Pirates & the Strange

[MrEdwardNigma]

Irshia, the Caribbean, Dawn:
Silme shook his head as the new prisoners were led onto the galley. Only this afternoon had they dumped the corpses of two more men who died at the oars in the sea, and they were already being replaced by new unfortunate souls. The prisoners gathered on the front deck and their shackles were taken off one by one. Silme had seen all this before. In a matter of minutes they'd be in new, tighter and rustier shackles, tied to the very ship. Still, they always seemed to enjoy these few minutes of relative freedom.

The new prisoners were a colourful bunch. Nine of them, which was two more than they had room for on the ship. They were clearly expecting some to give out quickly. Silme saw one of the guards hand a pouch to the helmsman. They were placing bets. The first man in the row was a likely candidate. He looked skinny, not at all muscular, just past his youth and totally out of place on the ship. His blue-green suit seemed to suggest some distinction, but everyone was equal here. Except off course Silme, who had managed to find the only worse place in life than being a prisoner on a galley: being a black prisoner on a galley. It looked like he wasn't alone anymore though, as the second man shared his skin-colour. He had scars all over his body, something Silme associated with slavery.

The third man in the row was also not white. Instead he appeared to be from the Empire, which was exotic to say the least and very rare in the middle of the Caribbean. Normally the man's snotty appearance would have caused a great deal of bets to be placed on him, but the next two people in the row seemed much likelier candidates. Girls. Two of them. They were quite attractive too, which was all the worse at sea. If they were ugly and they would just have to deal with the heavy work at the oars, but now they'd have to deal with the male guards as well at night, and they'd all want their turn before they were completely broken. Beasts. But Silme had to admit the females aroused some feelings in him too. That wasn't so strange, since he hadn't seen a woman in three months now. Three long months. Slavery was definitely better than this. He was beginning to regret stabbing his owner with a kitchen knife.

Next to the more piratey of the two women was a man who seemed like the very epitome of pirateness. He had a pegleg, a hook, a whole set of earrings and a smile that revealed just about as many golden teeth as regular ones. Most of his face was covered in thick, red hair, but somewhere in there shone two bright green eyes that had clearly not given up on life yet. the eyes were currenly occupied staring at the not-so-piratey looking girl's chest. The other one was closer, but she was also wearing a large black trenchcoat that covered up most of her body.

Next to the pirate was a man who was in every possible way non-descript, except for his extremely clean black hair. Next to him was another black-haired man who's most notable feature was a series of three scars across his left eye. Neither of these men were very likely to have bets placed upon them as them both seemed quite able-bodied.

Last in line was a fairly thin man who's eyes were darting about the place rapidly. He had black hair with sideburns, prominent teeth and a lean build. his clothes were all black, except that one bit where there was a gash and red all over. Beneath the shoulder with the torn clothing Silme could distinguish bandages. He assumed the man hadn't been caught without a fight.

The nine were led off and each took their places at the oars. Silme was glad to have the piratey girl join him. It was a nice change from Old Bob, who sat at his left and incessantly talked about fish, which seemed his one and only passion. Bob had been very glad to get the seat nearest the side of the ship.

The Caribbean, open sea, Afternoon:
The drum in the background beat the incessant rhythm of the oars. The noon sun had beaten down hard on the prisoners, but luckily now it had wavered and they sailed through a refreshing foggy patch of the ocean.

The ship's structure was quite simple. At the back it had a higher bit on top of which stood the helmsman and the captain. Beneath this bit was a door that led belowdecks. Between the helm and the oars sat five guards and the drummer, who slowly pounced away at his drum. The oarsmen or prisoners were seated on a sunken part of the deck on benches, with three men manning each oar, the exception being in this case two oars which had four men manning them. No-one had died today, yet. The oarsmen on each bench were chained to each other by their feet and the chain was also fastened to the side of the ship. In between the oars of the two sides of the ship ran a path that was as high as the rest of the deck, which the guards would occasionally pass across to see if everyone was working properly. At the front of the ship stood two more guards, who seemed to be concerned mainly with their game of dice.

