Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Weirdsound]

Kre!aqil remains silent. He clearly does not approve of this plan...

"Is it truly adviseable to risk the wrath of the deities?"

Slicer starts. He hadn't invited Kre!aqil to the meeting and didn't see him lurking in the corner of the cabin. "Eh. I be sure that Surrah and Raiss will take the threat of divine retribution into account when coming up with their schemes. 'Sides, if this truly is the end of the world acoming, I suspect there be a chance the gods understand what is at stake."

[GreatWyrmGold]

"Hm." Kre!aqil does not speak, but the plan clearly still worries him.

"If you fear not retribution from the heavens, what about similar from their representatives in this world?"

[My Name is Immaterial]

<Pity me all you like, but I prefer to pity those who run from face to face, stealing and murdering for a moment of peace.
Were you not the one just telling it is better to light a torch than curse the darkness? Even if my torch goes out, the embers will stay for a short while. Maybe the fire will catch light again. And if someone comes around and puts it all out, then I have lost, and my life has been for nothing.
I know that certain divine figures do not take kindly to my sort of work, but they can smite me if they don't like it. And here I still stand.>
To himself, he whispers "Praisebe.Ifitisnottoomuchbother,donotsmiteme.Thatwouldbereallyswell.Praisebe.Etcetera."

A grin breaks out on his face. "Aye. That is a world I would live in. Except the gushing of souls on boots part. I just cannot get the stains out. Now, if I were you, I would get back to that wheel before Slicer Of Many Necks finishes his meeting. He is not especially keen on bureaucracy, but is very particular about having his orders followed to the letter, and, if I do recall, he requested that you personally man the wheel."

<"The will to take it and the strength to keep it"? That is incredibly cliched. Go work on that.>

[GreatWyrmGold]

<"The will to take it and the strength to keep it"? That is incredibly cliched. Go work on that.>

((...Damn mindspeak, I have a great retort.))

[My Name is Immaterial]

((Go for it in the OOC. That's what it's there for, right?))

[Hanslanda]

<I am of a mercurial race of shapeshifters and you expect me to hold a solid position on ANYTHING that doesn't directly translate to life or death to me? I merely quibble with you for the fun of matching wits with a master mindsmith, psion.>

Seldain nods gravely as he takes the wheel once more, and says, "I recommend a good vinegar soak and gentle scrubbing with a soft cloth. You can never get all the blood out, but you CAN burnish your boots to a nice maroon so it all blends in. Another good method is to stab them in the spinal cord. Less blood, they die of suffocation, and it's a true test of skill. Any scum can cut a throat, but it takes a true assassin to slip a blade between two vertebrae with enough force to completely sever the spine."

<Twas for the benefit of the orcs and hobgoblins. I try to keep things simple for them, otherwise they have trouble keeping up and they get angry when they don't understand what I'm saying. I could prattle on about the theoretical necessity of suffering inherent to the worship of Ilmater to be the true cause of why all sorts and types seek out the life of crime such as the one we live due to a deep calling in their soul from a goodly god seeking to purge the world of suffering through the round about way of forcing evil-doers to commit heinous deeds today so that the generations of a thousand years from now can live in a world bereft of suffering and revel in a post-scarcity society of decadence but I fear that my words would fall on deaf ears. I do doubt that many aboard are concerned with theological debate.>

[Weirdsound]

"Hm." Kre!aqil does not speak, but the plan clearly still worries him.

"If you fear not retribution from the heavens, what about similar from their representatives in this world?"

The Hobgoblin nods, and offers his tankard to the Boson. "People will be already hunting us cause we be pirates. Servants of the divine sent ta hunt our asses will likely be either clerics or otherworldly beings associated with the god we offended: predictable and easily prepared for."

Slicer puts his feet up on his table and pours a tankard for the Darfellan. "Tell ya what, ya can worry 'bout the plans once Surrah and Raiss come up with them. I understand your concern, and will carefully consider any advice ya give on a specific plan, but worrying 'bout vague potential be doing nobody any good at this stage of the operation. On that note, there is no point for any of you to get the crew worried 'bout this. Ya two can ask the other officers for help, feedback, and advice, but I'd rather ya keep the rank 'n file crewmen in the dark. If ya need ta get some of em involved in planning or research, ask Genesis to do a through search of their heads fo' disloyalty first."

