Jarrod – Havok, half-orc barbarian
Tim – Mork, half-orc fighter
Andrew – Vorok, tiefling rogue
Doug – Aliza, female human sorcerer
Paul – “Salty” Bob, human cleric of Besmara
Arr well. Where was I?
After the storm, we proceeded along quietly enough. Most of the crew thought well of us, saving onty Mr Plug, Mr Scourge, and their four cronies. A few days in we hove to off a reef. Mr Plug ordered us: “Capt’n wants crabs. You lot go get some!”
We were given pots to put the crabs in, and Mr Plug was gracious enough to allow us an empty barrel which we tied a rope around. I asked it for Aliza, really, as she couldn’t swim to save herself and she was going to be no help at all. It was to be the five of us and another lad who would also be no help. [don’t have my notes here]. He would keep watch.
The pots were filling nicely, when the lad calls out “Reefclaw! Them is good eatin, them is!” Two reefclaws, there were. Horrific monsters near the size of a rowboat, covered with poisonous spines. And we fighting them in water, without our armour. The lads got stuck in. One of the ‘claws attacked Aliza and injured her badly and one attacked one of the orc lads. Aliza struck ’em with magic, she did, and the lads with daggers. And what a melee it was! Blood flowing, flesh flying – it was all I could do to keep them all alive with The Power.
Well, we took one of them down – Havok grabbing it before it sank beyond reach – and then the other. Our pots full, we swam back to the Wormwood.
And drew the attention of Capt’n Harrigan. Pleased, he was. “Reefclaw!”, he said, “Excellent! Come to my cabin later!”. Arr. Not necessarily a good thing, to draw the attention of the captain. But he were in an expansive mood that evening, and gave us a brace of healing potions out of his personal stock.
So, all was smooth sailing aboard the Wormwood. Or should have been. But that evening Mr Scourge drags Vorok into the crews quarters, and a sorry-looking sight he was. He’d been snooping about the armoury and had taken a poisoned harpoon to the gut for his trouble. I healed him up as best I could, but he was clapped in irons and thrown into the hold. They’d keelhaul him in a week.
A few days more, and an officer we hadn’t met yet comes by. “Time to turn you into pirates!”, she said. Turns out that piratin’ is mainly about boardin’. She had the four of us out on a jolly boat trying to grapple the Wormwood and then shimmying up the line over the rail. While being pelted with rotten vegetables, I might add. The girl and I made the cast but didn’t manage the climb, although Aliza did make a very creditable effort. The two orc lads, though – Havok and Mork – no problem at all.
Next morning, Mork is called belowdecks. A few minutes later, we hear a scream. Vorok. We run to help, but Mr Scourge and Mr Plug are blocking the way. Aliza flings a spell their way, and thank Besmara the two of them are stunned. We run in, and what do we see but two of their crew of four fighting Mork and Vorok all chained up an covered in blood, steaming icicles (did I mention he were demonblood?). We attack ’em, the four of us and the quartermaster (a half-orc lass who was sweet on Mork, I think). In the melee, the two bastards with the daggers accidentally and completely unintentionally have their heads crushed by barrels which they have pulled down onto themselves.
Now, I should mention that there were a stern prohibition about killin’ each other on Captn Harrigan’s Wormwood. We were questioned by the priestess – Besmara bless’er! – who got to the truth of the matter and with her word and the quartermaster’s, well, there were not much Mr Plug and Mr Scourge could say.
And then, they day before Vorok’s keelhaulin’ it’s “Ship Ahoy!”. We chased her down for three days, milad, under sun and stars – all hands and full sail. But Captain Harrigan and the Wormwood were her match, and finally we had her to rights and would be boarding in a few hours. They released Vorok and sent as many of us as they could to the racks for some rest. He’s fight with the rest of us in the morn, and either die fighting or be forgiven his indiscretion at the armoury.