. Friends call me Sly. You can call me Cap’n O’Malley. This here’s my crew, and this,” she strokes the rail in front of her with her left hand, “is my ship. Who might you be, and what winds have brought you to a run-in with the Verdian Navy?”
At the mention of the name, Billy’s mouth snaps shut and he manages to regain a modicum of composure.
William was taken aback a bit by Seri's actions. True, he had no idea of how her religion actually operated and if this was just the appropriate punishment. In that regard one could argue it was no different than walking the plank for a ship's crime. All he knew was that drowning is a horrible way to die. More so because one tended to be fully conscious as the cold water rushed into the lungs, to the point that you could actually count down to the point of your demise. If the panic did not immediately overtake any cognitive effort, that was. He decided not to say anything of it. At least he would not have to do a post mortem on the man or otherwise deal with the corpse.
Instead William turned his attention to other matters. As a company man hailing from the Western Isles, he had a more discerning eye for the finer things. Some of the things that the marine and Belua wore on their person drew his attention in particular. First was the marine: he was of William's stature but a bit leaner so he did not know if it would be a proper fit but it would be a shame to leave behind the steel breastplate. It certainly would offer more protection than the leather he was currently wearing. Then came the grand prize: the musket and all its accessories. William took the musket, laid it on the sand beside him and reached back to undo the marine's cross belt. He put it on to get a feel for the weight distribution. There was a powder flask and a pouch with 8 lead shots and some flint. It was a good start. William also took the marine's coin purse. He had a brief moment if taking from the dead counted as stealing, as dead people had no legal claim to property, but he quickly shook away the thought. The coin had more use to him alive than being left out here on the beach with the dead.
Next William turned his attention to Belua. It was a shame the clothing was ruined by seawater, blood and sustained damage, else it could fetch a pretty penny. Ironically the only good things Belua had were his weapons that he never got to use. A rather well made rapier was the first item. Surprisingly well made William noted. He would have thought Belua the kind of man to get a rapier custom made with gems, engravings and all that other bullshit that overcomplicated a simple design. He compared it to his current weapon. His rapier clearly had signs of wear and tear: a nick here, some blunt edge there and some rust spots spread over from all the salt and water. It was still a deadly weapon but like he planned to upgrade his bow to the musket, so could he do the same for his rapier. The second item was a pistol. Like the rapier it too was of elegant design with a polished black wooden frame with silver filigree inlay and a rather well crafted firing mechanism, the kind that could stand up to the harsher conditions out on sea. If William did not know any better, he would guess that the two weapons were companion pieces.
'Hate to break up the kids.' William smirked in a bit of dark humour. He also took Belua's coin pouch and the rings he wore. Unlike with the marine, a professional soldier, no stray thought about the moral quandary passed through William's mind. Belua was a bastard and he deserved nothing less.
He piled into the boat with the others. He did not know about them but William was secretly glad to set foot once more on an actual ship. He missed the gentle swaying of wood on water, the kind that gave many the sick, but it felt akin to home. The presence of another crew barely gave him any surprise. The captain on the other hand. A woman captain? William thought in a bit of old fashioned thinking. Well, I'll be a parrot's uncle.
'We used to sail under captain Thorne.' He replied. 'We got stranded after a storm overtook our ship and capsized it on the rocks. Had some run-ins with the locals and slave traders and now we're here.' He realised that was quite understating the events that had transpired.'Apologies captain: it's been a long day. My name is William Brackwater: former shipwright, cook and surgeon aboard the Horn of Plenty.'
William did take note of the change in Billy's behaviour but said nothing of it at the moment.
Seri nods absently as Billy insists that the sailors' corpses not be left on the beach to rot. She had only dragged them up there for the purpose of salvaging their possessions. She fully intends to submerge the bodies once more at the end of all this, and then use her ability (Friend of the Sea) to communicate to oceanic predators and scavengers to invite them to a free floating buffet in the lagoon. She plans to give Belua's body no special treatment.
If anything, let him, above all others, feed the crabs and bottom-feeders, not the majestic carnivorous sharks and other fish that swim above them.
Her jaw aching from her strongly worded entreaties and sermons delivered at the shore, Seri is content to let others do the talking when it comes to Cap'n O'Malley. In fact, as William summarizes the party's experiences starting with Cap'n Thorne and the fate of the Horn of Plenty, Seri again provides what visual aid she can. Floating in the gentle swell next to the boat, she waggles her fingers beneath the surface and a three-dimensional sequence of still images (each a Minor Illusion) appears in the air between the Al Dracon and the party to illustrate the experiences William speaks of.
Still, Billy's reaction to the young female captain does not go unnoticed by Seri (Passive Perception16).
Murmuring for Trondro'sGuidance, she whispers up to the large grizzled man in the boat. "You knew Cap'n O'Malley when she was a child, did you not Billy Flint? Or perhaps knew a parent of hers. Or both. Just as you knew Cap'n Thorne. She is no stranger to you, though her captaincy may be new."
Nevertheless,Seri muses. The person who Cap'n O'Malley reminds me of more than anyone is Thea...
Theahad been silent through the whole ordeal, watching with a mix of apprehension and morbid fascination. Her arms had drooped to her side as soon as the battle was over, and she had come to stand next her companions, her thoughts processing the whirlwind of action that had just occurred. Her eyes flick to the waters of the ocean as she shakes off herself like a dog after going in the water herself.