From back to front, this is the order in which the prisoners were seated (This, off course, without spending time on those prisoners who aren't player characters):

Front Row, Right:
From the middle to the side: Jennifer, Silme and Old Bob

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From where they were seated they could hear the guards talking. They seemed quite worried and had forgotten about the bet they placed on the prisoners.
"These waters," one of them said, "is where it's supposed to roam"
"What is?" one of the younger soldiers asked.
"Well," said the oldest among them, polishing his cutlass, "No-one has ever actually seen it and come back alive. But this is the first sign"
"What is?" the soldier repeated, somewhat worried.
"The fog, son!" the older man said, raising his finger into the misty air.
"That's right," the man who began the story said, "They say it comes in the fog, and the, when you least expect it, it rises up from the depths and swallows your ship whole"
"But no-one's ever seen it" the younger man protested, "So how do they know?"
"Ah, but that's the thing" the oldest man continued, "They've seen ships heading out into the fog, and never making it to port"
The young man shivered.
"So what do they think it is?"
The old man shrugged, sick of the story, and silently continued to polish his cutlass.
"Some think it's a big fish" one of the others said, "some say it's a ghostship, and yet others say it's the fog itself that drives the crew mad. I myself, I think it's mermaids"
"Mermaids?" the young man asked in surprise.
"Oh, aye. I bet you've only heard them stories they tell the little kids by the fireside, but in truth they're angry vixen, luring sailors to sea and then devouring them"
"Actually, I thought they were a metaphor for the allure and danger of the sea" the young man said.
The other man shrugged. "Maybe, maybe"

Third Row, Right:
From the middle to the side: Desmond, Jonathan, wounded man

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"Psssst" the wounded man they were chained to whispered, "I'm going to need your help at the next stop"
This was the first thing he'd said throughout the whole day. He'd spent all of his time up until then wriggling in his cuffs, leaving Desmond and Jonathan to do the actual rowing, only the guy appeared to be observant enough to row along whenever a guard came by and he was wounded in the shoulder, so he was expected to do somewhat less than others. They hadn't complained, since it wouldn't do much good anyways. Surprisingly though after an entire day of work he had managed to open his cuffs.
"At the next stop, I need you to cause a distraction. In return, I'll undo your cuffs so you have a chance to escape"
He smiled. He clearly loved to impress people with his escapist arts.
"They call me The Ghost back on shore. No jail could keep me locked up, so they sent me off here. I escaped twice on the way"
The Ghost crawled down and started working on Jonathan's shackles, assuming they'd help him. Jonathan heard a click as the pressure on his ankles stopped. One of the guards in the front was looking at them quite suspiciously.

Seventh Row, Left:
From the middle to the side: Patrick, Beard #1, Beard #2, Beard #3

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Oh god, oh god, oh god, why did they have to place him here? They'd put Doctor Patrick Welshevic next to three thickly bearded men who lacked shirts and who spent their entire time singing. Merrily! Somehow the three freaks had reached an agreement and all sang sea shanties without stopping or taking breaks with no little deal of enthusiasm. This at first had seemed quite pleasant and fun, but the men had no rhythm whatsoever and just wouldn't stop. even if they could sing, it would get very dull after a while, but this was just plain torture. The only times they ever stopped singing was when one of them broke into tears after a particularly touching segment. Their lack of rythm also caused them to be extremely bad at manning the oars. They'd go faster than the beat or slower, but they'd never go as fast as the beat. They probably couldn't even hear the beat with all that singing. Patrick was exhausted from all the rowing in random, everchanging rythms and his ears hurt from the screaming men next to him.

