Derelict Flotsam and Jetsam

[jmecha]

In maritime law, flotsam, jetsam, lagan and derelict describe specific kinds of wreck. The words have specific nautical meanings, with legal consequences in the law of admiralty and marine salvage.[1]

Flotsam is floating wreckage of a ship or its cargo.

Jetsam is part of a ship, its equipment, or its cargo that is purposefully cast overboard or jettisoned to lighten the load in time of distress and that sinks or is washed ashore.

Lagan (also called ligan[2]) is cargo that is lying on the bottom of the ocean, sometimes marked by a buoy, which can be reclaimed.

Derelict is cargo that is also on the bottom of the ocean, but which no one has any hope of reclaiming.

[jmecha]

Solatri laughed and cheered along with the colorful patrons of the Slipper Eel and secretly took pride in knowing that in a way he was better then most everyone else here, in that he still had a full set of teeth untouched by slow rot and the bite of belaying pin. Perhaps it was his elven blood and his previous life upon the Emerald Isle that often inclined him to feeling a bit superior then those around him, or it could have been that something about toothless sailors prone to soiling themselves after to many cups and coin lasses wearing eye patches and smelling of low tide have a away of making anyone in clean pants feel mighty fine about who they are and where they stand in the Realms as an individual.

The truth though was that Solatri was here with a sense of purpose beyond indulging in wine and poor company, despite how much he did enjoy the drink and the stroking of his ego. He was new to Corwell and was looking for an opportunity, or at least what insights he could gleam from this sordid crowd so he might have the knowing needed to create an opportunity for himself here before moving along. Now most might think a more welcoming place like Trapper’s Inn were the local Ffolk would gather to break breads and celebrate would be a finer place to learn the laying of the land, the advantage Solatri saw in the Silppery Eel though was that here he belonged. It can be a difficult thing being an outsider struggling to belong among those already established within a tight knit community and Solatri was not one for unneeded struggles, life could be difficult enough without adding to it, and that was the advantage of the Slippery Eel…..here he was amongst other outsiders, sailors in port looking for pleasure and to set sail once more, drunkards without much by way interest in getting another drink, Gamblers, Whores, Liars and Cheats…..here he was an insider amongst a different sort of tight knit community.

By the end of the evening his lips were stained red from wine and he was staggering out with an ear to ear grin. All and all things were a bit of a success as he learned that some place named the Boar offers clean beds for those who would pay for such, local meads were generally of a better quality then the local wines which were to sweet for his tastes, and that despite the cold rains of this isle and grey skies there were places to find where good cheer was shared alongside fires and strong drink that provided warmth.

[JonnyJerny]

<3

[jmecha]

Solatri sat comfortably near the sea with his eyes upon the distant stars and a bottle of red in his idle hand when suddenly the voice from no where came along to question him.

“Psst, Ye lost?”

There was nothing resembling playful banter or cheerful greeting in it, if anything it could best be described as asked with earnest concern and with far more deliberate directness and unflattering implications for himself then was to his liking. Somehow he went from star gazing to racing and reeling for an answer right quick and instead he only stumbled and bumbled across obstacles of doubt in his mind.

Did he look lost? He knew elves were not a common sight in Corwell, though such is not the same as looking lost. Can one consider themselves Lost if they know where they are, but do not have much of a care for where they may end up, nor a plan for getting there? He could not help but want to frown at the severity of the question and his inability to provider her or himself anything resembling an answer so he resorted to trying stalling tactics. Just then the bright yellow tricone hat appeared with her small face beneath it peering up at him with a grin as she asked him a second time, most directly.

“Be ye lost”?

That is twice now she has come at him with that and he had yet to draw a word to defend himself against such abuse, and so he resorted to answering her question with one of his own. It was not the most evolved verbal parry, but it is a time tested classic for buying time. So with a smile on his face and his eyes on her he asked the Hin in a playful way.

“You ask all the young sailors that?”

