Pirates of the Shackles

The Votes are Counted

and a captain named

“The first vote is for…Mal!” Sandara shouts, showing the slip to all, and then depositing it in the empty bucket. She reaches for another slip.

“Mal…Grims…Grims!” she continues the process, pulling out one slip at a time, taking care to show everyone that she is only drawing one, reading it, showing it, then depositing it in the other bucket. This continues, with the count being kept by Fishguts Kroop, who records each vote as a mark in charcoal on a scrap of wood. There are 14 voting crew members, and shortly there are 6 votes for each man, leaving only 2 remaining slips. Will it result in a tie?

The tension in the air is palpable. Sailors share nervous glances. Conversation stops, leaving only the sounds of a light breeze and the ever-present lapping of water against the ship’s hull. Sandara reaches for another slip, unfolds it, and speaks as she displays it to the crew – a jagged ‘X’ is clear for all to see.

“Grims!” she states firmly, and then places the slip into the formerly empty bucket to her right. Only one slip remains, and will result in a new captain, elected by the slimmest margin possible for this crew, or a tie, and the uncertainty of another round of voting. The former promises an answer, albeit one weakly ground, should those who voted for Mal choose to not support Grims as completely as a new captain needs. The latter would result in another round of voting, and possible gridlock, which among pirates often led to a fight.

“May Besmara’s wisdom and boldness guide us as we draw this last slip,” Sandara intones, the weight of her words washing over everyone. She reaches into the bucket again, drawing out the last slip, and before opening it lifts the bucket with her other hand, displaying its empty bottom to everyone present, honoring tradition as the final vote is to be read.

Unfolding the slip she takes a moment to look at the mark on it and nods, a serious, perhaps stoic look on her face. The left side of her mouth turns up in a mischievous semi-smirk as she turns it around to show the crew: another X.

“Grims! Captain Grims!” she shouts, to uneven cheers from the crew. Some appear genuinely happy in the result; others seem happy that a decision has been reached; and a few look a little deflated. None show any negative response, but the small, closely divided crew cannot provide its new captain with the groundswell of support he might have wanted.

Sandara, in her last official act as the unofficially most-trusted non-officer member of the crew, silences the crew with a wave of her arms, and turns to Grims as he approaches.

“The ship is yours captain…” she begins, and is then suddenly cut off by the shouts of Arreta Bansion, still tied naked to the forward mast, and all but forgotten by the crew.

“Wooo!! Wooo! You gotta hotta cap’n! I swear myself to him too! Plugg’s dead! Harrigan’s gone! I’ll sail under yer banner, cap’n!” she yells, twisting around the mast as much as possible in order to see the others. An awkward moment passes before the crew begins shouting again – some laughing, some calling for her head, others urging her release.


Flynn decides to find a new bunk. He finds a large cabin at the back of the ship with nice windows and an actual bed. He moves his meager possessions into the trunk and stretches out on his new bed for a nice nap. “Besmara has taken a shine to me, obviously.”
A contented smile and a sigh escape him as he sleeps.

The Votes are Counted

The crew has spoken, and I’m the captain! Mal is a good first officer, and keepin with tradition, he will be my first mate. Jiago will be the Bosun. He’ll keep ye dogs in line with his evil eye. Sandara is the best navigator we have, she stays put. as to the rest of you. We’re taking to get the ship squibbed once again, then Besmaras Blessing will get to port to ‘recruit’ more crew.

Following tradition, I’ll make sure you have drinkin you can do to let off steam. It’s not required, but if your drinkin foul up your duties. A lash for ya.
There’s no stealing, if caught, 10 lashes.
Anyone want to take someone else’s punishment, it’s your skin and I hope it’s worth it.

As to our hag strung up… She is Reds. Ye make nice with him and maybe you can rejoin the crew.

Let’s show Harrigan he chose wrong putting Plugs in place. We’ll take to the high seas and be the scourge we’re meant to be!!!

(Diplomacy roll 16. With stat of 9 equals 25)

The Votes are Counted

The crew bellows its support for Cap’n Grims’ ideas, and promises of booze, booty, and fame. The crew seems to like Besmara’s Blessing as the new name of the ship, too.

Will Mal take the job of First Mate? And what about Jaigo as the Bosun? Red, at the promise of ownership of Arreta, waggles his tongue at her and makes groping motions with his hands – to the amusement of the crew.

The Votes are Counted

“Festival! festival!” shouts Fishguts as he makes his way on deck, lugging a steaming pot of…something…from below decks. Some crew exchange confused or curious glances; others nod knowingly and laugh; and some shake their heads in a manner that says ‘oh HECK NO!’

Still, they all gather ’round the the corpulent cook, assisted by Red, who hands out wooden cups to those who need them. Within moments everyone has a cup or tankard fills with a dark liquid giving off bitter, strong vapors.

“Drink up me’hearties! ’Tis my special blend!” the cook filthy fat man laughs as he downs a cup. The crew, already as drunk as they could get with what little alcohol was on board, and after a few hours of revelry after the choice of their captain, follows suit.

“Puke juice!” the cook laughs as another tradition plays out: the sailor who can keep himself from puking the longest is the winner. Given the secret blend of whatever’s in the juice, it’s only moments before the first man – Ali, one of the Rahamoudi swabs – shakes violently and spews the contents of his stomach and small intestine across the deck, splattering Rosie Cozwell, who was too slow to dodge.

Pirate tradition – I can’t do anything about it. Everyone has to drink, and I’ll make Fortitude saves to see who among you can keep his stomach contents contained the longest.

The Votes are Counted

Puke Juice Results
or, the Honor Roll of Spew, presented in order from the first to lose his lunch to the last…the winner!
Ali, Bilupbulip, Arreta, Rosie, Jaigo, Grims, Red, Tilly, Hamomed, Flynn, Sams, Fishguts, Mal, Owlbear, Sandara!

The red-haired vixen/priestess of Besmara valiantly outlasts Owlbear, whose attempt to hold his jaw shut with his hands ends when stomach fluids spray forth from his nostrils and he collapses on the deck, writing in pain and laughing.

All eyes are on her as she throws her head back and does her best to shoot a bile and grog geyser into the air above herself – resulting in more of a frothy overflow that makes some vertical progress, but mostly just cascades down her chest.

She collapses against the mainmast and shudders as she is reduced to dry heaves…after which she fixes Cap’n Grims with a fierce, hungry look…her lips wet with intestinal fluids, shirt half-open and stained a brownish red.

Tradition must be followed.

The Votes are Counted

Aye. Tradition must be followed.

The Votes are Counted

Sandara grabs Cap’n Grims by the hand and begins to whirl around the deck in a wild dance as the crew begins to clap in unison and shout “hey! hey! ho! ho!” together. The dizzying dance goes on until the two have twirled around the entire weather deck, putting their feet on each level in hopes that the revelry will bring Besmara’s goodwill. And it’s just dancing – nothing else happens. Sandara may be a pirate priestess, but she’s not some roadhouse skank.

The Votes are Counted

Flynn enjoyed his new feather bed so much he slept through the whole thing. “ZZZZzzzzz”

The Votes are Counted

“What is bosun?” Jaigo inquires. “Sounds tasty.”

The Votes are Counted

“Throw that man overboard!!!” Grims jokes.

The Votes are Counted

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