They were probably slowing the ship down more than they were helping and it was visible that they'd been punished for this repeatedly by the countless bloody streaks on their backs, but today the guards didn't mind. One of them had specifically placed Patrick there and had come by to check up on him frequently before they hit the fog bank. Patrick suspected the man had bet againsts him and was waiting for him to drop dead from exhaustion and shanty overdose. The men were no good for conversation either, because after they'd introduced themselves as John, Pierre and Cornelis he hadn't gotten anything out of them but singing. Luckily Patrick could talk to Masik across the aisle if he yelled loud enough.

((Since you can see the row next to you, you're allowed to read Masik's part as well))

Seventh Row, Right:
From the middle to the side: Masik, soldier, large man, smuggler

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Masik had it easy where he was sitting. First of all there were four of them, instead of the normal three, which spread the workload quite a bit, and second of all there was a very large man in their row who handled most of the rowing by himself. The guy was fat and bald and from what little conversation he made Masik had concluded he was stupid, but he sure was strong too. The man next to him was still wearing his Ernhart soldier's uniform, though tattered and filthy. He'd been one of the guards once, but after letting one of the prisoners escape in an act of mercy they'd throw him in with the oarsmen. He still had it easier than most though, on this row. The last man had been condemned to the prison galley for smuggling. What exactly had earned him the right to sit here was unclear. Either way, his stay on the ship was less unpleasant than he'd imagined. His healing skills had made the guards to want him to live just that little bit longer. The man on the other side of the aisle seemed to be having more trouble though, even though he too was on a row of four.

((Since you can see the row next to you, you're allowed to read Patrick's part as well))

Twelfth Row, Left:
From the middle to the side: Xan, Samantha, pirate

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The man who had seemed so very piratey had indeed turned out to be a pirate. A captain even. They called him Scarlet Will on the sea, and to be fair they'd both heard of him, vaguely. He was quite chatty with Samantha and pretty much ignored Xan. His intentions were obvious of nature, but at least he distracted them somewhat of the rowing. He'd smiled as soon as the ship rolled into the fog.
"Ah, it has begun" Will said.
"See, my friends'll be here soon to pick up their captain. They wouldn't normally, no crew's that loyal, but we stumbled upon a treasure map of extra-ordinary value during our last expedition, and only I know where I hid it. If I hadn't got caught while shopping for provisions we'd be on our way there now... Listen, doll, I'm sure you wouldn't like to stay on this dusty old ship. What say you became my girl, and came with us?"
Will extended no such deal to Xan, and in fact seemed to have forgotten he existed.

((This first post is to establish your position on the ship and the general situation. I thought I'd let you all get to know each other (or the various NPCs). I placed you in pairs of two but don't expect to stay in this position long (well, unless you like being on a prison galley and will do nothing to escape...)
And here's the OOC, by the way. Please repost character sheets there)).

[Vespe Ratavo]

Huh. This isn't so bad, really. Just a lot of repetitive rowing. Gives you time, let's your mind wander. Jennifer took a look around. Not as good as being a dangerous, bloodthirsty pirate, though, she said, helpfully emphasizing that last bit for the guards. Not noticing any reaction from them, she sighed and turned to Slime. So what are you in for? Just for being black? Or did you actually do something? My name's Jennifer Noreen, mighty pirate. They caught us a while back. Of course, I managed to kill half of them before they took me down, again hoping the guards would get the message.

[Levyathyn]

Johnathan notices the guard eyeing them. His voice carries out, loud enough to be heard, in clear tones that belied his rugged nature. "What is it, pretty boy?" He asks at the guard, giving the wounded man a slight kick to know they were being watched. He hoped the man got the message. "See something you like?" He said to the guard, sneering. With a harsh, quiet laugh, he continues rowing.

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John is wearing a tattered shirt and simple, cuffed trousers. He seems disgusted with the shirt, but the cold, relentless spray from the ocean doesn't bother him.

[An Enemy Spy]

Desmond sighes contentedly as he rows. "Ah, the spray of the sea, the motherly caress of shackles against my skin. This really takes me back. The only thing missing is whips!" He turns to Jonathon. "Isn't this a positively splendid afternoon?"

