Blud for the blud god

[rubyrubyruby]

Fleet Triskelion has suffered a lot of punishment during the shadow-sail, the running battle and the Node battle. There's been a horrendous loss of life, and while the battle was claimed as a victory, it was won at the cost of life and limb. Some of the enemy has been rounded up and saved from a watery grave or the edge of a cutlass, but it's a very small minority. The Consortium fleets have been decimated. The Cibolan Node waters were great for cleanup of the terminal cases. Anything in the water sank or was inexorably yoinked down unless a real effort was made to rescue.
Sailing out of the stable shadowpath, Antukt Port can be sighted on as a source of civilization amongst all that lush dangerous green jungle. The fleet has taken to clustering around Captains of reputation that started this journey so long ago. Both Arks survived, but only because they were saved from being sammiched and swarmed by the Consortium. At least one of the Arks has been given over to Lhasa's control. The many decks could serve as triage or hospital if they can be directed efficiently and organized. The sight of Lhasa is polarizing for those that are wounded or seeking cared ones. People are definitely looking for leadership in some form. The only mob mentality in effect is to get to the nearest Port.
Cibolan Galleys are waiting just near the shadowpath and there is a feeling of jubilation among them. They provide their own version of salutes and greetings to ships big and small.

Lhasa hasn't entirely transitioned back to the familiar sawbones, out of necessity. Her rough brand of healing and the requirements of battle medicine don't seem too far off from Captain Howler's even-mannered, if brutal leadership on the Big Sauce. Crewfolk that have come to Lhasa expecting the usual bedside manner have been disappointed to find she is not exactly kind and attentive to her patients. Luckily, she has help - she's not the only doctor type on the fleet, and under her direction, triage has been set up in the Ark that serves as Triskelion's battle hospital. Areas have been set up for the worst cases, the ones that can be helped, and those who can't. Infectious diseases, an insidious killer after a battle, are kept on an entirely different ship altogether, the Vanilla Bean. There are crewmembers responsible for sanitation and the endless boiling of water, the relentless cutting and winding and washing of bandages, surgeons stitching, cleaning wounds and, the severing of limbs for the unlucky. Lhasa is on the Ark right now, emerging from below onto the main deck. The bloodied arms and leather apron speak volumes.

A dark-haired lad runs on up to Lhasa. He's followed by a rag-tag collection of other youths looking wide-eyed and wired. A powder-monkey when the gunpowder cannons could be wielded, he's traded in carrying combustible powders for messages. "'Scuze miss! I mean Captain!" He pants. "Captain Toothsome sends his compliments. He's coming alongside with a galleon of ship-shocked he says, but if you don't mind me venturing an opinion, I don't like the looks. No I don't!"

There's boiled water at a makeshift cleanup station Lhasa insisted there be on every deck. She goes about removing the bloodied apron and the careful and thorough washing of her hands and arms while she listens to the lad. When the messenger expresses his opinion, she pauses, arms elbow-deep in the large washbasin, and turns her head to look at him. The youths behind him get a brief glance as well. "How's that," she asks for him to elaborate further.

What ships remain from the Silky Seal Squadron all had their fair share of wounded. Of those, some even managed to escape the grasp of those evil tentacles from the deep that tried to pull them under a bit prematurely! Once they had finally put in, the wounded were rounded up to be brought on over to what was serving as the hospital for the fleet while repairs began back on the ships. The first stop, before even making it into the port itself to start scrounging up supplies for repairs, is to ferry the wounded on over. Off on the other side of the Ark, Clive and a few other able bodies are hauling them up as carefully as they can. The Selkie makes it up onto the deck with one thrown over his shoulder and they are thrashing about trying to get away. "Ah, come on now, Reggie. Would ya shaddup for a bit and get that eye looked at? Ya don't wanna be runnin' about a place like this. Ain't nuthin' good gonna come of that!" All of this falls on deaf ears as Reggie keeps on kicking and jerking about, trying to free his hands and legs from bindings and bite through a gag made from a bandana. Grumbling a bit, Clive looks about the deck and locks onto Lhasa, pausing where he stands a moment.

While the curling wake of the ships' limping passage might not look or smell like the Trail of Victory, it *is* a trail none-the-less. Before too long, tropical sunlight shimmers over silvery humps which crest above the waves, then roll forward and under again in a flash of sleek dorsal fins. Reappearing, redisappearing, they close the distance, in pursuit or merely making use of the slipstream's pull... but it is certainly no coincidence when, upon catching up with the rearmost ship, three beaky melonheads rise up to give the sad state of the sails and rails a grave once-over.
"...Hmmm. These is them. Not much left!"
"That's bad... But hey! No Beast!"
"Ooohnoooo... She sonk!"

The youths cluster behind one another in a kind of congo-line, with the dark-haired fellow acting as the head of the column. Lhasa's state and the blood she washes off is very distracting. The spokes-boy squeaks up, voice cracking, "He's tried to come abreast Freddy's folly and the Spice Dandy but I saws them veer I did. They veered off before they'd give assistance. Which is odd, because they've helped before." He scratches his arms as he watches the blood get warshed off Lhasa's forearms. "There's an awful reek coming from westward...and It's a right stink. You'd think I'd get used to blood but this is something else." He turns and gestures towards the aft. Oh hey, there's Clive. "Beg your pardons Sir..." He leans against the railing to point past Clive. "Not to mean you Sir. Not that you'd stink worse than anyone." "Gods below, Trent!" A boy quips back in the congo line, making the spokes-boy continue. "It'll be alongside any minute." He offers a blood-stained note that was once curled around the leg of a pigeon. "The bird that brought this looked and smelled like it had flown through something's guts it did."

