Aboard the Spirited Storm in the port of Skaug

[Xorena]

// RP between members of the Hellstorm pirates. Account compiled from Hellstorm forum RP over the last week. No metagaming please.

Following the victory at Selune’s Bracelet, the crew of the infamous pirate ship Seawolf gathers in the Keelhaul Tavern at the port of Skaug in Nelanther Isles on a warm Kythorn eve. The crew vote on the fate of the Spirited Storm, the Dromond warship they captured in the Bracelet, which tilts toward adding to the Hellstorm fleet.

Dread Wavecaller Perle Wynn fills her glass again and again with rum, sipping lightly as a warm glow enters her throat and spreads throughout her body. She visibly relaxes, though her sunken eyes remain a testament to her lack of sleep in recent days. Just a few days past, she was simply Wavecaller Perle Wynn. But after successfully performing a rite of execution by drowning — her first since becoming a full Priestess of Umberlee — she had added “Dread” to her title.

As the crew bicker and fight over what little the warship will bring — either in prestige or gold — Perle places her empty glass on the table and stands.

"Captain, I've need to board the Spirited Storm. She must be properly blessed before we depart," Perle says, fixing a bleary gaze at Karn, her eyes flitting briefly to the freckled Quartermaster.

[Xorena]

Priestess Perle Wynn boarded the longboat and ordered it toward the warship in the bay. As the crew bore her ever closer, Perle noted the calm seas with occasional swell that lifted oars from water. There was a storm coming, she knew, but did the crew? The captain? Umberlee’s thirst for power knew no bounds, and though Her waters were now still, the Queen’s currents ran deep.

Like the sea, Perle’s visage was cloaked with a mask of serenity, belying the turmoil inside. She closed her sea-green eyes and turned her face into the slight, salty breeze. It was here where she felt calmest. She listened to breakers on distant shores, as though they might provide answer to her deepest desires.

With the Siren’s Desire now torched and resting in Umberlee’s watery embrace, Perle felt satisfied. She stood as the longboat sidled up to the Spirited Storm and climbed the rope ladder to board her. Any stares from the crew as the Dread Wavecaller approached were met with a smirk.

Perle removed a flask of blessed seawater and a small pouch of sand from her bag and began blessing the ship, her fervent prayers in Aquan drifting over the ship and onto the sea, dissipating with the wind.

[Hidennka]

---

Stood on the deck of the newly acquired warship, a pair of faux-elven eyes tracked the approach of the longboat from across the bay; the silhouette of priestess carved against the fluid strokes of the oarsmen. The Spirited Storm cut an impressive figure, and welcomed Perle's advance with promises of strength and power; oars stationary from prior maneuver of the bay. The Dromond was everything one might expect of magnificently crafted 'Man o' War', her furled sails voluptuous and thick, with a hull that groaned and creaked it's prowess upon the waves. For several passing beats of interim, Mara's eyes drew shut; obsidian lashes stealing away a final moment of silence.

Dressed down to the most simplistic attire, tight leather embracing thighs with a pale blouse unbuttoned and open to billow in the gentle wind of eve, a deep inhale of ocean air set breast to swell. None bothered her in her seclusion, the half-elf draped over the notched railing of the ship's port side on languidly folded arms. It was a warm night, the scents of oil and sunbathed wood mingling with the crisper notes of the open ocean. As peaceful a scene it seemed, Mara found none.

Betrayal had cut deep; a Skulker's* old wound, unhealed, that festered in it's soak of subtle poison at behest of crew's entirety. In the first few days en route to Nelanther Isles, for those who knew little of her, the half-elf's features were nothing more than intimidating tempest that surely discouraged interaction and made difficult the discern of bitter disappointment. Whatever her feelings on the recent turn of events that had brought the ship under her leadership, however, it was only in the privacy of solitude she could, and would, allow herself to vent frustration before slumping wearily against the reinforced panes of cabin's door; splinters pricking against bare flesh with discard of outer layers.

With the gentle tap of the longboat on present day hull, and the rhythmic slap of rungs that heralded the arrival of the Wavecaller, Mara opened her eyes. Against the backdrop of bronze features and the flicker of single torch on deck, the depths of an emerald gaze indulged in the blessing of night. Hunched over wooden beam, little more than a flask in hand, there was no acknowledgement that came from she for Perle's arrival. No shift in movement, nor part from brooding cloud of thought, save for the barely perceptible swivel of crimson framed jaw that bespoke alertness.

