..."Cut the lines!", shouted Arliss, as the pirate ship began to dangerously tilt after the sinking ship....Crew members frantically lept to the straining lines to cut them. One hapless orc was hopelessly entangled in his line, and as it was snapped in two by his own cutlass, he was dragged beneath the water to join the others in that cold watery grave below.
The ship suddenly righted itself, knocking most of the crew off their feet, and sending everyone flying across whatever deck they happened to be standing on.
Eleven crew dead, plus the captain, two aged beyond reality. Twelve crew (including Arliss, now Captain Arliss) left.
As dawn broke the next morning the crew seemed a little too restless about their situation. As Arliss stood on the deck staring out over the calm sea, he mumbled, "I don't like the looks of that, too calm,...too calm.". There had still been no wind to speak of since the day before.
"Listen up!", Arliss shouted, "Figure we got about a day ta git our act together! Karokor, you're the new First Mate." Ithil cringed as he was pointing to the large orc that had tossed her around like a rag doll in that apple incident.
"And you", pointing at Ithil, "you are now a deck hand...in addition to yer other duties." *Deck hand?* Ithil wasn't the only one on deck with a suprized look. "She'll do fine, we're short handed, way out at sea, an' we need the help!" Arliss tried to convince the crew, but it didn't appear to Ithil that they were going to warm up to the idea anytime soon.
Arliss glanced out at the horizon one more time, and went to the captain's quarters to make plans to set sail.
Karokor, snapped at the crew and suddenly they went back to work. He took a long look at Ithil and growled, "Git fud!" pointing to the stairs.
He didn't have to tell her twice, down she went and as she passed the crew quarters she could hear the heavy labored breathing of the human survivor of the boarding crew, he would expire and be buried at sea, by day's end.
All that day things were pretty shaky as the remainder of the crew made adjustments to their new situation. Ithil was taken aside by Arliss and told what was expected of her. "Weather's going ta be rough. Not a good place ta start I know, but yer a quick learner. You'll do what I tell ya, and what's expected of ya, cause if ya don't - we don't survive, and that includes you." He went on to explain that she would help out where ever she was needed on deck, holding lines, tying off rigging, and so on, and so on... he was talking with his hands again. *That's what it is! A sort of sign language!*, Thought Ithil as she connected the meanings with the gestures.
finally, after a head spinning talk he said, "Time ta git some rest." He led her down the stairs but turned a different way...she found herself standing in front of the hammock that "old" sailor had been in this morning. It was separated from the other occupied hammocks by a few rows, but it was in the same room as the rest of the crew *thank goodness that Karokor now had his own quarters*, she thought.
"Sleep well.", said Arliss, "And the rest of you leave her alone tonight! That's an order!!", and with that he gave them a stern look, and left.
Ithil warily laid down in the hammock and watched as one of the old sea dogs of the crew approached. "Well, well lookie what we have here! The Captain's pet! Ain't that right boys!", the others collectively grumbled. "Just who do you think you are?", he asked her. Ithil shrugged.
"What makes you so special, eh girlie?", and with that he grabbed her throat, pinning it to the hammock. "Women are supposed to be bad luck at sea, aren't they boys?", his face now mere inches from Ithil's. "So who the hell brought this one on board???"
"You did, Macie!", came a lone voice from the other side of the room.
He grabbed her chin and roughly moved it to the right, looked at the moon tattoo and said, "By golly! Yer right!", laughter filled the room. He smiled, tapped her on the cheek, "Git some sleep, girlie. Long day tomorrow!", and walked back to his own hammock. Ithil did not rest well that evening as she lay and wondered what was about to happen...
Dawn came with a sudden jolt as Ithil was rudely and unceremoniously dumped out of her hammock. She lay on the floor for a moment shaking off the last effects of her meditation, to the shout of "Git FUD!!", no mistaking THAT voice. She hurried herself together and headed for the mess. The crew was thankfully rather silent that morning, Ithil thought it may have something to do with the red color of the sky, and the shortage of crew, she thought it best to just go about her work and try not to disturb anyone.
Later, as she began her deck duties, she noticed that the wind had picked up. "It begins now.", said Arliss "We set sail back to Blue. Storm's a comin', looks like a bad one too. We best get as far ahead of it as we can.", to Ithil,"Stow that gear, we'll be needin' ya fer other things taday."
