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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 23, 2015 10:30:01 GMT
The crew of The Dueling Swordfish was not in the greatest of spirits, even Arthur had managed to puzzle this out and he wasn't exactly hired for his ability to read people. Perhaps Arthur wasn't in a great mood himself - they had missed the Foundation day festivities afterall. The biggest celebration of the year for the biggest city in the world - a true blowout of a night for any self respecting sea-dog... and they'd missed it. The more rational realized it couldn't have been helped, the Swordfish had been caught in a bad gale and was made to take the long way around, but pirates and sailors are irrational folks and most would have prefered sailing a gale over missing the booze, brawls, and boobs made freely available on Foundation day. No one had complained when captain Seamus had declared a hard night on sea to try to get the crew home before all the revelry was over, maybe oh maybe they could catch the tail end at least! No such luck; by the time they'd set the ship to moor in the Devil's Own the sun was rising, the city was fast asleep, and their haul from last week's raid on a Chelaxian trade skiff needed to be unloaded before the guards began trawling for easy smuggling picks. As the tired crew went about their business unloading crates and patching the Swordfish's most grievous leaks they grumbled just short of mutiny or permanent shore leave and each swore to their mother some sort of oath to a promise of future of debauchery or 'so help the bloody captain'. Arthur, though, was not unloading crates or patching holes. Shortly after the ship had taken to Port he'd been called to the Captain's Quarters by the First Mate; Twill the Tooth. Though but a scraggly halfling with mismatched eyes he was well respected despite his size - he was vicious with a knife and trident and had a collection of 7 shark teeth adorning his necklace - each taken from a shark he had hunted himself. Twill would find Arthur down below, tying down the cannons so they wouldn't roll around with the tide as they sat in port. He was the only one set to this task - the rest of those below deck going about the urgent business of unloading the haul. "Arth'r, get the shit out'yre eyes," he barked - tongue thick with rum and authority, "finish up that cannon and present ye'self to the captain at double!". Stomping his heavy foot down hard to grab Arthur's attention. Happy new years indeed. (give me a profession: Sailor check if you want to finish up tying down the cannons.)
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Dec 24, 2015 7:54:10 GMT
His brow was furrowed and his mouth set into a solid frown as her worked below tying down the cannons. The only saving grace of this moment was that her was alone and therefore didn't have to listen to the grumbling of his fellow sailors. Talks of mutiny didn't very much appeal to him. Yes he was fairly disappointed about missing the celebration but he had come to terms with the fact that they would the moment the gale hit them.
His thoughts and the relative silence were both interupted as First Mate Twill stepped into the room.
"Arth'r, get the shit out'yre eyes," the halfling barked at him, "finish up that cannon and present ye'self to the captain at double!"
He struggled to conceal his annoyance. Cannons didn't just tie down themselves, but he supposed the rest would just have to wait.
"Be right there," he replied over his shoulder as he finished tying the knots. He wasn't sure if Twill even stuck around, but the last thing he wanted was the halfling to think he was ignoring him. He stood up from his work, knees and back popping slightly as he stretched out. He cracked his neck, letting out a small grunt before he began to walk to the captain's quarters. As he walked he ran his hand through his short dark hair, the grease and grime from hmthe days of hard work at sea helping it lie flatter against his head.
When he arrived at the captains quarters he would raise his hand to knock and enter if told to do so.
