Deep Water and Shoals II

[Bob Aberton]

Jonah,

Lupe has in his hands the copy of the map you translated for him from the Drow dialect of the elven tongue. He walks in the door, peers cautiously at the corridor behind him, and then closes the door behind him.

He places the map on your desk, and then places next to it a very old sheath knife, its blade worn down by many years of sharpening. On the whalebone hilt of the knife, the words BLACK MAST are scrimshawed, and on the other side of the hilt you can just barely make out the words "J. Boyd, Quartermaster." The writing is badly blurred.

"You know of the BLACK MAST, hey?" Lupe says, without so much as an exchange of pleasantries. "She was ship of Kazan the Red, sank fifty years back. This map was from the pockets of the man who owned this knife - Quartermaster of the BLACK MAST, fifty years ago. Have I told you the story? My grandfather was seaman before the mast like me, his ship picked up this man, and my grandfather used the knife to kill his shipmate over the dead man's coat. Lem Harvey, when he was young, he ship with an old sailor - old sailor who knew a man on the BLACK MAST. Said that this Kazan the Red had great treasure heaped up somewhere, no one knew where. This map - this map is no chart for navigating...and these words - 'Here...was' and then a position and bearing and then 'underneath a...' You know all about maps, I hear - what you make of this map, hey?"

Nicodemus,

"You can tell anyone who you think would be interested - Mr. Legba, f'r instance. These folk I know, maybe you've heard of them, call themselves 'The Society for the Abolition of Orcish Slavery,' or just the Abolitionists for short. They've got a couple or two of the wealthy and powerful upper crust in Hull listenin' to 'em, but precious few elsewhere. Not politically popular, seein' as how Standishtown tobacco and St. Yves sugar is a lucrative business and the planters' money speaks louder than the Abolitionists' talk o' morality. They want to get rid of slavery in the end, but for now, they'll just settle for helping runaways. They want to set up what they call an 'Underground Road' for runaway Orcs. Problem is, they're not, gen'rally speaking, a practical set of people. They need people like you, an' whoever else was in on th' Standishtown caper, for that sort o' thing. You'd know how best t' do somethin' like that, seeing as you've already done it on a smaller scale," Weaver says, and then pauses for breath. She sips her drink and suddenly looks worried, probably realizing how much she's said. "By th' way, Mr. Arfaliunium, I guess I don't need to impress on you the need for keeping this secret, do I? I'd admire if you'd keep some quiet between decks about this."

Malthas,

The Orcs you rousted up from belowdecks stand in a semicircle around the arms chest, peering at the stand of cutlasses uncertainly. You recall that it was permissible in Standishtown to hang a slave for owning a weapon like a cutlass or pistol.

You also notice a number of the cutlasses are flecked with rust, having not been cleaning since before the GRACE made port.

 

[dead_radish]

Malthas grins. "So, lads, not familiar with the pointy ones? I'd bet most of you lot could pick up a man and break him in half, but we're going to teach you some of the finer points of making sharp things go in to soft things."

He gestures at the arms chest. "Each of you can pick a weapon - pick them up, hold them, get familiar - lads your size will be seeing people come at them with swords, rather than fists. I want you to know how they work."

He waits until they have done so, then tosses each of them a cleaning stone and a whetstone. "And now we'll learn the first rule. You live and die by your weapon. If your weapon isn't trustworthy, clean, sharp and true, you might as well be holding a stick. You take care of your weapon, and it will take care of you. So I want to see my face in every one of those blades, and I want you to see your own faces in there, and know you made it shine."

He follows suit, pulling out Tuanna and giving it (another) polish and shine.

 

[kenjib]

After a short time, Vemuz crosses the deck and goes below to check on Arthur Orville. On the off chance that he should happen to overhear Lupe and Jonah discussing such matters as they are, he will most certainly continue to "overhear" them discretely.

