Chandle climbs aboard. “Captain, what are your orders then, sir?” Chandle spares Molly a sideways glance. Everything Chandle owns is soaked, she nearly lost the fingers on her left hand, and now that the adrenaline is gone she feels completely drained of energy. She even has a sway never having been on a large ship.
In the fading light of dusk, the Rhinemaiden stood diminutive yet unyielding beside the towering figure of her captain. As the leather satchel changed hands, her eyes darted from the captain's stern visage to the horizon, where the sea whispered secrets only she could hear—or so Nettles assured her in a susurrus only Molly's ears could discern. The captain's booming voice seemed to echo from the depths, his threats washing over her like the chill ocean spray.
Mad Molly merrily responded to the captain with an unhinged cackle, a sound like breaking waves against the ship's hull, and called back with a mad glint in her eye, "Your seadogs sind Fischköder, they ignorierten the warning of Brineheart's Zeichen, but I didn't. Ich habe gehorcht, to stand here before you! Are you going to make me das Brett gehen captain, du zuerst? Umberlee singt deinen Namen captain, do you hören sie as I do?"
The Rhinemaiden's voice was a haunting melody that danced on the wind. "Yes, yes, captain, ertrunkene Ratten for your crew oder to make a tasty haggish stew! Should I put the water auf den Koch?"Her words, a bizarre mixture of threat and jest, echoed strangely across the dark waters. Though nonsensical to some, it carried the weight of her chaotic intent. She waved cheerfully, a gesture both inviting and eerie, to the sodden group below. Her laugh, tinged with lunacy, trailed off as the blonde girl turned and scurried below deck.
Deep down in the bowels of the Siren's Folly, Molly found refuge among the shadows. Her sanctuary was a cobwebbed corner where the wood creaked mournfully with the sway of the ship. She fashioned a nest of sorts amidst a collection of bizarre trinkets and the musty scent of brine and decay. A hammock hung like a cocoon between aged barrels, swaying gently with the rhythm of the sea. Damp clothes were discarded, and she slipped into something dry, the fabric clinging to her skin as if afraid to let go.
With Nettles nestled securely in her arms, Molly lay back, the hammock enveloping her like a dark embrace. Her lips moved in silent conversation with her silent companion, her voice a whisper lost amidst the creaking of the ship and the call of the distant waves. She sang softly, a lullaby that was both a balm and a spell woven with threads of madness and melancholy. As the ship cut through the waters, carrying them into the uncertain embrace of the night, Molly's song merged with the sound of the sea—a symphony of the damned, playing only for those who dared listen.
The Captain clears the ladder, stepping aside as Dornin climbs to the deck. Before the rest of you have a chance he pushes a coil of rope down upon your heads. The heavy , twisted strand is tied to the rail above. "Hoist the boat and lash it to the side, I aint waiting for the tides to rush out. Were setting sail." He looks around noting only the four of you, the galley boy, a young skinny lad of maybe 14 summers. His frame is rail thin, sores pock the exposed skin. The only other crew mate, a tall lanky female, hers eyes are orbs of black with a cruel sneer upon her lips. "Where in the hells is the wench" he bellows, loud enough to carry back to the shore. A dismissive glance at the woman "retrieve her, NOW" His anger is palpable, a rage all consuming, the tall woman leaps away at his order.
Addressing the young lad, and by default the rest of you, "We leave now, get them hoisting the foresail, we need to tack out of this cursed bay." More directly at the four of you, "If you be climbing aboard, there's no time fer restin, make yourself useful, I don't feed whelps. Do what the lad says and get us moving"
Molly;s eyes begin to close, the emotion and exertion of the last two days washing over her, a familiar feeling of the rhythmic embrace of the brine. Shouting can be heard above decks, muffled by the wood as well as her mind simply drifting away. Pain shoots up through her shoulder, it impacts hard upon the wooden beams beneath her cot. Shined smooth from the boots of a hundred sailors. Still no less hard for the years of abrasion. The Ships Navigator stands over you, glaring down with the pits of darkness, "Captain needs you and he aint going to be patient" she says this last part with a cruel glee, knowing full well the punishment for disobedience.
Returning to the deck, the navigator takes her spot at the wheel, leaving Molly alone with a simmering Captain, "It takes five to run this ship" He says, his tone as one teaching a lesson, "Sheela has her job, that's one, the lad is doing the work, that's two, you barely make for a hand and those useless rats you brought on board, together they still amount to nothing" The implication hangs in the air, there are not enough crew, and the Captain isn't going to lash a rope or hoist a sail, leaving it up to you. "The tide will be out soon, leaving us high and dry. We need to catch those ships if were to be paid as an escort, you can rest when were at sea." He turns towards his quarters and disappears behind a closed door.
The tide is going out quickly, you have an hour to get the schooner turned and headed out to sea. An hour is tight for an experienced crew and only the galley boy 'Skit' and Molly have experience. Getting the ship out of the bay and under sail requires 4 mates and a navigator. Sheela, the Navigator is at the helm.
All five of you need to work together to hoist the sails, tie them off, swing the beam to tack in the right direction and clear the bay within 60 minutes. Molly's experience on the ship grants her advantage on one of her skill checks. Kallith, Octo, Dornin and Chandle have no experience and so roll normally.
Setting Sail DC 14 Roll three (3) skill checks, can be the same or three separate, duplicates are fine within your own sheet and others. How do they help you accomplish the task?
Success are worth an additional 0 minutes, Failures are an additional +5 minutes. Anything less than 60 minutes will get you out of the bay. You can imagine the fury and anger in the captain if you do not succeed.
Once finished rolling the three skill checks, roll for exhaustion DC 12
The above assumes you are following the captains orders....perhaps you have other ideas of how your character would react.