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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 24, 2015 12:51:29 GMT
Twill was o-so-certainly there as Arthur finished off the current cannon with an old-hands skill (though an old hand just a tad slowed by sleep deprivation and a pissy halfling's barking, perhaps) stretched out and popped his joints back into place. The thumping of his impatient foot on the hard wooden floor was inescapable as Arthur went through those final knots and the cracking of joints. Perhaps Twill really wasn't as busy as his tense energy was projecting - he certainly had enough time to stare holes into Arthur's back and pester him about every wasted second up until the moment the tophatch closed behind Arthur. "Chop chop, Arth'r, chop chop!", echoing up through the wood in his thick-syllabled voice. The short walk to the captain's cabin would take Arthur up topdeck and to the stern of the ship. The cabin itself was a compact little thing (fitting the sleek build of their fuste-brigantine, though a smaller ship it possessed a nimbleness and cutting power worthy for its name) built into the foundation of the bridge and flanked on either sides by a thin staircase straight to the wheel - well designed for the captain to be able to reach his point of command as quickly as possible. The topdeck itself was a hive of grumbling discontented activity; the moving of crates and the hoisting of sails. A few of the sailors milled about trying to look far busier than the actually were - mostly chatting while fiddling with already-tied knots. Two of this more slovenly bunch were well familiar to Arthur - Franky and Stobben, fellow cannoneers - both of them should have been down below tying up cannons, how they managed to escape Twills wrath was a true mystery indeed as Arthur's eye for laziness wasn't near as keen as Twills but he'd managed to spot it anyway. If the poor work ethic of his fellows was uninteresting to him - or he didn't feel it a good idea to stall out a direct request for his presence from the captain - his swift rappings on the cabin door would be cut off at the very first knock. "Come in, Arthur," the captain, his voice affecting all the depth of stereotypical authority but being just-a-litte-too-high to pull it off, "and shut the door behind you." Seamus was young, astonishingly so for a pirate captain. He was actually one of the younger ones on the ship - though he never mentioned his real age most of the crew put him at around 24. Despite his youth and relative inexperience compared to folk like Twill and even Arthur he had gained a fair degree of respect due to his daring, sharp instincts, the profitability of his ventures, and most of all his considerable luck. Despite his good qualities he could never escape the specter of his youth and struggled constantly to appear older and more wizened than he really was - especially at times like this when his authority was most vulnerable to questioning. If Arthur entered he'd find Seamus leaning against his desk with one hand and holding out the other towards a small chair as a welcoming gesture - both hands were badly scarred and leathered by many years at sea in his youth (he may well have started to sea younger than Arthur had). He stood about as tall as Arthur but carried himself well enough to grant an illusory inch or two. "Good morning Arthur, you'll be up for a little while still i'm afraid." Making an emphatic gesture with his hand he'd continue, "Best take a seat."
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Dec 24, 2015 21:16:00 GMT
Twill's impatient nature did nothing to help his mood and neither did the dawdling of Franky or Stobben. The bastards were obviously slacking up here, meanwhile Twill was riding his ass when he was actually doing work. He shot the two a dirty look as he walked past, but said nothing not wishing to delay the captain any further than his actual WORK already had.
Sometimes he wondered why he chose to serve under a man like Seamus Cook. In comparison to other captains he had served under he was young and reckless. His lack of experience was often aggravating, even if it didn't always show. If Seamus could have a ship, why couldnt he? Well that question was easy enough to answer with a little thought. He was too reserved. He didn't like rocking the boat or really giving orders. Men like Franky and Stobben probably wouldn't last too long on a ship like his.
He barely knocked on the door to Seamus' quarters before the captain invited him in. As instructed he closed the door behind him and took a seat across from the captain.
"Bad news Cap'n?" He said as he sat down.
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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 25, 2015 7:59:12 GMT
While Franky - an old salty dog who had begun to stiffen and slow in his advancing age - seemed guilty when Arthur shot him the eye, Stobben - a ferocious and bellicose Dwarf who, despite his attitude, was good in a pinch - showed no such consciousness. Franky began to tiredly turn away from the knots, perhaps to do some real work, but Arthur would catch Stobben pulling the old man back into some excuse of a conversation before the cabin door closed shut behind him. Arthur may well have been right about their short life expectancy on this ship; Stobben was new but despite his combat prowess had made few friends with his laziness, and though Franky had been sailing for at least thirty years he had been taking more breaks and more time for simple tasks - most figured he was about ready to take to port for good. The Captain gave Arthur a soft nod in response and sat down in his own chair across the desk, and though he leant back deep into the cushioned thing he didn't go so far as to put his legs up - eyes leveled on Arthur's. The captain's cabin was one of the more humble ones Arthur had seen, though not for lack of trying - the Swordfish simply didn't have a lot of room to work with. "But as far as everyone's concerned, you... particularly so; there ain't no more bad news today - we can't afford it after missing the festivities." As the Captain's chair wobbled precariously on its hind legs he made a practiced reach for something under his desk, producing a wooden pipe, a more ornate ivory one, as well a small box of reddish-brown leaves mixed with a green-brown powder - all of which he placed on the desk between them. "Flayleaf, Arthur? Consider it an appreciation for the job i'm about to ask of you - it ain't in the cannoneer sort of description but I... trust you with discretionary work." His eyes made a motive gesture to the simple wooden pipe and he began stuffing his own, lighting it with a sparking snap of his gloved fingers. The smoke it produced was thick and acrid, like burning pine trees. As his lips smacked the tip of his pipe a few times he mumbled and stared at the roof, "Heh, if only by the process'Ez of elimination- most on this ship couldn't keep their lips sealed underwater, much less with a good secret to spill. Even Twill's leaky if someone riles him up enough or butters him with good rum." He patted down the flayleaf deeper into his pipe, looking back at Arthur, "But i'm looking for a volunteer, not a drafty. So?"