[MrEdwardNigma]

One of the four guards in front got up and walked up the aisle in between the rows of oarsmen. He stopped at the third row on the right, inspecting every row on the way there. He'd brought the whip. It was a somewhat short thing, several leathery strings tied together, all with knots in them.
"What was that, prisoner? You got something to say?"
"No, sir, he was talking to me. Only been out at sea for a day and already getting a bit lonely" the wounded man said from his seat.
The guard looked at him sternly, and then burst out laughing. He continued walking along the aisle, checking every row of prisoners carefully.

Meanwhile the guards at the front had their own laugh.
"The lass thinks she's a pirate!" the oldest among them said, slapping his hand to his knee. They all laughed.

[Raz_Fox]

Samantha

Samantha pondered the idea for only a moment, before glancing about to see if any guards were nearby. When there were none, she leaned in closer to Will. "Certainly. However, keep in mind that I am nobody's girl, William. If you're looking for an obedient wench, look again." She softens her voice slightly. "I'm Samantha Michaelson. Give me a blade and I'll beat any man that stands against you..."

[Vespe Ratavo]

Jennifer frowned, then grinned slightly. Oh. Right. I guess they didn't tell you. Didn't want to scare you, I suppose. Well, if you're not convinced, how about you let me out of these? Have a little fight to liven things up? Surely a big, tough guard like you couldn't lose to a girl, now could he?

[An Enemy Spy]

Desmond speaks up. "Guard! Hey guard! When we get to the prison, can I have a bottle of polish? I want to keep my bars looking nice."

[MrEdwardNigma]

The guards stopped laughing.
"Look, wench, no-one gets out of their shackles, no matter what. Them's the rules. We ain't afraid of you lot. You've got nowhere to escape to anyways, we're at sea if you hadn't noticed, but the shackles stay on, no matter how much you'd like to take a breather"

One of the younger guards got up and walked over to Desmond, while the guard with the whip continued making his rounds.
"Look, prisoner, you need to learn two things," he said to Desmond, and looked at the other guards to see if they approved. He was clearly very new at this.
"First, if you talk to us or make any kind of trouble, you get the whip. Second, this, this right here, this is your prison. You aren't going anywhere. That is the second lesson. You're here to row our boat for us until your sentence is over"

Twelfth Row, Left:

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Scarlet Will's mood seemed to have been spoiled.
"Look, girly, I've got thirty burly men on that ship of mine and each one of them has ten times the experience you do. I don't need any more crewmates. If you won't be my wench, then you can stay here on this boat and rot"
As he finished his speech the guard with the whip stopped at their row, spotting his angry expression.
"Are there any problems here, prisoners?"

[Levyathyn]

Johnathan

Once the guard leaves, John glances at the dark-skinned man to his left, but doesn't answer the question. "Alright." John says, quietly, to the injured man. "We can't do this alone. Next time the guards turn away, switch with me, then do the chains on this guy." John says.

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I believe there were no handcuffs or chains, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe I am a free man.

[An Enemy Spy]

"And what exactly is the sentence for a lost hat and a wet dress? Forty years?"

[Vespe Ratavo]

Jennifer was about to say something about the guard being a coward, but thought better of it. He was right. They were in the middle of the ocean, and even if she could take out all the guards, then what? She sighed, and returned to rowing, keeping herself entertained by pondering all the myriad ways she could murder the guard.

[Raz_Fox]

Samantha

Samantha slowly turns to the guard, grinning. "Why, thank you for your concern, sir! I'm afraid it's only a minor difference of opinion, but we're capable of discussing it courteously. Isn't that right, William?" Without turning to see Will's face, she continues looking at the guard with an angelic smile.