The Selkie's familiar voice registers, and Lhasa can't help but turn her gaze in his direction for a brief moment. Her eyes meet his, and before they can betray her deep relief, she quickly looks back at the dark-haired messenger. She clears her throat, blinks at the sound of the dolphins trolling beyond. So many distractions! "Ah... Foul smell, you say?" she says thoughtfully, drying her hands roughly. She then takes the note and unrolls it, but she's already making a decision. "Kid, run quick to Achiote and tell her no one on that ship is to board. Not a one. I'll be right with you." She glances back at the Selkie and his struggling crewman. "Set him down and Monty over there can see to him." She tilts her head meaningfully in Monty's direction, and once she gains his attention, Monty nods and walks over. In a low voice, she says, "Clive, there's a thing. Can you spare a moment?"

Clive's brows furrow as his head swivels slowly to plant a stare at the lead youth who is yapping at him. It holds there for a moment before turning back toward Lhasa with his expression softening somewhat. Alas! The moment is over and missed, interrupted by this young whippersnapper! He nods his head quickly, sensing the urgency of the moment, and makes a rushed attempt at setting Reggie down easily. This does not go well and it winds up ending with a thud and a much quieter Reggie. The addled sailor gets a long look of appraisal before he sets to walking purposefully over to Lhasa. "Sure thing, Doc. Good to see you made it through all that alright. What's all this?"

Message-bringer-Trent gives Lhasa a quick nod and turns to scoot and relay the message. He paws past his companions, they getting an eyefull of Howler and Scowler and starting to peel off as well. They carry a rabble of noise with them, energy infecting their limbs in the way that makes youth seem badly animated sometimes. Coastal gulls have taken to soaring on the thermals to investigate the ships of the fleet. The ripe smells have them swirling in to the stonkiest after sampling the buffet of ships.

A hop, skip, and jump later, the pod squad has fetched up beside the Vanilla Bean, craning almost perpendicular with the waves and gazing cautiously upward.
"Aaah, remember the whale stonch? This is worser!"
"Even worser than that... it'sa plague ship!"
"That's it then! They's all dead! Bedda give up now..."
They dive, and are gone! For all of a minute! And then, they're trying the hospital ark next, bobbing along its great perimeter on the track of the edge of the deck that is alive with the spicy chitchat and seeing delivery of persons to triage.

Lhasa briefly grips Clive's arm by way of greeting, as she walks past him. She can't help it, really, though it's all she can spare, attention-wise. She addresses him in a low voice as she makes her way after Trent and the gang. "I don't know yet, Smiles. Keep your daggers handy though, subtle-like. Aye?" She wrinkles her nose, frowns, as she comes closer to where Toothsome's ship should be approaching. If she could hear the dolphin's chatter, she'd be giving them quite a glare!

Clive picks up the pace to match Lhasa, looking to the side and nodding to her at the request. "Don't gotta tell *me* twice..." His linger about the Doctor a moment longer before finally turning back ahead to take in the approaching vessel. His spyglass comes on out in an effort to search for early clues about what might be going on. Partway through the staring and sweeping with the tool, his head cants a bit to the side to try and better pick up some of this spicy chitchat down in the water. Under his breath, he mutters, "Yappin' dolphins back already."

In spite of all rising trepidation, three perma-smirks are floating above the waterline for any who look over the rails of either the ark or the fouled ship heaving to. With attention whipping to and fro between the vessels, they must take special note of the narrowing channel in which they tread. Mutters of 'bad, very bad' and then '....fffreeuwww!' can be heard, before the lead porpoise opines loudly, "Hey, what goes on! You'se makin' the bad waddas with that stanky blood!" The trio mill against Clive's longboat as though trying to clamber up and in.

Toothsome's ship is the Canker, and it's current state is the worse for wear. They've jury rigged sails to replace the confusing tangle of canvas they had before. Their spare sails are a patchwork as is the repairs for the hull to keep her seaworthy. But someone has definitely let off some sort of spatter bomb, because it is keel to stern a bloody wash of gore. The Cibolans would probably love it, but there's all the visual reason needed for Triskelion's survivors to steer clear. It's madness! It's like an art installation and high school drama troupe combined! Its crew are cavorting around the deck, slipping in the red stuff as they dance with each other. They veer in towards the Ark with every intention of trading paint and sharing some ecstatic secret.
Trent points, unnecessarily, at the Canker and the strong stank of copper wafting this way. The gulls above circle overhead to go do an aerial swirl over the top masts to see what's with all that stanchiness.

Now walking along the railing, Lhasa peers down to see if she can catch sight of the dolphins. Their stank protestations are noted with a frown, and it deepens into an outright scowl at the sight of the Canker. "Cor blimey," she whispers. Then, in a louder voice, she says, "Keep that ship away at all costs. Steer clear." Noting Clive's got his spyglass, she adjusts her glasses and squints out at the ailing ship. "What the bloody hell? Smiles, can you see more of what's happening over there?" She grips the railing and leans over to get a closer look.