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Dec 26, 2015 7:07:47 GMT
"Well I prefer to at least know a little about what I'm getting into before I volunteer..." He replied evenly. He packed the pipe slowly eyeing the substance somewhat warily. "Though I usually don't mind what it is as long as it isn't suicidal and it pays well..." He chuckled to himself slightly.
"And what is this exactly?" He asked, motioning to the flayleaf with the packed pipe in his right hand.
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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 26, 2015 8:00:18 GMT
The Captain gave a laugh to Arthur's chuckle, producing a shaky smoke ring with a little triumphant grin. "I see you treat your jobs and your dope in the same way - prudent. I appreciate prudence in my crew." He brought his legs swinging off the table, bringing himself around to sit straight in his chair, "Even if i have none of it myself."
He gestured at Arthur's pipe with his own, "And that, as I said, is flayleaf - has all the kick of a good liquor but none of the sick." He returned the pipe to his mouth with a click and took another puff with a pause that was perhaps a little too long, "Keeps you awake and sooths the nerves." pleased conspiracy in his voice.
After explaining the properties of the drug the captain would hold out his white-gloved hand towards Arthur's pipe in a pre-snapping position, smiling. "Need a light, Arthur?"
You can't help but get the feeling he's stalling about telling you his job for some reason.
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Dec 26, 2015 8:19:01 GMT
"Cap'n if you don't want to tell me about the job before you think I'm inebriated enough to say yes, I'll go along with it, but at that point I seem to hardly be a willing volunteer." He replied, keeping his eyes locked on the captain's.
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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 26, 2015 8:38:58 GMT
The captain's face dropped for a split second before he picked it right back up again, "I find contract killings are easier to stomach when you aren't sober." He pulled his gloved hand back, absently snapping his fingers and watching the spark before focusing back on Arthur. With a heavy sigh and the ridges on his brow deepening beyond his age he'd continue, "Brass tacks; we're thieving pirates, sea bastards; never had any problem with that... But I could always figure 'at least we aint bloody cut-throats for coin, skinsaws of Norborger, or bloody mantises' if my conscious needed cleansing. Loot was the goal - deaths were just an unfortunate coincidental." He seemed incredibly young at this moment, but looked incredibly old. Pipe hanging from his teeth he'd produce a scroll from his pockets and unroll it on the desk - the scroll had upon it a still image, glowing a dim blue and captured with an eerily real-as-life quality. The image was that of a market, somewhere very dry - people of all sorts were caught in a frozen image of conducting business all across the canvas but the picture seemed centered around one man in particular, whom Seamus taped with his middle finger. "See this man here, the fellah with a bit of a paunch and the monocle." He gave Arthur a very firm eye, "He needs to be dead - and we can't have no one knowing it was us, or hell - that we knew a damn thing about this business at all." Seamus paused for a moment before continuing with grumbly frustration, "He's traveling with a tall man, apparently - dark skin and not much for words. He may be some sort of slave - but he needs killin too... and anything they're carrying needs to be gotten rid of. It doesn't matter how, it just can't come back to this ship." Seamus laughed humorlessly, rolling up the scroll. "But hey, the pay's good, real good - for all of us. At least 100 gold for you seeing as you're doing the dirty business." Seamus smoked quietly for a while, but had the sort of look that seemed open for questions.