Her gaze alights on the blood floating in the waves, and she swallows back a gulp. Shakily she turns back as Seri delivers a fiery exhortation, and she chuckles at the 'Sea witch' comment. Seri was no Sea Witch. She was a simple priestess. Still, something twisted in Thea's gut as she watched Seripunish the bastards for their supposed crimes. They deserved it, of course, but still, the idea of punishing them under authority of some divine law didn't stick right with her. Whatever, too late to change now.
As they boarded the ship, she straps her bow to her back, once more ringing our her sopping ponytail over the side of the boat. Surprisingly, the colorful highlights in her hair had stayed for a bit, even after floating in the ocean from who knows how long in the aftermath of the wreck, but the colors have now faded, and in the cyan sea below her appears a faint swirl of colorful dye, before being whisked away and dispersed in the waves.
Once they boarded the larger ship, she looks around, uneasily, before being startled by a voice. She looks up, and sees a woman standing there surrounded by a large crew. Something about the woman strikes her as intriguing. Something about her feels familiar. Has she met this woman before, or is because she feels like she's looking in a mirror? She can't really tell.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brorminthe Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner;Theathe Rebellious Beauty;
The rapier is a Rapier +1, owing to the extremely high quality materials and exquisite craftsmanship. It is perfectly weighted and balanced.
The pistol has the properties of a Palm Pistol (Critical Role), and Belua was carrying four balls. They are not interchangeable with the musket balls as they are smaller.
Attack Type: Ranged
Range: 40ft./160ft.
Damage: 1d8
Damage Type: Piercing
Weight: 1lb.
Properties: Light, Reload (1), Misfire (1)
The musket has the properties of a Musket (Exandria) (Critical Role), and there are eight balls.
Attack Type: Ranged
Range: 120ft./480ft.
Damage: 1d12
Damage Type: Piercing
Weight: 10lb.
Properties: Two-Handed, Reload (1), Misfire (2)
Firearms are a new and volatile technology, and as such bring their own unique set of weapon properties. Some properties are followed by a number, and this number signifies an element of that property (outlined below). These properties replace the optional ones presented in the Dungeon Master’s Guide. Firearms are ranged weapons.
Reload. The weapon can be fired a number of times equal to its Reload score before you must spend 1 attack or 1 action to reload. You must have one free hand to reload a firearm.
Misfire. Whenever you make an attack roll with a firearm, and the dice roll is equal to or lower than the weapon’s Misfire score, the weapon misfires. The attack misses, and the weapon cannot be used again until you spend an action to try and repair it. To repair your firearm, you must make a successful Tinker’s Tools check (DC equal to 8 + misfire score). If your check fails, the weapon is broken and must be mended out of combat at a quarter of the cost of the firearm. Creatures who use a firearm without being proficient increase the weapon’s misfire score by 1.
The breastplate is a Breastplate (AC14), and fits William well enough.
Belua's coin pouch contained 8GP and 14SP, and he had four rings, a gold signet with presumably his family crest, one set with a black stone, one with red, and one plain gold band. William's best estimate, though he is no jeweller, is that together they are probably worth in the region of 200GP.
Reaching the Dragon, William is first to respond to O'Malley's greeting. She taps her chin rather theatrically with a finger. "Thorne?" she says, "Horn? Those names ring no bells with me I'm afraid, William Brackwater. You certainly sound like a useful fellow to have around, though. I wonder if you could be persuaded to sign our Articles and join my crew. Manny does a good line in persuasion. Isn't that right, Mister Jallow?" She calls this last over her shoulder.
At the mention of his name, the largest human you have ever set eyes on looms at her shoulder. His skin is as black as night and he stands well over six and a half feet in height. Maybe closer to seven. His chest, shoulders, and arms are corded with thick muscle. His bald head reflects the sunlight, while his thick, wiry black beard is split by a toothy grin. William's mind immediately leaps to wondering how much this man must have to be fed on a daily basis to maintain that size.
"Aye Cap'n," he says, still grinning. His voice is so deep that it could have been dredged up from the sea bed. "I finds people often do as I ask."
O'Malley speaks again, "Mister Emmanuel Jallow here is my quartermaster. He does a remarkably fine job of keeping my unusually unruly crew in line. If any of you fancy a life of freedom, adventure, and loot, and just maybe, sticking it to the bastards who think they own everything, Manny will get you signed on. Bigger ship needs a bigger crew after all."
Seri's conjured images cause O'Malley's eyes to widen, and draws more of the crew to the rail. They mutter in amazement and disbelief. Some make signs of protection from various gods. Manny, however, grins wider, and there is a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
O'Malley tails off as her eye is caught by Kairouani's intense look. She listens carefully to her question. "Cargo? Rightfully ours, though given you did help a little in my securing of it, perhaps a share could be worked out for you if you agree to join us. My crew are just checking it over now. Was there anything you had in mind, in particular?"
Billy seems barely to hear Seri's words, transfixed as he is by the diminutive captain. "Hmm?" he mutters, pulling his eyes from her with an effort. "What's that? Oh, she jus' reminds me o' someone, that's all. Uncanny, it is. Uncanny." He tails off, seemingly talking to himself at the last, his eyes drawn back towards her.
A net is slung over the rail, and the living occupants of the boat climb one by one onto the deck, where you are surrounded by O'Malley's crew. They had been working like a nest of ants, ferrying belongings and cargo across from their little sloop onto their new vessel, stripping the dead Verdians of anything useful and piling it up before hauling the bodies over the rail. There were some survivors, now on their knees by the mainmast, hands bound behind them and guarded by watchful pirates. One of them doesn't look like a mariner. He is tall and stout and richly dressed, though somewhat disheveled by his captivity. He has a sparse black beard and a pair of round eyeglasses perched rather awry on his nose. He looks round to observe the newcomers on deck, but is rewarded with a rough shove and told to keep his eyes to himself. Elsewhere, work has begun on repairing the damage done to the Dragon when O'Malley's cannon opened up the engagement. There is the sound of timber being sawn, and there are men in the rigging splicing rope and pulling sections together.
