The Gardeners

[Farouk Rashid]

The Wind Chaser’s port at Cadiz, Spain was a beautiful scene in the early morning. The warm sun reflected radiantly off of still blue waters and Farouk was kept cool despite his heavy garb thanks to a strong sea breeze. The dark skinned captain had dressed admirably for his trip to shore. He had taken the time to don his mail hauberk, its rings shining brilliantly in the sun. Over the thigh-length armor he had donned a black tabard held tight at the waist by a crimson sash to match the cloak at his back. Rather than his usual sandals he tucked his black jodhpurs into thigh length black boots reinforced at the sides with silver bands. As the sun had first shown above the distant horizon he had sought out the nearby bathhouse and scrubbed clean the layers of salt that had saturated his skin.

There were few pleasures so wondrous as a professional shave and the feel of dexterous fingers massaging scented oils into the scalp. Farouk took his time with this piece of hygiene and spent lavishly on a skilled barber he had used before. The experience had drawn a walk of a few hundred meters out for most of the morning and by the time Farouk reached his destination the sun was approaching its zenith. The place was a gorgeous café sheltered from the less agreeable aspects of the harbor by a fenced garden. Reservations were necessary and acquiring one involved the liberal displacement of coins, the finer the hue, the faster the doors opened.

Farouk was led to the shade of a table beneath a flowering Pomegranate tree where they had been kind enough to prepare his hookah for him. A girl placed the heated coals as he adjusted his sword so that he could sit comfortably. The cutlass was a beautiful affair commissioned for officers of the Spanish Navy, if anyone recognized that particular fact they didn’t mention it to the large moor. Comfortably seated, Farouk took up a hose and inhaled the pleasant mix of herbal fruits and tobacco, releasing smoke rings that disappeared quickly into the bright sky. That there were three more hoses stemming from the hookah showed that the captain awaited company.

Since traveling to the Azores Farouk’s ambitions had begun to bear fruit, the Portuguese were the worm within said fruit. The Rashid family holdings in Morocco were forfeit but nobility was a matter of subtle airs and not-so-subtle power. Since seeing the perfect islands ready for their ‘Prince’ Farouk had been placing himself against Portuguese goals whenever the opportunity arose. That the throne had no idea who he was made the task simpler. While he worked to liberate his own chosen colony from Portugal's imperial grasp the opportunity and wealth behind hindering the growth of their other holdings was an agreeable distraction. The Wind Chaser had acted as privateer before, that they and their benefactors seemed to share a common enemy only sweetened the pot.

Killing a Lord on his ship however, was a job that was going to require men of a particularly violent nature. Farouk’s crew was killers all but too few and too valuable, which was what had brought him to Cadiz. Spain, Portugal’s neighbor and avowed enemy, was a fine place to draw upon cutthroats willing to prune the Portuguese nobility’s family tree. The Spanish Navy was likely to commission him his own saber for the work, of course he would have to explain where he got the first one and that would be an unpleasant conversation. Already a dozen capable soldiers were making their way towards the Wind Chaser. Somewhere within the city Samuel was bringing the last few Farouk’s way.

[Arthur Herodian]

The port of Cadiz in Spain was placed on a unique site, on a narrow spit of land hemmed in by the sea. Full of the sounds of life even in the morn, it was a sight to behold. Already shopkeepers were hawking their wares, the bakers had produced their bread and were displaying the hot produce on their shelves. Servants and wives wandered the markets looking for the produce they needed for the meals of the day, to please their lords or husbands. The smell of fresh produce was always one that was dominant in the morning in most towns, managing to lure even those who could afford to lounge out to view the scenery.

It being a port city, the ships lined the harbour, all varying in size and allegiance, but all carrying the colourful flags and banners of their respective countries. In the light breeze the flags fluttered as the ships gently rocked in the sea and along with the breeze came the whiff of salty air and fish, mixing up into the odours of fresh pastries in the morning. It all bred a quite intoxicating atmosphere, far removed from that of cities that found themselves in the heartland. Arthur admitted that port cities tended to be those that were better off, due to the trade coming from the sea.

On this rare occasion, he’d found himself passing through the grand port city, but had in the process been picked by a sailor named Samuel for some untraditional work as far as what his usual work was. He’d agreed merely on the premise that it seemed to promise some good coin, in which he found himself in sore need of. Knowing that he would be setting off to sea, he’d dealt with his business of stabling Castus and giving the keeper enough coins to keep the horse fed and treated for the duration of the trip. He’d given extra coins in the foresight that the trip could take longer than the sailor expected.

