conversations: human
conversations:  The sails flutter as a sharp wind flashes across the deck of  The Vagabond.  You've come to like the way these sudden gusts would carry the salt into your lungs. It's refreshing to be on the sea, feeling like you're going somewhere.
  
  It had been ten days, a whole tenday, without stopping once in port. On a merchant ship like this, one would think that Old Man Jeffrey would want to stop in every port possible in order to try to sell his inventions. Jeffrey started as a tinkerer, and a damn good one at that. He was always against using magic to solve problems, and seemed to hold spite for those who leaned on it. He always said things like,  "Magic won't be 'round forever boys, pick up a sword and shield and guard properly."  Fat lot of good that does you in this world.
  
  Mostly, his inventions are useless. Little trinkets that move on their own or special boxes with hidden compartments to store stuff. Really, most of his sales were to unsuspecting nobles who needed some sort of entertainment to fill the gaps between the five meals of their day.
  
  The reason for being on this ship, well, cash. You've run right out of it. That cruel realization rears its ugly had once more, kicking down the high you'd just gained from the breeze. Jeffrey makes his way over to you.
  
   "I know I hired you as guards, but it'd be nice if you did something to clean the ship too. It's rather dirty and a couple of my crew are under the weather, what do you say to an extra five gold in your pocket just to clean the ship?" 
  
  That's right, a couple of the crew had gotten sick because we hadn't gone to port. Stupid Jeffrey, what is he thinking. The weather's clear. Hell, you can even see that the waves have a nice chop from that gust, why are we still here?
  
   "Well? What do you say to some extra coin?" 
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mercutio leans against the railing, enjoying the salty spray upon his face. Now  this  was freedom. Sailing the open seas, he could make a living out of it. That is if he didn't have to do mundane jobs such as cleaning the ship as well.
  
  Merc does a quick check of his coin purse. Yup still just the two gold pieces. Still facing the sea, the Drow signals to Muriel in Hand Cant.
  
    How much prestidigitation did you prepare today?  
  
  Without waiting for response from his partner, Merc spins on his heels, his trademark grin stretching from ear to ear.
  
   "My dear Jeffery, a good day to you! Now we are always appreciative of gold, but what would you say to a little wager?" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel leaned out over the railing of The Vagabond, enjoying the feel of the wind in her face. Her long black dress fluttered in the strong gusts, the wisps of cloth floating out behind her like blood over water. Closing her eyes, she simply took a moment to feel the sea air.
  
  That was really the only good part of being on this damned ship. Being away from the stenches and troubles of land. She certainly wasn't here for the captain's company. In fact, if Mercutio hadn't been so picky about the jobs they took, they wouldn't even have to be here.
    
  Not like Windbags pays us all that much anyways...
    
  
  Speak of the devil. She could hear the old geezer's footsteps approaching behind her. And smell his stench. She scowled, not turning around as he made his offer.
    
  What do I look like, a cabin boy?  
  
  She signaled back to Mercutio,  I have Grease prepared. I refuse to do this man's dirty work for such a low fee. Wager or not. 
  
  The scowl stuck, her morning ruined.
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Whatcha mean? A wager?" 
  
  The old man leaned to the right slightly, placing a hand upon his leg.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Merc's smile flattens for a split second when he see's his partner's response. As his eyes were toward Muriel, he spots a very colorful bird in the distance. Twas a very pretty bird, all the colors of the rainbow with a white belly. He had always wanted a pet bird, possibly a parrot that he could teach to say words like some sailors he had met. Maybe one day he get one.
  
  Mercutio realized he had drifted off into thought for a long time again and attempted to make a quick recovery.
  
   "What? Sorry spaced out there for a second, pretty bird and whatnot." his smile reappears, "Sure thing I clean up, need the cash anyway. But what do you say to paying 10 gold pieces, my captivating captain?"
   
  Behind his back, the drow signals to Muriel,
  
    Fine then, I shall have all the earnings to myself and share none with you.
    
  In a childish fashion. Well, as childish as you can express in a sign language.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  
    Diplomacy  - (1d20+12)[ 30 ] 
   
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  The woman simply gave him a flat stare and went back to staring out to sea.
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Jeffrey's eyes show confusion and just a bit of suspicion. Mercutio's words do not help.
  
   "Where I'm from, that's not called a wager, boy. That's called begging for payment." 
  
  He looks back for a second, toward starboard, before continuing his words.
  