Now this particular method of stalling only works well if the other party needs to actually think of an answer, or otherwise gets distracted by your changing the conversations direction. The effort was wasted on this particular hin though on account she had her answer to his question before he asked it.

“Only if they look like they be lost.”

It would have been rude to scowl at the hin, and an admittance of having lost the battle if he let her see him wounded and frowning, so he did what he could to conceal such by making use of his previously idle hands to raise the bottle of red to his mouth to drink deeply from it. It bought him a moment to try and sort out his thoughts.

She seized the opportunity though to study him, to size him up and take his measure by sniffing at him. It was rather feral and unexpected, and so Solatri sniffed at her because it seemed the only reasonable response to such. She countered with a small nod of her head and words that inspired Solatri to smile.

“Ye ain’t lost then. Good I s’pose.”

It was good to hear someone had a positive answer to her question.

[jmecha]

Solatri sat amidst the quite murmur of Trapper’s Common room in the hours just before dawn with companions he did not completely trust. Earlier in the day he was aiding in the loading of a ship headed north. He did not know what the cargo was, and he did not need to know to do his job and collect his pay, although he was curious. The work was honest and the company lively as they barbed him about eating not enough and the occasional feign of shock whenever he, the pointy, lifted a crate and carried such as well as anyone else in the crew. After the ship was departing Solatri and the other dock hands gathered around to collect their wages from the Hin, and that is when he offered them more.

It seemed simple enough at the time really, though it usually does in the beginning. The Hin ran work crews along the dock of Corwell and he made his coin by Captains choosing to hire his workers instead of other crews. The offer of more for the Hin’s hired hands was dependant upon them being able to persuade an upstart Captain recently arrived to Corwell make use of his crews. The More Captains who hire the Hin’s Crews, the more coin the Hin makes, and the more he has to spread among his hands. At first the formula of it added up right enough for Solatri to make a play for earning himself a bit more then the loading of crates offered.

Then things got complicated with each passing hour. You see this up start Captain had a small crew and worked in small cargo, and was willing to bend his back to work which made the hiring of Dock Hands completely unnecessary. The one crewman the Captain sailed with, a man by the name of Tog, was completely loyal to his Captain and had no interest in helping to position the Captain into hiring the Hin’s hands, even after he was offered coins. What was suppose to be Solatri talking Tog from Skuag into earning some coins on the side with the Hin, turned investing coin into Tog’s appetite for Coinlasses and strong drink in hopes he simply would be unable to work come morning.

The Hin though was not comfortable with Tog potentially being late, and felt that seeing to the misplacing of some of the Captain’s Cargo before first light would be the best way to motivate the Captain into seeing coin to the Hin’s purse. Making an item go missing so you could be the one to find it and claim or extort a reward was nothing new, though in this case it was sitting ill with Solatri.

Everything was wrong about the opportunity, nothing felt right about it in Solatri’s opinion. For starts the Hin was unlikable. If you are going to take risks, always better to do so for something worth more then the clink of coins. Secondly the Captain was an upstart struggling to get by with a small crew, and willing to put his back into the work himself to inspire his crew and avoid the likes of the Hin and his sort. Solatri admired a Captain capable and willing to inspire confidence in his people and work along side them. Then there was the company of questionable sorts that Solatri would actually be working with and along side for the misplacing of the crates.

Lum was from Solatri could tell dead weight from the neck up, all brawn and balls without the sense to do more then bull his way through life. Which can be rather earnest qualities to seek in a minion if you will, but not so ideal of attributes for a partner in an already questionable caper.

Tocaer Nort on the other hand was a serious and stalwart sort in Solatri’s opinion. Tocaer Nort claimed to be Saltblood and even though Solatri did not know what exactly that meant to Nort, Solatri took it to mean he was capable and ready to handle or endure whatever needed to be seen to in his life, because those are the sort of traits Solatri saw the man having. Nort though had in the past done three years time in a cell though, and was now working as hard as man can to see his family debts put right. Even the most capable sort can be bad partners when they are desperate.

