The harbour is not crouded, though there are a few ships docked.  Most are two- or three-masted vessels, though one, named Porpoise, has only a single mast, and bears three huge wheels, mounted at the sides and stern.

The flags at the mastheads are in a variety of colours and designs.  The ship whose flag bears the arms of Amber does not sit at the dock, like the others, but instead rides at anchor about fifty yards out in the harbour.  She is larger than the others, but built for speed, with three masts, and a relatively narrow hull.

There are arbalests mounted along the rail, and her steel-tipped ramming prow is flanked by a pair of glaring eyes, painted just above waterline.

Clearly a warship

The name, Unicorn's Wrath can be seen on her side.

While the ship itself may not be at the dock, there is a dinghy tied up nearby, watched over by two men whose tunics bear the same white unicorn as the warship's flag.  Both are armed.

"We assumed as much," Aaron bespoke of the ship at anchor, crossing his arms over his chest as he paused to gaze upon it. "Doesn't bode well for our future prospects."

"Oh?"  Morgan begged enlightenment. "Amber is not fallen, if they've a warship here."

 

Banglen-Yp appeared to almost end up with this group by chance as she seemed sad and quiet all along as the group split up and they reached the port.

She looked over at the ship as the other began to talk about it and suddenly sat up straight in her back and smiled broadly.

•• Ship •• We • go • with • the • ship ••

It sounded like half a exclamation and half a question.  Bouncing up and down where she sat she appeared as giddy as a schoolgirl with a secret no one else knew yet, except with her physique it was pretty obvious she was not a schoolgirl.

•• Sai•ling • ship ••

She bounced some more, possibly becoming a distraction to some of the people around.

 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the presence of several large panthers, and the... enthusiastic reaction... of certain members of the group, it doesnt take long for the guards by the dinghy to notice the strangers who are studying the warship with such keen interest.

One of them steps forward, a crossbow held pointed skywards, in that overly casual manner which generally denotes a high degree of poorly-disguised readiness.  He halts, well out of blade reach, and enquires in a cheerful tone, "Can we help you, at all, ladies and gentlemen?  I'm afraid that if you're hoping to see His Highness, even from a distance, then you're out of luck, just now."

Dorian notes the man's approach, which is not lax. Good, he thinks. "No," he says. "We have no business with His Highness that we are aware of. Information, perhaps--we have been away for a long time, and we seek to return to Amber. Can you tell of the state of things in Amber, perchance?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:44, Mon 23 Apr 2007.

"Things are right enough in Amber, since you ask." the guard replies, though a moment later the other chimes in, "Aye, now they are."

The first guard gives him a sour look, "Well, since you've told them that much, do you want to carry on, Jer, or shall I, since I'm in command here, technically."  The one called Jer shrugs, and spits over the side of the dock, before stepping back to his original position.

"There's been some sort of problem up at the palace, or so we heard.  Had a lot of people upset for a while.  Shipping kept getting attacked too, and the fleet was always in the wrong place to stop it.  It was bad for a while, but things seem to be calming down a bit now."

"I heard that the land routes were opened again, just before we sailed."

"Yes, I heard that too." the, so far, unnamed guard adds, with a sigh.  "All in all, I think you've picked a good time to decide to go home."

"What nature did these attacks take?" Aaron asked pointedly. He needed details.

He knew full well that their primary concern once they hit Amber would be to discover the traitor within the city itself, but he needed to know the movements of Harbonah's forces, and whether Amber's most recent plight was due to those movements.

Because once they found the traitor, they'd be back in the thick of things again. Exactly where Aaron wanted to be.

Morgan brightens further at this report. "If the land routes are open, we can save a lot of time."

Glancing at the guards, he adds hastily, "Nothing wrong with ships, mind. They're just a bit ... slow." Searching, he can't find another word to describe it.

Carefully not eyeing Banglen's bouncing attributes, he pauses, realizing he may have stuck his foot in it another way. "Though I imagine everyone could have some fun going for a swim."

Tahirah finds herself standing a bit back from everyone else, turned out towards the water, staring out to sea.

Sea.

She'd read the word.  She supposes somewhere in the back of her mind she knew it meant, `an awful lot of water', but actually looking out at it...she feels dizzy.  Vaguely, she catches a stray comment from Morgan, preferring to travel by land.  Some news about attacks, which surely is important to know, but she feels distant.  Lost.  Almost mesmerized.

She watches another wave wash towards the city, its primal force first blunted, then broken, by the shape of the harbor and the interruptions of the docks.  It fades away; a form that stood out for a moment, absorbed back into the whole, slipping back under the next one...each one seemed wholly destroyed by the protections in place, but she knew that in time, the water was winning.