[MrEdwardNigma]

The guard at the third row was quite taken aback by Desmond's comment.
"Well, ehrm, I-"
He looked at the other guards and then seemed to decide what to do.
"I think we've got one here!" he yelled to them, and the guards at the front got up and walked onto the aisle. This they had to see. Meanwhile, the guard who was inspecting the twelfth row heard the younger guard yell as well and came over, clearly deciding that all was okay in the twelfth row.
"So, what have we got here?" he asked.
"Well," said the oldest of the guards, sheathing the cutlass he'd been polishing, "It seems we've got a troublemaker"
He looked at Desmond.
"We've been waiting since the harbour for one of you boys to speak up so we could set an example"

Silme on the front row sighed. It was true, they always set an example after picking up new convicts. He suspected some of the guards actually thought it was fun.

The younger guard smiled, confident now.
"The punishment for insolence, my dear friend, is the whip" he said, adressing Desmond. Then he stepped aside. All the guards stood back, going to the beginning of the aisle, except the guard with the whip. He swung, and the leathery strings lashed Desmond's back. It made a sickening sound. he swung again, and lashed again, and went on doing this. It seemed to take forever.

[An Enemy Spy]

Desmond grits his teeth against the the pain and begins to laugh maniacally. "Izzat all you got? I've met prostitutes who whip harder than this!"

[Vespe Ratavo]

Jen grimaced at the sickening display, although Desmond's comment was slightly comforting, in a strange sort of way. She kept rowing, hoping they wouldn't take her earlier comment as insolence as well.

[Levyathyn]

John chuckles at the comment. "Come on, guys." He says to the guards. "Ease up on him. He's just antagonizing you so he won't have to row. Hell, I could use a break." John says, lughing again.

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Is it foggy?

[Lykainon]

Masik tried to shut out the sound of the punishment. While he had some degree of compassion for the man being whipped, he had no intention of showing it. Had he been free an in possession of the right equipment, he would glady have antagonized the guards himself. But not even the most powerful bokor, and certainly not Masik himself, could use their powers while chained like this.

As he kept rowing, a task that felt more demeaning than being beaten, Masik swore to himself that if - no, when - he got free he would get his hands on hair from his captors and put enough curses on them to slay a city. And then - oh, yes... then - he would summon their spirits from the afterlife and force them into his service. A most fitting retribution, Masik thought.

[MrEdwardNigma]

((It is, in fact, quite foggy indeed. The visibility on the ship isn't that restricted though. At the most you wouldn't be able to see all the way to the back of the ship while standing on the front))

The guard stopped whipping Desmond and spit at him.
"And you," he said, waving his finger at Jonathan, "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or you'd get the whip too"
With those words he joined the other guards in the front. He went into the door that led belowdecks for a moment and returned with a red rag, with which he started cleaning the whip. There were still some white spots on the rag, indicating that it hadn't always been red.

The captain pocketed his spyglass and walked over to the helmsman.
"There seems to be a ship approaching"

Twelfth Row, Left:

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Will grinned broadly, showing his golden teeth.
"That'll be them..."

Anyone sitting on the right side of the ship, up to one seat away from the side:

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A ship had appeared from the fog, and it seemed to be headed straight for the prison galley. Any experienced sailor could tell you though that the course that they were currently faring wouldn't have them ramming into the ship. The galley would have moved away by the time they got there. Still, the ship's presence was somewhat worrying. Some of the prisoners might have heard legends and tales of a mistbank in these waters that no ship ever exited from. No-one knows what happened to those ships while they were inside...

[An Enemy Spy]

Desmond cralws back into his seat. "I actually have met a prostitute who whipped harder than him. I'm not going back to her, that's for sure."

[Vespe Ratavo]

Jen raises an eyebrow. A ship? Approaching? The captain didn't seem to be familiar with it, so it's probably not Enhart...pirates? Her eyes light up with hope. Pleasebepiratespleasebepiratespleasebepirates she thinks.