So Solatri sat there in the predawn hours at a table in Trapper’s Inn with company he did not trust, an opportunity before him he did not feel right about, and everyone looking like they expected him to go along with it.

[JonnyJerny]

<3333333

[I-KP]

[jmecha]

Solatri’s eyes were open wide as he sprinted along the muddy foot trail short of breath, cold rain beating down upon him, and his blade wielding pursuer swiftly began closing the distance like a predator. There was not time to think, and so Solatri took action. It was upon a small wooden foot bridge deep within the woods that the chase came to it’s end. Solatri panic stricken and short of breath drew the miserable excuse for a longsword that he carried on his back as he spun in a clumsy uncoordinated manner to face his pursuer. This narrow foot bridge would be where he made his stand. The man chasing him wore rain slicked leather armor and a cloak that billowed out behind him like the black wings of a demon as he closed the distance with a swiftness, both of his swords poised to run Solatri through.

It all started three days earlier while Solatri was taking wine at the Slippery Eel and hoping to find himself an opportunity, or at a minimal allow opportunity to find him. It was the sort of evening you would expect from this kind of place. A kindly old timer offered Solatri a seat which he kindly refused to take, only to latter learn the man beside the old timer was a pick pocket who made off with the old man’s purse. Some violent young man took out his frustrations in the form of brutality upon some one eyed female patron. No sooner was she down on the ground unconscious and being kicked, then other patrons took to beating down the young man, who was spat upon and kicked in the head until unconscious and eventually dragged from the tavern. It is important to likeable in this sort of place, and so Solatri bought a few rounds of drinks for the champions of the evening.

It was while exchanging some playful banter with his new drinking companions that the bartender Scotty over heard their interest in the earning of coins and presented some opportune to the lot of them. The old timer who had earlier in the evening been robbed, had since booted a man unconscious, and had his share of free drinks decided best to consider himself ahead, and walked away from Scotty’s opportunities. Being younger and perhaps not so wise though, Datson and Solatri decided to hear what Scotty had to say.

It may have been that Datson was not much of a listener, or it could have been that her head was still swimming with the victory of her previous bar brawl, or that she had drank so very much that she was unable to hear the offers over the hiccups and burps, whatever the reason though she more or less managed to nod along in her drunken stupor through out the course of the conversation like a champion drunkard. Only to afterwards ask what all was said.

Solatri on the other hand had been nursing the same wine he started the evening with, on account he was here looking for opportunity for success, not celebrating one. There was a bit of give and take as Scotty tried to learn what sort of opportunity Solatri was interested in, and Solatri tried to learn what sort of opportunity Scotty had to offer. Neither one wanting to give anything resembling useful information to the other until they learned enough to believe they could be honest with each other. Eventually though Scotty let spill the beans that on occasion people with problems approach him in hopes that he as a bartender within the Slipperiest of Eels might find appropriate problem solvers. It was all very discreet really in that everyone with problems simple dealt with Scotty, and Scotty then dealt with all the problem solvers. It kept embarrassments and shames to a minimal in that all such were simply shared with Scotty instead of spread about.

There was a matter of a husband gone missing, though Solatri was of mind that involving himself in any domestic family affair of the Ffolk would more likely end in a mess then anything else so he passed on that opportunity. Scotty then shared something vague about some person or peoples needing to be roughed up a bit, and that though sounded rather base and unseemly to Solatri so he passed. Just when it was seeming as if inaction was to be the course of action for the day, Scotty spoke of a particular item that needed recovering for reward. Well item recovery sounded a far better bit of work then missing person or brutality, and so Solatri pressed for more.

As it was explained by Scotty, there was a rather large reward for anyone who could reclaim a particular necklace from a camp of bandits who were hiding out some three days walk outside of Corwell. As it turned out though Datson despite her prowess as a pugilist, rather dashing figure, and several other attractive attributes that would have made her a find partner in opportunity, was far to deep into her cups to be of much if any use. So with the information provided him Solatri set out alone to see what could be seen, and if given a chance worth taking was intending to act upon such.