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Dec 26, 2015 18:14:18 GMT
Arthur rested the pipe back on the desk, leaning forward slightly to get a better look at the man pictured on the scroll. He tried not to look satisfied by the proposed payment, keeping his face flat as it had been through most of the conversation. The man must have pissed off someone important to make him worth that much. He reached forward and grabbed the scroll, bringing it closer to him so he could take a better look at it.
"He looks fairly wealthy. Does he have any bodyguards we know about, or is it just the slave?" He inquired, his voice level as though he was completely unconcerned about the idea of killing two men for money... and that would be because he was completely unconcerned.
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Post by Flanwaw on Dec 26, 2015 20:07:24 GMT
Seamus didn't move an inch as Arthur declined the Pipe and flinched not a wit at the job,, retrieved the scroll, and examined it. Though his eyes danced as a man deep in thought, and something cold flashed there when Arthur responded. He shrugged his shoulders and tapped out some ash from his pipe.
"According to the soul who wants this fellah dead, he shouldn't. Apparently whatever the monocled fellah is here for is too secret and too valuable to be trusted to travel with a pack of mercenaries... or even Pathfinders," his tone became painfully sarcastic, "'unflinching honor of a Pathfinder's contract', could be tempted into breaking with whatever this is all about." Seamus's eyes glinted, "And the soul who hired us expressly stated they didn't want any sorts involved who had 'overly great ambitions', in their words." He shrugged his shoulders and smirked, "And though dead wrong about the last bit he was right enough that whatever this is - I want no more part in it other than to be done with it, myself. Nor do I want the crew to know it ever got did - the gold they get for it will be... a bonus for being made to miss Foundation day. Let's say... hm... The cargo we got from the last haul proved to be worth more than we thought."
He snapped his fingers, causing a spark - and looked as if he had just remembered something important, "And they should both be in disguise, magical stuff." Seamus fiddled through his cult and pulls out a small piece of glass. "Apparently this little thing will glow around magical glamors n'such, and looking through it shows what's real and what ain't. Little gift from the soul that hired us." Seamus laughed more genuinely, but still with that little dark twing "Because by the Black Lady it can never just be easy."
With a final few puffs Seamus finished up his pipe and stowed it away in his coat. "They'll be briefly passing by the 'Seed Bed' at some point this afternoon." Another knowing look, but more friendly, "I'm told you, heh, know the place pretty familiar-like, so shouldn't have trouble looking around for a couple black robes out of place."
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Sal
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Post by Sal on Jan 12, 2016 5:02:39 GMT
Arthur leaned back in his chair and tapped his chin thoughtfully as the captain discussed the job, his expression unchanging except for a slight tilt of his head when the magical glass was displayed.
"I'll need some powder from the magazine." He stated bluntly as he drew his pistol in his right and began to examine the beaten weapon closely. "I'm running low from our last job, and since I haven't been paid yet..." He put the gun back into the holster that ran across his chest. "As long as that's arranged, I'll have the job done, otherwise I really lack the mechanism for my work Captain."
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Post by Flanwaw on Jan 12, 2016 22:47:26 GMT
"Sure Arthur," sighed the captain, his eyes following the barrel of the gun lazily, "Whatever your hand cannon needs to do its dirty work is yours." The captain paused, tapping a finger on the table, "Anything else you need off the ship for that matter - you can borrow that too."
Seamus looked back at Arthur, "Anyone asks why you're taking what you need, just tell them it's my orders - and if they make a fuss, stow 'em and send them my way." He grinned, "They won't have much more to complain about if this all works out and we get our due."
The young man ran a gloved hand across his desk, the ship rocking ever so slightly in the harbor and the sun starting to pee through the porthole. "Best get moving Arthur, burning daylight." Almost as an afterthought the Captain stood up from his chair and added a more authoritative, "Dismissed." And with that the captain returned to other work at the table - expecting Arthur to take his cue and leave. The captain, notably, left the scroll with the image of the individual Arthur was to kill on the table, if he wanted to take that too.
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