It's a fine morning, just after sunrise, as the Blue Torrent sails from the docks of Port Damali, headed for the small fishing village of Palma Flora. The voyage is expected to take a little over a day - with a fair wind, Captain Soales has informed you, you should reach your destination by midday tomorrow.
There are four passengers on the ship, and all four have gathered near the stern of the little ship to look back on the great city of Port Damali as the ship pulls away into the Lucidean Ocean. As they enjoy the view, a single crewmember is scrubbing the deck nearby.
(OOC: Please give a short description of your character, only what the others would see. And feel free to start in-character conversations with your fellow travellers...)
A tall heavyset figure with dark green skin and a wild shock of wavy white hair leans out over the prow of the boat, his coat of chainmail clinking as he moves. This half-orc, Silent, surveys his fellow passengers with his oddly pale eyes. Couldn't ask for a better day for sailing, eh? I've definitely seen worse.
A tiny, dark eyed gnome scurries about the deck doing odd tasks. Straightening lines, mopping, etc. His smooth face and oversized coat makes him look almost like a human child, though he’s nearly forty. His parents named him Eldon, but most everyone calls him Pockets. Any day on the water is a good day, sir.
Leaning against the rail is a young elven figure. He is of fair skin and ashen brown hair that falls just short of his shoulder. He wears a snug robe of elven influence. Draped over his slight shoulders and small frame is a weathered cloak with a fur-trimmed collar. A simple dagger rests at his hip, and a leather bound tome hangs from a sling on his shoulder.
He hangs his head over the railing and braces himself. He is very clearly not accustomed to travel by sea, and is struggling to cope with the swaying of the ship.
Noticing the elf's apparent discomfort, the half-orc chuckles and waves at the gnome. "Here's an exception to your rule, friend - the sea is no friend to those of us with weak stomachs. Wish I still had some tonics on me..."
A slightly taller than average female stands on the deck, near the green half-orc who just spoke, one hand on the railing, facing out towards the ocean. In her other hand she balances a clear crystal ball, free from imperfections over the tips of her fingers. Her chin-length platinum blonde-white hair remains perfectly in place, despite the wind moving across the bow. Through the curtain of silver-white hair, the tips of her pointed ears are visible.
Her skin is shimmering, whether from the light dancing across sprays of sea water splashing onto her chest and face, or sweat, unevaporated from the heat and humidity, or something else, can't be determined.
She opens her closed eyes and turns to the shorter male. Her eyes are pure white, with black slits for the pupil and no hint of an iris.
A short stout figure with brown unkept hair, a long scare across his chin, and wearing common earth colored clothes stares in amazement at the ship. He looks around with the long sword on his back almost dragging the ground. Now this is a ship. You don’t see ones like this back home on the river.
Pockets goes about his work, diligent and mindful that he needs the the job. If there’s anything I can do to make this voyage easier on any of you, I’m at your service. Call me Pockets. Most everyone does.
She turns inwards, towards Pockets and with a flip of her fingertips the crystal orb rolls to her wrist, up to her elbow and up her arm to rest on her shoulder.
Does that come with a promise of fine weather and guaranteed schedules?
The elf glances over at the group. His face is strained with illness. He slumps down to sit on the deck of the ship.
"I fear I have nothing to combat sea sickness. Do you perhaps have any advice for one unaccustomed to this?"
He sits silently for a second before panic strikes across his face. He leaps up and throws his head over the edge of the ship just in time to deposit his lunch overboard.
I can’t help with schedules or weather, but sea sickness I can help. Pockets fishes a tiny flask from his coat. Ginger pills. Take two you’ll be right as rain.
She shakes her head at the elf losing his lunch. Her shoulders roll and the ball follows the movement behind her neck and rests on the other shoulder before travelling down towards her fingertips.
Get accustomed, or get rich enough to pay others to endure seasickness for you, I'd imagine.
Her tone belies the bite to her words, there's a delicate sarcasm woven into what may be interpreted as a concerned tone.
I'd hate to see what tricks a storm would play on that weak stomach of yours.
She turns to the half-orc, crystal sphere moving over the tops of her fingers and into her palm as her hand turns upwards. She arches a white eyebrow and quirks her head slightly to the side.
Seems like you know your way around a ship, Silent. Any tricks for the poor boy?
The half-orc grins. Funnily enough a healthy swig of ale has always done the trick for my stomach. Reckon Pocket's pills might be a safer bet though...
Eyeing the elf's intricate maneuvering of the crystal sphere he adds, Seems like you've got some tricks yourself, of a different kind maybe. That just a trinket or something more?
She grins at the half-orc, a full grin that only makes her eyes seem more disconcerting as the pupils narrow slightly. She nods, a quick, single jerk of her head.
The pills might do the trick, She laughs, but good-naturedly. If he can keep them down long enough, that is. And I may have a trick or two of my own. And this...
She places the tips of her fingers together, facing towards the sky. The ball rolls across the makeshift table of her hands, reflecting the blue and white of the sky and clouds.
It is what it is, and what it is, is mine. The smile leaves her eyes as her voice lowers, punctuating the final word, mine, with a new malice. She closes her hand around the orb and it seems to disappear into her light blue skirt. Just as suddenly as the anger appeared, it is replaced by her previously jockular attitude.
Turning to Keyo, smile back on her face she says
You should always be expecting a storm if you plan on living long enough to gain those sea-legs you lack.
Silent's grin falters momentarily and his eyes widen as the orb vanishes. He shoots Keyo a slightly confused expression before hunkering down and taking a relaxed seated position on the deck of the ship (removing the large greatsword strapped to his back as he does). He unsheathes the blade and starts oiling it to protect it from the salt and moisture in the air.
Fair enough, I'm no stranger to secrets.
He notices the short stout figure bearing a sword of his own and his eyes light up. Looks like a fine sword you've got there, friend!
No storms, comes a voice from behind you. Captain Soales has come up. Not today. Not unless there's weird magic going on. Just to be clear, no magic aboard ship, not unless we're being attacked. That's not aimed at any of you in particular, just a general rule I have for folks I don't know.
She observes Pockets for a moment, and seems satisfied. Well, hope you all enjoy the trip. Don't stay too long in the sun, if you're not used to it. She walks back towards the bow.
There's a single small cabin below deck that has been set aside for passengers - it has two bunks only, but there are plenty of spare hammocks. You are free to spend time there or on deck. The rest of the day is yours, to keep talking, or do anything you wish to pass the time.
Arael nods her acknowledgment to Captain Solaes and turns toward Silent, head lowered, one knee turned inwards, a surprisingly awkward position compared to her previous confident bearing.
I was... she falters for a moment, eyes moving across the wooden planks of the deck as if they could reveal the words she’s searching for...uncivilized
She straightens her posture and shakes her head, as if clearing away a fog and smiles,
Let me try this again, my name is Arael. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.
She turns to catch the eye of Pockets, Keyo, and the short male with the disproportionately large sword.
Silent looks back at Arael and his smile returns. No offence taken, Arael. Hell, I ain't too civilized myself.
He continues oiling and whetting his blade, watching his fellow travelers and the single crew member (if they're still swabbing the deck). At some point (probably after conversations die down), he'll go belowdecks to meditate in the cabin - the sun beating down on his back is still a new and mildly uncomfortable sensation but he's doing his best to acclimate.
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It's a fine morning, just after sunrise, as the Blue Torrent sails from the docks of Port Damali, headed for the small fishing village of Palma Flora. The voyage is expected to take a little over a day - with a fair wind, Captain Soales has informed you, you should reach your destination by midday tomorrow.
There are four passengers on the ship, and all four have gathered near the stern of the little ship to look back on the great city of Port Damali as the ship pulls away into the Lucidean Ocean. As they enjoy the view, a single crewmember is scrubbing the deck nearby.
(OOC: Please give a short description of your character, only what the others would see. And feel free to start in-character conversations with your fellow travellers...)
A tall heavyset figure with dark green skin and a wild shock of wavy white hair leans out over the prow of the boat, his coat of chainmail clinking as he moves. This half-orc, Silent, surveys his fellow passengers with his oddly pale eyes. Couldn't ask for a better day for sailing, eh? I've definitely seen worse.
A tiny, dark eyed gnome scurries about the deck doing odd tasks. Straightening lines, mopping, etc. His smooth face and oversized coat makes him look almost like a human child, though he’s nearly forty. His parents named him Eldon, but most everyone calls him Pockets. Any day on the water is a good day, sir.
Leaning against the rail is a young elven figure. He is of fair skin and ashen brown hair that falls just short of his shoulder. He wears a snug robe of elven influence. Draped over his slight shoulders and small frame is a weathered cloak with a fur-trimmed collar. A simple dagger rests at his hip, and a leather bound tome hangs from a sling on his shoulder.
He hangs his head over the railing and braces himself. He is very clearly not accustomed to travel by sea, and is struggling to cope with the swaying of the ship.
"By the gods, this trip is going to kill me..."
Noticing the elf's apparent discomfort, the half-orc chuckles and waves at the gnome. "Here's an exception to your rule, friend - the sea is no friend to those of us with weak stomachs. Wish I still had some tonics on me..."
A slightly taller than average female stands on the deck, near the green half-orc who just spoke, one hand on the railing, facing out towards the ocean. In her other hand she balances a clear crystal ball, free from imperfections over the tips of her fingers. Her chin-length platinum blonde-white hair remains perfectly in place, despite the wind moving across the bow. Through the curtain of silver-white hair, the tips of her pointed ears are visible.
Her skin is shimmering, whether from the light dancing across sprays of sea water splashing onto her chest and face, or sweat, unevaporated from the heat and humidity, or something else, can't be determined.
She opens her closed eyes and turns to the shorter male. Her eyes are pure white, with black slits for the pupil and no hint of an iris.
Any day anywhere is a good day in my book.
A short stout figure with brown unkept hair, a long scare across his chin, and wearing common earth colored clothes stares in amazement at the ship. He looks around with the long sword on his back almost dragging the ground. Now this is a ship. You don’t see ones like this back home on the river.