The pirates themselves, there must be around forty of them all told, are fierce-looking and well armed, but seem efficient in their tasks. There is an air of levity among them, as they have just won a fine prize, but O'Malley clearly doesn't stand for the sort of drunken excess that pirates are often well known for. There is organisation here, and sound leadership. It makes you wonder what her background is, to be running such an operation at her apparently tender age.
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Weakened as he is, the sailor is able to bring little strength to bear to his own re-embarkment, and most of the work is Billy's. The man ends up lying sprawled in the bottom of the boat nursing his injuries.
That brings Round 7 to an end, and begins Round 8 with Sailor 1's action. I propose we end initiative order there and go back into RP, but if anyone wants to keep attacking the remaining sailors say now, and we can continue in order for the rest of Round 8.
Otherwise, Billy will 'encourage' the two sailors to start rowing back to shore, an instruction with which which they seem more than willing to comply.
Seri surfaces to the north of the rowboat, once it is clear that she no longer needing to push it towards shore. Seawater streams from her silvery-blue hair, though in a sense, that is how her hair always looks. The sea elf youngster stares hard at Billy through her aquamarine eyes. Murmuring for Trondro's Guidance she glances at the surviving sailors and then back at the big bearded sea dog.
This man was once a captain who sailed Trondro's waters, that much I respect, pirate or not. Yet he seeks to rebuild his crew from... these profligates?
"Tell me true, Billy Flint. You are a pirate, are you not? Or perhaps a privateer, but a pirate more likely. The line between the two being blurry and nearly inconsequential. I swear that neither I nor Trondro shall judge you for it. But know this. If you turn slaver as Belua did, then we shall be enemies, and if so, then one day you too shall meet the fate he did, whether by my hand or another's, or by the crashing wave of Trondro's inescapable justice."
"No sailor need be a saint in Trondro’s eyes. That goes hand in hand with freedom. Yet there are lines that should never be crossed. Would you replace your lost crew with those who would stab their shipmate in the back while they slumber in their hammock, Billy Flint? With those who would force themselves on the ship's boy in the cramped darkness of the cargo hold? For such is the vileness of slavery's sin. These wastrels are eagerly and remorselessly complicit in the trading of human flesh, robbing their victims of Trondro's free horizons to which all free peoples are entitled."
"Not one word of remorse or repentance have I heard from them despite my repeated entreaties for such. Only pleas to preserve their own worthless hides once the tide of battle turned. Let us see if that changes once we reach the shore, but have a care, Billy Flint. Choose your new crew wisely."
"In the meanwhile, answer me this. What do you recognize of the ship we see there which accosted the Veridian vessel? One of your pirate friends?"
Seri's Insight on Billy's response plus Guidance: 16 + 4 = 20 (dirty)
Seri waits briefly for her answer, then turns away from the rowboat, ready to dive down and drag the corpses below the water to shore (the marine and perhaps one or two sailors) so their belongings can be sorted on the beach, including the firearms and other weapons.
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Kairouni simply watched dispassionately, her eyes occasionally flickering to the ship combat out at sea.
She nodded to Seri and the other Islanders then pointed at the interpreter and indicated he should come to her...
'You are outmatched and outgunned.' William told the surviving enemies. 'Comply with our demands and questions and this will be over without more bloodshed.'
While waiting for the sailors to come back on land, William moved over to inspect the marines and see what of their equipment is still functional.
William Brackwater: Human Fighter - The Windward Isles
Tyrgram, the Butterfly Knight: Dwarf Warlock - Secret of Greenwold
Iòlinder Corrach: Half Elf War Cleric - Allansia Adventure
Valerius Sergius Publius: Dhampir Paladin - Vae Victus
Satisfied that the two sailors are more-or-less willingly applying themselves to the task of turning the boat and setting off back towards the shore, Billy spares a glance for the cowardly interpreter before his attention turns to Seri. His face betrays no anger or discomfort over her words. As she finishes, he gives a half smile.
"Pirate? That's a word of empires. Of small men in big palaces jealous of their power. A free man, is what I call meself. Free o' the tyranny o' the likes o' him." He gestures carelessly at the lifeless form of Belua at his feet, the crimson of his blood almost matching the rich velvet of his doublet. "An' I fear the judgement o' no mortal being, so don't you go worryin' about that."
"And these?" he gestures at the sailors heaving on the oars to turn the boat. "Just ordinary men. Families to keep, most like. Bellies to feed. They don't make the rules. They follow 'em or perish. No place for high morals when yer choice is work or starve. I'd give 'em a chance at freedom, if they'd take it. Give 'em a taste o' how a man can live out from under the boot o' kings an' princes."
Seri’s insight reveals no attempt at subterfuge or deceit in Billy’s reply.
At Seri's question about the ship accosting the Verdian vessel, he cranes his neck and shields his eyes with his free hand. "Can't see much past that fine sloop. It's a small'un. What say we heave to an' introduce ourselves? Whoever they are, they seem to have gained thesselves a new vessel."
You realise as he says this, that the sounds of battle have ceased, and the flag of the Imperial Verdian Navy is working its way down from atop the mainmast. The last of the powder smoke is slowly drifting away on the breeze, and you can make out figures heaving bodies over the rail and into the water. One or two seem to have paused in the rigging or at the rail to peer in your direction. They are watching to see what you do next.