 

[Bob Aberton]

Malthas,

The Orcs follow your lead, sharpening and polishing their weapons. You notice they sharpen and polish quite well, probably from a lifetime of sharpening scythes and hoes and the like and polishing wealthy owners' silverware. They seem much more at ease now, treating their weapons as just another sort of tool to be cleaned and not an item of contradband which they could be hung for having.

Vemuz,

Orville is still on the forecastle, coiling the jibsheets and spritsail-sheets. He has at least half a weeks worth of work ahead of him, although given his propensity for sogering and napping it could take him a month or more.

Upon going below, you pass by the cabin of the supercargo, Jonah. One of the foremast hands is in the cabin as well, to judge by the mumble of indistince voices emanating from the closed door.

The GRACE's fortuitously sudden roll to starboard swings the cabin door open for a fraction of a second; you catch the words "BLACK MAST" and "map," spoken in the tones of the Espirantish seaman, Lupe Sanchez.

 

[dead_radish]

Malthas nods approvingly, and waits for everyone to finish cleaning and polishing.

Once everyone is done, he stands up again in front of the group. "Now, lads. Did any of you have weapons training afore the clamdiggers yanked you from your homes?" If any do, he selects one of those. If not, he picks one at random....

"Stand up here, show me how you feel you should present."

 

[Xael]

Jonah listens to Lupe his mood rising a bit as Lupe presents the map, and then takes a look at the map. "I wouldn't say I know everything about maps, but I can take a look again."

OOC: Bob: It seems that I've lost the picture of the map you send me earlier. And I really don't remember it much... My email at the moment is (forgot the password to last one): Xael_Xorlarrin@hotmail.com

And one week until school ends... *dreams* ...freedom...

 

[kenjib]

Vemuz stands near the door listening, his hand around the wooden idol in his pocket, ready to drop it on the ground and pick it up again as an excuse should someone notice him standing there.

 

[Bob Aberton]

Malthas,

"I hunted some, befo' I was caught - hunted boar an' de...ehm...'Long-horns' you know?" One of the Orcs volunteers.

From the way they hold the weapons, about half seem to have used spears and clubs before. One of them, however, you notice, is half-crouched in a rudimentary duelist's stance. His form is weak, but he still appears as though someone had trained him in the use of a blade to a small degree.

Jonah,

(OOC: Did you get my email? I'll send it again, just to be sure

 

[dead_radish]

Malthas,

"I hunted some, befo' I was caught - hunted boar an' de...ehm...'Long-horns' you know?" One of the Orcs volunteers.

Malthas nods. "Then you know what it's like to feel the moment when you know you, or something else, is going to die. Swords aren't like spears - you have to step close to a man to fight with a sword, look him in the eye."

He considers. "And perhaps remember how men like him might have treated you in the past, might have spat at you, spoke down to you, mocked you." He looks up at the orcs, seeing their faces. "Enslaved you."

"Don't ever let the anger get ahold of you, but let it guide your strikes, and your attacks."

From the way they hold the weapons, about half seem to have used spears and clubs before. One of them, however, you notice, is half-crouched in a rudimentary duelist's stance. His form is weak, but he still appears as though someone had trained him in the use of a blade to a small degree.

Malthas gestures to that orc, smiling congenially. "You've used a blade before, haven't you m'friend? That's Keralthian's third form, or at least most of it. What's your name? Your real one, not what they called you...."

 

[Bob Aberton]

Malthas,

You can see rage flaring up in the Orc's eyes as your words hit home. They grip their cutlass hilts as though trying to squeeze the life out of them.

The Orc you spoke to looks down at his blade. "I taught mysel' from watchin' de masta trainin'. Thought maybe someday Ah could kill hem an' 'scape. Mah old name was Anansai o' de Nbantii."

(OOC Everyone: I've noticed lately that responses are really tapering off lately. I know I'm partly to blame, I've been trying to reply as often as I can, but I've had a busy month. I'm going have a little roll call; if everyone could make a post, and those whose characters are sleeping or whatever could make a little flavor post, that would be awesome. Thanks in advance.)