Solatri’s plan was simple enough, in that he was intending to carefully approach this camp of bandits and see what more he could learn of them. Depending on their numbers and disposition there was a number of different ways he could go about reclaiming this necklace. If there were only a handful of the sots a distraction maybe enough to turn their heads long enough for him to get at the prize and be gone before they knew what happened. If they were the friendly sort, a story and shared wine might endear him enough to the lot of them that he may get close enough to steal the necklace from their camp. All and all Solatri had a three day walk in most miserable rains to ponder over his various course of action, all of which he knew would need to be changed and modified upon seeing what the actual camp and campers looked like.

The three days of hard cold rains and muddy trails took their toll upon Solatri and after a short while the thoughts of scheming and even thoughts of successfully getting himself properly rewarded became little comfort. Rain soaked to the core of his elven bones, and several shades of miserable is what Solatri was on the third day when he could make out the distant camp fire. He took a deep breath as the rain pelted about him, and called upon the experiences of his life time as he looked over the terrain between himself and the distant hill top camp fire. He saw two possible approaches he could use to get nearer to the camp undetected. To his right there was a small hill he could use to keep earth between him and the camp site as he crawled near, and further up the trail there was a grove of palm trees and some rocks that might provide cover and concealment enough. Knowing that he was alone and not wanting to take any chances larger then what he was already investing in, Solatri decided to crawl over the small hill and make his approach from behind such.

It was after the slow and filthy climb up the muddy and sandy hill side that Solatri reached the crest of such and saw a sight that left him blinking in disbelief. The other side of the hill he had planned on using was a straight drop some thirty feet down into jagged rocks and tough looking turf. It was then, if not sooner that it might have been in Solatri’s best interests to accept that he spent three days walking in rain and crawling around in the mud for nothing. He could have with minimal effort crawled back down the hill to the trail and start making the long trek back to Corwell.

With the warmth of the campfire close enough to be imaginable though, and having already invested three miserable days into this venture, Solatri decided to try and approach through the trees and jagged rocks. He was already here, and so he thought to try and return with something for his efforts, even if it was just a little gathered knowledge about the bandits so he may latter return with what crew and plan was needed to get hands upon the prize. While the terrain was not all that similar to the forests of Evermeet that he spent his childhood years playing amongst, he felt confident that he could make use of such to approach undetected.

Atop the hill there were the ruins of what may have been at one time a keep or some such in the past, now only a few standing walls remained and Soaltri had managed to slink and crawl close enough to such to start making out voices coming from around the campfire. It appeared that the bandits had made their camp inside the ruins, more then likely Solatri thought because such will provide some shelter against the winds and rain, as well as some privacy and security against the curious sort, like himself. It was while he was crouched down low and straining his ears against the howl of the winds, crashing of waves, and the rhythm of the rain to count voices that he saw out of the corner of his eye the movement.

Behind him and approaching as silently was a dangerous looking sort with a blade in each hand and a dark cloak and cowl hiding his more then likely cruel and menacing features. As the stalker crept closer to Solatri’s position, panic set in. It could have been that with a properly thrown dagger the man could have been put rest right quick without alerting the rest of the camp, or if need be Solatri had the high ground and could have made use of such for an advantage, neither of the two things happened on account that neither course of action was even attempted. Being that in Solatri’s lifetime upon the Emerald Isle, service in the Royal Navy, and years of island hopping among the lands of man had never actually exposed him to a life or death conflict before this moment, he had only instinct and not experience to call upon.

Solatri leapt to his feet with all the speed and swiftness of a scared hare, and then he took to running as fast as his legs would carry him down hill back towards the trail he walked in on. His only deviation from head long flight away from the man was when he kicked sand towards the man’s direction in hopes it might blind him or some such. Without bothering to look back Solatri ran as far and as fast as he could back towards Corwell while the man gave swift and relentless chase. As Solatri’s breathing grew harder and more ragged as the chase continued, he regretted having ever kicked sand at his pursuer. Maybe if he would have just ran out right the man would not be as motivated to run him down and through.