Another ripple washes up, breaks apart, fades away.  The constant white-noise of the water's movement flows through her ears, the sounds of the city, even the nearby conversation, fading into it.

How can they be concerned about mere wars, in the face of this?

"Afraid you'd have to ask somebody from the palace, if you want details.  We spend most of our time at sea, or standing guard at foreign docks.  There's been a couple of ships taken by pirates, of late, but that happens from time to time."

"Storms too, I heard." Jer adds, "Which doesn't happen that often.  Ships of Amber are usually blessed with good weather."

"Do you want to come here talk to them, Jer?  Then I could stand well back and do nothing all day, for a change."

Jer shakes his head, and the other, so far unnamed, turns back to the strangers.  Sorry about that.  Yes, some ships have been lost, and there are rumours about storms, but nothing confirmed."

"Anyway, as I said, if you want to know more about what's happening in the city, itself, and at the palace, you'll need to ask one of the others when they come back.  If you're lucky, one of them might be able to give you more information."

"Pirates and storms," Dorian notes. Samhain had its share of pirates, with so much of life depending on the sea. Most governments had maintained strong navies, though. He glances at Aaron and Morgan. "Sounds easy enough. Would you mind a few questions? I thirst for knowledge having been away. I don't suppose you have any recommendations about the fastest travel to Amber, and, pardon our ignorance for being away so long, when you say His Highness, would that still be King Random or have things changed since I last saw set foot in Amber? Finally, have you any news of Princess Fiona, perhaps?"

He knew that such questions would reveal more about the party than he might normally, but he felt sure anyone looking for them would already know of their arrival. The inference that they might have connection to the Royal Family of Amber might loosen lips--or tighten them.

In the end, they would only remember talking about the weather.

 

Seemingly ignorant of what effect her enthusiasm might have had, Banglen-Yp stopped bouncing but kept grinning like a fool, or nearly so, eyes shining as she watched the ship and the sea, trying to take it all in.

Ideas sprouted in her mind, ideas not commonly found with most people, and she once more was in the presence of the Screen.  If she did hear anything of what was being said she did not show it.

Meanwhile her little friend the kitten relaxed again as the bouncing subsided and he retracted his claws, that has dug in as deep as the as of yet tiny hooks were capable off.  At the same time he was quite pleased that he managed to cheer her up, even if she now spend her time staring at something else other than him at the moment.  Sensing that it was a good and safe time he began to wash, putting straight his slightly ruffled fur once more.

 

"Random is still King in Amber, yes, though he isn't here, in Cadiniagart... "

"No, it's his brother, Prince Corwin that's here."

"As I said... " the man continues, giving Jer an angry glower, "... Random still rules Amber, and his relatives are all well, as far as I know, though if it's palace gossip you want, you're asking the wrong people."

"As for the fastest route... " he glances at Jer, as if expecting another interruption, but the other man simply stares out across the harbour, and ignores him.  "I'd have to say, without a shadow of doubt, that the fastest way to go would be by ship."

Prince Corwin, Dorian thought. He knew little about the royal family of Amber, so he field the name away. Though he did consider others might find it useful. "Might we ask where we could find Prince Corwin?"

He noted that Random was still the King, and the other information.

He looked to the rest of the ships docked, studying the one with three large wheels with interest. "And do you perhaps know of a ship sailing to Amber soon?"

"We're here on a diplomatic matter, so I expect His Highness is meeting with the local ruler, just now."

"Steady, Will, you shouldn't say too much, in case there're spies about." Jer calls across from his post, proving that he is paying attention.

Will, as the other man is apparently named, sighs, "As for other ships, I wouldn't know.  Unicorn's Wrath will be heading back to Amber, just as soon as the current matter is resolved.  There's been a lot of trouble around the Circle lately, so a lot of captains aren't keeping regular schedules, for fear it would make them easy targets for pirates."

"Afraid you'd have to ask around, to get any firm idea."

Morgan tranlates a question from one of the pride with some heavy editing, "Its kind you are to help us. Would you happen to know if there is a cartographer in the city? I've not gone this route before, so I don't know the distances involved."

 

Clearly still fascinated by the ship and the ocean, Banglen-Yp appeared to not hear much of what was being said - or perhaps she did listen, even though the focus of her attention was elsewhere.

It was almost as if she was studying the ship in detail, tracing ever rope, tack, line and piece of wood with her eyes.

