Pirates of the Sorcerean

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Scrabling up to his feet, with Tanya's help. Meatloaf half ran, half walked, off to where Weasle had said this Gally thing was. Not knowing what a Gally was Meatloaf opened the door a fraction, and peeked in side.
He let off a little yell of delight and quickly let him self inside, closing the door behind.

Once inside,Meatloaf took a look around. It was a feely bad kitchen in his opinon, but he'd worked in worse.

He walked over to where the creats containing the food where thrown, and opened one up.
Suddenly something grabbed him from behind, lifting him a meter off the ground. Spinning around Meatloaf saw a big, well built man, with what looked like a cooks outfit on.

"What you doing in my Galley?" The man inquired.

"Umm, I'm Meatloaf, the new cook. It's good to see they've got me an assitant. If you don't mind puttin' me down now."

The man, instead of putting Meatloaf down lifted him up further. "No, I'm the cook," he insisted.

"No, I am. I'm Meatloaf, the finest cook around. I will not be thrown out of me own kitchen by some pirate, claiming to be a cook!" Meatloaf screamed. "Now put me down!"

The old cook quickly put Meatloaf down, because as you well know, no one likes to argue with a cook in his kitchen, whether it be on a boat or back on the ground. This was now certainly Meatloaf's kitchen.

 

Watching the big man come up the stairs from below, Weasel noticed he looked a bit shaken.
"Got booted outa yer kitchen, Hef?" he grinned.

'Hef' grinned back; "Aye ye little Rat, he be a fiery one! It's gonna take sum time ta make him a pirate though - he dinnae even know what a Galley be! Har har har!"

Weasel grinned back to his old friend. It was good to have some of the old gang back on board. Overall, he couldn't wait to try out the new food. Hef wasn't really the best cook around, though most people wouldn't really say it to his face.

 

Mister Fabian was pleased by the prospect of a real cook on board. Usually pirate tastebuds were so deadened by grog that they could eat fillet of rat and think it a delicacy. He made mental note to double check the preservation spells he'd already cast over the stores of food.

The Ariel was sound, and the crew seemed competent so far. Now, if only the weather would hold...

 

As everyone out side is preparing the ship to hit the seas, Meatloaf is busy in his new 'kitchen' fimilarizing himself with it.

At this particular moment Meatloaf was busy re-sorting the galley to his fansies. He had just finished putting away the last of the kitchen wear and was standing there muttering to himself.

"Umm, yes. That should do it, aslong as the flammin' ship doesn't jerk to much. Umm, now where to go from here."

Meatloaf shifted his gazy, slowly sweeping the rest of the room, in it's current state of havoc. The food, unpacked, lying all over the benches. His personal belongings, as few as they where, where scattered all over the galley floor.

Coming to a decision, Meatloaf walks over to the benches and starts sorting through the food.

"Blasted poor quality food this. I would never have allowed this sort in me kitchen back home. And look at the state of this bench..."

 

George wondered around the deck for a while, familiazing himself with the crew and the ship, and then trotted down into the cabins and had a look around there. Finally, he saw the kitchen where Meatloaf is in, and he waltzed right in, literally.
"Well HELLO THERE!" George shouted quite unncessarily, causing poor Meatloaf to jump a little. "Nice place you've got here, eh?"
Meatloaf nodded nervously.
"I've got a question for you." George said, taking a dagger from his belt and poking it on a nearby apple Meatloaf was going to throw away. "Why do they call you Meatloaf? Why not pineapple? Or walrus? Or flying seafishes?"

 

Meatloaf jumped a little as George started yelling behind him. Turning around, he sees George, and just smiles a nods. No cook would ever answer any questions he didn't want to when in his own kitchen, and this Three-eyes should damn well know that!

Just as Meatloaf was about to throw that good-for-nothing three-eyed lunatic out of his galley, the three-eyed asked a question Meatloaf felt like answering. So, with a big smile on his face, Meatloaf replied:

"Ah me name? Well, must have been nearly 8 years ago now. When I was serving under the great Pirate, Captain Red..." He fades off as he tries to remember the name. "...Redheart! Captain Redheart. Yes, When I was serving under the great Captain Redheart, this young lad got washed up, by our great boat. After a few days he started dying of some terrible sickness. His last dying wish was that he eat a meatloaf. So, me being the cook cooked the best meatloaf ever to be made on the nine seas... Unfortunatly, he died before he could eat it." Once again Meatloaf trailed off, thinking of what to say next.