In the dim, damp hold of the Siren's Folly, Molly had nearly succumbed to the siren call of sleep, her mind adrift in the murky waters of dreams and delusions whispered by Nettles. However, the sudden intrusion of Sheela, the ship's stern navigator, shattered the calm like a storm breaching the deck. Her wake-up was a harsh jolt back to reality, marked by the sting of the wooden deck against her shoulder as she was unceremoniously roused.
"The Captain's ordering you on deck, now,"Sheela sneered with a venom that seemed to drip from her black orb-like eyes. With her mind still tangled in the threads of sleep, Molly reacted with a wild, guttural shriek, her limbs flailing against the unwelcome anchor to wakefulness. Her response to the navigator was a cacophony of garbled curses and mad laughter, a chaotic symphony that echoed eerily through the bowels of the ship.
Back on deck, the Rhinemaiden's arrival was as tempestuous as the sea, her eyes wild with the remnants of her rude awakening. The captain's commands were a distant rumble like thunder rolling over the waves. Molly's first task at the sails was met with a burst of manic energy; she scampered up the rigging with the agility of a creature of the deep, securing knots with a precision that belied her frazzled state. Her second attempt, however, saw her fingers slip, the ropes burning her palms as she struggled to maintain her grip, her task left unfinished as she cursed the ropes and the sea alike.
Her third effort was a frenzied dance along the beam, her movements erratic yet effective as she aligned the sail with a gust of wind. But as the work wore on, the physical toll of her exertions became evident. Molly's final task was marred by a critical lapse in her strength; her body, pushed beyond its limits, faltered, and she collapsed, her breath ragged, her limbs leaden with exhaustion.
As she lay gasping on the deck, the world spun around her—a whirlpool of fatigue and failure. Her last conscious thought, a whispered lament to Nettles, was lost in the creak of timber and the slap of waves against the hull. The Rhinemaiden had given her all, but the sea, as ever, demanded more.
OOC: Rolls Breackdown
Molly Munchausen - Acrobatics skill check for climbing ropes and rigging. Setting Sail DC 14 Acrobatics Skill Check:17 Acrobatics Skill Check: 06 Acrobatics Skill Check:21
Kallith stumbles on deck, looking around at the meagre crew of the craft. She is distrustful of the situation, having just survived one horror after another. At least, she thought, the horses had been left outside of the city, so they wouldn't have to come in conflict with the horrible horde infesting it.
Her stance is unsteady on the swaying deck. The rivers and lakes of her home had nothing on the moving mountains that was the open sea. She tries hard to suppress any oncoming seasickness, imagining that she was a squirrel on swaying branches again.
She perks up as the captain explains that the vessel is supposed to provide an escort to the other too. Making a show of making herself useful, she catches the others in a quiet moment. "Seems like luck is on our side. We may yet find out where Isbiel is being transported to."
The firbolg stows most of her bulky equipment in the lower deck and tries to make herself useful. Gauging the direction of the wind [Nature 19] to estimate the sway of the water and the direction of the wind, she adjusts the rigging accordingly with trial and error. Pulling the heavy ropes and pulley systems proved to be a challenge [Athletics 11] and when she tries to help on the main mast by fixing a loose reinforcing patch, she slips and tumbles onto deck [Acrobatics 3]. All the effort, combined with the days strain has taken its toll. [Con Save 5]
Breathing heavily, Kallith leans against the railing. She felt ill, her face slick with rain and the spray of the waves.
Octo is not sure how to deal with the recent turn of events. From a bar fight to being on a ship heading who knows where in… in what ... two days?
“Well, this is what I signed up for when I left my home to make my mark in the world above” he tells himself.
Knowing nothing else about seamanship, he leans into what he is good at, strength and physical prowess. He immediately helps by pulling ropes and hoisting sails. Anything that requires physical labor, he is there. It feels good to exert himself after creeping through the city of the undead.
Dornin looks around him at the vessel and all its components, having never been deck before yet he is now expected to do such tremendous labor. If his elven mother could see him now, she would surely be disappointed with his choices. Coming from a home life of sages and scholars, he never thought he would be participating in such activities.
Dornin ties his hair in to a bun and pulls the straps on the leather-bound tome on his hip and begins to 'help'- if that's what someone might call it. The hour starts fine as he gathers his energy back and begins to work, seeming useful to allies with quick and precise movements. However, it seems that the past two days of exhaustion is starting to catch up to him as he starts to fumble and topple, now more of a burden than anything. His muscles ache and his movements slow to almost a halt, the ship's swaying begin to make him feel uneasy. " I do not know how much more I can keep this up, I am starting to feel that I might..might.." Dornin finishes by throwing his head over the rail of the boat, violently releasing about a days worth of rations from his stomach over the side of the ship all at once. He collapses, leaning his back against the rail and tears in his eyes. "By the nine hells, I'm starting to hate this decision”. He lays his hand firmly across his mouth to avoid any more unwanted vomit.
in awe of the workings of a ship… she does her best to follow Molly watching in awe as the seasoned sailor practically runs beams ropes belay pins and so many knots…
Sleight of hand tying knots for rigging sails 26 7 26
Scurrying across the beams, scampering up the rope, and trying desperately to keep your footing, and your lunch while the schooner slips and heaves beneath you. Slowly, so slowly it begins to turn in the wide shallow bay, the tide quickly slipping out to sea, the sand and silt filled basin rising up to meet the keel of the ship. Pisking up momentum, Sheela hollers for the main sail, rope is tugged, knots pop loose and with a gret whipping sound the sail unfurls, the beam dropping into place with a loud snap. Wind catches and thrusts the ship forward only to lurch hard. The water dropping quickly, the last sand bar rubs against the keel, threatening to stop the ship where it sits.
Enough momentum and barely enough water allow it to plow through the sandy shoal and with a pop of motion it hits the open sea. The wind catches and the schooner races into the eager embrace of the waves. The captain emerges from his quarters, he looks forward, then back and with a grin "Well now, we might just make dogs of you yet." pointing at the collapsed Molly "You two take her down and get yourselves some rest. The two of you look like you still have fight, keep at it and do whatever Sheela commands" he gestures for Octo and Chandle to remain.