[Levyathyn]

Already wary of the mist, as he had been for a few years, the sighting of a ship sends John into a quick, alert search for identification of the vessel. Seeing nothing indicitave, he waits till the guards are distracted and checks Desmond's chains. "You'll have to introduce us, sometime." He says to the man, with a slight smile on his face. He turns to ask the wounded man for assistance. Desmond's spirit had impressed John, and he wasn't going to leave him.

[Lord Magtok]

Shut up. Shut up, stop singing, please. Shut up...

He then turns towards Masik.

Hey, you! My name's Dr. Welshevic! Can you hear me over these idiots?! If you help me get these guys to shut up, I'll find a way to make it up to you later!

Oh god. Patrick was this close, this friggin' close, to strangling that awful shanty-singing trio. The only thing that stopped him were those damned chains, and the news of an approaching vessel. Like Jen, he too is now hoping for pirates, but for entirely different reasons. Pirates, he figures, are going to get wounded every now and then, lose a limb or an eye or something. As stupid and ugly as most people of that sort are, there's bound to be enough sense in them to realize the benefits in sparing the barber-surgeon and enlisting him for the cushy job of fixing up filthy sea-rats, instead of rowing the vessel like some commoner.

[Lykainon]

As Masik turned to face the doctor a somewhat cruel smile lingered at the side of his mouth. "If I could, I would. Regardless of your promises."

Masik paused for a moment and turned his eyes forward again. "Besides, what could you possibly do to 'make it up to me', bethes?"

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OOC: I'm making up Masik's native language as I go along. "Bethes" is basically a nasty version of foreigner (anyone not native to the islands). More politically correct natives call it the b-word.

[Lord Magtok]

The nature of the foreign word goes completely over the good doctor's head, and he shrugs.

Well, when the inevitable happens and they cut off your hand for being foreign, who else is going to know how to stitch it back on? Trust me, you don't want to go through life with a hook on your hand. I had a friend who got a hook for a hand once. He had an itch on the back of his neck one night, and that was the last I ever heard of him.

[Lykainon]

Still looking straight forward Masik responded. "If they do cut of my hand, I doubt they will let you saw it back on."

For a few moments Masik was silent, intending to ignore further conversation wih the doctor when something suddenly hit him. "Wait. There might be something after all. If you're a doctor, do you cut open the guards as well?"

[Lord Magtok]

Err...yes, I suppose so.

Quite honestly, the doc can't tell whether Masik's talking about skill with killing people with pointy objects, or whether he's trusted with medical issues here. Both questions would normally get an honest "No", but given the current situation, a little white lie can't hurt his chances.

[Lykainon]

Masik nodded slowly and smiled to himself. "Very well, doctor. You can 'help me out' by providing me with... how do say it... roushas... ah, samples of as many guards as possible. Blood, hair, feces. Anything will do. And we will not dicuss my reasons."

"Now, what did you say you wanted help with?" Masik asked, attempting a friendly smile.

[Lord Magtok]

The doctor simply points at the two professional Opera performers beside him, and continues to row, row, row the boat.

[Lykainon]

Masik studied the doctor's problem and an idea began to form. He had come to realize that in the Ernhartian culture it was often the poor and uneducated who believed in the arts he had been taught. This made little sense to him but never the less, it could be useful. The men in question didn't strike him neither rich nor highly educated. He leaned towards the doctor and spoke as quietly as he could.

"When I start talking and watching them, act afraid and tell them that you believe I am cursing them."

Masik leaned back to his own seat and for a moment he felt ashamed that he would partake this mockery of a bokor's powers. Quickly he justified it to himself that it could lead to the chance of using the arts for real. Then, he gazed towards the men, put on a stern, omnius expression and started chanting.

"Ghotha mara, tio d'abbha denon esh'iba. Ghotha mara, tio d'abbha denon esh'iba. Ghotha mara, tio d'abbha denon esh'iba." He mumbled, repeating the phrase over and over again.

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OOC: Translated, the chant roughly means: "Mighty spirits, make these'men shut (the) hell'up".