   "Whatever, just get her clean. We're going to be at sea for one more day before port." 
  
  He tosses ten gold pieces on to the floor, walking away with a swift turn of his heel.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Ah ha!"  Mercutio quietly exhults to himself,  "My gambit worked! Not a wager in your eyes maybe, oh Captain of Cakes. But I still get the better end of this deal."  
  
  With that, the actor picks up his gold, grabs a mob and bucket, and begins to scrub the decks.
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  In Undercommon.  "What in the nine hells do you mean by Captain of Cakes? Has the sea air gone to your head." 
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Still scrubbing the floor, Mercutio replies back in Undercommon,
  
   "Was a character in one of the plays I did back in my theater days. Fat old captain of a ship who is easily fooled by the hero. And here in lies the lesson my dear. If you play an annoying enough fool, people will give you money to go away and shut up." 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Turning her head slightly to stare at the retreating emaciated back of Jeffrey, and back to Mercutio.
  
  "  He's not fat though...  " she muttered under her breath.
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mercutio shrugs. Still scrubbing the deck.
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mercutio makes short work of the deck, finding himself done in about an hour. Standing as he finishes and returning the supplies to their proper place, Mercutio returns to Muriel on the deck of  The Vagabond. 
  
  It was midsun now, and the heat was evident, the freshness of the previously welcome ocean spray had somewhat dissipated and been replaced by the quite unwelcome feeling of clothing sticking to ones back. The humidity created by a sea environment was starting to  not  pay off.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Rolling one of his newly earned coins across his fingers, Mercutio leans his back against the railing and says to Muriel,
  
   "You know? I've been wondering, why haven't we stopped in the last tenday? I imagine thats why there's been so much sick that I just scraped off the deck. I figure a man such as him would want to stop at port and sell his goods at any chance he gets" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel gives a shrug, clearly not caring.  "Ask Windbags." 
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Flipping the coin into the air with his thumb, Mercutio says,  "Grand idea!"  Catching the coin he strolls to the Captain's cabin and knocks on the door.
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  The door opens, the captain wearing a pair of spectacles. Behind him is well-decorated room. A large roundtable is the predominate feature. and it sports quite a map on its surface. Over to the side is a desk, filled with a seeming endless amount of parchment and ink. The room was well lit, a sky light letting in more than enough light. The whole room seems to be made of wood, and feels like it is older than it probably truly is.
  
   "You finish the deck, Mercutio? What do you want now? More payment?" 
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Leaning against the door frame the drow asks,
  
   "Cap'm I been meaning to ask, Why haven't we stopped in any port town in the past tenday? I'd figured you for the kind of Captain that would love to stop at each and every opportunity to sell his wares. So what gives?" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Truth is, I've entangled myself quite heavily in a project that requires fresh sea water. The water near ports often has all manners of debris in it. So, it's completely unusable for this purpose. Sorry I can't say more lad, but I wouldn't want you stealing my ideas, would I?" 
  
  The captain turns back to the room, sitting at the desk, motioning for Mercutio to close the door.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Ignoring the captains motions, Mercutio continues,
  
   "Oh come now Jeff. I'm not the type to steal others' ideas. Sure I might borrow one or two and tweak them to my satisfaction, but never steal no. I'm just the curious type." 
   
   Spoiler 
  
    Diplomacy  - (1d20+12)[ 15 ] 
   
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  "In my trade, the curious type are most commonly snoops and thieves. Now, close the door and do something productive, before I dock your pay!" 
  
  The captain tears off his spectacles as he says this and points outward toward the deck.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Defeated, Mercutio raises his hands in surrender. He closes the door and returns to his spot on the rail next to Muriel.
  
   "Says he needs copious amounts of sea water that 'isn't sullied by ports' or some such for his newest project. Then told me to get out and do something productive."  Merc takes a deep satisfied breath and smiles.  " I suppose there's nothing more productive for a ship guard to do than sit and guard the ship. Wouldn't you agree?" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel quickly conceals her trepidation when she learns Mercutio was questioning the captain on his motives. She hadn't thought of that. If he learned the man was less than the honest-if-annoying tinker he thought he was... Well, it would be annoying to deal with.
  
  Aloud, all she says is,  "Productive indeed." 
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Aye, productive." 
  