One of the marines is dead in the boat, with his musket, breastplate, powder flask, and shot. Billy has his cutlass in hand. The other has come to rest on the sandy sea bed, about 12ft down. All his equipment is down there too.
Sailor 4 is now lying on the sand, curled up and protecting his head with his arms, as the three islanders lay into him with kicks and punches.
The boat moves slowly with only two oarsmen, but it covers the 60ft or so back to the beach easily. By force of training and practice, the navy sailors jump out and haul the boat as far onto the sand as they can, so the waves cannot carry it off again. Billy reaches down and hauls the diminutive interpreter to his feet. The man whimpers in fear. Billy looks at Kairouani.
"I think this is yours, matey."
There is a sudden clatter of wings and foliage, as Roger emerges from the trees at the edge of the jungle, swooping down to perch on Billy's shoulder. "Fire Island!" he squawks, causing Billy to chuckle.
"You need a new script, bird," he says, with a hint of affection.
Kairouni glared at the interpreter, then looked out at sea, " You, speak now on everything you know about your former masters and their intentions here."
She kept staring at the ships concerned, " We need to get out there.....we do not know their intentions and they may harm those held in bondage."
She looked to Billy and the sailors, then sighed, " Very well, they are free to go.....the smarter option would be to stay here and hope the people are forgiving....but they are free to come with us if they choose."
She headed towards the boat and picked up an oar, " Wise One, can you aid our passage there?"
Seri's wrath at the surviving sailors rages unabated. She appears plainly on the verge of executing them. Her Veridian is clipped and flat.
"You speak blithely of freedom, Billy Flint, as if I have not been harping on freedom all along, and the lack of it that slavery imposes. What these men have done - laughingly, eagerly as we witnessed in the village and forest - is to take freedom away, willingly complicit in selling person-flesh. NOT solely to avoid starvation as you imply. I have sailed these waters. There are plenty of other ships NOT dealing in slavery and taking on sailors for coin."
"Speaking of slave ships, I agree with my Elder Sister that we must parlay with whoever has taken command of Belua's vessel as there may be others shackled below decks. I can swim and cause currents to propel this boat out into the lagoon as you row. But before I continue sharing breath with these Veridian sailors, I need to hear sincere remorse in their voices. For being party to slavery, aye, and a solemn pledge never to do so again. Otherwise, I swear by the Wave Father's new moon tide, I will bind and drown them in these very shallows. And that goes double for the cowardly renegade."
She murmurs for Trondro's Guidance before turning to face the captive sailors and the interpreter. Her voice becomes quiet, but clear.
"So speak now you three, and you, the apostate who should know better than to be party to such anathema. Do you see the abomination you have wrought in so eagerly and cheerfully choosing to be party to slavery? Do you sincerely repent? If so, you may continue to breathe the ocean air and enjoy the freedom of Trondro's horizons, perhaps even as future shipmates. But if not... Trondro will know truth from a lie told to save your own skin."
Seri's Insight plus Guidance on the sincerity of any expressions of remorse she hears from the sailors or interpreter: 24 + 2 = 26
Her aquamarine eyes gaze unblinking into theirs, as harsh and unyielding as the storm which brought doom to the Horn of Plenty.
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
The interpreter's eyes dart about in fear as Billy drags him from the boat and onto the sand, where he looks up sheepishly at Kairouani. He speaks haltingly, but wheedling, eager to please, if it might mean his life is spared.
"The people from over the sea are strong, and clever. We cannot fight them, but if we work with them we can be strong too. Our enemies are made slaves. Is this not better than us becoming slaves? Please, I had no choice but to help them. You must believe me." He reaches his hands out in supplication. "The Legati is... was... a powerful chief, very rich. He travelled the islands seeking workers for the mines and trading with our people. I learned their tongue quickly and could help him. My village was spared and our enemies laid low by his warriors as long as I helped."
To Seri, "I repent, sister. I beg Trondro's forgiveness for all the wrongs I have done. I have been weak, but thought only of my family and village."
He cuts a dejected figure now. Exposed and unprotected by his erstwhile patron. Utter misery is etched on his lined face.
Tsara, Mitombo, and Herim have stopped beating the sailor, as they watch and listen to the conversation. "He lies!" shouts Herim, clearly angry. "I've seen him before with that... that... slug! He enjoyed sheltering under rich man's leaves, doing what pleased him without punishment. No more shelter now. We punish him!" Herim starts toward the interpreter, followed by his two friends, leaving the battered sailor moaning on the sand, bruised and bloodied. The interpreter cringes away from them, and seems on the verge of fleeing, now that Billy has released his arm.
Billy responds to Seri calmly. "Men like these know little more o' freedom than slaves do. They were raised with the boot o' Belua and his ilk on their necks, taught that the poor and weak are disposable to the powerful. Have you ever served on a navy ship? I have. The brutality would shock yer eyes wide open. Cap'ns are tyrants o' their own domains and rule with violence and fear. I've seen men's backs stripped to the bone for sharin' rations, or lookin' wrong at an officer." He gestures to the two sailors who pulled the boat in, who are shifting slowly so that Billy is between them and Seri's wrath. "Is it any wonder they behave like brutes when that's their example? Now, I'm not excusin' it, sister. That I'm not. Men do terrible things to one another, that's plain. But bad deeds don't make a bad person. Does your Trondro believe in redemption? In second chances? Because I do. Give a man a second chance, and you've got his loyalty. That's my experience o' this life. An' let me tell ye, I've seen plenty of it."
