Open Mettle

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

(Thread open to all BlackShip crew. I am instigating a turn order, so once someone is in the thread please allow each other person to post before you post again unless you have their permission. Exceptions to the rule are where characters are talking in groups/elsewhere on the ship and aren't liable to be affected by other roleplayers. In those cases, please bear in mind how fast your events are taking place compared to other situations for a smooth plot Don't be shy to get in touch either on the Discord or via DMs to discuss the plot/ask for turn skips etc. There is no rush with this thread. That said, we can 'soft deadline' a week (barring requests to wait) before the next person is permitted to jump the line. Let's make sail!)


With the crew settled in and the ship beginning to run smoothly in her current state, the time had finally come for her first proper voyage since her recommissioning. Jeshal had received the required reports from the Missertross gulls for his intentions. Now to see what this girl and her vast and hotchpotch crew were made of.

Smartly dressed in his peacock feather hat and new coat, he stood at the front of the quarterdeck, overseeing the bustling activity. The metal claw of his namesake curled playfully upon the railing as he took in a breath of Bully's salty, stinking air. Home returned from home.

"All hands," he said to Frogear.

The burly rat bosun had been anticipating this for hours. He sprang to ring the bell, yanking its rope near to breaking.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK, YEW LUBBERS! GIT YOUR PAWS AND CLAWS TOPSIDE! CAPTAIN'S ORDERS! ON THE DOUBLE! LINE UP! LINE UP! ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

Trademark smirk upon his muzzle, Jeshal listened to the shouts being passed from deck to deck, and watched his crew scramble.​

 

[Friedrich Nähenerv]

Friedrich hated discipline. Ever since he was sent to the army as a child, he never got any liking for following orders. That however did not mean he was bad or unable to do it. Quite the opposite. Even before he got to the rank of a captain, he was following orders well. Too well some would even argue. He did only not follow the orders that were objectively idiotic.

When he became a captain, he ruled through mixture of awe and fear, giving his troop phenomenal discipline. His medical expertise also did wonders for morale, allowing him to never be bothered with dumb questions about what he did to prisoners of war. In fact, many of his troop were often joining him in practising Schadenfreude.

Overall, he hated discipline, but was great at it. That is why, as soon as the command reached him, he dropped his current work, donned his armour and within moments could be found among first few beasts on the deck, standing at attention, warhammer in one paw, other resting on his surgeon's supplies. His ears peeking from his helmet and his gaze as focused as ever. If there was a fight coming, Friedrich was ready.

After all, Hurting and Healing were just as rewarding to him.

 

[Cryle]

"So you can't see red?"

"I can see red. It just looks grey."

"But grey is rocks."

"Rocks can be many colors. Some rocks can be red, too. Clay."

"I love the way clay sounds when it shatters. I think I get it now. Clay shatters spicy. Like red. Why is red spicy again? I thought green was spicy."

"Green is spicy because most spicy plants start out green. Almost all plants are green. Red is spicy because red is hot."

"Because of blood."

"Right."

"And cold blood is black, because of nighttime."

"Not because of. Similar to. It's because the sun - "

The call came out along the deck, and Cryle grumbled. She stared at her sketch a moment longer, trying to finish the thought, but it had slipped away. Something about springs or screws. It should have been simple, a telescopic stick, but the chattering was too distracting and her sketch was off. The middle pole looked far too fat.

She could not have been luckier with her bunk mate. A blind leopard cat! Finally, someone who didn't keep trying to make creepy eye-contact. And they were practically the same age, and shared similar passions - mainly, questioning the world. Their conversations had never been dull, though they did often require leaps of logic and reasoning that were refreshingly unusual. And it hadn't taken much difficulty at all to convince the cat she needed a walking stick. It was the perfect excuse to carry something she could freely whap other beasts with and feign innocence.

Korya was already standing, waiting close to her hammocks for the rat to come down from the top bunk. Cryle gingerly made her way down, grabbed her hat, and tapped Korya on the shoulder.

"Ready. Lead the way."

Korya led on, one paw gently brushing the air ahead of her, but meeting nothing; the little feline had already mentally mapped out the ship's decks to an astounding precision, every stair and ladder and stair-ladder combination giving her no issues after the first few days.

"Cryle, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"No."

"Aw."

"We'll see."

"Yay."

Cryle tugged her hat down hard on her head as crewbeasts behind her sniggered. She resisted the urge to whack them with her tail. This would have been a perfect moment for Korya to use her stick, if it was ready...

Together, they assembled on the upper deck, Cryle sidling into the shade cast by the large rabbit surgeon, Korya staring straight up into the sun with her ears quirked and nostrils flaring.

 

[Tanya Keltoi]

Already perched upon the quarterdeck railings where they had been taking a break to enjoy the last of autumn’s sunshine, the vixen heaved a sigh and drained her tankard. “Right, suppose we’d better do as ‘is nibs says,” Tanya snorted with mirth as she looked to the marten beside her. “Can’t wait to see ‘is face when he takes stock of the full crew. Hard to imagine there’s so many aboard.”

“Mmmh, it’s a floating fortress,” Kiptooth agreed as he considered tossing the remnants of his own drink overboard. Tanya graciously saved him the bother and relieved him of the vessel to finish it as he stretched aged limbs. “Very different to the Hide. Still, more work though it is I’m enjoying the space. The BlackShip feels a lot more stable, much better for working.”

“I bet. We’ll have to see how she handles in rough weather but for now let’s enjoy the ol’ sendoff. Always did like the energy of it.” With a grin at her oldest companion, Tanya led the way towards the assembly point with ragged ears perked for the shouts and calls of various beasts summoning those below. As they streamed out on deck to gather she began to marvel once again how the vessel even stayed afloat. ‘Gates alive I don’t much fancy being the cooks here feeding this lot.