As it were, due to the nature of the work, he’d foregone any and all identifying marks, leaving him only with his armour for protection and his dark red cape for warmth. The only object he carried that would identify him as a member of the Herodian family, aside from his face, was the sword he carried, which had the dragon of the Herodian coat of arms on the pommel. He didn’t stand out, particularly because there were several around him dressed in the same attire.

He directed his gaze slightly to his left, to the man he was walking alongside as they both followed the sailor Samuel to the man who would be in charge of the endeavour. Giving the Prussian a searching look, he decided that he was both surprised and at the same time less so at their second encounter. The world was far from small, but considering their similar professions it wouldn’t be farfetched to consider the fact that they would be picked up for the same job at some point. After a mere seconds look, Arthur’s eyes returned to the road ahead, eyes curiously looking for who Samuel would lead them to.

[Alberich Anselm]

Alberich was not usually a fan of sea travel even on the short term, and had never had to actually fight on a ship, but seeing as his gold was quickly running out there was really little choice for him but to take what he could get. Apparently the job market in this area was rather dry, and maintaining a warhorse was much like trying to maintain a stable full of racehorses, especially if they were being worked. Alberich was not going to allow Ironheart to go hungry, and in fact hadn't eaten a full meal without worrying about his horse for the last three days at least.

So Alberich supposed he could deal. He had heard of ship fighting from another mercenary that he talked to instead of fought against, and according to all accounts it was rather cramped and hard to get one's barings. Still, the Prussian believed in experiencing new things, so he doubted that he should be too upset about anything.

It had been a surprise to see that the English knight from before was coming along too, however, but people in their line of work tended to meet more often than not. It was just a matter of if they were fighting together, or against each other. Another reason Alberich did not like to make it a point of making friends with his job competition. Still, at least Arthur seemed a good enough sort, for a Englishman. Walking to the man's right, he could feel him glance over at him, though being blind in that eye, he didn't see Arthur do that himself. Still, the Prussian knight had developed a sort of six sense in his blind spot, which was probably why he had survived this long.

The sailor that had found them lead them to a flowering tree of some sort or another, where a Moore was sitting down and sucking at a hose of some sort. Alberich's lips curled in distaste, but at least it most likely wasn't opium. If it was, he didn't care about the money, he would abandon this venture without a second thought. The last thing they needed was an addled captain for this trip.

Alberich's armor was a great deal less bulky than Arthur's, and didn't exactly look on the same level as the other knight's. It was a mix of chainmail and hardened, boiled leather that he thought would be appropriate for this trip more than the leather and plate that was being kept in Ironheart's paddock, in the back of his stall. The great gray warhorse wouldn't let anyone near Alberich's equipment without likely being killed by the ugly beast.

They stopped infront of the smoking more, whom Alberich assumed was the leader of this little venture. He frowned, but it was more a characteristic of the man than a sign of any feelings about the situation, and stood in an 'at ease' position. Hopefully this trip would be worth the trouble, as his blue eye appraised the Moore for a fight, despite the fact that they would be on the same side for this one. It was more force of habit than anything else, a habit of not trusting anyone else but himself. It was a hard life sometimes, but it had kept him alive this long.

Let Arthur and the Moore talk, he wasn't much for idle conversation unless he had something important to say.

[Farouk Rashid]

Farouk rose as he spotted Samuel’s well-groomed features entering the gardens. Any Mediterranean port held its share of dark skinned visitors but few men in the world bothered with hygiene and appearances with as much care as his first mate. The old man was a familiar sight though, the captain focused more on his newest fighting men. Both men were armored, making their size difficult to gauge but they were both tall men, perhaps as large as Farouk himself. While the other men Farouk had called upon were all capable fighters they were sailors first for the most part, these men were clearly warriors first. Sailing might not have been in their skill set at all.

Neither man was particularly well groomed. The one with the hideous scar where an eye had once been didn’t seem the type to shower and he certainly hadn’t seen a barber for that atrocity he called a hair cut. The other was considerably cleaner cut but he could use a shave and a comb. This told Farouk little though few Europeans bothered to maintain themselves as Farouk and his people were known to. The well maintained armor and arms showed they took care of the things that really mattered. The one with both eyes also had good taste, his cloak was almost an exact match to Farouk’s own.

Samuel made a comment about preparing the ship and departed with a polite nod to his charges. Farouk offered each man his arm in greeting and moved to get things underway. They were mercenaries and hired help but Farouk had never seen the sense in being rude to someone with a sword and your back. “Aasalaamu Aleikum, I am Prince Rashid. Join me briefly, there is chilled wine and fruit and tobacco in the hookah if you’d care for it.” It was a sad truth that few from northern Europe had experienced the delicious aromas of a hookah before. Thankfully its Mediterranean neighbors and its former occupation under Muslim rule had influenced Spain.