The Captain retrieves a falcon from his quarters, ensuring a note is securely attached he flips the bird into the air, a nod at Sheela and he retires himself. The night soon blooms with a silver radiance, quickly turning to golds and ambers as the sun rises over the waves. The next day is a steady rhythm of checking knots, and pushing the beams into place. The Captain seems quiet and pensive, awaiting the return of his messenger. He spends time in his quarters, along the rail, or in the hold, mostly ignoring the rest of the crew.
You are stuck on board The Sirens Folly, destination unknown, time to arrive unknown, but hopefully towards Isbiel. To many questions and the captain does not seem the one to offer answers.
Octo does the work with no complaint, he welcomes the new skills, especially as they are physical. But he hasn't forgot his mission, his companions, or Isbiel.
He watches the captain, examining his moves, the way he carries himself. He's trying to deduce, in a one on one fight, could he take him.
Insight(specifically to octo vs captain in a one on one fight): 7
Kallith heads down, not in much shape to be useful in the steering of the ship. There, she looks for a hammock to hang up. She plops in, hoping that the countermotion of the sleeping accomodation would help her forget where she was and how they were sailing off into the unknown.
Many questions swim in her mind. In her dreams, she poses them to the faint image of the goddess, not getting much useful in the way of a reply, but finding solace in the ritual. Where they ever going to be able to free Isbel from the grips of these assassins? Where was the boat taking them? How long would this journey last? At which port and how far from home would they end up?
As dawn stretched its pale fingers over the sea, Molly awoke nestled in the cramped but familiar confines of her makeshift sanctuary deep within the bowels of the Siren's Folly. Her slumber had been deep, untroubled by the rocking of the ship or the distant creaks and groans that spoke of a vessel long acquainted with the ocean's capricious moods. Nettles, ever her silent companion, lay beside her, its glittering aquamarine gemstone eyes catching the first glimmers of light that filtered down into the Rhinemaiden's darkened world.
With a stomach grumbling louder than the distant thunder on the horizon, Molly scrambled from her hammock, her movements a cacophony of clinks and clatters as she disturbed the collection of strange trinkets and baubles that adorned her nook. She made her way to the galley, her steps unsure on the swaying deck, guided by the dim memory of where the crew kept their provisions. Grabbing what she could—a hunk of hard cheese, a stale biscuit, and her rum ration—Molly clambered up the mast to the crow's nest, her ascent as erratic as the thoughts that swirled like a maelstrom in her mind.
Perched high above the deck, with the world shrinking below, Molly broke her fast. As she nibbled on the meager fare, the sea stretched out before her like a vast, undulating desert of blues and greens. Nettles sat beside her, its sewn lips forever sealed yet seemingly whispering secrets of the deep and the dark currents that flowed beneath them. Molly sang softly to her doll, her voice a bizarre melody that wove through the salty air, blending with the cry of gulls and the whisper of the wind. The song was a peculiar tapestry of madness and melody, enchanting and eerie, carrying far across the water as the sun rose, painting the sky with strokes of crimson and gold.
Here, in the solitude of the crow's nest, with the ocean's vastness enveloping her, Molly found a momentary peace—a respite from the chaos of the world below, where the past and future were as elusive and shifting as the tides. Her laughter, tinged with the edge of lunacy, echoed softly as she shared her thoughts with Nettles, the only confidante who would never judge, question, or betray. As the ship cut through the waves, carrying its motley crew towards an uncertain destiny, Molly remained aloft, lost in her own world, a queen presiding over a kingdom of salt and spray, her decree carried on the wind, her madness hidden in plain sight.
Chandle when she found a place on the floor to sleep fell into a dream, not flying but swimming. The sunlight and aquatic plants fish and weird creatures, but the dream changes as dreams do, now out of breath and far from the surface, ripples of an undead sailor on the periphery of her sight, a breathless moment sinking…
Chandle wakes soaked in a cold sweat. She is gulping and gasping sweet air. She places both hands on the hard deck boards beneath her. After a couple minutes she goes in search of a drink.
This sea is so much bigger than she ever imagined. These last few days have been a whirlwind of events. Was that Molly climbing the mast, wow she is adapt at maneuvering this vessel.
Dornin limps himself down into the belly of the ship, feeling the soreness in every fibre of muscle. Finding what he would assume to be a comfortable place to lean until dawn, however, only winks of sleep is had by him throughout the night. Flashes of undead and the rocking ocean keep his mind from fully resting. In the early morning, before the sun penetrates the horizon, Dornin keeps his mind at ease by focusing on his reading and research, trying to fully grasp the magic he possesses with his patron Geryon. The serpentine devil is wrapped to his soul and he feels it becoming unbearable to resist his influences. Perhaps he may find some knowledge in whatever land they travel to next. Either way, Dornin’s moral is at an all time low, with only the happiness he embraces from his friends helping him by, knowing he’s not in this alone. When he hears the sound of bodies waking in the morning, he will head to the deck to see what is on the agenda for the day, hoping for less labour.
The day stretches on, the ocean a rolling turquoise and deep blue in all directions. No land, no clouds, the cerulean blue sky seems to meet, and meld with the waves. Only the sun keeps you oriented as it tracks across the sky. Unrelenting the heat and radiance baking the weather worn wood of the deck. The Schooner sways and heaves with every swell that hits it broadside. The ship creaking as the timbers rub with the movement.
The Captain spends much of the day huddled with Sheela at the helm, occasionally one or the other creaks open a large desk near the wheel. Maps and charts tacked into the weather proof casing. Instruments, a compass, and straight edge held in their place. Consulting their location they nod or speak and adjust course. The rest of the day, they are alone at the helm, either Sheela in her quarters under the foredeck, or the Captain within his under the aft deck. At one point for a couple hours, Skit is left at the Helm, Both Sheela and the captain in his quarters having lunch.
