Wyrd Tales in Port Doom

Quartermaster's Log: Filthy Lucre, Day 1

I hadn’t seen Raven in a good long time, but she seemed desperate for ship officers when I found her in drinking in the Shag-n-Stab. She’d grown up well – gotten bustier and lustier, ripe like an island peach.

Well, more like a prickly pear – like the grow around Port Peril. Surely sweet on the inside, but bitter and painful at the skin.

She’d spread around that she was looking for Captain Barbarossa, which is what brought me to her. Barbarossa was a right bastard, leaving me behind in Port Plunder like he did. Booty from the last voyage had kept me in style for months, but the coin had run thin. It was past time to find a new berth, and someone looking for Barbarossa would pay in gold for the information I had.

I never expected to end up as the quartermaster on the Filthy Lucre. Yet that’s where I find myself – my creaky legs are quickly finding their sea footing again as we leave port Plunder behind.

Filthy Lucre, Day 4

The Captain and I have been spending a lot of time behind closed doors this voyage. Normally, that’d be cause for naked celebration, but I can’t quite get over the fact that I remember her as a young girl.

Also, I’m fairly sure she’d rip my anchor off by the mooring if I tried anything.

Besides, she brought along a trollop of her own that keeps her busy enough – a pretty little thing that moves like a cat and carries her own set of claws. I’ve tempted those claws more than once – her backside would be worth the scratches – exactly as soft and firm to the touch as you’d think from the sight of her in her leathers.

Anyway. the Captain has been having me “retranslate” the original log pages. Ever since she saw the scars on my arms I made to steal Barbarossa’s code, she’s been obsessed with them.

Filthy Lucre, Day 6

We’re nearing the Reefs – should see them in the next day or two if the winds hold. I’m hoping we make it through as easily as I did with Barbarossa. Then it shouldn’t be long until we see the MIsts.

Captain Raven’s… friends, I guess… are a mixed bunch. The big brawny lad doesn’t quite have his sea legs, I think, and eyeballs the Captain’s monkey as if it’s going to eat him. His arms are as thick as anchor rope, though – he can hoist a sail all by his lonesome – and he’s a quick enough study as a deckhand.

The little fellow has seen his way around a ship before though – knows the lingo, and the work. The crew likes him well enough: he’s taught them a few new shanties already. I think he’s a bit of a wizard on his own as well. He certainly knows how to vanish when it’s time to hand out crew duties.

Their wizard – an elf no less! – has spent most of the voyage below deck. He’s roped off an area that smells of spices. It’s not a pleasant smell, but that’s the price you pay for having a wizard on board.



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