Captain Toothsome's ship, the badly named Canker, looks messy. Damage done to her shows where cannonballs have punched through its hull above the waterline. Sails have been replaced by jury rigged secondary canvases and rigging in need of proper replacement. The wheel took the direct hit by heat-ray and carpentery have had to improvise to get control of the ship's rudder. A red-drenched Captain keens from that position as he very definitely tries to steer his damaged ship into the Ark for an ungentle docking alongside. He's covered almost completely head to toe in caked blood, making the whites of his eyes stand out all the more striking. His crew caper and rush around the deck being mostly useless to proper duties. Some run up from below with mop buckets full of blood. Jamming their hands in the stuff, they then whip it like mad artists to do abstract art to sails and hull and even each other. Keen eyes will be able to pick out some of the crew that are not at all eager to join in the festivities. A handfull have burst from hiding places, or driven out by deranged peekaboo blood-happy crew. Some managed to reach a mast and start climbing like their lives depend on it.

Lhasa's command to not let them dock or assist has the Ark heaving gangways out of the way or heave-ho-ing hatches up. But the Ark is so large, it probably will not be able to outrun or avoid the Canker if she means to get some friction on. Perhaps in a matter of minutes, the bloody Canker ~could~ be making contact.

It isn't Clive's usual brand of stoicism that has him nearly silent. There are simply no words at all to describe what lies on the other side of his spyglass. His mouth drops open as he pulls away and turns to look over toward Lhasa. "It ain't pretty. Lookin' like most of the crew is something beyond rabid. But there are some that look normal and right terrified." He holds the spyglass out in case she wants to give it a go and continues after a pause, "Can't be lettin' 'em board. I wonder if there's any way to get the normals offa there though."

Lhasa squints out at the reeking ship, nodding her agreement to Clive. "We need to them off the Canker. And somehow also not let any..." she stops, frowning. It's her thinking frown, making her brows furrow and eyes look dark as coffee beans. How can she save them and not infect the Fleet with whatever crazy sickness they have? A conundrum. Examining the crew, or even getting on the Canker, as things stand, is out of the question. Well, drat.Lhasa says softly to herself, worrying a thumbnail with her teeth, "So how the hell do we..." The surgeon then takes the offered spyglass and regards the ruins of the ship with a more detailed, critical eye. The blood, the pierced hull and makeshift sails and broken rudder. Salvageable, maybe, but why would they want to? That thing is haunted, tainted, done. "We need to sink it. Get its crew a good dunking, retrieve those we can quickly, get them on the Bean, and sort them out there." Easier said than done, of course.

The Canker's top masts are a vertigo-inducing height on the Galleon. For landlubbers that is. The those crew that aren't on a blood frenzy, even if they reach the top of the middle mast, they'd still not come up to the Ark's very topmost deck. Certainly high enough to fall and break their neck of course. As the ship veers closer with its mostly stanky crew of blood spattered peoples, it gives off a stonky scent of copper. The sane looking crew have a pretty good grip looks like, and those that give pursuit are slippy-sliding on the mast. The amount of fervor in them helps dig in their fingernails as they scream up at their non-indoctrinated comrades, "Join us! Bathe in it! Get down here! Live for the blood and live forever!"

Captain Toothsome calls out for more from his position near the rigged rudder, "Lads! More lads! I'm almost dry! Don't let me dry out lads! It's the only way to live forever! No better rum than this red vintage! We'll show everyone the secret lads!"

Frowning lightly, Clive nods in agreement. "This ain't gonna be pretty..." With the Canker approaching, he can almost spot the rabid folk shimmying on up after the others and his frown deepens. "What do we have for defense here? I'm of a mind to put down the ones trying to get after the sanes over there. Maybe we can swing some ropes over to them and pull 'em up to safety? Keep 'em quarantined someplace so you can look 'em over?" His head turns around as he surveys the deck and what is on hand for armament or manpower. "Can we get word to the nearby ships? We could use an assist here!" His legs are moving as he roves about, taking inventory to formulate a plan for this defense of the wounded on the Ark and maybe a rescue of others on the Canker, if possible.

"I don't think we have the time. But I'll send out a call for my ships to double back," Lhasa says hurriedly. She briefly grabs onto his arm, squints up at him with an earnest look on her face. "Smiles, find a way to get us on that ship, sooner the better. I need to get something real quick, alright?" She doesn't wait for his reply, though, and yells out to Trent and the others as scrambles past. "That ship and its crew comes nowhere near us, y'hear? Deadly force if you have to. Not a one sets foot or slaps a bloody paw on this deck. If there's a cannon or twenty on this whale of a ship, I want it trained on the Canker." She skids, almost falls over in her hurry to run belowdecks. "Out of breath, she hollers as she disappears through the door. "Hurry!" That Begman saw contraption, it's in her other medical bag...

Trent gives a high-pitched Aye-aye, his voice breaking and his cheeks reddening. Words ring out and are passed along the superstructure of the big Ark. Not only are the gangways levering out of the way, but people forming into teams are trying to use spent ballistae bolts as a way to poke and prod at the Canker as it comes closer. Only touching the thing with a 20 foot pole, or at least waying the thing like a jousting lance through laborious sweeps. What the Ark has currently is a lot of handheld stuff like crossbows. The big wooden whales don't have the kind of stuff to cave in the side of a vessel apart from their sheer girth.

The Canker's crew get all kinds of excited by their getting closer to the Ark. Hopping up and down like the Ark is full of delicious noms or toys. Their Captain steers them closer and they note the means of easy boarding are going bye-bye. When moments of sanity seem to creep into their expression and they cease their craziness, someone comes and makes the rounds by playing duck-duck-goose-PAINT on them. The sight and smell drives them up into a frenzy again and they howl out for more blood. The bucket brigade running up and down from belowdecks seems the only organized thing going on upon the Canker.