Late in the afternoon. A black speck stands starkly against the blue sky. The only thing to look at within the expanse of blue. Salt spray stings your eyes as it surges over the foredeck. Looking on it grows larger, and larger, until a falcon circles downward to land upon a railing near the Helm. The Captain seems pleased, relieved, retrieving the bird and its message. The large man puzzles over the words, his lips sounding out each one slowly. His eyes narrow, he looks up at the collected crew upon his deck. Anger flushes his jowls involuntarily but he seems to get ahold quickly. Dropping the fragment of paper into a lantern he speaks quickly to Sheela then retires to his quarters. Sheela leaves the helm to Skit shortly after, striding into the lower decks.
Molly is fending for herself. The Ships cook is one of the dead now roaming the streets of Port Llast. He was one of the nice ones. Dried fruit, a fresh orange and only slighlty moldy bread. Sheela storms in to the galley, slapping the back of the girls head she demands "What the dark you do this time?" Sheela doesn't even wait for a reply, "Captains hot, near boiling, never seen him this bad. Whaddy do girl?". Another swat at the blonde mop of hair, not hard, it feels even worse, it feels like, disappointment. "Dont keep him waiting, not this time" she says, slight resignation in her voice.
The day drags on with no destination in sight, clouds, black and angry have begun to blow from the north. Skit warns of a storm in the next couple hours, directing you all to batten everything down. Lock it, tie it, secure it, everything. The evening becomes a hectic pace of labor. The Captain remains absent through out the evening, even as the storm approaches. Waves buffet the ship, tossing her back and forth while Sheela struggles to maintain course.
During the course of the day, please describe what you would do. Other than swabbing the deck, hoisting the sail, or taking direction from Skit.
Sitting behind a small desk, the large man looks up at Molly, the simmering anger giving his face a flush of deep crimson. Sheela was right, he was about to explode. "What side you on girl" he demands. "I know who they are. Do you? tell me you are to stupid to know. You have brought the enemy upon my very ship. I should have you keelhauled for this" He is trying to keep his voice down, woefully unsuccessfully, it carries out of the small room and across the deck. "Your answers better be good girl" he demands waiting for Mollies reply.
Kallith spends much of her time staring into the waters, now being able to appreciate its wondrous depths and many-colored hues during the day. She wonders what it must feel like to plunge into its depths, being able to explore it like the fish did so effortlessly. Her outfit has been reduced to the necessities of the work and she is once again quick to make quips and jokes as the day goes on. "That's the farthest I've ever been away! Think of the places we will get to see."
The firbolg is so focused on the here and now that she occasionally forgets what they were even here for. The sea wind in her hair, the rough creaking deck beneath her feet, this is what it felt like to be alive. She tows the sail lines with Octo, asks Chandle about her home to take her mind off the endless ocean and tries to look over Dornins shoulder into his book.
When the captains shouts are audible on deck, she tenses up, looks to the others. She grips her amulet instinctively. "That bird must have snitched on us."
Walking topside feeling every wave is beginning to create a sickness in Chandle’s gut. Her recent dreams are keeping her near the center of the ship away from the rails.
When Kallith comes over to talk Chandle begins tell her life story, she normally would not but is desperate for distraction and as she tells her tale, her nausea passes. Feeling her recent dreams fade away she looks to Kallith, “Thank you friend, please know you have helped me immensely. However much of what I’ve told you is very personal please keep it between us.”
When the bird delivers the captain his news Chandle can see the gig is up, but what now?
Molly saved my life I’ll follow her lead, what an odd lass.
Octo stays as busy as possible, to not think of the lack of land beneath his feet. By being useful, he also hopes to ingratiate himself a bit with Skit and Sheela. He will engage in small talk, telling stories about his home in the hopes of hearing some stories of their own. He hopes to find out where they are heading, what to expect, and how Isbiel fits into whatever machinations he’s found himself in.
In the dimly lit cabin, shadows played ominously across Mad Molly's face as she leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. Her voice, dripping with sarcastic whimsy, broke the eerie quiet. "Captain, du hast alles falsch verstanden! I haven't brought den Feind onto your ship; I've brought the enemy vor dir auf die Knie!"
Suddenly, the wisp of a girl's face went vacant, and she looked confused, her eyes flickering like the lanterns that swayed above. "What was your other Frage again? Something über Kielholen, yes, please. I've been in the mood for a gutes altmodisches Kielholen, fest und richtig. Lass uns damit anfangen; my keel isn't going to haul itself!" She stood up, her movements sharp and erratic, and moved around to his side of the desk. Flopping down upon it on her belly, she declared, "I'm ready to be richtig und ordentlich kielgeholt, captain; punish me. Ich bin ein böses, böses Mädchen."The Rhinemaiden's laughter then burst forth, maniacal and echoing eerily throughout the cabin, mingling with the creaking of the ship as if in chorus with the sea itself. She looked back at him, disappointment painted grotesquely on her face. "As to which side ich stehe, die Antwort is simple: I'm on der Seite des Chaos, the side that dances with the Leere und flüstert Geheimnisse to the stars. I'm on the side of the unermesslichen Tiefen, where Realität bends, and Vernunft shatters. Care to komm mit? I've got room für noch einen."
Molly's giggles crescendoed into wild, unrestrained laughter as she stood, pacing the room with an increasing fervor. Each word she spat out grew louder and more unhinged, "And as for you, captain, das war enttäuschend; I didn't feel etwas. Will es noch etwas else?"The shadows in the cabin danced devilishly around her, as if alive to the tune of her madness, making the space feel confined and infinitely more sinister.
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Chandle climbs aboard. “Captain, what are your orders then, sir?” Chandle spares Molly a sideways glance. Everything Chandle owns is soaked, she nearly lost the fingers on her left hand, and now that the adrenaline is gone she feels completely drained of energy. She even has a sway never having been on a large ship.