Suddenly remembering he was on a boat with some crazy lunatic he came back to his sense.

"Now get out of me kitchen you good-for-nothin' tri-clops!"

He reached for the nearest frying pan and started waving it about while running towards George.

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!" George yelled, ducking a powerful frying pan strike to the head. "Tri-clops. That's the most bloody creative name I've heard after Deren Kakka of the Silverly White Sea of Pearly-ness...I suggested that name, the real name is something like the Black Torrent...called me a three-eyed monkey..." he said as he sidestepped another strike, took the apple, and started slicing it in half. When he was done, he placed half of it where the frying pan was going to hit and lo and behold, the frying pan hit the apple and it flew on the walls creating a small mess. George smilied.
"Err, sorry about your kitchen, you lump of meat. Har har!"
And he walked away from the kitchen as he sliced the apple in half again and begun to juggle it around.

 

Meatloaf stops swinging the frying pan as he relieses what he has just done. He screams in the top of his voice, to Georges back, "I'm goin' to have the captain have you flogged for this, you tri-clops, mark my word!"

As the door swung shut behind George, Meatloaf slamed shut the lock and began cleaning up the mess.

 

Peyweth strode out of his cabin, throwing open his door mayhaps a bit too hard. He quickly closed it as quietly as possible and hurried off in case Weasel heard the noise and felt like killing him over it.
As he wandered around the ship, surveying that which everyone was doing, he wondered how he got landed with such an odd bunch of people. Everyone he ran into was talking about the raving madman who had jumped aboard, and of the guy who seemed to have his pants up too high. Some of the more superstitious crew members were muttering about the bad luck the women on board would bring, though Peyweth brought himself to ignore that.
He came about to the door opening to the galley just as a complete lunatic wade his way out. He stared incredulously at the man, wishing he could throw him overboard. After all, it would lighten the load...

 

George was wandering around when he saw a man stare at him quite oddly. He walked pasted him for a while before starting to walk backwards.
"Ey ey ey there, chap!" he said, addressing Peyweth. "You seem to know what you're doing, not unlike my brother Jen the Superlicious...that is, if I had a brother." he looked thoughtful. "Anyway, anyway, ANYWAY! Where by the name of Jen the Superlicious are we going?!"

 

Dante wandered around on board, searching every room and getting odd stares from anyone who was in them. Finally he muttered to himself, "Wheres all the rum?"

 

"Weeeeell," Peyweth said, stretching out the word as he tried coming to grips with the fact that he was talking to an utter moron.
"We're heading off to find the legendary treasure of Ruthbarb. You've surely heard of it."

 

"You WHAT?!" George shouted. "The treasure of Ruthbarb?! Oh, you're joking, right?"
Peyweth slowly shook his head.
"But, heheh, but...I mean, well, apart from the fact that it's guarded by killer bullfrogs, I've always thought that it was, ahem, a myth made up by killer bullfrogs to increase their reputation. Nevertheless! I'm with you, comrade!"
George threw his arm around Peyweth's for a second and passed him a slice of the apple, then wandered off again, singing to himself.

 

While Peyweth is on deck, Mister Fabian goes below to give the Captain's cabin a thorough de-lousing and makeover.

 

Nimue, after thoroughly familiarizing herself with the Ariel, decides that she is bored. She decides on ignoring the *fascinating* smells coming from the kitchen in favor of finding and annoying Fabian, she finds her Mentor in the Captain's cabin playing Mighty Maid.

"Fabian..." she sais softly. "I know you like things orderly and elegant, but there are limits, y'know. Let Peyweth sleep in a rat's nest if it strikes his fancy. You're a member of the most noble and ancient Order of Stewards! This is somewhat below your dignity. You have better things to do."

She then grins, "Like giving your devoted Apprentice a lesson. I don't trust these unwashed louts of a crew. They have no idea of what the Stewards really are, nor of how vital they are to the success of a quest! ...You know that some of the harder truths my experience has taught me should never be ignored."

A snort and a soft laugh, "But then again, I'm always suspicious, am I not?"