 

[Griblo Jankweed]

The lower decks of the BlackShip smelled of oil, salt, and the long memory of wood that had seen a hundred storms. The timbers were clean but scarred, the air thick with tar and old rope. It was the scent of a ship that had lived a hard life and refused to die. Lanternlight swayed against the bulkheads, glinting off freshly hammered bands that held battered barrels in fresh iron hoops.

Griblo Jankweed moved among them in silence, claws tapping softly on the lids as his eyes flicked from mark to mark. He hadn’t been given the full ledgers yet but that didn’t leave him blind. A small route sheet, folded and stamped by the quartermaster, sat tucked under his arm: the official spot-check manifest for the forward hold. It wasn’t the whole account book, merely the bones. Key items and expected quantities, but it was enough for Griblo to do some inventory and memorizing of the stores aboard.

Salted fish was in ample quantity. More than the manifest called for, actually. Pickled vegetables were short by a few jars. Hardtack and oats were stacked high and properly banded. Tea and coffee was embarrassingly limited. Rum? Properly sealed under Jeshal’s personal seal and properly restricted. Lantern oil — a slight shortfall to note for the next port.

"Numbers’re off somewhere... not by much, but enough," he murmured as he jotted a tick with charcoal in the margin of the stub. Tail flicking, he closed the fold and eased a crate an inch into line. "Best I flag it early before someone decides it’s m' fault..."

He gave the neat rows one last approving glance and started the climb toward the deck. Frogear’s bell answered him before he’d reached the ladder.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK! CAPTAIN’S ORDERS!"

Griblo muttered under his breath as he tucked the route sheet under his shirt. "Gates... keep shoutin’ like that an’ you’ll wake the ballast."

Sunlight hit him as he rose; the deck thrummed with motion. He stepped into the bustle, ears catching the little love exchange between a small rat, and an even smaller wildcat.

Griblo gave a snickering laugh, purposely loud enough to be audible to the two creatures.
"Heh. Give it a tide or two 'n' we’ll be patchin’ their hearts instead o’ the sails I reckon. Haw haw!"

Reaching the gathering of other crewbeasts, he took his place in the line, posture schooled, and grin tucked away. The bell stilled. Jeshal’s silhouette cut the light across the quarterdeck. Griblo’s stance tightened, tail low, paws clasped behind him, eyes forward.

 

[Vilde Isdatter]

Without a word, Vilde hurried up from the crew quarters to stand in the throng on deck. There were more beasts here than there had been in her entire village. It was as thrilling as it was unnerving, feeling as out of place currently as she had done on the Golden Hide. Her consolation was that almost everyone here was new to the ship. That, and she was tall enough as a wildcat to see over the heads of many of the mustelids and rodents. She spied a particularly tall and smart-looking rabbit. Until she made some friends, finding anyone she had seen before was going to be difficult until everyone was back about their various businesses. The captain had signed her up on day one without any fuss, so he was a familiar face to get started with, as was the grumpy bosun.

Many of the crew were standing properly to attention in the way that these navy beasts were taught. She simply stood in a polite sort of straight stance until she was told otherwise, eager to get this vessel and adventure going.​

 

[Corda LaConte / Cordan LeConte]

It was Cordan who answered the call to assemble on deck. After an awkward first day on the vessel, Cordan and Corda had come to an implicit agreement. Where Corda's medical expertise was required, or she was personally requested, she would take over; otherwise, Cordan had full reign to experience all that came with naval service. So far that was a lot of mopping the deck. It was amazing how many beasts it took to wash the deck; even as massive as the deck was, they seemed to have a lot of deckswabs for it.

He stood at attention in his feathered cap and fancy doublet on the deck, looking somewhat out of place for his menial role. Cordan had never heard the phrase "dress for the job you want, not the job you have", but even if he had, he wouldn't necessarily agree. He was an adventurer; swabbing the deck was simply part of his heroic origins.

 

[Jeshal the Ironclaw]

Someone who knew him as well as Tox might have detected the hint of nerves Jeshal felt as the sheer size of his crew made itself known. Leadership had always been something that happened to him rather than it being something he sought, although he had not shied away from seizing it this time. A higher station made it easier to gather strings to pull and a better place to put an ear for secrets. Even so, how had his wife handled speaking to such crowds as an admiral? He needed to measure up. This was no time to falter.

"Now that ye be getting accustomed to our fine ship, it be high time she showed us what she's made of, says I. Tis not for me ter mince words about making the Imperium and Her Grace proud. What be mattering on this vessel, is makin' yerselves proud, yer mateys proud, and most importantly the ship. She is yer soul and yer freedom, yer life and yer bloodied, beatin' heart. Treat her well and she'll be takin' care of you.

Crew o' the BlackShip, prepare ter make sail for a run ter Pricklee Pointe! Haul in the gangplank; loose the mooring lines; kiss the shore goodbye and get those paws on the bunt gaskets, ready ter trim sail. We move for glory, for plunder, and bellies full of Pricklee's fish'n'tater stew!"

Captain Ironclaw grinned in the face of many of the ranks' cheers.

"WEIGH ANCHOR!"
​

 

[Calara Driftsong]

Calara's was one of the many voices giving body to the full-throated cheer that echoed across the deck of the BlackShip. There were so many beasts here. Such a massive crew. Such a dark and beautiful vessel rocking gently on the waves. She had sailed before. She knew that. She knew, too, that moments like these were designed to fill a beast with a sense of camaraderie and kinship. With pride.

That didn't mean it wasn't real. So when the Captain shouted the order to weigh anchor, Calara set to with a will, moving to the capstan with several others to do just that.