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
In the fading light of dusk, the Rhinemaiden stood diminutive yet unyielding beside the towering figure of her captain. As the leather satchel changed hands, her eyes darted from the captain's stern visage to the horizon, where the sea whispered secrets only she could hear—or so Nettles assured her in a susurrus only Molly's ears could discern. The captain's booming voice seemed to echo from the depths, his threats washing over her like the chill ocean spray.
Mad Molly merrily responded to the captain with an unhinged cackle, a sound like breaking waves against the ship's hull, and called back with a mad glint in her eye, "Your seadogs sind Fischköder, they ignorierten the warning of Brineheart's Zeichen, but I didn't. Ich habe gehorcht, to stand here before you! Are you going to make me das Brett gehen captain, du zuerst? Umberlee singt deinen Namen captain, do you hören sie as I do?"
The Rhinemaiden's voice was a haunting melody that danced on the wind. "Yes, yes, captain, ertrunkene Ratten for your crew oder to make a tasty haggish stew! Should I put the water auf den Koch?" Her words, a bizarre mixture of threat and jest, echoed strangely across the dark waters. Though nonsensical to some, it carried the weight of her chaotic intent. She waved cheerfully, a gesture both inviting and eerie, to the sodden group below. Her laugh, tinged with lunacy, trailed off as the blonde girl turned and scurried below deck.
Deep down in the bowels of the Siren's Folly, Molly found refuge among the shadows. Her sanctuary was a cobwebbed corner where the wood creaked mournfully with the sway of the ship. She fashioned a nest of sorts amidst a collection of bizarre trinkets and the musty scent of brine and decay. A hammock hung like a cocoon between aged barrels, swaying gently with the rhythm of the sea. Damp clothes were discarded, and she slipped into something dry, the fabric clinging to her skin as if afraid to let go.
With Nettles nestled securely in her arms, Molly lay back, the hammock enveloping her like a dark embrace. Her lips moved in silent conversation with her silent companion, her voice a whisper lost amidst the creaking of the ship and the call of the distant waves. She sang softly, a lullaby that was both a balm and a spell woven with threads of madness and melancholy. As the ship cut through the waters, carrying them into the uncertain embrace of the night, Molly's song merged with the sound of the sea—a symphony of the damned, playing only for those who dared listen.
The Captain clears the ladder, stepping aside as Dornin climbs to the deck. Before the rest of you have a chance he pushes a coil of rope down upon your heads. The heavy , twisted strand is tied to the rail above. "Hoist the boat and lash it to the side, I aint waiting for the tides to rush out. Were setting sail." He looks around noting only the four of you, the galley boy, a young skinny lad of maybe 14 summers. His frame is rail thin, sores pock the exposed skin. The only other crew mate, a tall lanky female, hers eyes are orbs of black with a cruel sneer upon her lips. "Where in the hells is the wench" he bellows, loud enough to carry back to the shore. A dismissive glance at the woman "retrieve her, NOW" His anger is palpable, a rage all consuming, the tall woman leaps away at his order.
Addressing the young lad, and by default the rest of you, "We leave now, get them hoisting the foresail, we need to tack out of this cursed bay." More directly at the four of you, "If you be climbing aboard, there's no time fer restin, make yourself useful, I don't feed whelps. Do what the lad says and get us moving"
Molly;s eyes begin to close, the emotion and exertion of the last two days washing over her, a familiar feeling of the rhythmic embrace of the brine. Shouting can be heard above decks, muffled by the wood as well as her mind simply drifting away. Pain shoots up through her shoulder, it impacts hard upon the wooden beams beneath her cot. Shined smooth from the boots of a hundred sailors. Still no less hard for the years of abrasion. The Ships Navigator stands over you, glaring down with the pits of darkness, "Captain needs you and he aint going to be patient" she says this last part with a cruel glee, knowing full well the punishment for disobedience.
Returning to the deck, the navigator takes her spot at the wheel, leaving Molly alone with a simmering Captain, "It takes five to run this ship" He says, his tone as one teaching a lesson, "Sheela has her job, that's one, the lad is doing the work, that's two, you barely make for a hand and those useless rats you brought on board, together they still amount to nothing" The implication hangs in the air, there are not enough crew, and the Captain isn't going to lash a rope or hoist a sail, leaving it up to you. "The tide will be out soon, leaving us high and dry. We need to catch those ships if were to be paid as an escort, you can rest when were at sea." He turns towards his quarters and disappears behind a closed door.
The tide is going out quickly, you have an hour to get the schooner turned and headed out to sea. An hour is tight for an experienced crew and only the galley boy 'Skit' and Molly have experience. Getting the ship out of the bay and under sail requires 4 mates and a navigator. Sheela, the Navigator is at the helm.
All five of you need to work together to hoist the sails, tie them off, swing the beam to tack in the right direction and clear the bay within 60 minutes. Molly's experience on the ship grants her advantage on one of her skill checks. Kallith, Octo, Dornin and Chandle have no experience and so roll normally.
Setting Sail DC 14 Roll three (3) skill checks, can be the same or three separate, duplicates are fine within your own sheet and others. How do they help you accomplish the task?
Success are worth an additional 0 minutes, Failures are an additional +5 minutes. Anything less than 60 minutes will get you out of the bay. You can imagine the fury and anger in the captain if you do not succeed.
Once finished rolling the three skill checks, roll for exhaustion DC 12
The above assumes you are following the captains orders....perhaps you have other ideas of how your character would react.
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
In the dim, damp hold of the Siren's Folly, Molly had nearly succumbed to the siren call of sleep, her mind adrift in the murky waters of dreams and delusions whispered by Nettles. However, the sudden intrusion of Sheela, the ship's stern navigator, shattered the calm like a storm breaching the deck. Her wake-up was a harsh jolt back to reality, marked by the sting of the wooden deck against her shoulder as she was unceremoniously roused.