Then, she suddenly seemed to spot the two guards, and she waved and smiled at them happily.

•• Hi ••

A single syllable, sounding almost perfect compared to most of her speech thus far.

 

Inside her robes, Tahirah's eyes slowly close, as she sways gently in time with the tide.

"A cartographer?  I suppose there should be... "

"As a matter of fact, I have an interest in maps.  There's a cartographer a couple of minutes walk from here." Jer interrupts, moving closer again, and smiling happoly.  "If you go back up the street, about a hundred yards, and keep a sharp eye out, you'll see an archeway on the left.  Just a covered alleyway really, leads through to a courtyard behind the buildings on that side.  Just on your right, as you get into the courtyard, you'll see a store with the name Mayhew above the door."

"Ren Mayhew is probably the best mapmaker in this city."

Will, momentarily prepared to leave the talking to Jer, smiles at Banglen-Yp, and says, "Hello.", though he looks a little puzzled as he studies the woman.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:48, Thu 03 May 2007.

A smile and a short bow accompany Morgan's thanks.  "Thank you. That's clear enough for me, and helpful of you. Shall I take your greetings?"

Maps, Dorian pondered, as he looked back up the road that Jer indicated. Morgan might have use for maps, but Dorian did not. If the man had some use in mind, he hadn't shared it yet. "Very well," Dorian says. "See to your map, if you wish. I will go on ahead and see to passage to Amber. With any luck, we can find something leaving soon."

He didn't feel secure walking the docks mounted. Fine mounts, but any mount could be cumbersome on the narrow docks where sailors were moving up and down with heavy loads. He dismounted and strode towards the docks, unconcerned if any chose to follow him or not. He simply didn't want to lose any more time than was necessary, here.

"That'd be most kind of you, Sir." Jer replies to Morgan's question, with a broad smile, "Tell Mister Mayhew that Jer Garrick sent you.  And if you could see your way clear to telling him I'll be in to see him a little later, I'd be most grateful."

Will, meanwhile says nothing further, as he watches Dorian stride off across the docks, towards the nearest of the other ships.

Dorian studied the other ships on the dock critically. He didn't like the options presented. Many of the ships sat in repairs, or seemed somewhat abandoned. He could plausibly manipulate a few things, but he didn't like doing that so close to Amber, and he wasn't sure how welcome it would be in this particular city. A city new to the Golden Circle was likely to have others of power who frowned on manipulations. If he repaired one ship, he might upset fair competition or something like that--not that he cared, but it could stir up trouble and attention.

He turned back, looking at the Amberite ship. He wondered if perhaps they could get passage with Prince Corwin. James or Aaron might be able to do it. Technically, he believed himself to be a member of the family, but it was more difficult to trace his connection with certainty.

There was also another option: Fiona. He didn't want to do that, just yet. In fact, the less of the family that knew of their presence, the better. Politically, talking to one of them could be seen as an alliance by someone else.

No harm in a little more information, though.

He walked back towards Jer and Will, and the others.

"It appears to be a bad day for sea travel. Most of the ships are under repairs, today. We may have to speak to Uncle Corwin about passage with him, if he plans to return soon. James or Aaron, I think, has been closer to the family than I. I will consult with the others, as well."

Uncle Corwin, he thought with amusement. He wouldn't consider the man an uncle, normally, thought all indications said it was true. In fact, he may be able to give Dorian information about his family--or Dorian's mother. He let is slip for the sake of the guards, though, to see if it changed their reaction.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:16, Mon 07 May 2007.

"I'll do that." Morgan tips his head in farewell. He glances at his companions, and smilingly shakes his head.  "Would any care to accompany me there, or shall we meet back at the inn?"

"I'll stick with Dorian, thanks. I think we should definetly follow up on Corwin's whereabouts."

He hadn't met Corwin, and while he knew he was more than likely only distantly related via Amberite blood, what more could it hurt to have another Amberite nearby?

Aaron only hoped he wouldn't have to eat those thoughts in the coming hours.

"Well, as I said," interjects Will, "the prince is not here at the moment.  We're here on a diplomatic mission, and he is currently up in the city, engaged in negotiations with the ruler of Cadiniagart."

He leans forward a little, and smiles, somewhat conspiratorially, "If it's anything like last time, he'll probably not be back until they've fed him a good dinner of roasted peacock, truffles, and caviar, or the like.  So likely as not, he'll be a few hours yet."

"Meanwhile we get hard bread and salt pork."

Will rolls his eyes, and jerks one thumb in Jer's direction, "Do any of you want to buy him?  I'll probably get busted down a couple of ranks, or booted out, for selling Navy property, but it would definitely be worth it."

