"And it's all for me' grog, me' jolly, jolly grog..." The fragmented chorus of a sea shanty hangs lowly on your lips, sung in idle whisper as you check the orlop to retrieve a bottle of rum for the captain; covetous bastard. While you and the rest of the crew toil for sour bread and the occasional swig of cheap swill, Captain Claw drinks fine brandies and sweet rum in his private quarters. He trust you for some reason, but you wouldn't call it that.

You guffaw quietly, knowing that a lily-livered captain makes good for only one thing in time: feeding the fish; never mind thoughts of mutiny. You search lower deck slowly, peeking between thick coils of rope and empty wooden barrels in search of the captain's rum stash. Without warning the ship rocks, resulting in a few large barrels tumbling to the planks with several heavy *thuds*. "B-Blimey! *hiccup*" A high-pitched, female voice squeaks from one of the barrels as it falls; two stubby, thick legs spilling from its opening.

You reflexively go for your rusty, trusty cutlass but decide against it as the source of the voice appears to be nothing but a pair of plump legs. "So, we've got a stowaway, eh? Captain'll 'ave you keelhauled for right."

'She' giggles, making a few grunting noises in a futile attempt to remove her upper half. "Oy *hiccup*, you son of a biscuit eater *hiccup*, 'elp a bonnie lass out of a *hiccup* tight fit!" The goblin-girl is wearing form-fitting leathers that cling to her fun-sized thighs, leading to petite feet. You glance to the right of the barrels, catching a glimpse of several empty bottles as they roll along the deck. "Sink me, the captain's drink!" "Oh, thoooose?" Your newfound nuisance coos from her barrel in a mocking fashion. She sighs deeply, "You gonna 'elp me?" Such a bubbly rear is a welcomed sight for a salty dog like you.

Captain Claw ain't a forgiving type; someone is getting punished. Helpless, AND helplessly drunk, perhaps you can show this freebooter your 'peg leg'?