"The Captain's ordering you on deck, now," Sheela sneered with a venom that seemed to drip from her black orb-like eyes. With her mind still tangled in the threads of sleep, Molly reacted with a wild, guttural shriek, her limbs flailing against the unwelcome anchor to wakefulness. Her response to the navigator was a cacophony of garbled curses and mad laughter, a chaotic symphony that echoed eerily through the bowels of the ship.
Back on deck, the Rhinemaiden's arrival was as tempestuous as the sea, her eyes wild with the remnants of her rude awakening. The captain's commands were a distant rumble like thunder rolling over the waves. Molly's first task at the sails was met with a burst of manic energy; she scampered up the rigging with the agility of a creature of the deep, securing knots with a precision that belied her frazzled state. Her second attempt, however, saw her fingers slip, the ropes burning her palms as she struggled to maintain her grip, her task left unfinished as she cursed the ropes and the sea alike.
Her third effort was a frenzied dance along the beam, her movements erratic yet effective as she aligned the sail with a gust of wind. But as the work wore on, the physical toll of her exertions became evident. Molly's final task was marred by a critical lapse in her strength; her body, pushed beyond its limits, faltered, and she collapsed, her breath ragged, her limbs leaden with exhaustion.
As she lay gasping on the deck, the world spun around her—a whirlpool of fatigue and failure. Her last conscious thought, a whispered lament to Nettles, was lost in the creak of timber and the slap of waves against the hull. The Rhinemaiden had given her all, but the sea, as ever, demanded more.
Molly Munchausen - Acrobatics skill check for climbing ropes and rigging.
Setting Sail DC 14
Acrobatics Skill Check: 17
Acrobatics Skill Check: 06
Acrobatics Skill Check: 21
Exhaustion DC 12
Constitution Exhaustion Check: 2 (Natural 1 Critical Failure)
Kallith stumbles on deck, looking around at the meagre crew of the craft. She is distrustful of the situation, having just survived one horror after another. At least, she thought, the horses had been left outside of the city, so they wouldn't have to come in conflict with the horrible horde infesting it.
Her stance is unsteady on the swaying deck. The rivers and lakes of her home had nothing on the moving mountains that was the open sea. She tries hard to suppress any oncoming seasickness, imagining that she was a squirrel on swaying branches again.
She perks up as the captain explains that the vessel is supposed to provide an escort to the other too. Making a show of making herself useful, she catches the others in a quiet moment. "Seems like luck is on our side. We may yet find out where Isbiel is being transported to."
The firbolg stows most of her bulky equipment in the lower deck and tries to make herself useful. Gauging the direction of the wind [Nature 19] to estimate the sway of the water and the direction of the wind, she adjusts the rigging accordingly with trial and error. Pulling the heavy ropes and pulley systems proved to be a challenge [Athletics 11] and when she tries to help on the main mast by fixing a loose reinforcing patch, she slips and tumbles onto deck [Acrobatics 3]. All the effort, combined with the days strain has taken its toll. [Con Save 5]
Breathing heavily, Kallith leans against the railing. She felt ill, her face slick with rain and the spray of the waves.
Octo is not sure how to deal with the recent turn of events. From a bar fight to being on a ship heading who knows where in… in what ... two days?
“Well, this is what I signed up for when I left my home to make my mark in the world above” he tells himself.
Knowing nothing else about seamanship, he leans into what he is good at, strength and physical prowess. He immediately helps by pulling ropes and hoisting sails. Anything that requires physical labor, he is there. It feels good to exert himself after creeping through the city of the undead.
Athletics: 17, 9, 23
Exhaustion: 18
Dornin looks around him at the vessel and all its components, having never been deck before yet he is now expected to do such tremendous labor. If his elven mother could see him now, she would surely be disappointed with his choices. Coming from a home life of sages and scholars, he never thought he would be participating in such activities.
Dornin ties his hair in to a bun and pulls the straps on the leather-bound tome on his hip and begins to 'help'- if that's what someone might call it. The hour starts fine as he gathers his energy back and begins to work, seeming useful to allies with quick and precise movements. However, it seems that the past two days of exhaustion is starting to catch up to him as he starts to fumble and topple, now more of a burden than anything. His muscles ache and his movements slow to almost a halt, the ship's swaying begin to make him feel uneasy. " I do not know how much more I can keep this up, I am starting to feel that I might..might.." Dornin finishes by throwing his head over the rail of the boat, violently releasing about a days worth of rations from his stomach over the side of the ship all at once. He collapses, leaning his back against the rail and tears in his eyes. "By the nine hells, I'm starting to hate this decision”. He lays his hand firmly across his mouth to avoid any more unwanted vomit.
Acrobatics:19/6/8
Exhaustion:5
Chandle
in awe of the workings of a ship… she does her best to follow Molly watching in awe as the seasoned sailor practically runs beams ropes belay pins and so many knots…
Sleight of hand tying knots for rigging sails 26 7 26
exhaustion 20
Scurrying across the beams, scampering up the rope, and trying desperately to keep your footing, and your lunch while the schooner slips and heaves beneath you. Slowly, so slowly it begins to turn in the wide shallow bay, the tide quickly slipping out to sea, the sand and silt filled basin rising up to meet the keel of the ship. Pisking up momentum, Sheela hollers for the main sail, rope is tugged, knots pop loose and with a gret whipping sound the sail unfurls, the beam dropping into place with a loud snap. Wind catches and thrusts the ship forward only to lurch hard. The water dropping quickly, the last sand bar rubs against the keel, threatening to stop the ship where it sits.