 

•• Me • me • me ••

Bouncing again, if not for as long as before, Banglen-Yp replied to Morgan and waved a hand at him in case he did not hear her, which was about as likely as a door opening the wrong way or a dog reading an encyclopaedia - and understanding it.

The Screen had spoken of maps and the very concept fascinated her as much as that of sailing ships.

 

Dorian is about to speak, but Banglen-Yp's enthusiasm cuts him off momentarily. He looks at her, pondering if he should explain that it was an attempt at humor--probably--but then thinks better of it.

"Patience runs in my family," says Dorian with a tiny tiny smirk. "We will have to speak to him when he is finished. In the mean time, I see no reason you should be left with cold, hard food.  Allow me a few moments to provide more suitable fair."

Dorian bends his will towards the act of conjuration, imagining up a picnic basket filled with the same items the man had described.

Will looks at the basket, then at Dorian, "I'd be grateful if you'd take that away, again, Sir.  You see, our Senior Sergeant has this nasty ability to have eyes in the back of his head.  He can see for a hundred miles in every direction, and hear a mouse passing wind, thirty leagues away."

"I'd rather not have to explain to him why I accepted a gift from a group of strangers who were asking a lot of questions on the dock."

Morgan fails to stifle a snort of laughter as the cats pad down the street, toward the cartographer.  "Glad to have you, B."

Dorian did not feel his questions were anything to arouse suspicion. They were no more than directions and local information--nothing any other traveler would ask. He did not look happy. "Suit yourself," he says. "Perhaps next time you won't make such an issue about what you lack in life. I shall find someone in need within the city to share my gift."

Basket in hand, he turned back towards the city, black cloak trailing behind him in the seaside breeze. He was Dorian, and his kindness was rare. He did not like having it rebuffed for what he counted as fruitless and suspicion. The men could have shown the gift to their superior of there were some concern and let that man deal with it as he saw fit.

For now, he planned to stay near the docks. They may need to contact Prince Corwin when he decided to leave, or perhaps earlier. He would wait to see what the others thought before he tried to contact the Amberite, though.

In the mean time, there had to be someone on the streets or docks who could use a good meal.

 

Banglen-Yp only laughed in reply to Morgan, once more enjoying the ride on the large cat, although she said something once the laughter died out.

•• My • lit•tle • friend • wants • to • be • a •big • cat • like • these • when • he • grows • up ••

Who it was aimed at was hard to tell, but the kitten on her shoulder let out a cute little meow after she had finished.

 

Will watches as Dorian stalks away, then rounds on Jer, "You and your stomach!  Thanks to your complaining, I've offended that gentleman!"

"But I'm hungry."

"Then you should have grabbed something earlier, when we were off duty."

The pair stand quietly for a while, as the visitors leave, and then Jer pipes up, "Seemed like nice enough people though."

"Well, of course they are.  Didn't you hear that one say they're related to the Family, but they've been travelling?" replies Will, somewhat calmer now.

"Yes...  I wonder where they've been?"

"No idea... but they surely breed some funny looking horses there."

They lapse back into the tedium of their duties, guarding a rowboat...

Time passes in the vicinity of the docks, just as it does elsewhere in the city.

Jer and Will continue their vigil.

A ship appears in the distance, far out from the bay which serves Cadiniagart as a harbour, and only dimly visible through the curtains of rain which sweep across the ocean.

Occasional flashes of lightning illuminate it more clearly as it makes its way in, towards shelter, across the churning waves.

Aaron was momentarilly confused, but decided against following Dorian, despite his prior comment. Glancing at Tahira, he raised his head.

"I'm going to see if I can't find a bit more information here by the dockside. You're welcome to come, if you wish."

With that, he proceeded further down the docks a ways, not looking for anything in particular. Perhaps he'd run across something that would catch his eye.

Dorian finds a spot where he can sit and watch the docks, the small rowboat in particular, so he can with hope see Corwin approach. He could watch the spot from afar, even seeking out Corwin from a distance, but he's content to sit and enjoy the solitude. His thoughts strayed to Cyan, obviously, and he thought of speaking to her but knew he had no idea what to say. Surely Berd was passing anything important to her, and he feared to laden her thoughts with his own further musings.

He still felt divided against himself, but at least he had come to accept that division. He thought he had the answer to his dilemma, but he felt no need to rush to a solution only to find it lacking later.

He had enough serious thoughts, of late. He let his mind wander to more relaxing things, conversations and memories--giving no thought, for once, to which were real or imagined.

