Krynt’s Logbook – Part 1

Krynt’s Logbook – Part 1 (July 12, 2014)

Day 0 – Port Peril (Gozran 4, 4712)

After a miserable night in the Lockers, my old friend Isabella finally buys my freedom toward evening. Isabella is a real looker, and despite all her tattoos, her curves stir my loins. Funny thing is, I can’t quite remember when we last saw each other. Must have been a while. What matters is she’s here now and getting me out of this wet cell—away from the vermin that keep crawling into my wound. I’m delighted when she suggests a bite to eat at the Formidable Maid in Scrimshaw. I haven’t had fish stew in over 24 hours, and she promises to treat me, which suits my empty purse just fine.

It’s business as usual at the Maid—singing, dancing, boozing, and plenty of flesh fore and aft on the fetching barmaids. But Isabella sends me in ahead of her and says she’ll catch up. Fine by me—I can treat myself to a pipeful of flayleaf first, loosen up a bit, and stop itching so much. That’s why I came to Scrimshaw last night in the first place. But these cutthroats want 5 gold sails for a pipeful. My attempts to rustle up some quick cash sadly come to nothing. First the promising half-elf at the bar, then the three humorless bastards who even need talking into a shell game. Why else would you come to a tavern, I ask you? And why, I ask you, would a tengu turn down a game of chance? Those crows have luck sewn up. Anyway, the strange, big, hairless fellow in linen clothes unfortunately has rather sharp eyes and helps lighten my purse by ten fourteenths of a silver ducat. Damn it. There’s also a tengu at the table with unusual symbols carved into his beak. They seem to know the dwarf somehow. His name’s Dungrim. I know him from somewhere. But although my mind is sadly unclouded by flayleaf, rum, or even a good beating at this point, I can’t think where from. Mister Scourge has no such trouble. He enters the Maid with a whip, a hatchet, and his gang of five pirates—wenches among them. Seems he’s really here to collect protection money from Pelvar, the innkeeper, and threatens to take his son if he doesn’t finally pay up. I don’t understand the innkeeper. With Mr. Scourge protecting you, you’re in safe hands, and safety has its price. A fair deal, really.

Apparently Dungrim once caught Scourge smuggling and banned him from docking in Crescent Harbor for half a year—ahh…now it’s coming back…the dwarf used to work for Harbormaster Kreidoros. Anyway, Scourge isn’t exactly pleased at the reunion. And anyone sitting at the table with old beardface gets tossed right into the hostile stew along with him. Damn it—that’s not fair. This Scourge makes quite an impression, and the sailors, barmaids, and whores in the Maid give him center stage, where he knows how to put on a show. And why am I caught in the middle of it? I only wanted a smoke! I must have taken a shit on the Seawraith’s quarterdeck in a dream, judging by all the bad luck Besmara’s been dumping on me these past few hours. Anyway, Mr. Scourge calls for a dance, and the patrons of the Formidable Maid obey. So begins a good old-fashioned bar brawl, in which I honorably keep my daggers sheathed and am promptly and dishonorably set upon by three of Scourge’s thugs, including a little tunnel rat with a beard. A spirited leap under the nearest table gets me out of that scrape. The young half-elf sprat at the bar is getting a proper thrashing from two fellows after his gold. Should’ve paid closer attention—there’s nothing to be had there anyway. He’s as broke as I am. The hairless one with the sharp eyes holds his own and lands a few nasty cannon shots with his fists. The tengu hunkers down under his hood beside Dungrim, but somehow he seems to put luck on my side, because I send one scoundrel off to dreamland with a swashbuckling kick in the balls. He doesn’t see the kick coming, having just hit the deck out of respect for a huge tribal warrior from the jungle. His bad luck. The black giant has already laid out the pirate dwarf with his walking staff and now rushes to help the half-elf sprat behind the bar.

Suddenly Mr. Scourge calls an end to the dance lesson. Once again, the whole Maid obeys. Quite an air of authority the fellow’s got…I’ve got a whip too, but hardly anyone listens to me…still, there’s time yet.

Scourge wants to take the unconscious half-elf along, but while he’s out cold, the man from the jungle surprisingly comes to his defense. Even though the fellow is nearly six and a half feet tall, Scourge isn’t much impressed. But when the hairless giant joins him, he actually backs down. Why are they doing that? They don’t even know the pointy-ear. Maybe they’re laboring under the same delusion that his purse is full. I’ve lost all interest, because Isabella is finally here and escorts me straight out into the Scrimshaw night. To my surprise, she seems to know Mister Scourge and his gang. A moment later, a club comes crashing down on my skull, and everything goes dark. All I hear is Isabella saying, “How many times do I have to tell you—that’s not necessary!” Luckily, after that knockout, I’m in no position to ponder what those words mean.