Enough momentum and barely enough water allow it to plow through the sandy shoal and with a pop of motion it hits the open sea. The wind catches and the schooner races into the eager embrace of the waves. The captain emerges from his quarters, he looks forward, then back and with a grin "Well now, we might just make dogs of you yet." pointing at the collapsed Molly "You two take her down and get yourselves some rest. The two of you look like you still have fight, keep at it and do whatever Sheela commands" he gestures for Octo and Chandle to remain.
The Captain retrieves a falcon from his quarters, ensuring a note is securely attached he flips the bird into the air, a nod at Sheela and he retires himself. The night soon blooms with a silver radiance, quickly turning to golds and ambers as the sun rises over the waves. The next day is a steady rhythm of checking knots, and pushing the beams into place. The Captain seems quiet and pensive, awaiting the return of his messenger. He spends time in his quarters, along the rail, or in the hold, mostly ignoring the rest of the crew.
You are stuck on board The Sirens Folly, destination unknown, time to arrive unknown, but hopefully towards Isbiel. To many questions and the captain does not seem the one to offer answers.
Long Rest Complete
Octo does the work with no complaint, he welcomes the new skills, especially as they are physical. But he hasn't forgot his mission, his companions, or Isbiel.
He watches the captain, examining his moves, the way he carries himself. He's trying to deduce, in a one on one fight, could he take him.
Insight (specifically to octo vs captain in a one on one fight): 7
Kallith heads down, not in much shape to be useful in the steering of the ship. There, she looks for a hammock to hang up. She plops in, hoping that the countermotion of the sleeping accomodation would help her forget where she was and how they were sailing off into the unknown.
Many questions swim in her mind. In her dreams, she poses them to the faint image of the goddess, not getting much useful in the way of a reply, but finding solace in the ritual. Where they ever going to be able to free Isbel from the grips of these assassins? Where was the boat taking them? How long would this journey last? At which port and how far from home would they end up?
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
As dawn stretched its pale fingers over the sea, Molly awoke nestled in the cramped but familiar confines of her makeshift sanctuary deep within the bowels of the Siren's Folly. Her slumber had been deep, untroubled by the rocking of the ship or the distant creaks and groans that spoke of a vessel long acquainted with the ocean's capricious moods. Nettles, ever her silent companion, lay beside her, its glittering aquamarine gemstone eyes catching the first glimmers of light that filtered down into the Rhinemaiden's darkened world.
With a stomach grumbling louder than the distant thunder on the horizon, Molly scrambled from her hammock, her movements a cacophony of clinks and clatters as she disturbed the collection of strange trinkets and baubles that adorned her nook. She made her way to the galley, her steps unsure on the swaying deck, guided by the dim memory of where the crew kept their provisions. Grabbing what she could—a hunk of hard cheese, a stale biscuit, and her rum ration—Molly clambered up the mast to the crow's nest, her ascent as erratic as the thoughts that swirled like a maelstrom in her mind.
Perched high above the deck, with the world shrinking below, Molly broke her fast. As she nibbled on the meager fare, the sea stretched out before her like a vast, undulating desert of blues and greens. Nettles sat beside her, its sewn lips forever sealed yet seemingly whispering secrets of the deep and the dark currents that flowed beneath them. Molly sang softly to her doll, her voice a bizarre melody that wove through the salty air, blending with the cry of gulls and the whisper of the wind. The song was a peculiar tapestry of madness and melody, enchanting and eerie, carrying far across the water as the sun rose, painting the sky with strokes of crimson and gold.
Here, in the solitude of the crow's nest, with the ocean's vastness enveloping her, Molly found a momentary peace—a respite from the chaos of the world below, where the past and future were as elusive and shifting as the tides. Her laughter, tinged with the edge of lunacy, echoed softly as she shared her thoughts with Nettles, the only confidante who would never judge, question, or betray. As the ship cut through the waves, carrying its motley crew towards an uncertain destiny, Molly remained aloft, lost in her own world, a queen presiding over a kingdom of salt and spray, her decree carried on the wind, her madness hidden in plain sight.
Chandle when she found a place on the floor to sleep fell into a dream, not flying but swimming. The sunlight and aquatic plants fish and weird creatures, but the dream changes as dreams do, now out of breath and far from the surface, ripples of an undead sailor on the periphery of her sight, a breathless moment sinking…
Chandle wakes soaked in a cold sweat. She is gulping and gasping sweet air. She places both hands on the hard deck boards beneath her. After a couple minutes she goes in search of a drink.
This sea is so much bigger than she ever imagined. These last few days have been a whirlwind of events.
Was that Molly climbing the mast, wow she is adapt at maneuvering this vessel.
Dornin limps himself down into the belly of the ship, feeling the soreness in every fibre of muscle. Finding what he would assume to be a comfortable place to lean until dawn, however, only winks of sleep is had by him throughout the night. Flashes of undead and the rocking ocean keep his mind from fully resting.
In the early morning, before the sun penetrates the horizon, Dornin keeps his mind at ease by focusing on his reading and research, trying to fully grasp the magic he possesses with his patron Geryon. The serpentine devil is wrapped to his soul and he feels it becoming unbearable to resist his influences. Perhaps he may find some knowledge in whatever land they travel to next. Either way, Dornin’s moral is at an all time low, with only the happiness he embraces from his friends helping him by, knowing he’s not in this alone.
When he hears the sound of bodies waking in the morning, he will head to the deck to see what is on the agenda for the day, hoping for less labour.
The day stretches on, the ocean a rolling turquoise and deep blue in all directions. No land, no clouds, the cerulean blue sky seems to meet, and meld with the waves. Only the sun keeps you oriented as it tracks across the sky. Unrelenting the heat and radiance baking the weather worn wood of the deck. The Schooner sways and heaves with every swell that hits it broadside. The ship creaking as the timbers rub with the movement.