Out across the ocean, beyond the harbour, the ship continues its approach.  From time to time it almost disappears from view, only to fully reappear moments later, as the rain sweeps aside, or some trough disgorges it onto the crest of the next wave...

The rain sweeps in over the docks with renewed force, and the two guards move back from their post, seeking the paltry shelter of the eaves of one of the buildings behind them.

Dorian, further away from the boat, already has reasonable shelter, in a narrow alleyway between two buildings, protected from the direct force of the rising wind and driving rain.

Still out on the dock, Aaron grits his teeth as the weather bears down on him.  The rain is ice cold now, blasting in from the ocean, and the wind carries salt and flecks of sea foam with it.

Back near the boat, Will and Jer watch Tahirah, wondering just how she can stand out in the teeth of the gathering storm, seemingly without the slightest concern for the elements.

If Tahirah hears Aaron, she gives no sign of it, remaining still and quiet.

Listening, mostly.

As the wind picks up, her oversized robes ripple, but the hood stays in place.  She listens to the differing sounds of rain upon the water, from rain upon the earth, and rain still within the air.  She wishes briefly that she had some wood of her own, to start a fire; it couldn't last long, but while it did, it would have been interesting.

She seems almost apart from the storm.  Her robes move with the wind, but with less force than they should.  She sways slightly, but not in time with the forces gusting at her from the water.

She wonders if this sort of thing happens often around the sea, and smiles a little to herself.  She hopes so.  It's beautiful.

The wind continues to howl around the structures on the waterfront, driving rain and spray before it.

Dorian is sheltered from the worst of it, and Tahirah just doesn't seem to notice it.  Not so Will and Jer, who are forced to remain pretty much exposed to it, as is the third man in the livery of Amber, who rushes out of one of the nearby streets and approaches the two guards.  Yelling, to make himself heard above the storm, he informs them, "The prince has decided to spend the night at the palace!  There's a banquet in his honour, so he'll not be back before tomorrow!"


Further along the dock, Aaron stops by the ship with the three paddlewheels.  There is a small structure on the deck, little more then twelve feet square and seven high.  It has windows in three of the sides, and through them Aaron can see a figure silhouetted, and a tiny spark of orange light.  Somebody smoking then...


The approaching ship continues to make its way towards the harbour, wallowing heavily in the rough seas.  Flashes of lightning reveal men on her decks, attempting to strike sail in the teeth of the storm...


Will and Jer are a little disappointed by the news brought to them by the now-departing messenger, "Well!  That's charming, isn't it?  They might have told us that before the storm started again."

"We could have taken the boat back to the ship and been comfortable."

"Jer?  Do you reckon that bastard, Tyler, will be on deck in this?"

"No, he'll be down below, probably getting some tea."

"That's what I thought.  Got any ciggies?"

Tahirah stirs slightly, her attention finally caught by something besides the crashing waves and falling rain.

Something moving in the crashing waves and falling rain.

She watches the ship fighting the storm with a faintly detached curiousity.  She doesn't know much - anything, in fact - about sailing, but she can only guess that can't be easy.

After a few moments, she raises an arm, and extends a hand.  She pauses, enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin, despite the biting cold.  Then she begins to sketch a shape in the air; a sharp, jagged line, slowing into waves, then smoothing into a simple curve.  The curve finishes, and she raises her arm back up again, repeating the motion.

The storm continues to rage, hammering against the moored ships, and those unfortunate enough to be out in it.  Lightning flares repeatedly, and the thunder is almost frequent enough to develop a pounding rhythm...

The rain, mixed with a little sleet now, sluices down upon the quayside and the jetties, and flows off the buildings in torrents.  Jer and Will huddle closer to the wall, hoping to gain some shelter from the eaves of the structure.

Dorian, pressed against the side of another building, and not in the direct path of the wind, fares a little better, though he is still cold and uncomfortable.

Further away, Aaron is hammered by the elements, rain and hail and sleet stinging his skin and driving him back from the wheeled ship, in search of shelter.  There is a large shed nearby, and a quich push forces a lock to comply with Aaron's request for entry.

Tahirah's robe moves in the wind (though, oddly, it doesn't seem to be the same wind that is trying to knock everybody else off their feet), and she reaches out a hand to draw strange glowing symbols in the air, and the rain hisses into steam where it touches those arcane marks.

And out beyond the harbour, the approaching ship suddenly seems to be making better progress.  Not much better, but better...

