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Warp Token Update
🕑 Added 2024-05-16 04:29:39 +0000 UTC2k
***
“Exactly!”
“Be wary, miss Seeker,” Wilfred warned, raising a crooked finger. “Von Kessel’s tolerance has its limit, and there are those on this ship who hold nothing but disdain for your kind. Until we make landfall in Arabia, you won’t be safe.”
“Just how Skaven like-likes it,” she tittered, unfazed as ever.
“Come,” Wilfred added, gesturing with his staff. “I shall show you around.”
They followed the wizard towards the ship’s aft section, Roderick holding Skyseeker back as a pair of sailors cut in front of their path, rushing towards a winch in the centre of the deck. Men were rushing about everywhere he looked, some climbing the rigging to access the reefed sails, others hauling spools of rope from one end of the ship to the other.
A cranking sound rose above the shouting, Roderick watching as the arm of a crane hovered just off the portside bow, the gears that powered the mechanism rotating slowly. A spool of chainlink draped from the claw, and as Roderick watched, an anchor rose up into view, the chrome dripping with water.
The three of them walked up a set of stairs to the quarterdeck, where the ship’s steering wheel was located, the brass device taller than Skyseeker was. Behind it was the ship’s next tier, the structure forming a block that made up the very rear of the vessel.
“Through there is the mess cabin,” Wilfred said, gesturing to a doorway built into said structure. Skyseeker took a quick detour towards the wheel, the Skaven giving it a tentative spin.
“Don’t touch that,” Roderick chided, guiding her away. “I don’t think the captain would appreciate you touching everything.”
“Aw, but I want to steer boat!” she complained. “Imagine, clawcaptain Skyseeker, buccaneer of Tilee-place coast! Shar ‘ta be the skurviest rat lass of all toime! Ya-harr!”
“I think Von Kessel would sooner dive overboard than let you navigate the ship,” Roderick muttered. “Your pirate accent is terrible, by the way.”
“You’re terrible,” she hissed, punching him on his thigh armour.
Wilfred ushered them through the door once they’d caught up, the pair emerging into a room longer than it was wide, two rows of tables occupying the floorspace. To one side lay a sectioned-off kitchen, no bigger than the one they’d seen in the market. There was no one inside on the count of the ship being prepared to leave.
“Feel free to pop round whenever you fancy a bite,” Wilfred said, leading them between the tables. “The chefs usually work at the set meal times, but there’s a pantry over there with cured rations if you need a snack.”
Skyseeker was already halfway across the room before he’d finished his sentence, throwing the pantry doors open and delving into the shelves inside. Wilfred quirked a bushy eyebrow at the scene, turning his gaze to Roderick.
“Has she not fed this morning?” he asked.
“Believe me, she fancies a bite pretty much every other hour,” Roderick explained. “I hope the captain stocked up.”
“This place stinks of man-things,” Skyseeker muttered, returning with a bundle of dried meat in her arms. “Smells worse than Rick-rod.”
“Well, with a complement of over one hundred and fifty men, a ship tends to get a bit pungent,” Wilfred said. “You get used to it after a while, for better or worse…”
“One fifty!” Skyseeker repeated, stuffing her new prizes inside her hood. “That’s tiny! Skaven hulks carry six times as much.”
“Down here’s the upper gun deck,” Wilfred continued, moving over to a step ladder in the far corner, the wizard climbing down it without difficulty, despite his withered appearance.
Roderick followed him down, helping Skyseeker down as they stepped out onto the first of many decks making up the wolfship’s hull. Looking down its length was a lot like staring down a cathedral’s hall, except the roof was an inch above his head. He could just make out the nose of the ship some sixty meters away, the aisle flanked on either side by bronze cannons, their carts secured to the portholes by knotted ropes. Along the middle of the deck were chests filled with rifles and pistols, as well as barrels full of cannonballs, staircases and skylight boxes filling the spaces between.
“Impressive firepower,” Roderick noted, voicing his approval in the form of a whistle, the noise making Skyseeker’s ears flick. He had to raise his voice a little to be heard over the dozens of men shouting orders throughout the deck. “How many cannons does this ship have, exactly?”
“Standard procedure is to have a minimum of twenty a side at all times,” Wilfred answered. “That not accounting for the forecastle, that thing can fit fifty, sixty guns if it’s all hands on deck.”
“What’s on next deck?” Skyseeker asked, eager to explore.
Wilfred showed them down another ladder, the lower deck more or less identical to the previous one, except there were seats instead of cannons, the thick ends of rowing oars sticking out of the ports. Roderick could see a few grapeshot weapons sitting flush against the hull, leading him to believe they could be fitted to the ports of the crew needed to trade speed for more firepower.
“Below us is the cargo hold,” Wilfred continued. “As well as the bilge pumps. I’d recommend limiting your time down here, people like us would just get in the way of these men.”
“Where do man-things sleep?” Skyseeker asked. “This place as small as burrow.”