A way over there... A way over there... Clive carries the thought with a handful of others in his head as he stomps around the deck, giving Lhasa a thumbs up on her way out. A pair of crewmembers that had come over with him are getting pointed at some things on the deck to round up as he starts calling out. "Any bows or crossbows ya got, get 'em ready! Try and keep 'em well past arm's length! Maybe we can pick some of 'em off that're tryin' to climb!" Picking out a place at the railing, he gives a nod and looks over as some rope and whatever harpoons or grappling hooks that can be found from the recent battle are brought over. Eying the lot, he starts tying off a line to the end of a harpoon and then sets to coiling the rope on the deck like a pro so it won't snag when it lets out. With that done, the harpoon gets hefted a few times to test the weight and feel out the balance of it while he eyes the incoming Canker to ponder distance and angle to get into the rigging.

Lhasa reappears from below decks in a flurry - bursts out the door, really - carrying a bag with a strap across her back. She runs back to their spot by the railing and gives Clive, and the harpoon, a critical eye. She says something under her breath - maybe a whisper out to the Big Sauce and the other ships under her command. She takes a breath, blinks up at Clive. "Alright," she says breathlessly, talking quickly in what sounds like a run-on sentence. "I'd rather not set foot on that deck if I can help it, least of all touch any of that blood, but in a pinch I suppose we can cut the mast down then fish the crew out of the water. You ready?" She looks back at the harpoon, then at the mast of the Canker. "Looks like a plan," she agrees, guessing at what he intends.

The Canker's copper-scented crew is doggedly trying to get at the non-sticky souls clambering up the main mast. A handful of dextrous sane, but terrified, looking men and women use all the skill and familiarity at their disposal to get higher and higher. Slippery hands below make slow but zealous progress after them. They seem to ignore the crossbows aimed at them from the Ark. On the deck of the Canker, the buckets of blood brigade continue to make the rounds of making sure their fellow deckhands and Captain Toothsome stays very moisturized with the red stuff.
Captain Toothsome hollars, "Permission to come aboard!" and cackles, adding, "Permission granted? Oh don't mind if we do! We'll paint your deck a lovely shade as well and then you'll see! Don't be that way, comrades! Be this way!" A pause and he sweeps his arm at his crew, sending droplets of blood winging their way through the air. "Lads! We're going to have to go to them! Signal everyone down below to come up and and make ready to board! Our hold of plenty will be awaiting if you get too dry!"

You paged Wynter with 'Some time has passed so that this bunch of ships has just exited the shadowpath and in sight of Cibola's main Port, so there's hours having gone by to get to this point of triage and sailing for repairs and wounded and everything.'.

Wynter steps out of the rather rough looking building that claims itself to be a bar. All the noise and yelling from the pier drawing her attention even if she seems unsteady on her feet with bottle of something in her hand.
Eyes narrow at the ships anchored and the strange new ship that has people yelling at it. "What's all this then?" Reaching out in her mind she takes a 'taste' of the wind and magic and coughs, covering her nose when the thick reek of blood fills her nose.

Clive looks over to Lhasa and ponders lopping off the mast, followed by looking over at the mast to begin doing the math on how that might play out. "Was thinking of tossing a line into the rigging, shimmying on over there, and maybe using that to get them outta the rigging? Toppling the mast could do in a pinch. Would get a bunch more over, but will we get tangled? *Definitely* don't wanna wind up down on the deck there." The display by Captain Toothsome has the Selkie frowning as he says, "Wishing we could put some holes in 'em below the water line right about now." Looking back to Lhasa he nods, "Ready as I'll ever be. How you wanna play it?"

Howler's voice booms across the Ark and is certainly clearly heard by those aboard the Canker. "Toothsome, you stay away. Any of you sods put one bloody hand on the Ark, and that appendage will get shot clean off." In a lower voice, for Clive and the others nearby, "What I would /like/... what I would vastly prefer is for that whole ship to just tip over or sink and send all those crazies into the wash. Though as it stands, we might have to settle for rescuing the folks on that mast, then sinking her. The Melissa is on its way to do just that." Her eyes harden. "With or without the souls on board." She squints up at Clive, and nods her agreement with his plan. "So let's head on up and set up a line for them to climb up to the Ark. Whatever's in that blood they keep sloshing around must be what's making them loony, so just..." She says helpfully, "Let's not fall?"

"Oh ho ho! Lads! Look there!" Toothsome gestures after very nearly slipping onto the deck with all the slippery stuff underfoot. He wrenches at the wheel to adjust the rudder. But this time, it looks he's giving it a heave ~away~. "Lads...our cargo must not be wasted. Did you hear? She'd grant us a boon of making our wrists or shins a fountain of blood! If we cannot scale their wooden walls...well...we'll just paint the Port! Hooooo!" He's given another splash of blood right in the throat from a passing bucket bearer. "To Port! To Port! Let's paint the Port! Share the scarlet!"

Wynter snort the wiff of ..whatever the hell that is exactly. It doesn't smell good. At all. How's a woman to drink with that sort of smell in her nose?
With a grumble she speaks the words that lift her into the air and she starts out at a fair clip towards the ships where they're at anchor roughly a mile off, rising upwards to get a better look at what's going on.