With greetings out of the way Farouk sat once more and cut a slice out of a pear with his dagger. Fruit was one of the things he missed most while at sea. They had likely already heard the broad strokes of the job but Farouk wanted to make sure the men were aware of what they were getting into before they lost sight of land. Only thing worse than a landlubber puking over the rails of the ship was a useless landlubber puking over the sides of the ship. “I have been contracted by the Spanish Navy to recover stolen gold which has been wrongfully seized by Portuguese privateers under the command of one Lord Alves. If you decide to partake in this execution of justice you will receive full share equal with every other member of my crew. For that reward it will be expected you cut out the heart of every bastard Portuguese pirate on the ship. While at sea you will be under my command as captain of the Wind Chaser, mostly I’ll just want you to stay out of the way but if I give a command assume it’s to save the ship and our lives and act with accorded haste.”

The Spanish commission, Portuguese privateers and looted gold were all details Farouk filled in to make the job sound more legitimate. He had no idea the country of origin for the contract, nor the reason why they wanted it carried out. He didn’t know Lord Alves but he doubted the man was a privateer and he was equally sure the coin they found would be Portuguese Reals, not Spanish. Still, it had sounded good and if they were veteran mercenaries they wouldn’t ask questions. Farouk finished his pair and took a deep breath from the hookah hose. As he spoke smoke poured from his mouth. “If you’re ready we can depart.”

[Arthur Herodian]

Quietly they followed the sailor, their armour creaking and clinking as they marched along the street, equipped for a tough fight. Arthur wondered how they would function on the ship, from experience he knew that each member of the crew had a specific task to do and they, being most likely unwise of seafaring business, held no such knowledge to do the task needed. Apart from swabbing the deck, but he was sure both of them would protest against being used for such purposes. He imagined the captain that had hired them would be satisfied with leaving them to their own business as long as they didn’t get in the way. Arthur knew roughly how ships worked, as far as having observed English crews went, so he would do his best to remain out of the way as to not disrupt the general flow of it.

Arthur refocused his attention from the ships lining the harbour when he discovered a slight alteration of their course. The sailor was now leading them towards a cafe of sorts, with a tree outside in full bloom. Under the tree sat a Moor, leisurely puffing on what Arthur managed to identify as a ‘hookah’. The sight disconcerted Arthur slightly; he wasn’t sure how the hookah would affect the man’s behaviour, if at all. It could pose a problem. The way the sailor was deliberately heading towards the Moor’s direction made Arthur presume that this was their employer. He appeared to be a fine looking man, somehow coming across as someone who imagined himself as important, but in reality probably wasn’t. Not yet, anyway.

As they came to a stop before the man, Arthur spread his legs apart and stood straight, hand settling on the pommel of his sword as he regarded the Moor indifferently. Alberich seemed to take the same sort of attitude towards the Moor. The decoration he’d placed on his face came across as garish to Arthur, as he saw no use in such vain additions to ones appearance. He couldn’t see how the man seemed to think it made him look better. Perhaps it had something to do with Moorish traditions or something they did in the south. Arthur wasn’t curious enough to find out at the moment. He’d merely regard the jewellery with private distaste.

The sailor mentioned something about readying the ship and departed, Arthur didn’t let his eyes follow the man when he left, keeping his attention fixed on the Moor puffing the hookah. He took the proffered hand willingly, giving it a firm shake and noting that the man didn’t seem to be regarding them as mere cannon fodder just yet. They would have to wait and see if that would change once they got into a real fight. He’d keep his opinions open on the Moor for the moment, but he’d already made a few observations.

“Aasalaamu Aleikum...”

Being unfamiliar with the term of greeting, Arthur merely gave a nod in return, hoping it was sufficient as a greeting for the man. The title the man gave them, Prince Rashid, was given no outward of inward reaction. Arthur was removed from the political hemisphere, he couldn’t judge if the man was a prince or not. He regarded the offered food, but opted against it. His nostrils widened slightly as he made an attempt at getting a whiff of the hookah’s contents in the air, catching the stench of it, he opted to pass on the Moor’s offer on that as well. When the man sat, Arthur followed the example, seeing it as manners to accompany the Moor as he finished his meal. He had, after all, told them to join him.

“I have been contracted by the Spanish Navy...”