It, too, was short lived, and the Hellstorm Quartermaster's attention returned to the black waves that swallowed the horizon; leaving the priestess to go about her sacred business.

[Xorena]

As Perle moved about the deck, she suddenly paused. Just any blessing wouldn’t do, no. The Sprited Storm wasn’t just any ship, captained by a man who might only meet Perle once.

Halted on the main deck, Perle sat cross-legged to think. Withdrawing salt-stained notebook from cloak, she drew the pencil from its spine and began to outline a rite to Umberlee.

Hellstorm Pirates had bled and died aboard the Seawolf for years — enough to make the ship a near relation. The Spirited Storm, however, was new to the crew and likely captained by a man who only paid reluctant tribute to the Queen of the Depths. If the Hellstorm Pirates were to truly become noticed by Umberlee, the ship must be imbued. Perle stood and drew her curved dagger. In Aquan she began to pray in a loud, clear voice.

“O Queen of the Depths, by our sacrament you know the crew, the brave who dedicate themselves as your wrath above the waves. The Seawolf is imbued with their blood. So, too, must you know the Spirited Storm as your agent of fury.”

Perle faced the sea and rose the dagger high, its razor-sharp edge reflecting torchlight as long, rolling swells arrived from some distant tempest. On the upswell, she drove the dagger down into her forearm, gasping as the tip met her soft, rosy flesh. Blood flowed in rivulets down her arm. The blade clattered to the deck as Perle’s sacrifice soaked the sunbathed wood.

Whether it was loss of blood, earlier quaffed rum or sheer exhaustion, Perle wasn’t sure. Shoulders slumped and struggling to walk, she soldiered through the ship’s sacrament, dripping blood from fingertips and spreading sand as she could. As she walked she continued to pray.

“The Spirited Storm is your vessel, to traverse your swelling seas and shrieking storms. Aid our passage and drown our enemies, and we will bring you what you desire — the treasure of Selune’s Bracelet mentioned in our commune, O great Queen.”

Perle’s Aquan reverie faded, exhaustion overtaking her. Her last glimpse fell on emerald eyes and maroon locks.

“Hells or high water, captain,” she murmured in common before slumping to the deck.

[Hidennka]

---

Elongated ears attuned to the burbled, hissed notes of Aquan dialect, the half-elf studied the exotic dance of waves over ship's edge; the sea witch's words a haunting reminder at the back of her thoughts that drifted akin to wayward flotsam. With the thud that sounded in the wake of cleric's blessing, feminine form sprawled upon the small pool of blood that steadily snaked through the grooves of weathered deck, Mara remained unperturbed. "Hells and high water, Priestess." the woman amended throwback with inaudible mutter, a roll of her wrist swirling the contents of flask for following mouthful.

Turning her head to glance back at the deck-bound heap, crimson locks cascading over supple shoulder, both arched brows claimed furrow upon her brow. Oh, how easy it would be to simply leave the woman where she lay. To close the distance between them and pierce the housed black heart with the drive of rapier's point. To nudge her over the edge and gauge just how much the Queen of the Depths valued the life of haughty priestess. After all, if recent events were any indication, the same opportunity in the hands of another Hellstorm would hardly go ignored were it she sprawled on deck. Vengeance, a dark twisted beast of gnashing teeth, strained against it's chains. Oh, how easy it would be...

With exhale parting her lips, Mara pushed away from ship's edge; the steady thud of thickly heeled boots sounding a marched drumbeat on the weathered floorboards. Closer and closer still, the approach abruptly ceased as leather-clad toe came to rest a mere few ilms from the persimmon crown of the Wavecaller. Securing the twisted metal lid of flask, the steel canister was placed to stand upon the deck with a dull clack and a quiet sigh. From that same squat, inked and scarred digits running through half-elven locks, Mara attempted to scoop the semi-conscious woman into her arms as she stood. She was not gentle.

Under the gaze of combined crew drawn by the commotion, Mara toted the woman toward her own temporary cabin; specks of blood and ichor trailing departure. Once the door had been kicked unceremoniously open and Perle had found herself dropped into nearest backed chair, the clatter of tin and the trickle of liquid filled the silence of the room with subtle echo. Water thrust beneath the nose of the Umberlant in dented mug, a folded pouch abandoned on the edge of the table, single demand drawled flatly from full lips. "Drink."