Clive looks back to Lhasa and gives a slow nod of agreement, "Right. Don't fall. Sounds like a plan. I wonder if they get cleaned off if they'll go back to normal?" The harpoon gets hefted again to test the weight and then Clive lets it sail up into the rigging, trying to keep it away from any unaffected sailors trying to flee. "Here goes nuthin'!"
.
RPG: Lhasa challenges a difficulty of 9. Lhasa chooses Wits and the gifts LIF-HH, SKL-OB, and SKL-SC. Lhasa succeeds.

RPG: Clive challenges a difficulty of 8. Clive chooses Force and the gift SKL-AR. Clive succeeds.

The Spicy Melissa, the fast little ship that did a squeezy squeezy number on the pair of domino ships during the battle, can be seen racing from Cibola's port towards them to intercept. Its cannons are already aimed in the Canker's direction, and it's not far off. Its distinctive red striped sails are full and approaching fast. When Lhasa, aghast, understands Toothsome's intent, she calls up to the men and women with their crossbows aimed at the Canker. "Tomillo, shoot Toothsome, try not to kill him. Then incapacitate whoever else tries to get at the helm." There's a call and response amongst the marines, and the sound of a crossbow letting loose is almost instantaneous. The arrow strikes true, into the captain's lower thigh with a sickening thunk and a splay of blue feathers now sticking out of his leg! All at about the same time as Clive gets that harpoon into the Canker's rigging. Not bothering to see Toothsome's fate, her eyes are riveted onto the desperate crewman on the mast.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" The clambering crewman isolated at the topmost part of the mast take cover as Clive's harpoon comes hurtling in with much force and succeeds in finding purchase amongst the rigging and whatnot. It doesn't hit a soul, but it may feel like it has carved a few years off the sane crewmembers. It, along with the directed crossbow bolts are sinking into their intended target. Toothsome staggers and falls onto his side after getting carefully perforated. Some crew do try and make for the wheel and their Captain and they get to sprout new decorations as well. They don't try to dodge apart from their flighty leaps and bounds. Soon there's half a dozen blood-crew in a weird human ladder of disjointed rungs laying upon the deck like they're doing a hunger protest. The spray of new blood from crossbow bolts have people cry out in surprise, pain and joy. "My own! Look at my blood!" Toothsome cries out and clutches around where he leaks blood. "Blood summons more blood! Lads, oh my lads! The decks run red still!" His pupils are still pinpricks. "Lads! Bring them down from the mast! See how frightened they are?! Bring them down, bring them home!" he warbles insanely. "We'll all go down into the hold and swim like fishes. We'll cut gills into our flesh and swim swim swim! We have our own ocean there don't we?! Yes! In the bloody hold lads. Get to the hold and wriggle like eels if you can!" He can only weakly clutch at his thigh, the pain cutting through the madness some.

Wynter flys over the busy Spicy Melissa, frowning as guns are brought out and things getting ready for battle. "Hasn't there been enough of that already?" And then she gets a good look at the (litterally) blood soaked ship as harpoon and arrows and bolts fly towards the red ship. "What. The. Hell." She deadpans to herself as no one else can hear her at the moment.
Confusion as she tries to get a grasp of the situation. Mutiny? Madness? Chaos? She catches another wiff of the ship and gags, zipping towards Lhasa and hovering not far from her. "What's with the blood magic?! What the hell is going on?!"

Clive puts everything he's got into the toss, trying to get it to sail straight on at it's mark... Success! With it lodged up into the rigging, he motions across to that hapless soul up there, directing him on over toward the line. Meanwhile, he takes up the other end and begins to reel in the slack before using a belaying pin to secure it to the railing. "Hurry up! Get your ass over here!" His eyes stay on the situation on the far side while his head cants toward Lhasa and the newly arrived Wynter, "What in the hell is down in that hold that got all over 'em? Part of me really wants to know. The other part... thinks it would be better to purge it all with fire, ya know?"

Lhasa would just let out an indignant yowl of horror and frustration at Wynter's question, if she could let go of her Captainy-ness for a minute or two. Instead, she squints up grimly and winces. "They're sick. They tried to board the Ark, now they're going to get to Port and spread the madness around. Wynter, we're trying to get the ones that aren't mad off the ship at least. Is there any way you can send a wave of water over the deck, wash that blood off?" To Clive, she nods. "We're not going to have a chance to find out. That ship is going down. It's just a question of how many we can save."

The line that Clive has secured for the panicky looking crewmembers high atop the mast gets bulging eyes in response. However, it looks like a much better risk than waiting for the blood-covered former comrades. The bravest of them sidles around the mast and grabs ahold of the rope. "You heard them, we have to make it across!" Wringing arms and hands to get rid of the ache of the previous climb, the assortment of relatively sane crew start the attempt of climbing hand-over-hand while locking their ankles around the line. This looks like it will take some effort, but they have a head start on the crazies climbing ever upwards.
Captain Toothsome cries out in agony as he tries to free the quarrel from his thigh and wails as he sees some of his crew making a break for it. "No! No no no! Mutiny...Mutiny! Get back here! You'll never be afraid again! Loss will never trouble you again when you share the blooood!"

Wynter blinks at Lhasa and then sighs, glancing at the bottle of whatever it is still in her hand. With a shake of her head the bottle flys off and into the water with a *ploop* as her feet settle on the deck. "A wave, hmm? How about we just drop a pond on them."
Hands raise as if they were assisting her mental image come to life. The words spoken aloud shaping reality and water comes into being above the afflicted ships's deck. The orb wobbling just the split second before gravity pulls it down to splash over the planks and peoples.