While Arthur listened to the obvious lies the captain was feeding them, he remained impassive. It didn’t matter to him if the man was donning the clothing of someone more lawful than he was, as long as the coins would find their way into his pockets. Normally he wasn’t much of a mercenary, but even he had to eat and he did have Castus to look after. Money was the main driving force behind many things, Arthur was big enough to admit that money was mainly the reason he was in the business as well. Taking care of scum was a bonus. The outlining of their purpose during the trip was fairly straightforward, something that most likely both of the two hired knights had figured out for themselves without the Moor’s help.

“Understood,” he said simply. The Moor had asserted his superiority to them in this matter, they would follow his commands and they would be paid in return.

“If you’re ready we can depart.”

A mere nod and he rose from his chair. “We are.” He threw a glance at Alberich, who until then had been satisfied to keep his silence, something Arthur had taken as a silent invitation to deal with the conversational side of the Moor. No doubt they were both of like mind about the whole venture.

[Alberich Anselm]

By chance, a whiff from the hookah came into Alberich's direction, and it took all his willpower not to gag and turn away from the smoke. It smelled both musky and fruity, and that was a combination apparently his stomach found very offensive. Alberich didn't plan on helping out on the ship at all, unless it involved killing something or intimidating someone on orders. He was here to fight, and little else. Oddly enough, part of him was half-way, sort of relieved that Arthur would be along on the trip. As far as he could tell so far, he cautiously, and with reservation had decided he liked the knight, as well as he could like anyone. Of course, Alberich 'liking' someone merely meant that he wouldn't kill them unless he was getting paid for it.

The Moore offered his arm, but while Arthur accepted it, Alberich just looked at it in disdain and glanced towards the ship, apparently uninterested in much conversation. He was content to let Arthur have the majority of the conversation, for now, though Alberich would make a point of cutting in if the other knight decided to ignore something. The Moore was a foreigner, and it was clear in his attitude and his girlish makeup and jewelry, and Alberich had never been a fan of foreigners or jewels. Still, it was a paying job, so he supposed he couldn't say much about it.

But then again, he was here to kill things, not to make conversation like a courtesan.

“Aasalaamu Aleikum, I am Prince Rashid. Join me briefly, there is chilled wine and fruit and tobacco in the hookah if you’d care for it.”

Alberich snorted slightly in clear doubt, eyeing the Moore with doubt even clearer on his harsh features. However, it probably wasn't too wise to tell his employer that if he was a Prince, Alberich was the Queen of England. Arthur decided to take the offered seat, but Alberich would rather remain standing. One false word on either side, and there might be a blow up, though admittedly it did seem unlikely in this situation, but there was no point in being stupid about it. He stood behind Arthur, one hand, a pinky missing resting on the hilt of his sword and glaring at Farouk slightly. Farouk shouldn't be offended, the Lion of Prussia tended to do that to about everyone.

If you decide to partake in this execution of justice you will receive full share equal with every other member of my crew.

If only the Moore had known that he had Alberich at 'full share', he wouldn't have had to worry about the rest of his pretty little speech.

For that reward it will be expected you cut out the heart of every bastard Portuguese pirate on the ship.

Even better.

mostly I’ll just want you to stay out of the way but if I give a command assume it’s to save the ship and our lives and act with accorded haste.”

Hm, that was a downside. Alberich wasn't much into saving lives other than his own and Ironhearts. He shrugged noncommittally, not really caring about the rest of the speech. Let Arthur listen to the rest of it if he cared to, Alberich didn't much care who they were fighting for.

The Moore was likely lying, but Alberich, again, didn't care. All he cared about was that though the Moore was lying about where the job was coming from or what was happening, that he got paid at the end of this little journey. Pirates, bandits, soldiers and knights, they all died, in the end. It disturbed him slightly that such a man as the Moore was going to be in charge of /him/, but that was how the cookie crumbled. A ship of savages and blacks, fun fun.

“Understood,”

Alberich didn't say much, just nodded in agreement and looked bored. If he was bothered by Arthur speaking for both of them, he didn't show it, and he really didn't feel like being a bitch right now anyway. Give him a few hours on the ship, and then he'd decide how he felt about it. When Arthur threw a glance at him, he simply raised his eyebrow, and shrugged. He had come into this meeting ready.

"Well then let's get out of here. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we get paid."

