Jonah,
The captain looks at you sympathetically, and hands you his own water flask, which is also nearly empty.
"Here," he says. "you prob'ly need it more than I do."
He consults his map once more.
"Restin' looks to be a good idea," he says. "can't march ourselves into the ground if we still have to fight off th' bloody elves again. And I don't doubt thet we will. At any rate, we're still at least 6 hours, prob'ly closer to 7 hours quick march t' th' plantation; aye, catch what rest y' can. But keep y'r weapons close at hand, mind."
He sits down among the roots of a huge old oak tree and mops his streaming brow. While he has the iron constitution of a man who had spent a lifetime wresting his living from storms and gales, drift ice and blazing sun, he is still (proportionately, at least) by far your senior. After a moment or two, he sets to cleaning and priming his pistols, just in case.
"Perhaps," he says after a period of silence, "it might just be best t' sit tight right here; by now Mr. Lang'll have noticed our absence and sent out a search party. An' it ain't a good idea to go on another 6 or 7 hour's march with no water and barely any food; I wouldn't drink from the river, if I were you, I hear the plantations have fouled it so thet y'll come down with a bad case o' dysentery if y' drink from downriver of th' plantations."
(OOC: Because of the failed CON check, you will need 4 hours of rest before being able to push on.)
Malthas,
The Standishtowner falls backwards from his barrel and slides to the ground, a pale, perspiring, nerveless mass.
"Mercy, sir, mercy," he croaks, not able to meet your steely gaze.
With hands quivering so badly he can barely hold a pen, he painstakingly draws what is probably the best map in
Standishtown of the upriver regions on a scrap of parchment he takes from a nearby garbage heap, despite the fact that every time he glances at you, he flinches and makes a great blot of ink on the paper.
As he finishes the map, you hear someone calling,
"Mr. Swifthand, Mr. Swifthand!"
It is Ellis Stout, the Ship's Boy.
"Mr. Swifthand, sir, you're wanted back at the CALYPSO'S GRACE," he says, hurrying up to you. "I heard Mr. Legba say he was puttin' together an expedition to head upriver; they fear th' Captain's been lost on the way to the plantations. Mr. Legba said to make all haste, sir."
(OOC: Thanks, I do think that was one of my better descriptions...)
(OOC All: I'll be gone for the next 6 days, on vacation in Canada. Make you character posts as normal, and I'll get back in the game at the earliest possible instant. Sorry for the inconvenience.)