RPG: Wynter's try: Wynter chooses Grace and the gifts ARC-CR, ARC-CT, ARC-WA, and FGT-MM. Wynter earns 3 successes.

Clive's eyes peel away and follow the bottle on down into the water. His brow furrows as he looks back to Wynter in light of this new littering habit she has! It takes a second, but his attention then turns back to the incoming crew members as he stands ready to help them off the line. Or dive down to fish them out of the water! "That would be about perfect, I imagi--" But then she is up and conjuring water and doing just that! His head pulls back at the sudden display of Arcanis. "Bath time for the good Captain and his crew. Suppose I ain't goin' for a swim around here anytime soon after all that washes off the deck."

"Blimey... really?" Lhasa says to Wynter with a spark of surprised, incredulous delight on her face. That'd just been wishful thinking - is this an actual for real thing that can be done?? She pointedly ignores the wailing Toothsome, only has eyes for the magic the Pathi wields, with the occasional peek at the climbers' progress on the rope. She looks back and forth between them anxiously, and once the water splashes down on the Canker, she squints down to see what effect it has on its deck. "If this works, we gotta get them off that ship in a hurry. It won't be much use if they just get blood on themselves again." She looks back at messenger-boy Trent. "Get a longboat prepped in case we need to fisn anyone out of the water." The Spicy Melissa, that minx, slows as it reaches position, so that its cannons are facing the Canker but away from the Ark and its retinue. Just say the word, Howler.


The splashy deluge hits the blood covered deck and crew, ridding them of a great deal of the blood that isn't caked on them. The fresh blood is splooshed good and great rivulets of bloody water slooshes to either side of the rails to rain over the side. The garbled shouts from those given a suprise rinsing is like the wailing of cats. Some of the hocus pocused water slooshes into the dark hold where some of the crew have sought shelter and fresh buckets, and their voices issue hollowly from there, still sounding like loonies. But those on the deck are in a state of shellshock at the moment after such a bracing shower. Stunned and on the deck like landed fish.
The high-wire act is struggling across the line Clive provided, but they're making progress. Hot on their heels are those climbing the mast and now eyeing the escape route to the Ark eagerly and crazily. Two rush the line looking for all the world like they're going to try and ~run~ across the darn thing.

Wynter gives a grunt of satisfaction as the water washes a good portion of the blood and strangness from those on the deck of the Canker. her head turns to reguard the surprise of both Clive and Lhasa with a blank look. A small rise of her shoulder in a shrug to their reaction. "What? I'm a Pathi Magi." As of course that must explain it all in full with detail.
Her Hand raises again and she repeats the creation of water and drops it again on the deck of the other ship. This time aiming back towards the door leading below deck in an effort to help flush things down. "They look stuck." she says of the shellshocked sailors.


The nonchalant response of Wynter has Clive gesturing in the air in his best rendition of a high-society type who is brushing this off as positively mundane. "Oh, sure. Controlling the elements. No biggie, guys." At the mention of the need of a longboat, the Selkie turns, throws two fingers into his mouth and lets out a loud whistle to grab the attention of the two crewmembers that had come along with him. "You heard the Cap'n! Bring the longboat around." A finger sweeps and jabs in the direction of Trent, finishing the issuing of orders toward them before he looks to those manning crossbows. "Anyone even so much as looks at them funny down there, you put not one but five bolts through 'em. You got me?" In one of those moments when he is glancing back at those braving the rope, he catches sight of the crazies gaining on them. One shake of that rope and there's sure to be some problems! Off Clive goes, stomping over toward the nearest cranked and loaded crossbow to snatch it up for a shot he hopes will go into the leg of the lead crazy to slow their progress.

The sudden wash of cold water carries a great deal of blood away from those on deck, and their stunned state doesn't last very long. The shock of chilly water drives away the protective euphoric coating of icky blood to instill a wake up call. Looking bewildered, the crazed crew that just got a bath time are shivering and clutching the railings or masts to try and keep their teeth from chattering. The crazed look is replaced with a confused and frightened one. Toothsome howls in pain at his position, and some of the madness is leaving him as well, leaking slowly from him.
As Wynter directs another deluge at the open hatch, the crazies within heave down the hatch to keep the blast of water out of their rank belowdecks. ~slam~
The crazies coming across the line after the fleeing sane crew members are having a real wobbly time trying to cross. The blood on their hands is so slippery mixed with some residual water that their zeal is the only thing keeping them dangling, and their grips are beginning to slip. They scream at Clive and his ready crossbow, "Mix your blooood with us! Swim in our hold!"

"Those of you that can, get to the longboat!" Lhasa calls out to the sane crewmen, so that only they, and not the crazies below, can hear. To Wynter, she looks with unconditional admiration. "Alright, they're contained for now. Can you get those showers coming if the barmy ones below try to bring up more buckets of blood? Now that we know what's making them ill, I wanna get on that deck and get the ones that have snapped out of it off the ship." It's gonna be gross, but maybe they can save the crew before bringing down that ship. Speaking of which, the Spicy Melissa is at the ready within range, waiting for the signal to destroy the Canker.

With the time it takes to crank one of these here crossbows, Clive takes his sweet time about the next shot, tracking the lead blood-buff while comparing his pace against that of the last sane sailor. Will he hold on? Won't he? Mental math is cronched and he finally pulls the trigger to aim for an arm, in hopes of sending him down into the drink. "Might as well give the rope a good and thorough shake once we get the clean ones over safely. See if ya can shake 'em off before we cut it." Looking to Lhasa, he purses his lips at this notion of going down there, but nods in agreement. "Wonder what other ways we could clean 'em off by force? Don't care to have a fair fight of bucket brigades. I'm tempted to just dive in and put a hole in her side so they gotta ditch and go overboard."