At Billy's talk of redemption, the two sailors nod enthusiastically, and words of remorse and pleading tumble over each other out of their mouths. Both take off their caps and wring them in their hands.
"I'm sorry, I always knew it were wrong, but I'm just a humble sailor. What could I do?"
"I repent! I did wrong, I know. Let me show you I'm a good man."
"We'll sail with you, if you'll let us. Please?"
"Don't let the water witch hurt us, will you, sir?"
Seri's insight tells her that these sailors' comments are more motivated by fear and self-preservation than genuine remorse, but they are beginning to see that their actions might actually have been wrong and that they might have to bear some responsibility for that. Meanwhile, she can tell with little doubt that the interpreter is a wheedling bully who will say anything to save his own skin. If he has any principles, they are undetectable.
While these conversations are going on, William is in the boat inspecting the dead marine's equipment. He was approximately William's height, but leaner. He is wearing the Verdian uniform of buff-coloured soft leather doublet and hose and stout brown boots, with a steel breastplate and crested helmet. His sword belt bears an empty scabbard, as Billy has taken his weapon. Also on his belt is a coin purse, whilst a cross belt over his shoulder bears a powder flask, and a pouch containing 8 lead shot and a spare flint. The musket, lying in the bottom of the boat, is of a simple, unadorned design, but is functional and well cared for, as one would expect from a professional soldier. It feels solid and reassuring in William's hands.
Also lying in the boat is Belua, his rich red velvet doublet ruined by seawater and blood. At his waist is an exquisitely wrought basket-hilted rapier. This is no ornament. It is not decorated with gems and precious metals, but in its craftsmanship and symmetry it is a thing of terrible beauty. To William's eye, it is an extremely fine weapon designed to be used, not for show. It must be worth a pretty penny. Still clutched in the late nobleman's hand is his pistol. Like the rapier, this is clearly an expensive piece, made of a polished black wood with silver filigree inlay and an exquisitely crafted mechanism. He is also wearing several rings and has a coin pouch at his belt.
For a long moment, Seri's aquamarine eyes remain expressionless. As Billy finishes speaking, she nods almost imperceptibly and her posture towards the three sailors changes as a dawn tide might. No longer hostile but instead brooding, like a grey sea under a grey sky.
She turns to the interpreter, reaching out to gently brush his cheek with her fingers. A hint of sorrow crosses her brow.
"Billy Flint. Do not release this man. Hold him." (Seri gestures to the interpreter). "Tsara, Mitombo, Herim. There is rope in my pack. Bind him well."
Seri readies Thorn Whip to yank the interpreter back with her spiked kelp, should he attempt to flee.
"Elder Sister," she addresses Kairouani, "I will help propel the boat and use water currents to take us with haste to meet those on the the ship out on the waters. But there is something which must be done here first. The Wave Father requires it."
(Seri has more to say to the sailors, and will say it as she deals with the interpreter, but no longer plans to execute the three. She also has no issue with William and others claiming what they can from the corpses, as the ocean claims the contents of a wreck, yet for now, she takes no part in the salvage.)
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Kairouni is more than happy to let Trondros Chosen do as she wished, she simply desired to be out at that ship as soon as possible...
Perhaps to Seri's surprise, Billy does as he is bid, grasping the diminutive islander's upper arm in one big hand. Seeing Billy take hold of him, and hearing Seri's words, Herim and his two comrades pull up short of laying into him, though the violence in their eyes is plain for anyone to see. The interpreter shrinks back from them as far as he is able. The three islanders also follow Seri's instructions, pulling the rope from her pack and binding the man perhaps somewhat more tightly than necessary, drawing winces of pain from him.
"I can help you," he whimpers, as the ropes cut into his wrists. "Anything you need. I can take you to many riches. I know the sea-people and their ways. Let me help you."
"Trondro awaits us all, but you my lost brother, he claims this day. You have learned the wrong lessons from the 'sea people,' as you falsely call them." Seri's voice is resolute despite her sadness. "My shipmates from the east are not slave lords as Belua was. William with his diligent resourcefulness and Thea with her rebellious courage. Even Billy Flint, who remains a mystery. None of them would be complicit in shackling me to sell as chattel."
At least I hope not... glancing at Billy, Seri's zealous faith wavers ever so slightly before steadying. She turns to Herim, Tsara and Mitombo and gestures for them to drag the bound interpreter into the lagoon, just deep enough that the ebb of the shore break still leaves a thigh-high depth of salt water.
As she gently but firmly submerges and holds the intepreter's head down near the bottom, she looks to the three surviving sailors of Belua's crew.
"Do not think Trondro fooled, crew of the once Veridian slave ship. The gap between your near lack of remorse and this apostate's self-serving mendacity and greed is thinner than an anemone's arm. Yet it is this narrow margin which separates his fate from yours. I sense in you at least the capacity for self-reflection and repentance. I do not ask you to answer me now. Only think on it. Alone in your hammock or on a midnight watch."
"You may have been wronged yourself. Your freedom all but taken away by rich and powerful men like Belua. Consider then, the further abomination of slavery. A debased condition you were ready to make japes of during our walk from the village to the shore. No man who sails the Wave Father's oceans need be a saint, and His wild wrath falls even upon the virtuous at times. Yet some lines should never be crossed. Deep down, you know this."
"Redemption is no easy path and none of us is perfect. Yet do not waste this chance you have been given. I know from my own storm-driven shipwreck that Trondro's forgiveness and mercy are rare and wondrous things which seldom come even once."
Seri turns her gaze down towards the man she is drowning in the shallows. "And never twice."
