Now what was I saying again? Ah, yea. The Death and Taxes. God damn dandy of a ship. It’s figurehead was worth more than my old boat, big old reaper with a gold scythe and a handful of coins. Hell, that figurehead held more gold in it’s hand that a dockworker would make in a year. Dark red silk sails, planks she’s made of are smoked black for stealth and strength, it’s just as much a show of wealth as it is a work of piratical art. Anyhow, her crew was the odd sort. Word is they mutinied against cap’n harrigan, or at least his first mate, and took their prize ship.
Yea, odd sort… Nah, I wouldn’t call ‘em weird, not like them Rahadoum idiots to the north. Just odd. The captain’s this young grippli fella, just as dandy as his ship with coats and hats. Has a peg leg he lost to that demon of a dragon turtle in the eye, has a hard on for revenge I hear.
First mate is one of them low azlanti gilfolk. Probably one of a dozen people in the shackles that came up alive on the other side of a keelhaul, got ’er pretty cut up though, lost an eye too, probably a looker before the wormwood had ’er way with her. Mean as nails too, I hear she works a trident like a starved sahugan.
Quartermasters one of them bean counters from Cheliax. Used to be a merchant, but I suppose we’re all part of that trade in one way or another. Brokers deals like Azmodeus himself and cooks books like bacon; Guess that’s sorta funny since he used to be a cook on the wormwood.
They’ve got themselves a right and proper lord too. Married into the lordship of tidewater rock sometime ago. I’ve herd him sing about the shit and fish tales the Death and Taxes has pulled off, pretty good at it too. Furry from head to tail too, one of those catfolk, bit singed around the edges though, suppose that’s why they call him blacktail ‘spite bein’ orange.
On top of all that they’ve got a pair of Sylph, windwalker folks from the plane of air. One’s a pyromancer and siege engineer; He’s a scary motherfucker who’ll wreck a ship faster than a crew can set the mainsail. Runs around with a lass, one of those hurricane worshiping storm druids. Stoic type with a mean streak against humans. Throws lightning like the other throws fire.
Yea, told you they were an odd lot. How about you buy me another round and maybe I’ll get drunk enough to sing some of that catfolks songs about how they sunk the Deathknell.