Deep Water and Shoals - A Swashbuckling Campaign

[Bob Aberton]

Antheos,

"That's nice little 'glass you got there," the captain says. His own is a brass instrument, polished and clean but obviously well-worn. "Alright, let's hear a shanty."

He turns to the slight, black-skinned figure standing patiently close by, waiting for his turn to talk to the captain.

"Mr....Mr. Jonah. Glad t' see you're ready to go. We'll be off as soon as these last barrels are loaded," he says. He turns to you. "Ehh...what is y'r name? Anyways, this is...well, he calls himself Jonah. I know that name sounds a bit fishy, but he hasn't brought a touch of bad luck yet. He's our supercargo. Mr. Jonah, this is our prospective shantyman."

Nicodemus,

Orleau, flush with his recent month's back pay, also plunks down 10 gold coins, and calls for liquor.

"I challenge," Orleau says, slurring his already heavily accented Hullish. "so you get to pick the drink...beer, whisky, or rum?" He puts particular emphasis on rum, obviously preferring it to the other two mentioned drinks.

(OOC: I'll just handle this by calling for Fort saves for every round of drinks - failure means the character becomes intoxicated. If the character is already intoxicated, all future saves are made at -2, and if an intoxicated character fails another Fort save, he passes out and loses the contest. Just so everyone knows the rules...)

Jonah,

The captain turns away from his conversation with the well-dressed man and turns to you.

"Mr....Mr. Jonah. Glad t' see you're ready to go. We'll be off as soon as these last barrels are loaded," he says. He turns to you. "Ehh...what is y'r name? Anyways, this is...well, he calls himself Jonah. I know that name sounds a bit fishy, but he hasn't brought a touch of bad luck yet. He's our supercargo. Mr. Jonah, this is our prospective shantyman."

Even as he speaks, the last few tobacco-casks are fastened on to the cargo hoist by sweating, muscular orcish longshoreman - slaves, most likely, and dropped into the hold of the ship. But the captain has directed his attention once more to the well-dressed man, the prospective shantyman.

 

[wings]

Well

Antheos pauses for a second, before throwing his voice into song, his voice, while perhaps not trained professionally, it was definently well developed. He sings a simple song, but does it with enough passion to bring his point across.

(Hmm, singing is kinda hard to describe, ill do it better sometime, i promise. 13+10=23 .. that is what I rolled. Tell me if you intend to make all the rolls, so I can stop looking dumb if you do, lol.)

 

[Bob Aberton]

Not the Official DM Post...

(OOC Antheos: try this site, for shanties...they might have to be adapted a little, though...

Sea Shanties )

 

[Uriel]

OoCammit, it ate my post from last night...Hmm...

Nicodemus smiles and says 'Whiskey it shall be, at least a 12 year, by the Gods. Dwarvish if possible, I'll drink no swill this eve, nor my friend Mister Orleau here, for we are of the best Ship sailing the Seas.'

Nico orders the bottle, then, after he pours the first round, toasts 'To the Calypso's Grace, may her Sails never falter, her Hull never touch bottom and her Course always steer to greater glory!' Then, smiling, he downs the shot.

OoCC:So it begins...

 

[Bob Aberton]

Antheos,

The captain's grizzled face breaks into a smile upon hearing the tune that you sing.

"Thet always was one o' my favorites," he says, shaking your hand. "An' quite well sung, too. I believe that you've found a job, Mr...?"

(OOC Antheos: You make all the rolls for your character in this game.)

Nicodemus,

Seeing you down your drink, Jean Orleau lifts his glass, slurs a toast to the CALYPSO'S GRACE and her crew, and drains his glass.

"Iz good, this stuff," he says, obviously used to cheaper, lower-quality liquor. "Has a n...a nice mellow taste...yes?"

(OOC: Alright, make the first Fort save; good luck.)

Bimzoole,

It is hot and close in the powder magazine, but soon the last few casks of powder have been stowed, replacing those that had been used in drilling the men in the use of their cannon. Removing you list slippers (made of glued velvet so that no shoe nail could strike a spark that would ignite the powder), you don regular shoes. You now have the prospect of a nice piece of shore leave ahead of you. Where do yo go?

(OOC: Hope you don't mind at my arbitrarily deciding Bimzoole's actions there; I just wanted to include you in the game again.)

Vemuz & Malachi,

As you sit, talking and drinking, a small knot of Standishtown locals walks into the bar, brushing past Malachi. A few of them pass by the half-orc with looks of disdain, but most start whispering in a vaguely hostile manner.

"What's that one doing here?" you hear one say in a purposely loud undertone. "Things have come to a pretty pass when you can't even have a drink without rubbing shoulders with some half-Porc trash."

 

[Uriel]

Nicodemus smiles at the sailor, as he pours another round.

OoC: I rolled a '12', for a total of 17.

 

[Tonguez]

Vemuz & Malachi,

"What's that one doing here?" you hear one say in a purposely loud undertone. "Things have come to a pretty pass when you can't even have a drink without rubbing shoulders with some half-Porc trash."

Malachi's face looses expression except for the twitching of his upper lip. He says nothing and continues to drink and talk to Vemuz about his life aboard ship and his remembrance of life in the Swamp with the Witch...

 

[kenjib]

Vemuz growls -- a feral sound (intimidate roll 9 + 8 = 17) and then returns his attention to Malachi, giving the insulters a chance to continue walking and leave them in peace should they so choose.

 

[dead_radish]

Malthas continues to flirt with the barmaid until the Standishtown sailors enter. His voice catches a bit when they brush against Malachai, but he lets it pass. However, when the comments begin, he can't help himself. He politely excuses himself from the lady, with promises to return, and approaches the Standishtown sailors. (OOC: Do I know anything about Standishtown that I might be able to fashion into a good, innocuous insult?) He greets them heartily. "Hello gentlemen! Might I share a drink with you?"

 

[Bob Aberton]

Nicodemus,

The whisky leaves a pleasant glow, but no drunkeness yet. Jean Orleau does not seem to have been noticeably affected either; he is just as drunk as before. He reaches for his second glass.

(OOC: You made the save easily; from now until the end of the contest, roll and post a Fort save every time you take a drink...)

Vemuz,

Several of the locals start to edge away. Two or three, however, are more bold, and stand their ground.

"Perhaps we should move, John," suggests one.

"I'll not move for any Porc," replies the bravest, and continues to drink, displaying considerable bravado, but glancing nervously in your direction all the same. "And as for the sort of people that associate with one..." His voice trails off and he quickly gulps a mouthful of beer.

Malthas,

(OOC: The people of Standishtown have a reputation as being ill-mannered country 'hayseeds,' and lazy to boot. To call a ship a 'Standishtown packet,' or 'Standishtown coaster' is a great term of reproach to a ship's crew, as it means the ship is sloppily run and poorly maintained. Standishtown's last harbor-master was arrested for smuggling and taking bribes. Aside from cotton-farming, clam digging is said to be Standishtown's biggest industry, and it is a poor, muddy business, practiced by all who cannot afford the Orcish slaves needed to farm cotton and sugar plantations. 'Standishtown clamdigger' is another term of reproach among sailors.)

The Standishtown men look down at you. Standishtown folk are generally an insular lot, and often too hung up on the idea that one's race gives determines one's worth.

"Oh, why not," says one of them, after a long moment of silence. These are landsmen, and they do not drink with the same familiarity as sailors drink with fellow sailors. "Will you be buyin'?"