Devan quickly comes onto the deck, picks up a bucket, and begins to wash the blood and gore off the deck. He looks really innocent the whole time, for the benefit of their trade partners.
You sluice the majority of the offending material overboard. It's impossible to wash bloodstains out of wood, though. You know this from experience.
" But cap'n, perhaps the blood and limbs will scare off any future pirates?"
Help clean up if captain wants the deck shipshape.
You assist. As one would expect from a twelve year old, you find the task more fascinating than is entirely healthy.
Devan is kind enough to identify by sight a few bits of human anatomy for you.
Help with dat cleaning up sing a merry tune of candy and the crew.
You sing about chocolate, the sea, the sky, and nobody being murdered at all.
That Bloody Cat did the feline equivalent of a shrug. Time for a catnap.
That Bloody Cat hopped onto somebody's bed and... napped.
You bed down, pushing the coverings into a defensive pile for better shelter and concealment.
Captain Desmond looks at the holiday makers, then at his ship, then at the holiday makers, then at the Quartemaster, then at the ominous open area these people are circling, and then at the other two ships also circling the area, and then at the holiday makers again.
"Right then. Maybe we best be on our way."
Turn sharply away from the ominous open area and move on. Also help clean the deck of body parts and blood. No sense in joining the oncoming sacrifice as the opening victim. We'll report our suspicions at the next port we dock at, and if we see anything brutal happen as we leave, we'll report that too.
Desmond steers away from the odd scene, a tight knot in his stomach and a bleak look on his face.
The Gareth continues on for another hour. The Perpetual Thundercloud of Odin looms before it, a huge bank of stormclouds that refuse to disperse or stray from one area of the Belgrafian sea, they represent a hazard to all and any sailors that try to past. The result of an unfair agreement about overtime pay, meteorologists have determined that the clouds are in fact picketing a certain entrance to the home of the Gods. Celestial bureaucracy tends to move at the speed of terrestrial plate tectonics, so the storm is an unavoidable nuisance. But only a mile through the raging torrents lies the river entrance that will begin the gentle upriver stroll to your destination.
In the centre of the storm, a huge spinning funnel of water has been created by the cyclonic movement of the winds, the sides of the whirlpool stretching down and down to god knows where, archaeological layers of wreckage spinning trapped in the lower echelons of the gaping hole in the sea. Navigating it would require
seamanship from the crew.
Alternately, to the right of the whirlpool, lies an area of raging but more easily negotiable waters, though the spray thrown up by the waves and massive sheets of rain obscure from view any shapes other than the mass of land and the river mouth you are heading to. Already, the maddened cries of albatross hipsters are carried to you by the wind, as they circle relentlessly, unable to find a way out of the storm due to their horrifically large sunglasses and tortourously tight trousers inhibiting their sense of direction and flying ability. Birds weren't even meant to wear such things in the first place, let alone garments that push the limits of human endurance. Navigating this area would entail
ambushes. Finally, to the left of the whirlpool, lurks the skeletal outline of a dark ship. The abode of the Ancient Marionettes, a crazed ship of cursed puppets sustained by the foam and the rain, little is known about this ominous vessel. Sailing this way would most likely result in
surprises.
Author
Topic: Maiden Voyage of the HMS Gareth, RTD, (Read 26122 times)