Couple more sad fools dragged aboard last night. Ain’t none sail on the Wormwood a body could rightly call gentlefolk, but the last batch look roundly to be the queerest sea dogs aboard!
There’s one, Washin Von Char, looks like ’ee’s been dredged off the ocean’s floor and dumped in the hold, still with ‘alf the sea still on ’im! Eyes and ’air as blue as a fair-wind sky, and with this ’ere tentacle in place of ’is arm, all octopus-y and salt-smellin’. That one has the mark of Besmara, or I ain’t Mr. Quinn’s daughter.
Then there’s that Zerilda. Who thunk bringin’ an old sea-hag onto a ship like this is aught but unluck? I know the crew reckon she’s fixin’ to bring an evil wind with ’er, but I dunno… Maybe a little more to ’er than the old crazy most of ’em see…
But at least she got a name! There’s this big ‘alf-orc too, got ’ands black as pitch, and any that reckon they got that way through ’ard graft and not by pokin’ ‘em into dark places ain’t looked in ‘is eye. Out o’ all these new recruits, I reckon ‘ees the one we most gotta be keepin’ the weather eye on.
There’s an ‘alf-elf in the crew too, but ’ee don’t ‘ave the look of the ones what got cast out. Looks ’appy as a sandboy and twice as wet behind the pointy ears. But ’ee knows one of o’ the ship from the other, and that’ll do fer me. Plugg an’ Scourge don’t like ‘im, but ’ow’s that news? ‘Ee looks like ’ee’s willin’ to do what’s gotta be done, whenever that is, and I hope it carries ’im into safe waters when the cutlasses get loosened.
Oh, and there’s a shortstuff professor or somethin’. Don’t know what to make of ‘im. What ’ee lacks in salt is picked up in gumption, and I’ve known men what get carried through their whole lives off gumption. Dresses like a sandy-ankled fop, mind.
Still, I’ve a need for a couple’a chums while I’m ‘ere on the Wormwood, and I ain’t gettin’ nowhere with the other scoundrels. Maybe sidin’ with these folks might see me straight?