Tales of the Shackles

Toilday, 10th of Lamashan, 4711 A.R.

They keelhauled Jakes Magpie this bloody hour.

I never did seen a man hauled before. It’s a bloody affair. Not just the drownin’ what gets ‘im, mind, ’cause there’s rough barnacles under the Wormwood what could scrape the grief from a recent widow. Poor Jakes come up with most o’ his face in tatters, and his body so mangled you couldn’t even see where he’d been given the cat. Captain didn’t even come out o’ his cabin. It’s a cold skipper that can let a man be sent to the locker an’ not even come to see it done.

Them new bloods been keepin’ the rest of us laughin’, though. Ye’d never know they was pressed aboard! The one with the arm’s up in the riggin’ even now, swingin’ about like a Tengu and callin’ to his shipmates like ‘ee was born up there. A funny bird, that one. That ’alfling, and the green one, they carry about like they want to be ’ere almost as much, and Bert’s fair fallin’ over ‘is own feet to find more work to handle. Ye’d think Plugg and Scourge’d be ’appy, but they ’ate them as much as the others – more, even.

The only one seems put out is the one they’re callin’ the witch. I ain’t seen ‘er do no magic, but she’s a funny one, it’s true. She’s got Besmara at ‘er back, but whether she’s lookin’ out fer her or chasin’ ‘er, I can’t rightly tell.

They sent that orc down to ‘elp Fishguts. Whoever reckoned that were a good idea ain’t got the sense they left land with. Still, if ‘ee don’t drink like old Croop, maybe we’ll get some better grub.


Uncle_DM Uncle_DM

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