“Everywhere,” Wilfred answered, gesturing to the ceiling with his staff. Hammock sheets were strung up in rows across the wood in every direction, making the whole deck look like it was shielded by a white tarp. They looked like they were raised and lowered by pulleys, hinting that even when deployed, there was scarcely an inch between each bedding. “This deck, the one above, even the cargo hold, everywhere double’s up as a bunking area. Free space is limited on this ship, so every part of it is used.”
“This is why I didn’t join the navy,” Roderick muttered. “At least in a barracks you’re not breathing the same air as the man beside you. Sigmar forbid someone farts in here. Don’t tell me one of these is my bunk.”
“Ah, that brings me to where you will be staying. Back this way.”
The climbed back up into the mess hall, Wilfred leading them up yet another step ladder, the three of them clambering out into a spacious area – spacious by warship standards. Ringing around the hatch was a continuous wall in the shape of the letter ‘U’, with the northern wall made up of doors and stained glass, sunlight spilling inside. Two doors led away to compartments on either side, while the deeper part of the space led off into a lavish compartment, with tiled flooring, dressers, curtains, and a dining table fit for a lord. Roderick guessed that was the captain’s quarters down there.
“I convinced the captain beforehand to lend you the secretary cabin,” Wilfred said, walking over to the compartment on the left. Inside was a bed that was folded out from a slot in the wall, as well as a writing desk and chair. A plain curtain drawn over a solitary window provided the cabin’s sole feature.
“Better than those hammocks by far,” Roderick said, nodding in approval. “Thank you, Will.”
“Don’t say I never look out for you.” Wilfred replied, waving a hand. “I’m not sure where we can put miss Seeker, however. Perhaps we can roll out a spare sheet here, between your cabin and mine.”
“Not to worries,” Skyseeker chimed. “I’ll sleep with Rick-rod.”
“Oh?” Wilfred asked, his tone curious. “Is that so?”
“She means sleeping literally,” Roderick explained hastily. “We’ve been sharing the heat of a campfire for weeks, so we’re used to each other.”
“Can say-speak that again,” Skyseeker giggled. “Rick-rod gave me bath last night.”
“Indeed?” Wilfred said, grinning over at Roderick. “Well then, that was very kind of him. Just take note that the only bath on this ship is in the captain’s quarters, and that one’s strictly off-limits, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Too much information, lass,” Roderick muttered, feeling warmth in his face.
There was a sudden thrum of sound, what seemed to be the far-off beat of a drum reverberating through his bones, Roderick glancing over his shoulder in surprise. Skyseeker’s reaction was more colourful, the Skaven grasping his leg with a paw, turning her muzzle at odd angles as she searched for the source.
“Do not worry,” Wilfred said. “those’re just the sailing drums. The men on the oars use it to row in time with eachother, since shouting across the deck while pulling a ship tends to get tiresome. I believe this one signals we’re pulling out of the harbour.”
As if to illustrate his point, Roderick began to feel the subtle pull of the ship’s fleeting momentum, more shouting audible through the windows. The captain’s men were well disciplined if they could ready the ship so quickly.
“Let’s go see-see,” Skyseeker chittered, moving over to the exit. Roderick followed her out, the beating drums growing louder as he emerged outside. Looking over the railing, he saw they were the level above the quarterdeck, Roderick seeing Von Kessel and one of his officers man the wheel. He couldn’t see where the drums were coming from, perhaps they were in the lower decks, or the forecastle.
“Rick-rod, look!”
Skyseeker rushed over to the port side, her crimson eyes peering over the railing. Below was the quay, a few men who must be locals pulling threads of rope clear as the ship began to distance from the port, all the ropes weighing them down now released. Roderick noted that the plank had been drawn, the two Reikland guards helping to store it in a slot on the main deck.
Above them, the ship’s sails drew to their full lengths with a series of loud flaps, the cloths bulging as they caught on the winds. Looking further down, Roderick watched as oars jutting from the lower ports paddled into the waves, helping to guide the ship away from the dock.
As the ship began to pick up speed, Skyseeker hopped onto the railing, Roderick shooting out a hand, fearing she might fall. She smirked at him as she lifted her paws, demonstrating her inhumane dexterity as she balanced there on the beam, her tail levelled out as counterbalance.
“No paws, see?” she said, waving her arms around. “having tail is advantageous! Rick-rod should get one.”
“Say goodbye to Tilea, lass,” he said, leaning his hands on the beam nearby. Portomaggoire was sliding ever further off to the left, the people in the harbour becoming little specks.
“BAD-bye, Tilea!” Skyseeker shouted, waving a paw. “It was not fun! Too hot, too tree-y, and too many bird-things! Worst place ever!”
“I fear it will only get more dangerous in Arabia,” Roderick muttered. “from what I know of the locals, the Tilean’s will look downright civil in comparison. Creatures worse than gryphons no doubt lurk in their deserts.”
“What could be worse than giant bird?” she demanded.
“I don’t know, and I’m afraid to find out.”
“Never fear, Rick-rod,” she continued, brandishing a butcher knife. “Anything stabs you, I’ll stab them first.”
“What in the… where’d you get that?”
“From messy hall! It was in pantry,” she explained, twirling the knife through her clawed fingers.
“You do realise if the captain sees you with a weapon, we’re both doomed, right?”