----- -----
When it is over, Seri asks the three islanders to drag the corpse back to the shoreline with the others.
She is ready to help propel the boat out to the waiting ship, using her own swim speed to push it and Shape Water to bear it along.
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Kairouni gave a slow thin lipped smile, then nodded to Seri to guide them outwards.....the crabs and frigate birds had some cleaning up to do......
The sailors watch, horrified, as Seri marches the interpreter to his fate. Herim, Tsara, and Mitombo provide the muscle, while Billy lets him go, and watches impassively.
He struggles, but the three islanders are stronger, and Seri guides his head under the waves until the struggle ceases and his body goes limp.
When it is over, and his body is dumped on the sand, the two standing sailors move to help their bruised comrade to his feet.
“These were seamen,” Billy says, indicating the dead sailors and marine in the boat. “They lived on the sea and should be given back to it. Not left to rot on a beach.”
He points at Belua. “I don’t know about that one. If he’s as important as our late friend here thought he was, then someone might want his body back. Or might come looking fer him.”
The bodies remaining in the boat, less the interpreter and those that perished in the water, Billy and the three sailors push off and take up the oars, as the rest of you pile in.
Aided by Seri’s magic, the boat skims over the waves more easily than it ought. Before long you are approaching the shore-facing side of Belua’s ship. It is a fine vessel. A two-masted brigantine approximately 70ft from stern to bow. There are five gun ports on the nearest side, and you can see a chase gun mounted on the deck near the bow. The timbers are painted a glossy black with red accents, and less the slight damage observable to the rigging, seems to be an exceptionally well-kept ship. Of course, to those who know the Verdian Imperial Navy, this is no surprise. The Verdians are renowned for building fine ships and taking great pride in maintaining them in top condition. Even by their standards, though, this is a jewel.
The name blazoned on the bow is ‘Al Dracon,’ Verdian for ‘Dragon,’ and the beautifully carved figurehead under the bowsprit is a sinuous, winged serpent of the same polished black as the timbers.
Your inspection of the brig is interrupted by a diminutive figure hailing you from the rail. Boyish in build and with short-cropped coppery hair, she is unmistakably an Azeri woman of no more than 25. She is dressed in a loose shirt that might once have been white, and close-fitting breeches perfect for action. In her right hand she is holding a pistol, though casually and not in an immediately threatening manner. A cross-belt slung from her right shoulder to left hip supports a functional-looking blade, whilst a long-barreled firearm can be seen protruding above her shoulder. Her voice carries well across the water and is not unfriendly. As she speaks in accented Verdian, the sailors ship the oars and turn on their benches to look.
“Ahoy, rowers! You won’t be looking to steal my Dragon, now, will you?”
At this, the few men and women flanking her at the rail s****** at the implausibility of such an action. They are a mixture of dark- and light-skinned people, wearing all manner of fashions from across the empires. Behind them, several more can be seen moving about, though from your low vantage point you cannot see what they are doing. All is calm on the deck now though. Whatever struggle that took place is now over. The Dragon currently flies no colours.
The woman continues, “I suppose I ought to be thanking you for tying up the captain and a good portion of his crew while we liberated this fine vessel.” She considers a moment, eyeing you all intently. “You’re an interesting bunch, to be sure. Five islanders, five easterners, and a… I’m not sure what you are, big fella. Did they just dredge you up from a midden-pit? Are you simple, or something?”
Billy, seemingly oblivious to the insult directed at him, is standing staring at the woman. He is open-mouthed and pale-faced, as if he’s seen a ghost. His normal self-possession seems to have fled.
Turning her attention from the big man’s gaze, she says, “I suppose introductions are in order. O’Malley’s the name. Friends call me Sly. You can call me Cap’n O’Malley. This here’s my crew, and this,” she strokes the rail in front of her with her left hand, “is my ship. Who might you be, and what winds have brought you to a run-in with the Verdian Navy?”
At the mention of the name, Billy’s mouth snaps shut and he manages to regain a modicum of composure.
William was taken aback a bit by Seri's actions. True, he had no idea of how her religion actually operated and if this was just the appropriate punishment. In that regard one could argue it was no different than walking the plank for a ship's crime. All he knew was that drowning is a horrible way to die. More so because one tended to be fully conscious as the cold water rushed into the lungs, to the point that you could actually count down to the point of your demise. If the panic did not immediately overtake any cognitive effort, that was.
He decided not to say anything of it. At least he would not have to do a post mortem on the man or otherwise deal with the corpse.
Instead William turned his attention to other matters. As a company man hailing from the Western Isles, he had a more discerning eye for the finer things. Some of the things that the marine and Belua wore on their person drew his attention in particular. First was the marine: he was of William's stature but a bit leaner so he did not know if it would be a proper fit but it would be a shame to leave behind the steel breastplate. It certainly would offer more protection than the leather he was currently wearing. Then came the grand prize: the musket and all its accessories. William took the musket, laid it on the sand beside him and reached back to undo the marine's cross belt. He put it on to get a feel for the weight distribution. There was a powder flask and a pouch with 8 lead shots and some flint. It was a good start. William also took the marine's coin purse. He had a brief moment if taking from the dead counted as stealing, as dead people had no legal claim to property, but he quickly shook away the thought. The coin had more use to him alive than being left out here on the beach with the dead.