 

Mister Fabian sighs and brushes his hair out of his eyes as he straightens up from bending over a large pile of rags that now hold the grime that used to be on the walls and floor. His dark-green breeches, pale gold shirt, and russet brocade waistcoat are spotless, and his hands don't appear to have spent the morning in scrubwater.

"I've told you before, m'dear, that a Steward's job is to make sure a ship runs smoothly. Order comes from the top down. How can we expect the crew to adhere to proper nautical protocol when the Captain can't even find clean socks?"

Sneering, he snaps his fingers and the rag-pile immolates neatly, without leaving so much as a smudge of smoke on the freshly-painted (a nice, cheery shade of peach that complements the mahogany paneling) cabin. The flames flicker warmly on the now-gleaming brass. Mister Fabian turns to Nimue with a grin.

"Besides, I think there will be plenty of opportunities for 'lessons' during the search for the Legendary Treasure of Ruthbarb!"

[ October 14, 2003, 18:11: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Nimue sighs, "Well, you still haven't answered my other statement, but knowing you I do suppose you'll keep it in mind." She pauses. "I wonder, had you heard of the Treasure of Ruthbarb before you came on the Ariel, or were you simply the nearest, or most senior, Steward in the area? And if you've heard of it, which is most likely, what do you know?"

 

Mister Fabian’s grin widens. “I told the Captain that I was the nearest Steward, which wasn’t quite true. The Order chose me specifically for this trip – it must not fail.” The Captain’s cabin now clean, he leads Nimue back to their own quarters, lecturing on the way. “You must have heard of Admiral Aloysius Ruthbarb, the Shark of the Sorcerean. He earned his sea-legs in the Royal Navy, but had the misfortune to be on board the King’s ship when the renegade Duke of Westmarch conjured the storm that caused the King’s death and usurped the throne. Ruthbarb survived, and took his revenge by turning to piracy. No man ever deprived the crown of more taxes than Ruthbarb.

“While he spent freely in all ports, he never had a home on land again. When he vanished, ship and crew together, everyone assumed the treasure was lost, as well. Knowing which ships he had taken, there’s some fact behind the speculation as to how much is there – gold, jewels, weapons… but what no one really knows about is the magic.”

“Magic?” Nimue asks, her eyes glinting with a feral gleam.

“Of course, magic,” Mister Fabian replies. “You don’t think the greatest Pirate sailed without the greatest Steward, do you? Aside from more enchanted trinkets than any bazaar peddler could ever hope for, that ship went down with the collected lore of Llwellyn Perry. Word had it that the knowledge he was bringing back would lead the Order in a completely new direction… You can see why I was chosen for this trip. While most of that Lore is useful only to a Steward, in the wrong hands it could destroy the Order.”

“But it’s guarded, of course,” Nimue remarks cynically, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“What treasure worth pursuit isn’t guarded? There’s always the ghosts of Ruthbarb and his crew, who won’t be eager to be stripped of their booty, and any number of beasts. Then there’s the other guardians…”

Mister Fabian’s voice trails off and his eyes lose focus. Nimue is about to prompt him when he begins to speak in a dreamy, sing-song tone,
"When ye who seek this wealth draw near
Ye shall face your deepest fear.
All brought forth by Steward’s spell,
Ye’ll see your demons, fair and fell.
Only the strongest of will and heart
Shall with this Captain’s treasure depart.”

[ October 14, 2003, 20:20: Message edited by: Rallymama ]

 

Nimue's eyes widen and a wistful look illuminates them, transforming her countenance of steel and angles for a few brief seconds. "All that knowledge...." she sais with longing, "So much closer to...truth...." And then the mask slams back over her features, replacing the passionate desire with a crooked grin, "Will the Order of Stewards release it to a mere Apprentice? Oh, and might I add...will we get through this alive? This crew seems more intractable than most, and at a time when getting the bright idea makes the difference between life and death for all of us, that's just...a BAD idea."

 

Mister Fabian rolls his eyes melodramatically. "There's some hope for this crew. Tanya has an iron fist and won't tolerate antics from her men. The cook seems promising, he just needs to earn his sea legs. Perhaps I can help him with that..." His expression hardens as his eyes narrow. "But that three-eyed one... he's trouble. There's no room on a ship for someone who can't tell what's real from what's his own ravings. If he doesn't stop pestering me about that non-existent debt, I'll repay him in a way he'll remember for a very long time."