[Xorena]

As her form thudded to the deck, Perle felt dragged below, down to Her cold, crushing depths. A long sigh exited her parted lips as her head swam in a fog of her own making.

Through the watery environ, Perle heard a whisper, a rising tide on a distant beach: “Hells and high water, priestess.”

Her eyes snapped open but she saw no light. She strained to move but felt nothing. The feeling of submersion was complete, and Perle surrendered to Her will.

Muffled thuds reverberated in Umberlee’s watery domain, Perle’s body rising and falling with each breath just off the bottom of a great marine trench. A massive tentacle grasped Perle’s still form and dragged her along, painfully ramming her into boulders along the sea floor.

The crash of door from the captain’s kick roused Perle from her dream state. As Mara thrust the mug beneath her nose, Perle moaned and reached weakly for its dented form. Without question she followed the captain’s command, taking a cautious sip over rosy, cracked lips. The drink revived her, and soon she emptied the cup with a few greedy gulps.

Perle placed the empty mug on the table with a shaky hand. After some effort, she managed to heal her wound, though her ministrations did nothing for her general malaise. Sanguine stains marked her skin-tight Umberlant trappings where blood had pooled beneath her.

She attempted to stand, but wobbly legs refused her command. Perle's sun-kissed cheeks flushed at her helplessness. Instead, Perle sat as straight as she could muster.

“Captain Mara, thank you,” she croaked in a husky voice.

A few heartbeats passed as she examined the woman’s countenance. Though exhausted, Perle's eyes remained determined and bright as her gaze sought the captain’s.

“We are at a crossroads, for Umberlee has whispered her desire of treasures in the Bracelet. She may favor us all if we appease her well.”

[Hidennka]

---

Bestowing cup unto priestess, Mara snatched the pouch from the table and moved once more across the room; the plink and tingle of light metal suggesting the likelihood of contents to be a meager supply of the medical no longer needed with divine healing. It was tossed upon the nearest dresser. "Don't thank me." The half-elf stated with turned back as she poured herself a mug of rum and grabbed from the far table previously opened waterskin. It was tossed in Perle's direction, landing on the floor at her feet with a watery slap. Though well hidden, the woman's lingering gaze on freckled features yielded a flicker of embittered contempt.

Plucking her own cup from it's rest, now full with the sharp scent of liquor, Mara's sauntered gait carried her across the floorboards in Perle's direction once more and, with abrupt pull of the nearest chair at the table she sat alongside, the half-elf dropped down into a seat of her own choosing. "I knew an Umberlant Priest, once." The woman uttered, mug drawn between both scarred palms as she teetered languidly onto the chair's hind legs. From the gaze directed at the contents of her beverage, Mara turned her attention on weakened wavehunter.

"Well, not knew. We crossed paths on a few occasions. Acquainted." She clarified with a dismissive gesture of two-finger flick. A quiet groan of protest squeaked from the chair that bore uneven weight, and billowing open shirt just barely kept her modest in shared company with little shame; the writhing tendrils of krakken's tentacles and the crow's skull they snaked from on full display. "What set the pompous prick apart from the more noteworthy of his ilk was this uncanny habit he had picked up. You see, Bulinus - that was his name, if I recall correctly - liked ta go about wavin' the Queen's unholy symbol as though he were some conductor of divine prerogative. Fella had a lot of opinions; liked ta force his will on people, claimin' his desires to be Umberlee's demands. The bloke believed his own lies, too, and saw himself untouchable because no seafarin' man or woman in their right mind would dare ta lay a hand on a servant of Umberlee."

Pausing to wet her lips with amber sheen of mug's contents, Mara's emerald green gaze remained fixated over the rim as though studying the other woman's expression. With the tip of rosen tongue savoring liquor's residue, she continued in an even, almost conversational, tone. "And yet, when blade split his belly an' the life faded from his eyes, the Bitch didn't come to his rescue. An insignificant speck in the grand scheme of things, he bled tha same as any other man." Loosely, and with scarred digits, the half-elf gestured to Perle's scarlet-streaked forearm. "Of course, we were a bit younger, then. Reckless, and stupid." She concluded in husky tones, leaving Perle to deduce her own reasons for the recount of story.

Draining the dregs from her cup with light shrug and a mild cluck of empty amusement that echoed at the base of tin chalice, Mara set the empty mug on the table. Unless otherwise broken, the solemn silence that followed lingered for an uncounted two minutes until speckled femme spoke her next words.