Next William turned his attention to Belua. It was a shame the clothing was ruined by seawater, blood and sustained damage, else it could fetch a pretty penny. Ironically the only good things Belua had were his weapons that he never got to use. A rather well made rapier was the first item. Surprisingly well made William noted. He would have thought Belua the kind of man to get a rapier custom made with gems, engravings and all that other bullshit that overcomplicated a simple design. He compared it to his current weapon. His rapier clearly had signs of wear and tear: a nick here, some blunt edge there and some rust spots spread over from all the salt and water. It was still a deadly weapon but like he planned to upgrade his bow to the musket, so could he do the same for his rapier. The second item was a pistol. Like the rapier it too was of elegant design with a polished black wooden frame with silver filigree inlay and a rather well crafted firing mechanism, the kind that could stand up to the harsher conditions out on sea. If William did not know any better, he would guess that the two weapons were companion pieces.
'Hate to break up the kids.' William smirked in a bit of dark humour. He also took Belua's coin pouch and the rings he wore. Unlike with the marine, a professional soldier, no stray thought about the moral quandary passed through William's mind. Belua was a bastard and he deserved nothing less.
He piled into the boat with the others. He did not know about them but William was secretly glad to set foot once more on an actual ship. He missed the gentle swaying of wood on water, the kind that gave many the sick, but it felt akin to home. The presence of another crew barely gave him any surprise. The captain on the other hand. A woman captain? William thought in a bit of old fashioned thinking. Well, I'll be a parrot's uncle.
'We used to sail under captain Thorne.' He replied. 'We got stranded after a storm overtook our ship and capsized it on the rocks. Had some run-ins with the locals and slave traders and now we're here.' He realised that was quite understating the events that had transpired. 'Apologies captain: it's been a long day. My name is William Brackwater: former shipwright, cook and surgeon aboard the Horn of Plenty.'
William did take note of the change in Billy's behaviour but said nothing of it at the moment.
William Brackwater: Human Fighter - The Windward Isles
Tyrgram, the Butterfly Knight: Dwarf Warlock - Secret of Greenwold
Iòlinder Corrach: Half Elf War Cleric - Allansia Adventure
Valerius Sergius Publius: Dhampir Paladin - Vae Victus
Kairouni stayed silent measuring those aboard ship and their danger one by one, she nodded as William spoke.
She caught and held the eye of Sly O'Malley, " And what of this ships cargo?"
Seri nods absently as Billy insists that the sailors' corpses not be left on the beach to rot. She had only dragged them up there for the purpose of salvaging their possessions. She fully intends to submerge the bodies once more at the end of all this, and then use her ability (Friend of the Sea) to communicate to oceanic predators and scavengers to invite them to a free floating buffet in the lagoon. She plans to give Belua's body no special treatment.
If anything, let him, above all others, feed the crabs and bottom-feeders, not the majestic carnivorous sharks and other fish that swim above them.
Her jaw aching from her strongly worded entreaties and sermons delivered at the shore, Seri is content to let others do the talking when it comes to Cap'n O'Malley. In fact, as William summarizes the party's experiences starting with Cap'n Thorne and the fate of the Horn of Plenty, Seri again provides what visual aid she can. Floating in the gentle swell next to the boat, she waggles her fingers beneath the surface and a three-dimensional sequence of still images (each a Minor Illusion) appears in the air between the Al Dracon and the party to illustrate the experiences William speaks of.
Still, Billy's reaction to the young female captain does not go unnoticed by Seri (Passive Perception 16).
Murmuring for Trondro's Guidance, she whispers up to the large grizzled man in the boat. "You knew Cap'n O'Malley when she was a child, did you not Billy Flint? Or perhaps knew a parent of hers. Or both. Just as you knew Cap'n Thorne. She is no stranger to you, though her captaincy may be new."
Nevertheless, Seri muses. The person who Cap'n O'Malley reminds me of more than anyone is Thea...
Inge(Barbarian2): Krayveneer's After the Fall | Seri(Cleric1/Sorcerer1): Uhtred's Windward Isles | Xarian(Fighter1): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(Cleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(Druid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Nivi(Rogue4): Raiketsu's CoS
Joren(Fighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Toa(Barbarian6/Fighter4): MrWhisker's Dark Lord's Return | Sabetha(Monk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court
Thea Oltineas
Thea had been silent through the whole ordeal, watching with a mix of apprehension and morbid fascination. Her arms had drooped to her side as soon as the battle was over, and she had come to stand next her companions, her thoughts processing the whirlwind of action that had just occurred. Her eyes flick to the waters of the ocean as she shakes off herself like a dog after going in the water herself.
Her gaze alights on the blood floating in the waves, and she swallows back a gulp. Shakily she turns back as Seri delivers a fiery exhortation, and she chuckles at the 'Sea witch' comment. Seri was no Sea Witch. She was a simple priestess. Still, something twisted in Thea's gut as she watched Seri punish the bastards for their supposed crimes. They deserved it, of course, but still, the idea of punishing them under authority of some divine law didn't stick right with her. Whatever, too late to change now.
As they boarded the ship, she straps her bow to her back, once more ringing our her sopping ponytail over the side of the boat. Surprisingly, the colorful highlights in her hair had stayed for a bit, even after floating in the ocean from who knows how long in the aftermath of the wreck, but the colors have now faded, and in the cyan sea below her appears a faint swirl of colorful dye, before being whisked away and dispersed in the waves.
Once they boarded the larger ship, she looks around, uneasily, before being startled by a voice. She looks up, and sees a woman standing there surrounded by a large crew. Something about the woman strikes her as intriguing. Something about her feels familiar. Has she met this woman before, or is because she feels like she's looking in a mirror? She can't really tell.
Hi, I'm Raccoon_Master, a young genderfluid actor, writer, explorer, and bass vocalist. Pronouns They/Them/Theirs
My Characters: Brormin the Devout Crusher; Morgrom the Cunning Summoner; Thea the Rebellious Beauty;
Check out my EXTENDED SIGNATUR and don’t forget to join the Anything but the OGL 2.0 Thread!