[Fortune Fortescue]

Fortune Fortescue sat on the thin railing of the Wind Chaser, idly strumming her lute. She watched as the crew began to move busily across the deck, throwing ropes and tying them to various parts of the ship in an intricate pattern she never did learn, despite her lengthy time aboard. She was not the most seaworthy sailor, but she made a deep effort regardless of her shortcomings. She had slowly learned to enjoy her time aboard the ship, learning which tales of monsters at sea were true and which were not. She had gained a healthy respect for pirates, for the bravery of living on the high seas, and while she did not wish to remain about the Wind Chaser too much further into the future, as she missed her brave Aquitaine, she was not going to pass up the chance to find such a story.

Prince Farouk had told her little of his plans, but had given her the choice to stay or go. It was an easy choice for Fortune. The Prince had already proven himself a suitable hero of her tales, and she could tell from his very demeanor that he was preparing for another epic adventure. Like she was going to pass that up.

She played a short song of anticipation, flicking the strings frantically in a repetitive fashion, pace quick. She was nervous, excited. She wondered who she would meet, what she would see.

"Adventure, my old friend. We'll follow you till the end," she said, her voice soft, moving with the melody, up and down. "With the wind at our backs, and some rum in the hatch, we'll live to fight again."

Her song complete, she returned her lute to her shoulder and nodded to herself. Yes, pirates made for excellent storytelling.

Just then, Rafiq tossed her a rope, which she caught awkwardly in her hands. "Look sharp," he told her. "I heard there are going to be mercenaries on board."

Fortune considered his words for a moment. She was not particularly found of men who never claimed a home, who valued money above all else, though she would never doubt their effectiveness, or the bravery money could produce. Her excitement reeled at the thought of new heroes for her tales, fighting alongside the Prince for some epic glory!

"How exciting!" Fortune said with glee, and Rafiq rolled his eyes at her.

"Just tie that off, please," he said, the hints of a smile on his lips.

"Oh yeah," she replied, and kept herself busy in wait of the new arrivals.

[Farouk Rashid]

Farouk didn’t know if the two men before him were partners but he hoped, for the sake of the ugly one, that they were. The scarred man was silent and brooding, he ignored common courtesy and it was apparent he had no taste for the fine food or smoke. None of that particularly bothered the Moor though, in fact the ugly bastard fit in with just about everyone else he had acquired for the job. The taller man was at least polite. He disdained the food but took the offered hand and sat as Farouk finished his pear. Both were silent for his speech. The fact that it was an obvious lie and all three of them knew it was left unsaid.

Pleasantries finished and coals gone cold, Farouk led the men on to the Wind Chaser. The Brigantine was currently flying a Spanish flag but that was a detail easily changed to suit whatever port she found herself in. True to his word, Samuel had the crew readying to depart and they were moving around the deck with practiced efficiency as the three men boarded. The other mercenaries were below decks, stowed out of the way and most likely breaking out dice and getting into the rum.

Farouk paid his companions little heed beyond leading them aboard. As the two men set foot on the deck he turned to remove the plank and called for cast off. Out of habit he called for Rafiq to show them to their quarters but he caught sight of their newest crewmember and he called for ‘Fort’ instead, waving Rafiq away. He had long since discovered Fortune’s true sex but for her safety and to ward off superstitions he continued with the alias she had given. “Fort! Show these two below deck and make sure the rest of the mercenaries aren’t getting into anything important.” As soon as he had uttered the statement Farouk realized the young girl had no hopes of corralling a group of violent men. “Rafiq! Go with Fort.”

With that minor problem settled Farouk headed for his quarters and set about getting into something more comfortable. Armor was little more than a personal anchor at sea any pretenses at royalty he maintained quickly fell away while at sea. Once he had shirked the heavy clothes he had donned for his trip to the city he began unrolling maps and all the tools that came with them. Several of the artfully inked maps were his own creation and he knew the areas they covered well.

The information the job provided gave the Wind Chaser a significant advantage over other pirates but the Portuguese vessel would be preparing for the Barbary Pirates the frequented the waters between Europe and Africa. Ideally this would lead them deeper into the Atlantic and leave them vulnerable to ambush. Farouk knew of several scattered islands beyond the range of the Barbary pirates that would provide his shallower craft far greater maneuverability in an attack. If the Lord Alves and his crew chose to brave the Barbary pirates the Wind Chaser could simply move on towards Africa and catch them closer to the Ivory coast.

With the destination settled Farouk rose and lit a hand rolled cigarette before moving back onto the deck to give Samuel his heading. Several of the mercenaries had come topside to watch the port dwindle. It was one of the greatest differences between sailors and landlubbers: the former looked out towards the horizon, the latter were always looking back.

((How does the first leg of their journey go? Do they encounter any problems as they travel out in to the Atlantic? Do they find a suitable place to sit and wait for Lord Alves?)

[Clover]

((They don't encounter much trouble beyond some rough weather conditions for the first leg of their journey. The ocean seems particularly displeased with them for some reason and tosses the ship back and forth with forceful waves. They could try and wait for Lord Alves here but chances are that the storm will prevent them from boarding. A better bet would be to sail through the storm or wait it out.))

[Arthur Herodian]

It appeared that they were getting off to a good start. The Moor didn’t seem to be overly offended by Alberich’s disregard for manners, unsurprising considering what profession the three collected around the table claimed as their own. ‘Prince’ Rashid was obviously a highwayman of the sea, considering the task set before them now. That simple deduction didn’t bother Arthur, despite the fact that most of his work consisted of removing such pests. He’d leave the navies to deal with pirate activity and besides, sometimes things were too good to pass up, despite the dubious legal nature of the work ahead. As long as it didn’t directly hurt his own kingdom, he’d agree to such endeavours.

Alberich seemed unconcerned with the fact that Arthur had done all the speaking, perhaps satisfied to keep his silence and only speak up if he had any specific issues to address. When Arthur had given the Prussian mercenary a glance, he had merely given a shrug in response and come with a string of words that were unsurprisingly characteristic of the man. He couldn’t see any argument with them, they were true words and Arthur could feel himself agreeing with them. While he enjoyed the sea, he figured he was what sailors called a landlubber; he enjoyed solid land underneath his feet too much to feel comfortable at sea.

Following behind the captain as the man led them to the ship they’d be spending their time on in the next few weeks, Arthur spotted the Spanish flag it was currently sporting. He figured the piece of cloth was interchangeable, not really telling anything about the allegiances of those aboard. It looked like a fine vessel, a small ship compared to the larger merchant vessels around, but still with significant bulk. In the traditional sense, it was not ‘small’, perhaps only when compared to other ships traversing the sea. Arthur, not being a sailor, was unable to identify what type the vessel was, but he found he didn’t really care to find out unless it came up.

When they ascended the plank and stepped onto the deck of the ship, it was clear that they were surrounded by efficient and hard working sailors readying the ship to leave the harbour. As soon as Arthur and Alberich were on deck, the captain was quick to withdraw the plank and call for them to ‘cast off’ as it were. Arthur, let his eyes scour over the deck and the masts with their sails as the captain called two names. His attention returned to the captain as the man spoke to two of his crew; one a small looking boy that didn’t look local to these parts at all, Arthur would’ve guessed either English or French, and another matching more up to the race of Rashid and the rest of the crew Arthur could see. The kid was an anomaly in the crew, which made Arthur slightly curious about how the boy had ended up on the ship.

They were led down to where the rest of the mercenaries had been placed, where most were already settling in for a long journey. Arthur settled in easily, exchanging his armour for more fitting clothes, but keeping it ready in case he would need to don it in a hurry. It would be a long wait until the mercenaries would be put to use, but the wait was one that could be easily tolerated.

The first part of their journey commenced and it didn’t take long for them to encounter rough seas. The ship rocked violently and several of the mercenaries were in rough shape. Arthur however, had been blessed by an early introduction to seafaring when he was a boy; he’d done all his throwing up all those years ago and now found himself unaffected by the broiling waves that seemed to be threatening to tip the boat over. Most of the trip had been spent up top on the deck, but as the bad weather came in with the rain, Arthur, if merely for comfort, had opted to remain below decks. He still indulged in the occasional breath of fresh air, as that was useful for warding off any queasiness attributed to the unfortunate smell of vomit when one of the mercenaries did lose their food before they could get up top to surrender it to the sea.

[Alberich Anselm]

The ocean was worlds away from the peaceful rolling of the Rhine, that winded its way lazily through the rolling countryside. Alberich hadn't liked it the moment he had been close enough to see it. The sea smelled foul, the warf smelled worse, and the sailors were the worst out of the lot. If he hadn't been so desperate for money...

He was bitching, but it made him feel better. He followed Arthur and the Moore onboard the boat, looking at it but not really seeing it for being anything more than a bunch of sticks strapped together. If he had called it a boat infront of any of the sailors, he had no doubt that he would have been very firmly told it was a /ship/, not a boat. Alberich didn't care what they thought, it was a boat.

Oh great, here was the current ship piece of tail. Alberich had heard that it wasn't uncommon for sailors, alone at sea with nothing but other men, to take in a young boy for other purposes other than simply tending to the captain's quarters. Either way, Alberich had no intention on humoring the boy with any sort of tales, especially considering he had a lute with him. Alberich had no appreciation for music, especially considering he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and just hoped that the kid would leave him alone. The group of mercs that they were introduced to weren't exactly the cream of the crop, but they'd do, the Prussian supposed. The rocking ship under his feet wasn't so bad, not bad enough that he couldn't tolerate it.

That didn't last for long. Alberich was not a very good sailor in good weather, and this storm was just making it all the worse. He hadn't been able to keep down anything other than a bit of bread and some water for the last two days, and it was making the scarred man rather irritable and difficult to be around for a variety of reasons. If only to quell the desire to kick his fellow mercenaries off the side of the ship, Alberich had retreated to the farthest, most secluded corner of the ship, and stayed there, sitting against the wall and head queasily between his knees, attempting to hold down what little he had of his lunch.

It was generally considered a safe bet to stay away from the Lion of Prussia for a while, especially considering the last mercenary that had walked over to pick a fight with Alberich had learned very quickly that just because the knight was ill suited for sea travel, didn't mean he had lost any of his potency as a fighter. In fact, the constant throwing up and the rocking of the boat had made the mercenary far more tempermental.

He wished that every boat in the oceans would just be burned already, if only to sate his bloodlust for the destruction of all things related to the sailing. Arthur, damn him, seemed to be doing just fine on the rocking boat. Alberich wished he'd get eaten by a kracken or something, if only to make him feel better.

[Fortune Fortescue]

Fortune's first opinion of the new mercenaries on board was slight disappointment. At first glance, they didn't really strike her as heroes. Sure, at least one was polite enough, and had potential, but the rest were rude, crude, and downright smelly. There was even one that frightened her a little with his appearance. That one looked more like a villain than a hero, though Fortune knew better than to judge on appearances alone. So she watched, waited. She wondered if she came off a tad bit strange, as she hid around corners and peered at the mercenaries as much as she could. She was determined not to miss one brave moment.

Though between completing her chores as cabinboy and stalking the mercenaries, Fortune spent her free time on the deck of the ship, practicing her songs. She was hoping to write one for her latest adventure, but she was lacking in inspiration. She strummed her lute once, then frowned. Pulling the lute into her lap, she attempted to bring the instrument back into tune. The open ocean air was not the best environment in which to store a lute, and the wet, salty air had taken their toll on the old strings. She reminded herself to buy new ones when again ashore, and decided that until then, she would just have to play a little flat. It was too risky to tighten the strings under such stress, Fortune would not take the chance to break them.

She supposed she mustn't play as much as usual, and returned the lute to her back untuned and let out a large, disgruntled sighed. She'd have to be without her song for a while. She went back to work, her step a little slower, her smile a little less bright.

She patted her lute on the neck, over her shoulder. "We'll get you fixed soon, old friend," she said to the instrument, to her voice, her song. "You'll sound better than ever, like a dream! I'll get you buffed up, get that salt off you, and you'll be good as new."

Fortune looked up and saw one of the mercenaries there, staring at her. She scoffed at him.

"Like you don't talk to things!" she said to him, then coughed for fear of sounding too feminine. Then she turned and attempted to storm off as manly as possible with bowed legs and a raised chin. When she was a safe distance away, she slumped her shoulders in defeat. She was going to have to be extra careful, she decided. At the rate she was going, she was likely to blow her cabinboy cover within a week.

[Farouk Rashid]

As land dwindled into obscurity and the waves grew choppier Farouk’s audience on the deck dwindled. Within a few hours into their journey it became clear things were going to get worse before they got better. The first day offered violent winds and rocking waves but the dark skies remained silent, hoarding their storms. The second day, as the Wind Chaser drew close to its island destination, all Hell’s fury was unleashed on the waters. The only light was provided by thunderous streaks of lightning and rain fell with the force of bullets, pounding into anyone who had the misfortune of being caught in its fury. All but the essential personnel had retreated into the safety offered below decks, unfortunately Farouk was ‘essential personnel’.

The rocking motion so many landlubbers found disconcerting and sickening wasn’t going to get any better below decks but they would remain dry at least. Farouk just hoped no one vomited in his ship. The large Moor was huddled beneath a heavy cloak, water treated to protect against the onslaught. The winds made keeping his hood up impossible and he resigned himself to the water running off his bald head. Before the storm had finally broken they had made sight of their island destination but as the torrent began it was lost in the darkness.