Dorian pushes off the brick wall of the building, slipping out of the alleyway into the street. Storm? On Samhain, this would be an afternoon breeze. He pulls his cloak in tight around his scarecrow frame and bends his head into the wind, which plasters hair and hood against his face. He navigates without looking, though.

He hoped they didn't have to wait long. Perhaps Aaron would find passage on that other ship, or Morgan would find a useful land route. Either would be better than begging a ride from a Prince of Amber, what an entrance that would be. He felt relief that this Corwin had decided to stay the night.

For now, he would return to the inn and see what the others had planned, or had discovered.

"Gods, what a blast," Aaron hissed as he entered the building. He gazed out between the doorpost and the door itself, into the spitting, angry rain, and frowned.

"The hell. Should've just blundered back to the Inn." He spoke mostly to himself as he shut the door against the wind, wondering for the nonce about Tahira and her casting into teh maelstrom. He shook his head, and rather than interrupt, dediced to leave her to her business, even despite the storm.

He turned and faced the shed itself, wondering about the small building by the dock, and whether Corwin would stay out the storm or longer... they needed to reach Amber at some point, by some means, and there were a few sitting by them, now.

For now, he could only bide his time and consider the future. A storm was bad business, this close to open sea, and he didn't feel like getting sopped trying to make it back to the Inn. He'd have to wait it out.

Aaron turns, and finds that the small structure is very crowded.  Crates and bales are stacked within, filling most of the space, and making it seem even smaller.  Perhaps twenty feet deep, and only ten wide, most of the available soace is filled.

A small warehouse then.  Most of the crates seem to bear the same highly stylised image of an animal, possibly a bear.  Or a pig.  It's hard to tell in the dim light.  That light comes from a hurricane lamp hanging on a peg just inside the door.

The question of who would keep a lamp burning in there is answered a moment later, as two men, one of them burly, the other extremely so, step out from behind one of the stacks of crates, and into the narrow open space.  The smaller of the two, if the term could be applied to a man of his size, points a crowbar at Aaron.

"Who the bloody 'ell're you then?  Yer not the watchman."


Outside, the storm continues to rage, making the Amberites even more miserable.  Tahirah stands, seemingly unaffected by it, and watches as a ship approaches.  Around it the elements are in turmoil, wind and water and lightning in a frenzied dance of madness and chaos.  But the ship seems to ride within a bubble where, while not exactly calm, the storm is at least survivable.

Entering the harbour, the ship pushes its way towards a jetty a little way to the right, and the men on the deck struggle to bring her in safely, and make her fast.

There is a series of loud cracks and bangs, somewhere to Tahirah's left, echoing even above the sounds of the storm, followed by a tearing noise... and one of the moored ships loses a mast to the raging weather.

"No," Aaron said, turning to face the crowbar-wielding bruiser. "No, I'm not."

He leaned against the door, crossing his arms before his chest and using one free hand to pull wet strands of long, dark hair out of his eyes.

"To answer your question, I'm merely a traveler waiting for the next passage out of here. I just happened to get caught in this gale before I could make it back to the nearest Inn."

Giving the man a questioning look, Aaron raised an eyebrow.

"How about you? Do you often hang out in such tight confines as these?"

"Not through bloody choice, mate." comes the reply.  "On any other day, we'd be out there, at work.  But with the storm, we've decided it's better ter keep our 'eads down in 'ere."

"Long as yer not 'ere ter rob nuthin, we'll not be sendin' yer back out in the rain."

He pauses, and gives his silent companion a questioning look, before turning his attention back to Aaron.  "I'm Peyt, and this is Dovan.  'e can't talk, so 'e won't be interducin' 'isself."

A third man sticks his head around the corner of the stack, at a height which suggests he is considerably shorter than anybody else in the shed.  "An' that's Lenn."

"We was goin' ter play a few 'ands o' cards, ter pass the time.  Yer welcome ter join us, if yer wants ter?  Four players makes fer a better game."


The crew of the newly-arrived ship waste no time.  As soon as she is moored, and her sails furled, they are ashore as fast as possible, making for whatever shelter the buildings along the waterfront can provide.

Tahirah holds her concentration a moment longer on the manned ship, but they seem to be doing well enough.  The crack of the mast cuts through the rain very much like thunder, but so close...

She turns towards the sound, puzzled.  The shape of the ships there has changed somewhat, but...how?  She had seen ships in portraits before, but those looked very different, with the sails up and not half hidden in the driving rain...

She tilts her head a little, until she's looking at one ship almost sideways.  Oh.  That had been straight up before, not almost completely sideways.