"Did you know, Perle?" the elven mongrel questioned. "What was ta happen on the beach, with the crew. Did you know?"

[Xorena]

Perle retrieved the waterskin from the deck and refilled her mug. Cupping it in both hands as she drank, she leaned back in her chair and listened to Mara’s warning barely cloaked. Were she in any other condition Perle might guard her thoughts, but she had always been a terrible liar in the best of circumstances.

She scoffed lightly into her now-empty cup as Mara recounted Bulinus’ folly. Her eyes drifted across Mara’s intricate tattoos — a stark contrast to Perle’s own unmarked form.

At the end of the tale, Perle allowed the moment to build. Silence was a gift, and in ways more effective than torture when curiosity can wait no longer.

“Ah, there it is,” Perle thought as Mara loosed her query into the silence.

She refilled her mug, keeping an eye on the captain out of the corner of her eye more out of habit than anything. In her weakened state Mara could do anything and Perle was powerless to stop her. Perle lacked rigorous martial training in any case.

“Bulinus was a fool, as are so many who claim Umberlee’s favor. They coerce tribute with empty threats or seduction — nothing but whöres wrapped in Umberlant cloth. So trite and hollow, these tactics. Those without talent and fervor resort to such. It cheapens Her message,” Perle nearly spat the last few words.

Perle placed her cup on the weathered table to refill it again, nodding at Mara. No doubt the crew had already whispered of the grisly tableau on the beach, of Grayhair staked prostrate to the sand, tied to four long marlinspikes and his meek acceptance of his eventual fate.

“Yes I knew — the question is, why didn’t you?” Perle faced Mara, her level gaze unflinching. “I told you and Captain Karn the day I boarded the Seawolf that Grayhair wasn’t worthy, that I had communed with Umberlee.”

Drawing cup to pink lips, Perle took a moment to collect her thoughts. Perle shrugged her tanned shoulders as she spoke the next words.

“Neither of you had even heard of Grayhair. So why would I commune with Umberlee to ask about a captain neither of you knew? Why would I even claim as such? It doesn’t make any sense. There’s no benefit to me.”

Perle considered her next words, her eyes focused on the past.

“You were sick with the fever when Cullen last visited, when he told Karn and I that the Siren’s Desire would be in our path. I started planning then but Karn wouldn’t agree, said the crew wouldn’t like it. Sacrificing the doomed to Her depths pleases Umberlee — it doesn’t take a commune to know that. I was surprised and pleased by Karn’s change of heart.”

Perle closed her eyes, her arms spread wide, palms up, as she recalled her commune with her dark goddess. “These are not merely my desires, Mara. I heard Her speak. Umberlee favored my posting aboard the Seawolf, not the Siren’s Desire. I might be at the bottom of the bay with the burned husk of the Desire had I gone against Her will.”

She leaned forward, her sea-green eyes full of conviction she sought Mara’s gaze. “When I tell you Umberlee has whispered her desires of treasures in Selune’s Bracelet, I mean I heard her voice in the wind and waves of Roaringshore during the commune. We have a chance if we but seize it.”

[Hidennka]

---

The elevated forelegs of Mara's chair dropped to the floorboards with a dull thud; the only sound to penetrate the silence of the room in the wake of the wavecaller's response. Upon thumbing the tip of freckled nose, fingers detailed with brand and ink entwined, threading in the overhang of her knees as she hunched forward like some brooding hound. "Wasn't worthy, yes. Of you. Of your services. Of Captaincy." The speckled siren rasped, her tone low and rife with vibrato of near-growl. "It was mentioned." She enunciated firmly, gaze locked on Perle's own from beneath furrowed brow.

"What wasn't, however, was mention of a second meeting with Cullen, or whom we would come across. Nor that the Queen had told you, and you Karn, that he was to be drowned. Sacrificed. Do you really think I would have welcomed the man on board the Seawolf had I known any of that? That I would willingly humiliate myself with the suggestion?"