Looking about the room the Captain smiles. "Anybody have any other comments or business? If not, I'll finish my drink and be taking the wheel soon."

[tahujdt]

OOC: Where am I in all this? I lost track of the thread.

[Weirdsound]

OOC: We are back on the boat. Piracy to begin soon.

[tahujdt]

Emriro walks up, muttering a prestidigitation spell to dry off his clothes.

Sorry I'm late, I was kipping in the lagoon and didn't wake up on time. What did I miss?

[My Name is Immaterial]

Emriro walks up, muttering a prestidigitation spell to dry off his clothes.

Sorry I'm late, I was kipping in the lagoon and didn't wake up on time. What did I miss?

Looking over the starboard bow at the ocean, Genesis asks "What lagoon? We are easily ten miles from shore. Have you been drinking again?"

<I am of a mercurial race of shapeshifters and you expect me to hold a solid position on ANYTHING that doesn't directly translate to life or death to me? I merely quibble with you for the fun of matching wits with a master mindsmith, psion.>

Seldain nods gravely as he takes the wheel once more, and says, "I recommend a good vinegar soak and gentle scrubbing with a soft cloth. You can never get all the blood out, but you CAN burnish your boots to a nice maroon so it all blends in. Another good method is to stab them in the spinal cord. Less blood, they die of suffocation, and it's a true test of skill. Any scum can cut a throat, but it takes a true assassin to slip a blade between two vertebrae with enough force to completely sever the spine."

<Twas for the benefit of the orcs and hobgoblins. I try to keep things simple for them, otherwise they have trouble keeping up and they get angry when they don't understand what I'm saying. I could prattle on about the theoretical necessity of suffering inherent to the worship of Ilmater to be the true cause of why all sorts and types seek out the life of crime such as the one we live due to a deep calling in their soul from a goodly god seeking to purge the world of suffering through the round about way of forcing evil-doers to commit heinous deeds today so that the generations of a thousand years from now can live in a world bereft of suffering and revel in a post-scarcity society of decadence but I fear that my words would fall on deaf ears. I do doubt that many aboard are concerned with theological debate.>

<Fair enough. It is rather difficult to interpret tone through mindlink, unless you explicitly transmit it.> With that, Genesis beams pure boredom across the connection.

"I am not a man who plays with blades, but I can admire skill with them all the same. I prefer the power labeled Energy Bolt. Allows me to deal with anyone within forty paces. Not to mention, I can blow a hole in the side of ship with it. That, or Crisis of Breath. The brain stops telling the lungs to breath, so a weak-bodied man can be easily brought to his knees. All is left is to finish him off." He hefts his quarterstaff, and his gaze drifts to it. "I've no particular skill with this. It's just for when I am mentally exhausted. Call it my badge of office."

<Aye. I find little time for the divine. I make myself the servant one thing, but I think you can guess what that is. After all, we have spent the last ten minutes discussing it.> Genesis chuckles, opening his left hand. A small crystal with spindly gossamer legs crawls out of his sleeve, climbing to perch on his fingers. From the top, it appears to be a sphere, but the bottom reveals it to be split in half, with the inside full of crystals reaching for the center. It is a vibrant red, not dissimilar to Genesis's hair coloration, but with splashes of green and gray.
"Meet 'Mini-me, number 2'. I would take him over any familiar."
In Seldain's mind, a new voice appears. It sounds like a distorted version of Genesis's, but permanently fixed in a cheerful tone. <Hello, Seldain! How are you? I am very excited to meet you! I think that we, with time, hopefully a very short time, can become good friends!>

[tahujdt]

Yes, actually. Is that a tissue?

[My Name is Immaterial]

"Do you mean 'issue'? If so, yes, it very much is. What if an Elven Wingship were to bear down along our windward side, raking us with spell and powder? You'd be as much use as your parrot. I will let this one pass, but I do not want to see you so hammered that you start to slur. And I have eyes everywhere.
If not, then no, Number Two is not a tissue, and you are so stinking drunk, the Master at Arms would not just dunk your head in a bucket of water, she would have to keel haul you. She does get a kick out of keelhauling people, our Raiss does."

[tahujdt]

Sorry, iss revess nitrogen-n'cosis.  Gimme a minjit, I'll be fine.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Genesis shakes his head is dismay and disgust. "I am very sorry, but I do not speak Drunkard. Note that you will be getting half grog rations for a week."