With a little bit of a frown, she focuses on the broken wood.  Another symbol abruptly flares into the air in front of her, and she studies it for a moment, before reaching out to the glowing tracery with a finger and beginning to rework it slightly.

The air flames around Tahirah's outstretched hands, and every move she makes is reflected in the incandescent tracery which hangs before her.  Further away, the broken mast quivers.

There should be no difference between a broken table and a shattered mast.  In theory, it is the same.  In practice, though, the details are... somewhat different.  Tables are generally lighter, and not so encumbered with waterlogged canvas and tangled cables.

The mast starts to shift, dragging sideways across the dock, but that could just be the effects of the storm, and the uneven movement of the ship.  The massive timber lifts a foot, or so, and then crashes down on the dock again.

Aaron thought about it for a moment, considered, and finally shrugged.

"What the hell? I'm Aaron. Nice to meet you lot. Well met on a rainy day like today, and I'm something of a gambling man..."

He let that hang and found a seat, determined to let the time pass with at least some semblance of humanity left to it. Besides, when was the last time he gambled with something other than a part of his body?

Tahirah closes her eyes for a moment, holding the symbol before her.  The wood was willing, but the wind

Reaching up with her other hand, she begins the slower process of tracing out another symbol.  She thinks she can fix this ship, and perhaps leave it with a bit of protection...but she's beginning to find the storm less fun.

Aaron squeezes into the confines of the narrow space between the stacks of crates, where more crates and boxes serve as a table and crude seats.  Peyt sits on his left, the mute, Dovan, on his right, and the smaller man, Lenn, is positioned directly opposite.

"So, Aaron, yer say yer not from roun' 'ere, then?" Peyt drags a pack of cards from his pocket, placing them on the makeshift table, where a candle a lantern already sits, along with some cheese, half a loaf, and a bottle of... something clear.

"So... d'yer know 'ow ter play Blind Pig?  If'n yer don't, we can teach yer, it's easy enuff."

And so the game begins...


While Aaron enjoys the simple comforts provided by the hiding place of some of the dock workers, Tahirah is hard at work.  Energies writhe and slither through the air, flickering out from her oustretched hand to describe evanescent forms forms in the air, burning with an odd, eldritch light, which seems to drip from the runes and sigils, to boil away as it touches the surface of the dock.

The display is spectacular enough that Jer and Will step out of their, admittedly scant, shelter, so that they can get a closer look.  They lean into the howling gale, their heavy cloaks fluttering like the wings of frantic moths as they watch, open mouthed.

They aren't even complaining any more.

Along the dock, something has changed.  There seems to be a space where the wind has dropped, even as it still screams everywhere else.  Wood bends and flexes, as canvas rips under the weight of water it holds.  Cables seem to move like serpents, and the mast is pulled, slowly but surely, back into position...

Jagged wood knots itself, interlacing tighter and tighter, binding the halves of the mast together...

"Around here?" Aaron shook his head. "Nah. Been a long while since I've been near here, actually. Been out... at the front, don't know if you've heard. Hell of a lot of stuff going down beyond Cadiniagart."

He sniffed, raising his head. "Never played Blind Pig, no," he said, trailing off as he absorbed himself into the card game. "Been one, though!" Aaron said, and laughed.

And with a sound almost louder than that of the original destruction, the broken mast is back in place again, twisting and turning for a few moments, like a dog trying to settle comfortably...


"Reckon as 'ow we all 'as, from time ter time!"  They're all laughing, as they play what turns out to be a relatively simple game, involving  the collecting of pairs and trios of cards, all of one suit, or one value, and hoping that three cards laying face down on the table will match up with at least some of them.

Aaron seems to pick it up fairly quickly, and is scoring well, though not as well as Lenn, who seems to be very lucky.

Tahirah lets out a breath as the spell completes its work, and looks at the tattered remains of the sail.  Significant.  She glances over towards the ship that had just docked, remembering that, indeed, one of the very first things they did was to wrap their sails tight around the mast, so they wouldn't catch the wind.

Other ships with the sails down seem to be...if not perfectly safe from the storm, then at least very much safer.

Robes rippling around her, she turns to look up and down the docks, to see how many ships were caught unprepared, with their sails out.

As far as Tahirah can see, the other ships in the harbour are faring much better in the storm.  It seems that most of them were better prepared than the one she has so recently repaired.  The main exceptiuon, the latest arrival, sits in a zone of eerie calm (relatively speaking) while those of her crew, still aboard, work to secure her against the elements.