"I don't make sense to you, and I don't make sense to myself. Maybe the only one I make sense to is God" ~ Me, trying to sound smart
William:
The rapier is a Rapier +1, owing to the extremely high quality materials and exquisite craftsmanship. It is perfectly weighted and balanced.
The pistol has the properties of a Palm Pistol (Critical Role), and Belua was carrying four balls. They are not interchangeable with the musket balls as they are smaller.
Attack Type: Ranged
Range: 40ft./160ft.
Damage: 1d8
Damage Type: Piercing
Weight: 1lb.
Properties: Light, Reload (1), Misfire (1)
The musket has the properties of a Musket (Exandria) (Critical Role), and there are eight balls.
Attack Type: Ranged
Range: 120ft./480ft.
Damage: 1d12
Damage Type: Piercing
Weight: 10lb.
Properties: Two-Handed, Reload (1), Misfire (2)
Firearms are a new and volatile technology, and as such bring their own unique set of weapon properties. Some properties are followed by a number, and this number signifies an element of that property (outlined below). These properties replace the optional ones presented in the Dungeon Master’s Guide. Firearms are ranged weapons.
Reload. The weapon can be fired a number of times equal to its Reload score before you must spend 1 attack or 1 action to reload. You must have one free hand to reload a firearm.
Misfire. Whenever you make an attack roll with a firearm, and the dice roll is equal to or lower than the weapon’s Misfire score, the weapon misfires. The attack misses, and the weapon cannot be used again until you spend an action to try and repair it. To repair your firearm, you must make a successful Tinker’s Tools check (DC equal to 8 + misfire score). If your check fails, the weapon is broken and must be mended out of combat at a quarter of the cost of the firearm. Creatures who use a firearm without being proficient increase the weapon’s misfire score by 1.
The breastplate is a Breastplate (AC14), and fits William well enough.
Belua's coin pouch contained 8GP and 14SP, and he had four rings, a gold signet with presumably his family crest, one set with a black stone, one with red, and one plain gold band. William's best estimate, though he is no jeweller, is that together they are probably worth in the region of 200GP.
Reaching the Dragon, William is first to respond to O'Malley's greeting. She taps her chin rather theatrically with a finger. "Thorne?" she says, "Horn? Those names ring no bells with me I'm afraid, William Brackwater. You certainly sound like a useful fellow to have around, though. I wonder if you could be persuaded to sign our Articles and join my crew. Manny does a good line in persuasion. Isn't that right, Mister Jallow?" She calls this last over her shoulder.
At the mention of his name, the largest human you have ever set eyes on looms at her shoulder. His skin is as black as night and he stands well over six and a half feet in height. Maybe closer to seven. His chest, shoulders, and arms are corded with thick muscle. His bald head reflects the sunlight, while his thick, wiry black beard is split by a toothy grin. William's mind immediately leaps to wondering how much this man must have to be fed on a daily basis to maintain that size.
"Aye Cap'n," he says, still grinning. His voice is so deep that it could have been dredged up from the sea bed. "I finds people often do as I ask."
O'Malley speaks again, "Mister Emmanuel Jallow here is my quartermaster. He does a remarkably fine job of keeping my unusually unruly crew in line. If any of you fancy a life of freedom, adventure, and loot, and just maybe, sticking it to the bastards who think they own everything, Manny will get you signed on. Bigger ship needs a bigger crew after all."
Seri's conjured images cause O'Malley's eyes to widen, and draws more of the crew to the rail. They mutter in amazement and disbelief. Some make signs of protection from various gods. Manny, however, grins wider, and there is a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
O'Malley tails off as her eye is caught by Kairouani's intense look. She listens carefully to her question. "Cargo? Rightfully ours, though given you did help a little in my securing of it, perhaps a share could be worked out for you if you agree to join us. My crew are just checking it over now. Was there anything you had in mind, in particular?"
Billy seems barely to hear Seri's words, transfixed as he is by the diminutive captain. "Hmm?" he mutters, pulling his eyes from her with an effort. "What's that? Oh, she jus' reminds me o' someone, that's all. Uncanny, it is. Uncanny." He tails off, seemingly talking to himself at the last, his eyes drawn back towards her.
A net is slung over the rail, and the living occupants of the boat climb one by one onto the deck, where you are surrounded by O'Malley's crew. They had been working like a nest of ants, ferrying belongings and cargo across from their little sloop onto their new vessel, stripping the dead Verdians of anything useful and piling it up before hauling the bodies over the rail. There were some survivors, now on their knees by the mainmast, hands bound behind them and guarded by watchful pirates. One of them doesn't look like a mariner. He is tall and stout and richly dressed, though somewhat disheveled by his captivity. He has a sparse black beard and a pair of round eyeglasses perched rather awry on his nose. He looks round to observe the newcomers on deck, but is rewarded with a rough shove and told to keep his eyes to himself. Elsewhere, work has begun on repairing the damage done to the Dragon when O'Malley's cannon opened up the engagement. There is the sound of timber being sawn, and there are men in the rigging splicing rope and pulling sections together.
The pirates themselves, there must be around forty of them all told, are fierce-looking and well armed, but seem efficient in their tasks. There is an air of levity among them, as they have just won a fine prize, but O'Malley clearly doesn't stand for the sort of drunken excess that pirates are often well known for. There is organisation here, and sound leadership. It makes you wonder what her background is, to be running such an operation at her apparently tender age.