Ithil secured the things she was working with, and waited for further instructions, not knowing quite where to start. The answer came with a shove, and an order in The Black Speach (Orcish) that had something to do with a rope. Ithil had managed to learn a phrase or two in her years at sea, and especially paid attention when the conversation seemed to be about her (ever since she got that scar on her neck). She knew in the future (should she have one) she ought to learn a bit more of the language.
She jumped in line and began to help let loose the sails, tie them off, change the rigging when instructed. Back breaking work since it went on for hours. She did her best to hold her place, got quite a round of laughter from the old seamen when she made her first painful mistake and recieved a rope burn, but she hung in there. They were making a good pace, as the wind really started to roar, the Captain was now using that sign language more often because it was increasingly hard to hear from a distance. Ithil was making more trips accross the deck now as it started to pitch more on the rough waves. It became obvious to all that they were not going to out run this storm, it was a question of how close to port could they get, before they had to put their fate into the hands of the storm.
Wave after wave started to wash over the deck now as the rain started falling. A few crew members who had to maintain their stations began to lash themselves to their posts. Ithil, unfortunately, did not have that luxury, being the "gofer". She slid on the wet deck, but managed to time her trips, or find something to grab hold of as each wave came crashing through, the salt water stinging her fresh rope burns. She had just gotten used to the trips on the deck when the captain signaled her to do something she was unfamiliar with.
"He wants ya ta go up and unsnag the pulley!", shouted the closest sailor. He was pointing to the top of the main sail which was flapping in the wind uncontrollably now. *Gasp! Up there?* she signaled back.
"If ya don't, we might lose the sail, or maybe the whole mast, or worse - capsize! Gotta be done!", the sailor tapped her on the back.
Ithil swalowed hard and began to make her way to the main mast *The ropes! That's the best way to get up there!*, she looked over at the starboard side of the ship as a huge wave came crashing over. She'd have to time it just right or be swept overboard in a hurry - *No rescue in this storm*, she thought, *On top of that, I'm expendable*.
Ithil counted the waves and the pitch of the ship, took a deep breath and dashed for the main shrowds. She landed hard against them and grabbed hold tightly, just in time to get a face full of sea water, her arms stretched to their limits as the wave came crashing in on deck.
Up she climbed on the netting, and quickly, to avoid the next crashing wave. She climbed to the out side of the shrowd to get better angle for footing. She reached the top, and in looking down she thought, *Absolutely no rescue from up here should something happen*. She looked at the pulley, which was a little too far for her to reach. She would have to go beyond the relative safety of the shroud. She took a small hop to the wet crossbeam of the sail, and nearly lost her grip! She paused to calm her racing heart, and slowly inched her way to the end of the beam where the snagged pulley was. She gingerly let go of the beam with one hand and gave the line a tug...Nothing. She gave it a sharper tug, it was still stuck fast. She quickly formulated a plan: In order to unsnag the line, her only chance was to suddenly put her full weight on it. from up here the pitch of the ship was wider, and at times she might just be close enough to swing to the shrouds from here--with the right timing, of course. She took a deep breath, waited until the ship was tilted way over, and jumped hard as she could holding the line, it worked! She could feel the upward tug of the rope, and then she panicked! Her fingers were rapidly approaching the pulley! She hadn't thought of that! Frantcally she let go and dropped against the shrowd quite a ways further down than she had expected. She began to slide as the ship righted itself, she grabbed furiously to try to catch the ropes before she started to fall in mid air away from them. Her entire arm ached, from her fingers to her shoulder, as she somehow got a partial grip with one hand to stop her decent -- but it was only temporary. She lost her tenuous grasp and fell, in a crumpled heap upon the deck. Barely consious, she felt the strong grip of a large hand on the back of her shirt, and a familiar voice next to her ear as she was lifted into the air, "Stoopid elfie! Lat DUN!". Next thing she knew she was sailing though the air towards the raging sea. Then, someone tackled her to the deck, and picked her up, "She ain't done 'til I says she's done, Karokor!". Macie opened up the hatch as carefully as he could in the storm and quickly poured her on to the stairs and shut the hatch. Too worn and injured to stop herself, Ithil rolled to the bottom of the steps and blacked out....
...and the story continues....