The Amberite ship, Unicorn's Wrath,, sits perfectly motionless, as if rooted to the seabed.  Waves crash around her, slamming against her hull. and yet the ship does not move.  Instead she holds her position, as if imbued with extra solidity.  Something about her simply shakes off the ferocious storm, as if she refuses to recognise its ability to affect her.



"Well then, lads, this is all well, an' good." Peyt remarks, cheerfully, as he gathers in the cards after Aaron wins a hand.  "What say we bet a few coins on each 'and, jus' ter spice it up a bit."

Tahirah spends a few more moments looking up and down the pier.  Most of the other ships seem to be weathering the weather well enough.  She watches the Wrath for a moment, feeling some affinity for it.

Then she turns, quite unaware anyone has been watching her, and begins retracing their steps from earlier, to find her way back to where Cyan had indicated an inn she recognized...

A wry chuckle and a slight shake of the head made Aaron smile all the more.

"Well, if you lot think you can handle what I'll bring ye," and he dropped a few bits of local currency upon the table. "Ante up."

In the back of his mind, he considered the storm. How long until it would let up? It'd been a long, long time since he'd been this close to the sea in such a gale as this... a long time. He would have to return to the Inn eventually, he knew.

Beyond the shed, the wind seems to be picking up again, causing rain, hail, and sea spray to rattle against the front of the structure, and the roof to creak ominously.

Thunder crashes overhead, almost continuously, producing a low rumble which vibrates through bones, and causes the drink on the table to ripple as if some great, primordial beast were prowling about just outside.

And the card game goes on, and Aaron wins slightly more than he loses, but not enough to inspire hard feelings in his fellow gamblers.

The banter around the table is the same as it is in countless other places where games of chance are played with fake Trumps... "This ain't an 'and, it's more like a bloody foot!"  "Who dealt this garbage."  "Ha!  Read 'em an' weep, boyos!"  "Bloody 'ell!  Yer makin' them Aces yerself, or sumthin'?" and through it all the mute, Dovan, grins and keeps grinning, even when he loses a hand.

The grin vanishes, though, when something breaks, somewhere above and beyond the stacked goods, and a howling blast of cold air scatters the cards.

Aaron is the first to rise from his seated position, a concerned and curious look on his face. His hand didn't go to his sword, but he did consider it.

"Anyone else other than you and me in this place, gents?" Aaron kept his eyes over the stacked crates, throwing the question their way in a near-whisper. "It better not be some fool you beat at this game who's deciding seeking vengeance."

"No one else 'ere that we knows of."

"Aye, far's we know, there's only us 'ere.  An' yerself, o'course."

Pey't clambers up onto the makeshift table, tryibng to get a better view above the stacks.  When he gets down again, the colour has drained out of his face.  "This might not o' been the best idea, lads.  A bit o' the roof's torn away.  There'a hole in the back corner now, that any one of us could climb through."

"Might be time ter call it a night?"

Aaron paused for a moment, thinking and considering the situation. He paused, shrugged and began getting ready to leave.

"Well, let's do this. My fellow travelers and I are staying at the Inn a bit of a ways from here. If none of you have a place to stay, I'd certainly pay out on rooms for you lot. This storm is garbage, that's for sure, and you're right that we can't stay here, Pey't."

Gathering up what things he had left, he prepared himself to go out into the storm.

"Last chance, gents. If you want to join me, stick close. No telling what this storm's doing to everything else outside."

The three men grin at Aaron, almost as if they were a single creature with three linked minds.  Clearly they've known each other for quite some time, and spent a lot of time in each others' company.

Peyt, as the unnoficial spokesman, is the one who answers Aaron's question, "Yer a good lad, Aaron.  Been a pleasure ter meet yer... but we's all got 'omes ter go ter, up the 'ill a ways.  We'll stop fer a drink with yer, but then we'd best be makin' a move... "

The shed door is suddemly blasted open by the wind, and some of the stacked crates, full though they are, shift and sway.

"Might be best ter go out the back way!" Peyt yells, over the sounds of the storm.

Picking up his crowbar, he leads the way to the back of the shed, where he proceeds to rip a couple of boards loose.  "Reckon this ol' place'll be flat by mornin', any'ow, so a bit o' damage 'ere an' there won't be spotted."

There is the crash of broken glass from somewhere behind them, "Nor a fire.  That were the lantern, I reckons."

"Ah... 'ere we go lads."

The newly created opening leads into a narrow alleyway, sheltered by the wall of the shed (which, from out here, can be seen to be swaying alarmingly).  From there, Dovan leads the way into a gap between two stone buildings, so narrow that Peyt has to turn sideways to get through, and then on, into the city...