Once another alternative is revealed by Clive, Lhasa considers this with a frown, then a nod. "The ones that are injured won't be able to swim, and the mad ones might not either, but we might have to do that." Seeming to make a decision, she turns quickly. "Alright, I'm getting on that longboat. You know what to do if I go crazy, I guess." Not waiting for a reply, she runs down to where the longboat is being launched, rowers and marines with crossbows at the ready, and boards along with the others, urging them to go quickly, lest the crazies get it in their heads to emerge once more.

People do what they can, with what mental marbles they've got left. Someone giving out clear instructions in a crazy time? Yup, they're going to do that and live another day. The deck is blessedly looking more like a deck again. To either side of The Canker the pink water is frothily diluting into the great big old ocean, sometimes carrying people over the side to get a real bath in clarity. Those on deck who are just regaining their senses are looking horrified. "Don't! Don't go below! Please get us off! I can still smell it I'm gonna..." Barf. Whether sick to their stomachs or ill with guilt, it makes a few retch up. They crawl to the railing to look for the best way off provided. Wanting to flee rather than infect.
Shrieks of anguish and being denied a chance to share the blood with the sane crew members, the blood-wild crew are perforated by quarrels and lose their grips on the line strung from ship to ship. They ragdoll down and cannonball into the ocean, flailing arms and legs. The sane folks come successfully across the line but don't want to be touched, crouching and huddling against something supportive. Wild eyes are in a surplus. "They...They...I don't know how it started. The battle went badly. We were coated in the blood and guts of friends and foes. We passed under a twister that was sucking up...gore. It was a charnel house inside. Such sights...I was able to close my eyes. But not everyone."

"Yeah, er, same, I guess?" Did Clive just hand over end-of-life decisions to someone? What just happened! Does it count without a notarized document or even a spit-shake? With these questions hanging in the air, he starts looking about the deck, hunting for the right tool for this job. A nearby boarding axe draws his attention and as he's taking it up and hefting it, he gives the sane sailors a glance while listening to their tale. "A damned Cibolan bloodnado..." Shaking his head at the very thought of it, he goes marching on over to the railing, chops the rope to the other ship, and then leaps on down into the water below to get to work on this here plan.

Lhasa is too distracted to notice, but anyone next to her might. The hilt of the dagger she wears at her hip, the black one with all the shiny red rubies, seems to gleam greedily, as if the scent of blood has it in a tizzy. As for Lhasa, she's rowing with the others, peering up at the poor folks crawling to the railing. Once they're close enough, she sets her oar down to focus on the deck of the Canker, trying to figure out the best way to get up there and bring them down to the longboat. "I promise I won't go down there, not until you're off that ship anyway," she calls up to them. She turns her head just long enough to see Clive dive into the water. All going according to plan, such as it is. "Those of you that can, help the others climb down, we'll meet you half way."

The water has peoples in it that fell from Clive's marksmanship, but the good news is that the salty water is doing a good deed via immersion. Those close to the boats are struggling to be saved rather than flailing to infect. The load of blood warshed from the decks discolours the nearby ocean, and the latter is immense and vast. They clamber for purchase or just to keep their heads above water.
Those on the ship are very ready to abandon it. They lament the blasting away of their own skiffs during the battle, but they've seen a lot and some ingenuity returns with being addressed by a level head. There is extra rigging, now damp, that they tug and tie together and dangle over the side. "Is the Captain able to be saved?!" yells an ex bosun from the railing. "We'll start helping some down now! We have to hurry, I can hear them laughing and giggling below decks! They're chanting something awful!" Indeed, there is a drone interrupted by guffaws and giggles through the hull. And the scent of blood seeping between the timbers.

When unwilling to hand out smooches, it is best to keep distance from those who think they are drowning. Using the handle end of the axe, Clive gives a helpful boop here or there from under the water, trying to keep from being seen by them lest he be dealing with cling-ons. Still working off that first breath he'd taken, he maneuvers to the clearest patch of water he can find near the ship and jabs the pick side of the axe into a seam between two boards. Following this, he sets to hitting and kicking it to drive it deeper in hopes of getting enough purchase for some actual prying.

Wynter has been distracted and busy for the last few moments as the others have acted. She lifts off the way she came, upwards into the air, but she doesn't do far. Insteads she plops a seat on the end of a spar and looks down at the ship that is infected with blood madness.
She notes the hatch doors and manges to close one with a good push of air. Leaving the other that the captian had traversed. Looking sad she calls aloud the words to control air. To destroy it. Pumping and decimating the air within the tainted ship. "Come on.. Get out here.."

"Get anyone you can down!" Lhasa calls up. She and a couple of others on the longboat start to climb up to retrieve the first of the crew to get lowered down. Howler then climbs the rest of the way up, to drag whoever she can over, and keep an eye on that hatch door... If there's anything going on under there, aside from the sound of giggling, or anything below the water where Clive is at, she is unaware of it, focused only on saving as many as she can.