Pockets goes about his work, diligent and mindful that he needs the the job. If there’s anything I can do to make this voyage easier on any of you, I’m at your service. Call me Pockets. Most everyone does.
The half-orc grins at Pockets. Appreciate it, Pockets, and same to you. If you need any help with the boat gimme a shout, my name's Silent.
She turns inwards, towards Pockets and with a flip of her fingertips the crystal orb rolls to her wrist, up to her elbow and up her arm to rest on her shoulder.
Does that come with a promise of fine weather and guaranteed schedules?
The elf glances over at the group. His face is strained with illness. He slumps down to sit on the deck of the ship.
"I fear I have nothing to combat sea sickness. Do you perhaps have any advice for one unaccustomed to this?"
He sits silently for a second before panic strikes across his face. He leaps up and throws his head over the edge of the ship just in time to deposit his lunch overboard.
I can’t help with schedules or weather, but sea sickness I can help. Pockets fishes a tiny flask from his coat. Ginger pills. Take two you’ll be right as rain.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
She shakes her head at the elf losing his lunch. Her shoulders roll and the ball follows the movement behind her neck and rests on the other shoulder before travelling down towards her fingertips.
Get accustomed, or get rich enough to pay others to endure seasickness for you, I'd imagine.
Her tone belies the bite to her words, there's a delicate sarcasm woven into what may be interpreted as a concerned tone.
I'd hate to see what tricks a storm would play on that weak stomach of yours.
She turns to the half-orc, crystal sphere moving over the tops of her fingers and into her palm as her hand turns upwards. She arches a white eyebrow and quirks her head slightly to the side.
Seems like you know your way around a ship, Silent. Any tricks for the poor boy?
The half-orc grins. Funnily enough a healthy swig of ale has always done the trick for my stomach. Reckon Pocket's pills might be a safer bet though...
Eyeing the elf's intricate maneuvering of the crystal sphere he adds, Seems like you've got some tricks yourself, of a different kind maybe. That just a trinket or something more?
He takes the ginger pills and pops them into his mouth.
"Many thanks Master Pockets. My name is Keyo, and I am in your debt."
He turns to face the woman, with a hint of fear in his eyes.
"Are we expecting a storm on this trip?"
She grins at the half-orc, a full grin that only makes her eyes seem more disconcerting as the pupils narrow slightly. She nods, a quick, single jerk of her head.
The pills might do the trick, She laughs, but good-naturedly. If he can keep them down long enough, that is. And I may have a trick or two of my own. And this...
She places the tips of her fingers together, facing towards the sky. The ball rolls across the makeshift table of her hands, reflecting the blue and white of the sky and clouds.
It is what it is, and what it is, is mine. The smile leaves her eyes as her voice lowers, punctuating the final word, mine, with a new malice. She closes her hand around the orb and it seems to disappear into her light blue skirt. Just as suddenly as the anger appeared, it is replaced by her previously jockular attitude.
Turning to Keyo, smile back on her face she says
You should always be expecting a storm if you plan on living long enough to gain those sea-legs you lack.
Silent's grin falters momentarily and his eyes widen as the orb vanishes. He shoots Keyo a slightly confused expression before hunkering down and taking a relaxed seated position on the deck of the ship (removing the large greatsword strapped to his back as he does). He unsheathes the blade and starts oiling it to protect it from the salt and moisture in the air.
Fair enough, I'm no stranger to secrets.
He notices the short stout figure bearing a sword of his own and his eyes light up. Looks like a fine sword you've got there, friend!
No storms, comes a voice from behind you. Captain Soales has come up. Not today. Not unless there's weird magic going on. Just to be clear, no magic aboard ship, not unless we're being attacked. That's not aimed at any of you in particular, just a general rule I have for folks I don't know.
She observes Pockets for a moment, and seems satisfied. Well, hope you all enjoy the trip. Don't stay too long in the sun, if you're not used to it. She walks back towards the bow.
There's a single small cabin below deck that has been set aside for passengers - it has two bunks only, but there are plenty of spare hammocks. You are free to spend time there or on deck. The rest of the day is yours, to keep talking, or do anything you wish to pass the time.
Arael nods her acknowledgment to Captain Solaes and turns toward Silent, head lowered, one knee turned inwards, a surprisingly awkward position compared to her previous confident bearing.
I was... she falters for a moment, eyes moving across the wooden planks of the deck as if they could reveal the words she’s searching for...uncivilized
She straightens her posture and shakes her head, as if clearing away a fog and smiles,
Let me try this again, my name is Arael. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.
She turns to catch the eye of Pockets, Keyo, and the short male with the disproportionately large sword.
Silent looks back at Arael and his smile returns. No offence taken, Arael. Hell, I ain't too civilized myself.
He continues oiling and whetting his blade, watching his fellow travelers and the single crew member (if they're still swabbing the deck). At some point (probably after conversations die down), he'll go belowdecks to meditate in the cabin - the sun beating down on his back is still a new and mildly uncomfortable sensation but he's doing his best to acclimate.