(OOC All: Sorry I didn't post yesterday...same deal as before - lots of work lately, and little sleep...
)
Vemuz,
You take your place at the steering oar as the men boat's crew - Bimzoole, Nicodemus, Malachi, Ben Stern, and Luc d'Erville - take their places at the 16 foot oars.
"LOWER AWAY!" Mr. Lang calls from above, and the jolly boat slowly descends into the waves.
"CLEAR THE FALLS!" The men unhook the rope hoists from their eyehooks.
They shove off and man their oars with a will, pulling away from CALYPSO'S GRACE before a wave can lift the boat and smash it to matchwood against the ship's hull.
They almost do not make it; a swell lifts you up and sends the boat hurtling toward the great wooden walls of the CALYPSO'S GRACE. The men pull harder, and at the last instant the boat whirls around, crests the swell, and slides down into the trough of the next swell, safe from that particular danger.
The jolly boat arrows ahead, slowly ascending the great greenish slopes of the giant ocean swells, then dancing over the the crests of the swells with a spray of foam and capering, almost uncontrollably fast, into the trough of the next wave, burying her bow and sending up a wave of icy seawater over the rowers.
Now, for the first time, you truly feel tiny, barely larger than the droplets of spindrift trickling down your neck. The watery walls that close around you every time the jolly boat shoots downhill into the trough of a wave are so enormous that they completely block out the horizon, and would shadow you from the sun, if there was any. Down in the depths of a trough, it seems as though the huge waves are your whole world, past, present, and future. When the jollyboat crests a wave, your awareness undergoes a sudden miraculous expansion as the horizon becomes visible once again. You can see, about three hundred yards away, a the forlorn figure of Lupe Sanchez, still bobbing on the ocean waves.
You pull yourself together. You are a man of the Twice-born, a Swordfish-hunter, a true Son of the Island. Gripping the steering oar tighter, you try to direct the jollyboat's progress more toward Lupe.
(OOC: Pilot skill check, please. You get a +2 circumstance bonus, due to your familiarity with this type of craft.)
You also realize that you are knee deep in water. The jollyboat has already nearly swamped twice; you may have to divert an oarsman or two to bail, though that would slow the boat down.
(OOC: The boat takes 1d2 water damage every round that it takes a pounding like this; the boat has a total of 25 Hull HP. Water damage is tracked like subdual damage; when the water damage equals the HPs, the boat is swamped. When the water damage exceeds the Hull HPs, it sinks, and the crew is left swimming.
One crewman, bailing with a bucket, can repair 1 point of water damage/round. 2 can repair 2 points/round, 3...you get the idea. Each oarsman diverted to bailing will detract 1/6 from the boat's speed. She is doing 7 knots right now.)
Bimzoole & Malachi,
You take your place at your own oar as the men boat's crew - Nicodemus, Malachi, Ben Stern, and Luc d'Erville - take their places at the 16 foot oars. Vemuz, with a look of intense concentration on his face, takes the steering oar.
"LOWER AWAY!" Mr. Lang calls from above, and the jolly boat slowly descends into the waves.
"CLEAR THE FALLS!" The men unhook the rope hoists from their eyehooks.
They shove off and man their oars with a will, pulling away from CALYPSO'S GRACE before a wave can lift the boat and smash it to matchwood against the ship's hull.
They almost do not make it; a swell lifts you up and sends the boat hurtling toward the great wooden walls of the CALYPSO'S GRACE. The men pull harder, and at the last instant the boat whirls around, crests the swell, and slides down into the trough of the next swell, safe from that particular danger.
The jolly boat arrows ahead, slowly ascending the great greenish slopes of the giant ocean swells, then dancing over the the crests of the swells with a spray of foam and capering, almost uncontrollably fast, into the trough of the next wave, burying her bow and sending up a wave of icy seawater over the rowers.
Now, for the first time, you truly feel tiny, barely larger than the droplets of spindrift trickling down your neck. The watery walls that close around you every time the jolly boat shoots downhill into the trough of a wave are so enormous that they completely block out the horizon, and would shadow you from the sun, if there was any. Down in the depths of a trough, it seems as though the huge waves are your whole world, past, present, and future. When the jollyboat crests a wave, your awareness undergoes a sudden miraculous expansion as the horizon becomes visible once again. You can see, about three hundred yards away, a the forlorn figure of Lupe Sanchez, still bobbing on the ocean waves.
Nicodemus,
Still wearing your gills & fins, you take an oar, ready (OOC: I assume...?) to jump out and swim to Lupe as soon the boat takes you close enough to him.
(OOC: If you do take this course of action, you would have a swim speed of 5 and be able to breathe water.
If you don't, you could always just stay in the boat and try to grab Lupe if he drifts past...)