That is how Solatri ended up on the bridge with a man dual wielding blades coming at him hard and fast. He had ran for as long and as far as he could and now he could run no more, and so he drew the longsword he had and turned to stand and deliver. It was done and over with fast. The man laid dead and lifeless upon the foot bridge before Solatri while beating rains worked to wash the blood off the wooden planks into the small stream below. Never before had he crossed blades fighting for his life or taken the life of another, and now that he had he felt faint. For a moment that lasted an eternity, Solatri stood gasping for air while standing wide eyed and unwounded over the corpse of the man who had chased him.

The fear was still upon him and so Solatri began looking about in all directions for anyone else that might be coming at him, and found only sights and sounds of the rainy evening forest about him. It would take some time to calm down and while there was no immediate danger to be seen or heard, Soaltri did not feel that here and now was the time or place to sort himself out proper like, and so with his hand still shaking from the cold rains and panic he put the old battered longsword to rest upon his back and went about looting the dead as quickly and thoroughly as he could manage in his state.

The three day journey back to Corwell through foul weather appeared a far longer and harder journey to Solatri then the walk out. Not only was his pack heavier now that he carried with him the dead man’s valuables, but also his thoughts were dark and burdened with what had come to pass. He had been fatally careless, and he knew it. There was a small comfort and large thanks to be had that his carelessness did not end in his own death, though a man had died all the same and Solatri knew it was because of his actions.

Scouting out the camp was not without risks he knew originally, and he went there prepared to run if it came to running. Trickery and misdirection as well as a bit of thieving from the thieves was what he had in mind if things went right, and a fair bit of running away knowing more then he went in with if things went wrong was what he counted upon. Fighting a man to the death though was never part of his plans. The three days of walking back in the rain alone with his thoughts did far more to further foul his mood then it did to improve it.

He was overly reckless and survived through luck alone he thought to himself, while only half heartily haggling over the value of his ill gotten gains with the merchant. After walking away with a purse heavier then it had been in sometime he decided that, he would strive to be more careful in future endeavors, not only with his own life but with the lives of others. It was one thing to take chances and indulge his rather adventurous nature, though there should be no need for such to ever again end with him unintentionally ending in a position where his only choices are to kill or be killed. Not soon after he silently and solemnly vowed to himself to make better use of self restraint in his life, he went about squandering the wealth his misadventure acquired him on recklessly revelry and the purchasing of wine for himself and all those around him for the next several days.

[JonnyJerny]

Please don't stop.

[fears_bane]

You kick ass... that was awesome... kudos. I will try to hunt you down again if i can.

[jmecha]

Solatri crouched low in darkness and waited for his cue. When it came by way of a muffled scream he acted without hesitation. The door flew free from it’s hinges and crashed down hard upon the Mercenary who was previously leaning against it. For a brief moment Soaltri felt triumphant and let loose a cheery battle cry as he stood on top of the downed door that was now pinning a man to the floor.

“Ah-HA!”

It was then that the Nine Hells broke loose across the small and cluttered warehouse. Tocaer Nort and the man he had been sitting with both sprang to their feet with their hands racing for their knives. Solatri brought his Longsword down hard and fast into the back of the man struggling to get out from under the door. The man beneath the door died, but not before his crossbow went off and sent a bolt flying across the room and through Nort’s stomach.

No sooner then had Solatri finished his butchery then Nort’s knives finished their work.

“Third, Side Door!”

Solatri’s response was wordless as he sprinted across the room and over the corpse of the man that Nort had slain. As Soaltri was nearing the side door, it burst open and the third guard charged through with his sword and shield at the ready. What followed was a quick and bloody exchange that ended with Solatri wounded and weak standing over another corpse and Tocaer Nort who was laid out flat on his back with the crossbow bolt sticking out of his stomach.

Looking down at his unconscious companion, Soaltri’s mind compared the bolt protruding from his companion to a ship’s mast rising and falling as a ship rides the waves. There was a plan, and this was not it.

[danielmn]

YOU'RE GONNA BE OK!!!!!