The Captain spends much of the day huddled with Sheela at the helm, occasionally one or the other creaks open a large desk near the wheel. Maps and charts tacked into the weather proof casing. Instruments, a compass, and straight edge held in their place. Consulting their location they nod or speak and adjust course. The rest of the day, they are alone at the helm, either Sheela in her quarters under the foredeck, or the Captain within his under the aft deck. At one point for a couple hours, Skit is left at the Helm, Both Sheela and the captain in his quarters having lunch.
Late in the afternoon. A black speck stands starkly against the blue sky. The only thing to look at within the expanse of blue. Salt spray stings your eyes as it surges over the foredeck. Looking on it grows larger, and larger, until a falcon circles downward to land upon a railing near the Helm. The Captain seems pleased, relieved, retrieving the bird and its message. The large man puzzles over the words, his lips sounding out each one slowly. His eyes narrow, he looks up at the collected crew upon his deck. Anger flushes his jowls involuntarily but he seems to get ahold quickly. Dropping the fragment of paper into a lantern he speaks quickly to Sheela then retires to his quarters. Sheela leaves the helm to Skit shortly after, striding into the lower decks.
Molly is fending for herself. The Ships cook is one of the dead now roaming the streets of Port Llast. He was one of the nice ones. Dried fruit, a fresh orange and only slighlty moldy bread. Sheela storms in to the galley, slapping the back of the girls head she demands "What the dark you do this time?" Sheela doesn't even wait for a reply, "Captains hot, near boiling, never seen him this bad. Whaddy do girl?". Another swat at the blonde mop of hair, not hard, it feels even worse, it feels like, disappointment. "Dont keep him waiting, not this time" she says, slight resignation in her voice.
The day drags on with no destination in sight, clouds, black and angry have begun to blow from the north. Skit warns of a storm in the next couple hours, directing you all to batten everything down. Lock it, tie it, secure it, everything. The evening becomes a hectic pace of labor. The Captain remains absent through out the evening, even as the storm approaches. Waves buffet the ship, tossing her back and forth while Sheela struggles to maintain course.
During the course of the day, please describe what you would do. Other than swabbing the deck, hoisting the sail, or taking direction from Skit.
Sitting behind a small desk, the large man looks up at Molly, the simmering anger giving his face a flush of deep crimson. Sheela was right, he was about to explode. "What side you on girl" he demands. "I know who they are. Do you? tell me you are to stupid to know. You have brought the enemy upon my very ship. I should have you keelhauled for this" He is trying to keep his voice down, woefully unsuccessfully, it carries out of the small room and across the deck. "Your answers better be good girl" he demands waiting for Mollies reply.
Kallith spends much of her time staring into the waters, now being able to appreciate its wondrous depths and many-colored hues during the day. She wonders what it must feel like to plunge into its depths, being able to explore it like the fish did so effortlessly. Her outfit has been reduced to the necessities of the work and she is once again quick to make quips and jokes as the day goes on. "That's the farthest I've ever been away! Think of the places we will get to see."
The firbolg is so focused on the here and now that she occasionally forgets what they were even here for. The sea wind in her hair, the rough creaking deck beneath her feet, this is what it felt like to be alive. She tows the sail lines with Octo, asks Chandle about her home to take her mind off the endless ocean and tries to look over Dornins shoulder into his book.
When the captains shouts are audible on deck, she tenses up, looks to the others. She grips her amulet instinctively. "That bird must have snitched on us."
Walking topside feeling every wave is beginning to create a sickness in Chandle’s gut. Her recent dreams are keeping her near the center of the ship away from the rails.
When Kallith comes over to talk Chandle begins tell her life story, she normally would not but is desperate for distraction and as she tells her tale, her nausea passes. Feeling her recent dreams fade away she looks to Kallith, “Thank you friend, please know you have helped me immensely. However much of what I’ve told you is very personal please keep it between us.”
When the bird delivers the captain his news Chandle can see the gig is up, but what now?
Molly saved my life I’ll follow her lead, what an odd lass.
Octo stays as busy as possible, to not think of the lack of land beneath his feet. By being useful, he also hopes to ingratiate himself a bit with Skit and Sheela. He will engage in small talk, telling stories about his home in the hopes of hearing some stories of their own. He hopes to find out where they are heading, what to expect, and how Isbiel fits into whatever machinations he’s found himself in.
🥀Molly Munchausen🌊
In the dimly lit cabin, shadows played ominously across Mad Molly's face as she leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. Her voice, dripping with sarcastic whimsy, broke the eerie quiet. "Captain, du hast alles falsch verstanden! I haven't brought den Feind onto your ship; I've brought the enemy vor dir auf die Knie!"
Suddenly, the wisp of a girl's face went vacant, and she looked confused, her eyes flickering like the lanterns that swayed above. "What was your other Frage again? Something über Kielholen, yes, please. I've been in the mood for a gutes altmodisches Kielholen, fest und richtig. Lass uns damit anfangen; my keel isn't going to haul itself!" She stood up, her movements sharp and erratic, and moved around to his side of the desk. Flopping down upon it on her belly, she declared, "I'm ready to be richtig und ordentlich kielgeholt, captain; punish me. Ich bin ein böses, böses Mädchen." The Rhinemaiden's laughter then burst forth, maniacal and echoing eerily throughout the cabin, mingling with the creaking of the ship as if in chorus with the sea itself. She looked back at him, disappointment painted grotesquely on her face. "As to which side ich stehe, die Antwort is simple: I'm on der Seite des Chaos, the side that dances with the Leere und flüstert Geheimnisse to the stars. I'm on the side of the unermesslichen Tiefen, where Realität bends, and Vernunft shatters. Care to komm mit? I've got room für noch einen."
Molly's giggles crescendoed into wild, unrestrained laughter as she stood, pacing the room with an increasing fervor. Each word she spat out grew louder and more unhinged, "And as for you, captain, das war enttäuschend; I didn't feel etwas. Will es noch etwas else?" The shadows in the cabin danced devilishly around her, as if alive to the tune of her madness, making the space feel confined and infinitely more sinister.