  The third voice is a somewhat familiar one, it was Two-Dagger Jim, the first mate and head enforcer on the boat. When a crewmate wasn't doing their proper job, Jim would discipline them appropriately. A tall man, roughly six feet high, and sporting quite the ragged jacket over his slim frame. He twirled daggers in both hands at almost all times. Seems that he was the usual guard as well.
  
  In the recent days that you've been aboard, Jim had given you quite a hard time. You suspect it has to do with captain seeking your help over his. Quite an inferiority complex.
  
   "But, do you know what would be more productive? Helping out in the kitchen, washing the deck, or maybe, you know, staying in your quarters when you have nothing better to do? One-eye is up in the crow's nest. Trust me, you'll know if there's something to guard against in this sea. For now, get off Jeff's deck and get yourself into the hold." 
  
  The daggers stop at this last line, and promptly reverse direction, spinning faster than they were.
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel turned around, smiling sweetly at Jim.  "Indeed. We should all strive to be as productive as you. Although however well intentioned it is, I am afraid the wind you are creating with those knives isn't enough to make the ship go any faster. Even combined with that mouth of yours." 
  
  She shook her head sadly.  "Ah well, keep up the good work."  Turning to Mercutio, she inclined her head towards the hold.  "Let's leave Too Daft to his guarding. I'm sure he can handle any carp who try and attack the ship." 
  
  Her tinkling laughter echos around the deck as she saunters off.
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mercutio's smile grows impossibly wide at Muriel's comment. Leaning towards Jim he says,
   
  "You know Jimbo, there I times when I absolutely love that woman and praise the day I met her." 
  
  With a chortle, the drow makes his exit back to his and Muriel's shared quarters.
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Somehow, the two seem to get away with their comedy, despite the infuriated expression on Jim's face, he seems far too shocked to say anything. The two are already on their way toward the rear door which leads into the hold.
  
  Calling the place "shared quarters" would've been overly generous, but the place did its job nicely. Mercutio and Muriel had their own set of hammocks conveniently located next to some rather large and old crates. Undoubtedly, these items had never sold. The cannons were centered at the portholes on the starboard side, and the place was primarily a common area for the crew, as well as their quarters. A couple boxes lined the place, the more popular items, but it didn't distract from its primary purpose. A stairwell near the center of port side led into the storage hold, where the majority of products were stored. Despite the dank and dark atmosphere of the hold, the place was a temporary home. Of course, it helped that Aera, the ship's navigator, knew how to play the lute.
  
  This day, the storage hold was being reorganized. Boxes were being moved in a flurry, and some were being thrown out. Luckily, Mercutio and Muriel's hammocks weren't anywhere near the action.
  
   
   Spoiler 
  Same size as upper deck, stairs on center left going up and down. Right side has cannons lining it, boxes around the edges of the room, the center has a series of hammocks supported by support beams. Your hammocks are on the upper right side, supported by some old massive crates.
   
conversations: Wertible:
conversations: human
conversations:  Raising a silvery eyebrow at the ruckus, Mercutio turns to Muriel and shrugs. Turning back the busy workers, he shouts over the din,
  
   "Oi! Whats all this hubbub? Need a hand?" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel couldn't help but wince at the noise and activity taking place. She heaved a dramatic sigh. Raising her voice, she too addressed the workers.  "I would simply leave you to your labor, and go and take a nap. Unfortunately, that option appears to be out of the question becuase of the Bane cursed racket you're raising. So, in the pursuit of a little quiet, I repet my companions question." 
  
  Now putting on her sweetest, most vitriolic smile, she finishes.  "How may I help you?" 
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Raising the other eyebrow, Mercutio gives Muriel a look of feigned fright. Placing an ebon hand on her shoulder, his face changes to that of a mother gently chastising a child, the drow says,
  
   "I know that smile. That smile means bad things. Put it away before you frighten the others dear." 
  
  Removing the hand, he grins from ear to ear again and says,
  
   "Seriously though, You? Agreeing with me? Who are you and what have you done with my morbid and murky Muriel?" 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel turns her smile towards Mercutio, and says in the same chiming voice,  "Don't push your luck, or you will become a Doomed to be Dead Drow." 
conversations: Whiplord:
conversations: human
conversations:  Mercutio's face becomes that of disappointment. He places a hand on her shoulder again and says, 
  
  "You really need to work on you alliteration there dear. Yours was just not funny." 
conversations: Plasma Snake:
conversations: human
conversations:  Muriel 
  
  Muriel simply ignores Mercutio, waiting for a reply from the crewmen.
conversations: Whiplord: