The Rose of Tarmady

[Lord Palatine]

[attachment=0:128r03ra]Rose of Tarmady.jpg[/attachment:128r03ra]
The Rose of Tarmady is a fast ship, armed to the teeth and crewed by a salty lot that lives for the open seas and the wealth it brings them.  The Rose is a corsair built by Cable Chorgan and sold to Shalinda upon his death.  

Shalinda is a tough young woman, admired in many ways by her crew for her strength, cunning, and appearence.  She is canny with a temper not to be trifled with.  They sail for the farthest corners of the world, seeking adventure and wealth.

The Rose was custom built for strength and speed:
- A crew of 236:
  -  13 Command
  -  16 Service
  -  107 Sailors
  -  73 Marines
  -  34 Engineers
- Engines:
  - 26 Ballista
  - 48 Great Crossbows
- Maximum Speed of 20 knots
- Maximum supplied range 3 years

Captain:----------------Shalinda
Sailing Master:---------Loren
Second Mate:----------Ferdan
Third Mate:------------Boggs
Navigator:-------------Dargas of Seawolf
Quartermaster:-------Carzen
Engineer:--------------Marek
Master Armorer:------Luestoff
Master at Arms:------Darek of Seawolf
Cook:------------------Jedda
Surgeon:---------------Cutter
Surgeon:---------------Mims
Loblolly-----------------Taren
Purser:-----------------Monkey Thumbs
Ship's Clerk:-----------Arma

[Lord Palatine]

Standing on a small sheltered beach looking up at a severely hungover elf that was looking back down at them as confused as they.

"That ain't normal," Lue observed as the marines fanned out to deal with the situation.  After a bunch of prodding a head appeared over the gunwale of the boat.

"Oi!" Boggs shouted up.  "Oo are ye and how'd ye get up there?"

"Zander," the handsome elf groaned.  "And up where?"

Shalinda snorted and crossed her arms.  "I've no time fer games.  Kill 'im.  We got work t' do."  

Now she wasn't such a cold-blooded person as that, and her crew knew that.  The elf, however, did not.  But if that didn't spring him into explaining himself and getting out of her way, then she may be more encouraged to help him on his way, sans a bit of his hide.

"That's what got me in this bloody boat in the first... hey," he looked as if his eyes finally focused.  "What am I doing up here?"  He looked around.  "And where's the storm?  And who are you?"

"No food 'r water," the marine above him in the tree reported.  "Just'n empty rum barrel.  An' this gent reeks o' spirit."

[Firefly23]

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his tiny cabin, Taren pursed his thin lips and rested his chin on steepled fingers.  The supplies were getting low, and if anyone decided to take on the plague or lose a limb would be sorely out of luck.  Unforunately, their current port in the middle of no and where made restocking difficult.  His pointed, pale tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth as he contemplated his options.  A pile of freshly washed, rather shredded uniforms sat at the edge of his vision, waiting to be ripped into strips.  There were enough hands on deck now, it wouldn't be hard to delegate that task.  Plus it was easy, and wouldn't require any heavy lifting.  Perhaps the whispy waif he'd seen huddling nervously in the corner, afraid of the mop.

Taren nodded decisively to no one in particular and rose.  He was nothing particularly enjoyable to look at, though certainly not the most hideous creature to walk the earth on two legs.  Pale, tall, with long limbs and pointed features, he stood out in a crowd and was not easily forgotten.  Born with no hair anywhere on his body, he was at least fortunate to have a smooth, evenly domed skull.  Eyes of a deep, deep brown were set close together in his sharp face, often narrowed in thought.  His thin lips were often pursed when he wasn't berating a patient or assistant for incompetance, though it was never with a mean spirit.  A talent for the healing arts rarely successfully shared space with a caring heart.  

Wrinkling his nose, Taren turned and peered out into the hallway, waiting for the first unforunate face to appear.  When  none did, he huffed impatiently and headed for the deck, long arms swinging in time with his leggy stride.  Bright sunlight blinded him briefly as he squinted, shading his eyes with a hand.  "Where is that damn woman?" he muttered, lips pursed.

"This damn woman?" questioned a sharp, wry voice.  He turned to see Isile, his assistant, standing beside the doorway, arms crossed and toe tapping.  "Took you long enough," she grumbled, walking to his side.

"You could have helped, you realize."

"Where's the fun in that?  Besides, you would have recounted everything I did, so why waste my time?"  One thin black brow raised over dull grey eyes.

Taren huffed again, letting his hand drop to his side.  "That's beside the point.  Have you found a suitable pair of hands for me?  I have a need for some old uniforms to be ripped.  Else we won't be able to tend any upcoming injuries."  His brown eyes scanned the deck, a flurry of somewhat unguided activity.  "Which could happen at any moment with all these..." his nose crinkled in disdain "guests."

Isile snorted loudly, startling the woman who rushed past her.  "You're too kind.  Really.  Yes, I have.  She's over there."  Tipping her head towards the bow, Isile indicated to their prime target.

Turning down his lips, Taren followed the direction of her head tilt.  There, sitting beside the railing, was a young, petite woman, no more than 13 or 14.  Her skin was the color of snow, and she looked absolutely petrified of everything around her.  Even the breeze startled her.  Doubtful eyes shifted down to Isile, but he voiced no complaint.  "Fine.  Take her to the galley and get her set up.  Make it clear she's not to change jobs until otherwise instructed."

"Mmph," was the only response he got before the short, round woman headed for the little waif.  Taren watched her go, a smirk lifting his lips as he saw the little woman jump in surprise.  At least if she was working for him, she would stay largely out of trouble.  Less likely to get stepped on or have something dropped on her unsuspecting head, at any rate.

"Loblolly!  Loblolly!"  Taren turned automatically in the direction of the shouting, taking off with rapid, dignified strides.  The call came from below decks, back towards the quarters the new passengers had been settled.  Grabbing hold of the railing, the thin man swung himself lithely around a corner, landing with a soft thud at the bottom of the stairs, skidding to a halt as a young sailor nearly crashed into him.  "Come quick!  It's Tobbs!"  The sailor spun on his heel and dashed back the direction he'd come, not bothering to look back and see if he was followed.

Taren followed after him, stepping into the dark room he'd been led to.  Laying on the floor, completely still, was the man he assumed was Tobbs.  His skin, generally the deep, leathery tan of a sailor, had the sickly palor of a man desperately ill.  His breath came in labored pants, eyes wide and fixed on some unseen point past the low ceiling.  Taren grabbed his guide's collar and yanked the man back into the hall, easily slipping past him to sink onto the floor beside his patient.  Expert hands glided lightly over Tobbs' body, seeking a point of some obvious ailment.  When nothing stood out to him, Taren repeated the process more slowly, pressing his fingers into every sensitive point on the human body. It wasn't until he had reached the hollow behind Tobbs' knee that he noticed any change.  Tobbs arched his back, his entire body lifting off the floor save his head and ankles.  A loud, unearthly wail wrenched from his throat, and the moment Taren took his hand back, Tobbs fell again to the floor, panting and sweating.

"Come here, boy," Taren commanded.  The young sailor came at once, kneeling on the other side of Tobbs.  "Roll him towards you and hold him up."  Taren pushed Tobbs toward the sailor, barely noticing where the hands were to ensure they weren't in his way, or near Tobbs' knee.  Swiftly undoing Tobbs' pants, he rolled them down to more closely examine the sensitive area.  The flesh was swollen and mottled, varying shades of purple and green, much like a bruise.  Near the base of the affected area, a single puncture was visible, red scabbed.  Leaning closer, Taren sniffed faintly, pulling back quickly at the strong scent of decay.  "What is this?"

The sailor peered over his friend's body, forehead wrinkled in confusion.  "Dunno.  'E never said anythin' before."

"Work on remembering.  Get some help to move him to the galley, and warn cook that we're coming."  Flicking his fingers in dismissal, Taren returned his attentions to the wound, peering closely.  When he noticed the man hadn't moved, he glowered coldly up at him.  "Did something in my words indicate later?  NOW!"  The sailor jumped and vanished, leaving Taren alone to his patient.

Isile looked into the room moments later.  "Your little helper is in your cabin; I heard we'd be needing the galley, and since she'd be more hinderance than help, figured that'd be a better place."  She entered the room, her large frame taking over much of the remaining space.  "What we got?"

"I've no idea.  I'll need some time.  And let me know the moment the captain returns."  His response was half-hearted, barely shifting his focus from the boy in front of him.

"'Course.  Hands are coming to help in a bit."  Isile stepped out of the room again, watching for the sailors who were coming.

[Lord Palatine]

Aboard the Rose
"Good timin'," Jedda sighed as he was dragged into the galley, the surgery being filled with quarentined women.  "Cutter bein' wi' th' Cap'n and Mims ashore testin' water fer th' barrels.  Water's on th' boil, what'll ye be needin'?"

Shalinda's Shore Party
"Cap'n," Boggs looked at her.  "I don't trust this bugger farther'n I can toss him.  Lets fill 'is barrel from the stream yonder, toss in a few bags o'biscuit and shove him back out t'sea."

"I don't kike that idea," Zander protested.

"Choice is me killin' ye," the marine above him fingered the edge of his sword.

"Can you spare some rum too?" Zander asked.

[Firefly23]

On The Rose

Taren glanced over at Jedda, lifting a finger in his direction as a small greeting.  "Space, light, and peace.  Soon as I figure out the issue, you can have your galley back, promise."  He followed his patient to the first cleared table, watching as they laid him on his stomach.  "This one is...strange."

Isile frowned down at the sailor before turning his head to make sure he could breathe.  "Strange barely blinks at the issue, and you know it."  She snorted and turned to Jedda.  "You got any liddle knives?  If nothin' else, we can at least start letting."

[Shae Dravenmore]

Shalinda scowled at the elf, already loading another bolt into her hand bow.  "Shut yer mouth and be glad I ain't killed ye yet."  She was torn.  Both Boggs and her Marine presented very good options.  Finally she grinned.  "Unless he comes up wi' a good reason t' nae in 'is next breath, kill 'im.  We got enough free-loadin' mouths t' feed wi'out givin' this rummy sod handouts."  She turned to leave, starting back down the path that would take them to the location on the map.

[Lord Palatine]

Jedda nodded and waved for the chest lashed to a bulkhead.  In battle one surgeon worked from the surgery proper and the second from the galley.  They laid out a deeply stained oilcloth and a fresh strip of canvas over it and laid the unfortunate back on the table.  The kit was unrolled and Jedda spread his tools for him.

 :girl_devil:

"How much does six ships with dragon's heads on the front buy me?" Zander wondered.

[Shae Dravenmore]

She paused, and turned partially to cast a sidelong look at him.  "Talk."

[Firefly23]

Pursed lips flattened as Taren's face slid into a smooth mask.  He turned and nodded his thanks to Jedda in a distracted manner before selecting the correct blade.  "Isile, he'll need to be restrained," he said softly, inspecting the edge on his selected tool.  Taren stood beside the boy's injured knee, bending down to come close to it.  Glancing up briefly to ensure the boy was properly restrained, Taren placed a hand on his thigh tightly, just barely nicking the skin.  A loud wail broke free from the patient, and he tried to break free, but was well held.  From the newly opened wound, a thick goo that was a pale, sickly green welled up, oozing slowly down his leg to pool on the oilcloth.  Taren's nose wrinkled, and he dropped the knife with a clatter onto the bench.  "Jedda," he said very slowly, "I need hot water, garlic, and lemon."

"What is it?" Isile asked, a hint of worry edging her tone.

"Nothing to trifle with."  Straightening, Taren looked at the other soldiers in the room.  "Every one of you, out.  NOW."  The men made to scurry out, nearly tripping over each other in the haste.  Catching the elbow of the last man, the pointy loblolly spun him around suddenly.  "You.  Once either surgeon or the captain returns, tell them to come here.  No excuse is good enough, clear?"  Frightened both of the goo and Taren, the paling sailor nodded weakly before dashing away once his elbow was released.

[Lord Palatine]

Jedda shooed everyone out and fetched what he required.  "Don't look good," she observed.  "How bad?"


"A few days out in the wind I saw them, they were fighting the storms and not doing all that well," he replied.  "I was in the lighter boat and drifting faster but they were being pushed in the same direction I was.  If they didn't get driven ashore they are close to here somewhere."

[Firefly23]

"An ancient magic I've never even seen before, just read about."  Taren took the ingredients he'd requested, setting them on the oilcloth.  He sliced the lemon in half with the small knife, squeezing the contents onto the sailor's knee.  There was a loud pop, followed by a slow, wet hiss.  Steam began to rise up from the wound, the skin appearing to bubble.  Unfazed, Taren watched it for a moment before sighing and shaking his head.  "The infection will spread, affecting all of his limbs first, then it will move inward.  He won't show any signs of suffering because he has been locked within himself."

"Locked where?"  Isile peered down at the vapid man.

"He's been imprisoned inside his own mind.  I'd bet he can hear us now, but has no way to respond."  Taren paused, watching his patient as though waiting for confirmation.  The lack of movement seemed to be suffienct, for he looked up at Jedda.  "There is little to do for him."