Tales of the Shackles

Wealday, 18th Lamashan, 4711 A.R.

Eventful night t’night. Plugg an’ Scourge brought their brute up. Owlbear they call ‘im. Th’officers use ‘im for their entertainment, tarrin’ an’ featherin’ ‘im for gab an’ chortles. Don’t seem so funny to me, but what do I know, eh?

Anyway, they brung ‘im up on deck and reckoned the tune o’ a hundred king’s ‘eads that ’ee could whup that kitchen orc in a fisticuffs. Well, didn’t really go Scourge’s way – nor Bert’s, who I saw put ten gold on Owlbear. Scourge chucked in a club to ‘elp the Owlbear out, but ’ee was terrified o’ the orc, who got a bellow on ‘im could sink a ship o’ the line. Still, Perri piped up a word in the orc’s shell-like, and they let Owlbear off the ‘ook. Not often you get to see mercy on the Wormwood an’ it didn’t make Scourge or Plugg any ’appier.

Speakin’ o’ Perri, ’ee’s been tellin’ sea tales in the evenin’s sometimes. It’s funny to listen in on ‘im – ’ee’s got some o’ the old tales right off the mark an’ don’t seem to know that every blooded buccaneer on the ship’s ‘eard them all told the right way an ’undred times. But the way ’ee puts ’is own sland on ’em’s got the crew fair eatin’ out o’ his ‘and. Wasted on a ship like this – ’ee should be treadin’ the boards!


Uncle_DM Uncle_DM

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