The deck is soppy wet but at least not sticky wet. As survivors are transferred to the longboat and secured, Captain Toothsome is trying to get to his feet and stand with his wounded leg. He grits his teeth and staunches the flow of blood with one of his hands. "My ship! My crew!" he groans. "The madness is gone from my brain, but what have I done?!" He hobbles towards the railing. "Would that you'd have aimed for my head, but I don't deserve the mercy!"
Belowdecks the giggling becomes more sporadic and chanting quiets. The sound of nails raking along the underside of the deck is a thing. Clive's boarding axe will find purchase, particularly with his knowledge of ships, weapons and fearsome strength at his disposal. Whole sections could conceivably be pulled away, and nothing down there to impede him.

The sound of the first board on the outside of the hull coming free is welcomed and seized upon as Clive then pulls it the rest of the way off. Letting it float on up to the surface, he moves to another area and repeats the process, then beginning work on making a hole in another spot on the opposite side of the ship. In goes the pick part of the axe and away he goes with prying free a second board to let in some "fresh" water. Wrapping that up, he swims to the surface near the longboat to survey the progress of things from above the water line. "Two holes opened up. Let's hope the rats find their way out..."

Wynter begins to grimice the more she calls for the air to remove itself from the ship and still no sign of the crew escaping. Still this does not impeed her from following through with her plan and hoping.
When Clive opens the holes on each side of the ship Wynter takes note of a change in the feel of her magics as water from without starts to push it's way inside. Rushing in all the faster as she pulls the air out. Like a suction pump the water enters into the ship even more rapidly and the Pathian begins to judge the time she's been at the anti-air strike and the sinking of the ship. She counts out the seconds and releases the magic at the forty second mark, not wanting the sailors to pass out inside.

Lhasa hurries to help Toothsome off the ship. Not unkindly, she says, "We can talk about that later. First thing is to get you and your crew to safety, aye?" She urges him onward, and when Ramekin from her crew hoists the Captain up bodily like a sack of turnips and starts climbing down, Lhasa takes a moment to look back at the hatch, wondering at the sudden quiet. "Huh. What's going on over there," she calls out, in her magical kind of way, to Wynter and Clive.

The water slorps in through the breaches made in the hull. Fresh seawater slooshes inside. Fresh cries and sputterings from down below are more muted than they ought to be, probably due to the oxygen situation. There's the sound of glorpy splashing down there, as if dozens of bodies falling over, slumping and going prone into liquid.
The canker takes on more and more water and tilts a tad. The ships starts to sit lower in the water and the sounds of resistance have fluttered and ceased. Scratching at the hull, and resistance at the hatch, and the voices stop altogether. Apart from the thankful noises made by crew being transferred off the deck...the ship is as silent as a derelict.

Clive is hovering there with an ear under the water and eyes up above. The splooshes from within carry on over and he looks about a bit worried now. "Huh? Ah, come on now. We deserve some hazard pay for alla this..." With his contractual obligation for grumbling having been completed, he takes a deep breath, and darts back underwater. There is a flash of rainbow that streaks back toward the ship as he navigates his way toward one of those fresh holes in the hull to swim inside and take a looksee.

Wynter looses sight of Clive but gets Lhasa's call. She responds in kind using the wind as a messenger. "I sucked the air out of the ship, Captian. I'm going over there now to see if I can save anyone."
She then 'falls' from the spar she sits on and zips quickly sideways over to the deck of the other ship. Peering into the hold from outside first before stepping down into the flooded bloody interior.

Lhasa stops a moment to see the last of the sane crew get loaded onto the longboat, then withdraws her cutlass. Having not heard an answer from Clive, she calls again, "Smiles, where are you." To the longboat she calls out, "Go see who else you can fish out of the water, I'll find my way back to the Ark. Go!" She then crouches down to open up the hatch and look in. "Wynter, if we get anybody out of there they're gonna need to get splashed right quick. There's supposed to be a lake of blood inside the ship!"

Inside the ship will show it to be a real horrorshow. The fresh water inside has helped dilute some of the blood, but it is literally dripping from the ceilings. Like someone took paint rollers and brushes and tried to have wall-to-wall. Crew congregate near the central hold of the Canker were large barrels of blood are clustered and bound together. Rather than stacked like ale or mead, they're stacked upright and the lids are off. Some sort of last stand around their precious vats of ick, though thanks to the fresh water up to their waists, some are slowly coming out of their madness. By the look in their eyes, sanity is a hard thing to bear after so much insanity. The barrels of blood are all lashed together, and some are filled with gross viscera that seeps over the side. There may be a limb or two protruding like a soup ladel or stirring stick. The central barrel, which is the largest, is full of a blood jelly whose contents swirl all on their own. The consistency of a spreadable jam. A paw of the stuff blindly quests beyond its rim and fondles a half-conscious crew crazy and begins to peel the top layer of skin from their shoulder. A lumpy head rises from that same barrel, golem-like, purring some gurgling heresies.

Beneath the water in the ship there is another flash of rainbow light as Clive returns to his human form. Slowly, in hopes of not alerting too many there, his head pulls up above the surface like a submarine snoot to take a look around. The Selkie's eyes widen with horror at the sight of this... blood construct that seems to be feasting on a crew member. A few bubbles hitting the surface are the only outward sign of the various expletives emerging from Clive before he calmly looks around to see if there are any freshly-sane crewmembers he can shepherd away from the blood-beast.

Wynter's face pales as she takes in the ship and then the skin eating ..thing. Disgust and loathing take root in her soul and expression. "Hold on people. It's about to get wet in here." And once again reusing her earlier trick she summons forth a ponds' worht of water into the area about the thing as she draws her golden blade.