Farouk considered making an attempt to outrun the rain but quickly discarded it, as great a navigator as he was there was little he could do in such weather. It was likely Lord Alves was caught in similar circumstances anyway, the Wind Chaser was as safe as it could be just off shore of the island. An inexperienced captain may have been foolish enough to drop anchor in such weather but Farouk knew better and let the shift drift. They were far enough away from the island to avoid running ashore and there was a risk of losing the anchor or damaging the ship if they tied down where they were. He called for the sails to be drawn and settled into the waiting game. Climbing the masts would be dangerous but his men were skilled and it was necessary to avoid further damage in the storm.

Farouk called for a half dozen men left on deck at all times, shifts lasting only a single hour. Someone was needed to keep tabs on things but it was miserable and there was little they could do, a few short posts were the best he could for his men. Farouk followed those fortunate enough to escape the weather as they moved below decks.

Most of the mercenaries were huddled away with looks of disdain upon their faces. A few were holding up well but most looked unused to the sea’s violence. The combination of monotony and sickness was dangerous to a man’s temperament and Farouk moved to invite those well enough to risk moving to join his crew in a card game. Gambling was a favorite method of killing time on land or at sea, it might even give some of them a distraction from the howling outside. He looked to the hardy Englishman, rather fit considering the storm, but his words were meant for all of the mercenaries. “The storm will last for some time, best get used to it. If you enjoy cards we’ve a game going on.” He spoke in Spanish, it was the language he had used to recruit them. His men would speak in Arabic but the mercenaries would just have to get used to the foreign tongue.

((Does the storm pass? Does the Wind Chaser receive any damage? Is the Portuguese ship caught in the storm as well?))

[Clover]

((The storm gets worst before it gets better, with waves violently lashing against the ship's side, but eventually subsides to calmer winds and placid waters. The Wind Chaser sustains mostly superficial damage, though even that will need to be fixed sooner rather than later just to be on the safe side. The Portuguese ship became victim to nature's assault as well, having suffered worst damage. Its main mast was taken down during the tempest, and it's nigh still in the water; the equivalent of a sitting duck.))

[Arthur Herodian]

As they waited out the storm, it became increasingly uncomfortable, but Arthur remained free of the seasickness plaguing many of the mercenaries, Alberich among them. The captain had invited them for a game of cards, looking at Arthur but addressing them all. Feeling it would be a good waste of time, Arthur joined in for a few rounds, but in the end finding his luck in gambling was slightly off, and with a laugh and disappointed groans from those lightening his monetary burdens, he departed the table to return to his equipment after making a slight detour to up to the deck to take a breath of fresh air. He settled down to make sure they would be well maintained when the fight eventually came to them. Afew hours after he’d gambled his coins, the storm turned for the worse. Arthur, with little else to do, settled down to sleep the worst of the storm out. Sleep came easily to him, the queasiness not affecting him as it did others.

When he awoke, the rocking of the boat had been subdued compared to when he’d first decided to catch his sleep. He got up, looking around to see that most were still looking as ill as they had before he’d opted to sleep the time away. Remembering the other mercenary he’d boarded the ship with, he threw a glance at Alberich, still in his corner cradling the bucket. He’d noted an increased animosity between Alberich and he was fairly sure it was because he hadn’t ended up spilling the contents of his guts into a wooden bucket. The thought amused Arthur; he wouldn’t have taken the Prussian as one to act in that manner. He guessed there was still much to learn about the man.

Due to the behaviour of the Prussian, Arthur had taken it upon himself to attempt to drag the man up top to get fresh air and perhaps feel somewhat better. Fresh air would solve most problems when it came to queasiness, he was sure it would be nothing but good for Alberich. The man had resisted of course, resisted quite violently in fact, Arthur had a few fresh bruises and had barely avoided sporting a new shiner on his eye. Arthur was however far more insistent than Alberich had been giving him credit for. In the end, with much fuss, he’d forced the man up to the deck and gotten him up against the railings, out of the way. The sea had calmed now, the storm receding and leaving the ship alone. With the clouds clearing, they were better off enjoying the view.

Arthur, in a playful attempt at provoking Alberich into another bout of violence, gave the man a pat on the back, before quickly retreating should he decide it was the time to strike. A merry sounding laugh escaped him, as he realised he didn’t really mind being at sea. Not his ideal fighting ground, but he could live with it. His merriment was distracted when a sailor shouted a call down from his perch on one of the masts. Arthur, listening in, picked up words of a ship in sight. A few more words confirmed the fact, it seemed to be somewhere on the horizon, as Arthur squinted to get a look himself. He spotted the brief flash of the colours he recognised from the Portuguese flag.

“Tally-ho!” He said, rather triumphantly. “Time for some fighting, Alberich, they’re here. We better arm up.” With those words, he headed for the area below decks again, seeking out his equipment.