Day 1 - Aboard the Wormwood (Gozran 5, 4712)

When I wake up, I hear the familiar, soothing sound of waves against creaking wood. Shiver me timbers! Those scoundrels have hauled me aboard a ship! The Wormwood, as it later turns out. Beside me on the lower deck, beneath the sailors’ hammocks, lie a few familiar faces from the Formidable Maid. They seem to share my fate. The tengu introduces himself as VanZan, the half-elf with the misshapen face as Mael, the tribal warrior is Gush, and the hairless one Tantakatan. We’re ordered on deck and welcomed aboard the Wormwood by Captain Barnabas Harrigan. Apparently we’re pirates now! Hmm…Could’ve been a lot worse, really. We could be slaves bound for Cheliax, or floating straight into the harbor as fish food. Now I finally have a chance to show Besmara what I’m made of. And I get started right away by winning the race to the crow’s nest ordered by Mr. Plugg, the first mate. That gets me promoted to rigger, Mael becomes cook’s mate, and the others from the Maid are now swabs. Everyone does what they do best. Seems like a sensible arrangement here on the Wormwood. The manners of Captain Harrigan, Mr. Plugg, and Mr. Scourge, who wields the whip as boatswain, do leave something to be desired, though. Seems a few other newly minted pirates signed on shortly before us:

• Rosie Cusswell, a musical halfling woman with enormous biceps and a salty tongue.
• Crimson Cogward, a grim-looking sailor.
• Sandara, a pretty lass blessed by Besmara.
• Conchobar Shortstone, a gnome in a circus costume and hat who’s almost as quick in the rigging as I am.

Seems we all volunteered more or less willingly. Maybe that blow to the head knocked the memory clean out of me. But I wouldn’t rule it out altogether. The other sailors seem to have been aboard the Wormwood longer. I make a few acquaintances during my shifts:

• Fipps the Fatass, one of Scourge’s cronies, whose face we bash in.
• Maheem, a rather tight-lipped Rahadoumi who’s sore about losing to me at arm wrestling.
• Owlbear, a half-witted muscleman who’s fond of crabs but is chained up on the middle deck and scared stiff of the officers.
• and many more.

The gnome also brags about his conquests and has the hots for Rosie. Sandara is afraid of Mr. Scourge’s whip, and Rosie is over the moon when Mael gets hold of her fiddle. Mr. Plugg and Mr. Scourge are the most important officers. But there also seems to be a navigator: Peppery Longfarthing; a carpenter and doctor: Habberly Quarne; and the quartermaster, Cut-Throat Grok (half-orc), who’s competing with Mael for the title of best friend to Fishguts, the ship’s cook. Isabella is aboard too. Mostly in the captain’s cabin, though. Seems she’s a big shot on board, and when she treats me downright unfriendly for an old friend, I realize she’s used some hocus-pocus to trick me into being her friend. Without speaking to her, I decide to call off our friendship.

The days on deck are much alike. There’s work every day to keep the ship in good shape, after all. Tying knots, making minor repairs, carrying messages between the officers, pumping out the bilgewater with the bilge pump, catching rats, setting and taking in sails, … Every last task is familiar—I’ve been to sea a while, after all. Most of it’s dirty work. But I won’t be a swab or a bilge rat forever. I’m already a rigger, after all.

Breakfast hardtack is followed by the day shift, then Fishguts’ tasty fish stew for dinner, the Bloody Hour to help it go down, and finally the rum ration.

Mael, Tantakatan, and Gush make the acquaintance of the mainmast and Mr. Scourge’s whip during the very first day’s Bloody Hour. It’s not always easy to follow the rules aboard the Wormwood—especially when you’re supposed to catch sea turtles, or get the dishonorable notion of dodging the boatswain’s whip. The salt on his whip is a reminder of who makes the rules here.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with the rum. Some are delighted by Captain Harrigan’s generosity and help themselves generously, others reluctantly choke down the rotgut, and still others try to get rid of it. I’m in that last lot, and regularly make sailors in the first lot happy with my rum ration. But that won’t work for long—let’s hope things don’t get too ugly, and Besmara doesn’t smack me in the face too hard the first time I knock one back behind the eye patch. Seems I’m not the only sensible one. Tan regularly pours his rum overboard too. You’re not the only one with sharp eyes, mate!

Day 2 (Gozran 6, 4712)

I become acquainted with the towering intellect of Cut-Throat, the quartermaster, and her daily ritual of getting shit-faced with Fishguts after the rum ration. The two earn the title of biggest drunkards aboard the Wormwood. At least their carelessness lets me swipe a few apples from the galley. Later, our cook’s mate Mael scrounges up a few daggers too.

Day 3 (Gozran 7, 4712)

After a morning brawl with Fipps and his gang of tunnel rats and fishwives, I remind the crew during the Bloody Hour that picking a fight with me and my new mates is a bad idea. Fipps and his scoundrels get their faces rearranged by us and then get the lash that evening for good measure. By the rum ration, everything’s smooth sailing again as I entertain a few sailors with a little juggling.

Day 4 (Gozran 8, 4712)

A frightened boy reports that giant rats killed a few pigs and then fled into the bilge. Since Dungrim’s down there too, the Formidable Crew hands out daggers in a hurry and heads below to stab a few bilge rats.