Mara's rise was abrupt, the hoarse exclamation of scraping wood permeating the cabin as her chair backpedaled and toppled to the floor. Yet, as brash as the action seemed to be, a sense of calm claimed the woman's voice. "I cared little for Grayhair's life, Perle Wynn, but I care a great deal that the two of you decidedly knew best, and better than the rest of the crew when you kept something so very petty from them. From me." Shaking her head slowly, the half-elf's sauntered gait took her toward the back of captain's quarters and the meager effects hung from hammock. Knowing full well the priestess could do little harm to her at this point in time, Mara shrugged the blouse from speckled shoulders and exchanged it for one fresher, exposing bare back's ink and the infernal text scrawled thereupon.

"You endanger the crew when you keep things from me, Priestess. And, you endanger yourself, because that man over there..." she gestured in the vague direction of the Seawolf, lacing cream garibaldi with turn in Perle's direction once more. Possibilities of what she might unveil halted on the tip of her tongue: his reasons, her reasons. "Is capable, and strong, and knows exactly what he's doing when he pits us against one another. He will betray you, and your interests, if given tha opportunity to do so; any of us, all of us, for nothing more than a personal vendetta with Amn." And when that time comes, we're all gonna have ta choose a side. Mara shook herself free of the thought, threading the leather strap of baldric through it's buckle with the fasten of cutlass at her side. It rattled against the gentle pat laid upon bronze basket, an old friend.

"I ain't here ta tell ya what ta do, or say, or think beyond ensuring our success and livelihood." the speckled seafarer intoned, exhaling a terse breath with the drift of emerald gaze toward the open window. Whatever additional thoughts, or further insight she might offer, only conclusion accompanied lingering glance to the anchored brigantine. "I'm just sayin'... keep ya eyes and ears open, lass. Things too good to be true? Usually are."

[Xorena]

Perle subtly drew long, deep breaths, a calm ocean slowly caressing a long, sandy strand at slack tide. Her green-eyed gaze followed the captain as she sauntered to the back of her quarters. Mara did have a point. Delirious in the throes of a dangerous fever, Mara was unaware of plans plotted while she lay in convalescence.

As the russet-haired half elf levied her grievances against Captain Karn, Perle sat straight, her attention rapt. She sensed turbulent currents as beasts of the deep circled for the kill, but when would she feel the strike?

Perle stood on shaky legs as the captain’s voiced warning fell from full lips. The wavecaller grasped the back of her chair until the quivering ceased. Once confident, she shuffled to the window to lean against splintered wall, steady hand placed on the sill to stare out at the ‘wolf and the Queen’s wide, dark sea beyond.

“Captain, you know where my primary loyalty lies. Anyone who endangers my mission to appease and venerate Umberlee I will work against,” she lowered her weary head, gaze lingering on scraped floorboards at her feet. She turned, still leaning on the wall to face her superior.

“Barring that, I respect the chain of command — and your authority as Quartermaster aboard the Seawolf. As a crew our tide rises and falls together, Mara. I fail if the Seawolf fails. You can trust I will do anything I can to ensure our success,” Perle said in a voice husky with exhaustion.

“If you’ve nothing further, Captain, I request my leave. I can find an empty hammock among the crew and return to the Seawolf in the morning.”

[Hidennka]

---

Through braided locks of blood-red crimson, Mara swept scarred digits that bore a branded ring. Above it, the inked imagery of a hound chasing black mink ordained bronze knuckles; snapping maw always just out of reach of prized rodent beneath the tousle of tangled tresses. Amidst the eerie cast of shadows that engaged in tormented dance with cabin's dim candlelight, the half-elf's emerald gaze tracked the enfeebled movements of the priestess who found her feet. There were numerous comebacks she might offer to the juxtaposition of Perle's words, and yet Mara offered none beyond the faint quirk of full lips.

Eventually, the speckled siren drew back from her lean against the inner hull's nearest beam with a thumb of her nose and a sniff with reach for the wooden case folded into hammock. No bigger than the average sized palm, it's clasp snapped open and the woman plucked from within a pre-rolled cigarillo, evening out it's contents with dual tap on duskwood coffer. It wasn't often that Mara smoked, and less often, still, that she was witnessed to do so. Forgoing the use of any arcane influence, vice was lit from nearest lantern and left to hang limply from feminine maw.

"You can stay 'ere," she offered simply, collecting additional baldric in hand as she stepped away from the bedding entirely. An act of kindness, or some ulterior motive? As always, it was difficult to tell. With a dismissive plume of smoke parting her lips, Mara didn't look back; the thud of footsteps and the rustle of iron and leather accompanying full strides as she moved for cabin's door and the open skies of a star-spangled eve beyond.