The scene opens with you aboard a ship that is rocking back and forth on the ocean. Waves hit your face on the merchant vessel as you cross the Montaigne and Avalon strait. There is a gentle wind that has been guiding you as this ship sails to different ports.

So far, the voyage has been very lackluster, except for picking up a few new people at certain ports near Avalon. Most of the others have been aboard, assuming they are going to get off at another port.

It is mid-day Octavus (October) and the sky is bright and blue. As you walk around the deck, you can hear the rustle of sailors working hard to keep the ship in top condition.

A few different groups gather on the front of the ship as a man calls out the captain a very weathered individual with a rather short beard, "Captain how long until land?"

The captain calls back to the main from the top deck of the ship, "By dusk. We should make land we are still many hours away from port."

Tulliun climbs the stairs to the top deck, and walks to the captain. I want to thank you again captain, for letting me come on your ship as a passenger. he stares off into the sails and rigging as he talks. I don't know exactly why my captain sent me all the way out here, but I am eager to see what awaits.

The captain looks a Tulliun and nods his hat, "I believe he plans to make a quartermaster out of you yet. Your still a greenhorn by most ship standards, you have a lot to learn. Speakin' of the devil, that rigging isn't going to fix itself."

The captain eyes a bit of rigging which requires a more rigorous attention than most.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:52, Tue 23 Nov 2021.

Consider it done cap. He judges the issue with the rigging, goes to the crate that holds the kit necessary to repair it, grabs the items he needs, and scales up the mast and out the yard until he reaches the problem rigging and gets to work.

Els had been on the ship for some while now. Long enough, at least, that she was more than ready to be off it. Even after making port in Montaigne. But there was no choice now. So instead, the young student has spent her time swanning around the deck. Entertaining- or perhaps 'entertaining'- the passengers and crew with dramatic readings from whatever collection of books she had on hand.

"Yet, no!" Els exclaimed, hand raised high, "For while the Senators lay in the chambers there was a clamor from the street. The people! The people! To the streets of Numa they took, the gladiator Abatorus at their lead. Torches to hand and revenge in heart. Ready to unveil their wraith against those who would deny the Numian his rights as a free man."

It was a Montaigne translation of an older history, a High Theahan work that one of her professors had translated.

Father Carlos leaned against the rail and looked out over the water. He remembered the death of his old life and the birth of his new one in the dark waves like the ones that now rocked the ship and sighed. It had definitely been an interesting life so far he thought to himself.

Though he was thinking of the past part of his mind was focused on the present. He'd chosen his spot carefully. Not too close the the others and away from the general routes of the crew but with enough room around himself so as not to be boxed in and cornered.
His position allowed him to view the crew, the captain and any passengers on deck to.... He chuckled to himself old habits die hard he thought and smiled

Gabrielle came on deck, looking a little pale, and clutched her cloak around her. She couldn't make up her mind whether the heaving of the ship was better in the open air or shut up in her cabin. The boat was a new experience, and she wasn't enjoying it.

She went over to listen to Els giving a dramatic reading, as good a distraction as any.

Boris leaned against the railing of the ship looking out to the sea. His long hair and beard blowing in the breeze. Even with the hustle and bustle of the sailors, it felt calm and soothing in a way. The slight chill of fall did not reach him as living in Ussura taught one how to survive and thrive in the cold. He looked over at the crew, passengers, and Captain. The Boyar had gotten to know some of them a little bit over the voyage. They seemed good enough people. Some were natives of the sea while others like himself were still unaccustomed to it. He was learning how to at least not throw up off the side when the ship rocked too much.

A young noblewoman was telling another harrowing tale of a hero rising up against his oppressors. They were all good tales. He had a few of his own, but they mostly revolved around Dar Matushka and the fantastical creatures of the north. All of them had some moral that was taught in sometimes hard ways to the central character of the story. Having nothing to do until they hit land, he made sure to secure his coin purse in his pants before sitting down next to the sailors to better hear the story.

Beileag prowled the ship restlessly, doing her best to stay out of the crew’s way. She’d lend a hand if requested, of course, but each crew had their own ways and this was not her ship. She never thought she’d be looking for another berth, but Captain Ashik had had a niece to train up, and Beileag had nothing against taking care of kin with the drive to earn the position given. But now that left her doing the tour from Port to Port in hopes of finding someone suitable to take her on.

Oh, plenty had spots for able crew, but none she’d found needed one with a Quartermaster’s skills. At least, not one of the privateer persuasion. Perhaps one still at sea, they’d suggested. Beileag had left her name just in case, but now she wondered if a visit home was in order for a bit. It would make her easier to reach and she could check in on her little brother. Perhaps if they reached the last port in Avalon with no work coming to hand.

For now, she leaned against the rail near the Boyar and listened to the scholar read. “Nice story, but a bit highbrow for me.” She commented to him. “I hope it’s not distracting the crew too much.” The Marcher studied the rhythm of crew and Captain around her, looking for any odd notes to the general symphony.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:43, Mon 29 Nov 2021.

Lukesa emerged from her quarters to stretch her legs and get some fresh air, away from the private games she plays with her Sorte deck hoping for entertainment or insight (always).

The gentle wind plays with her long veils, convincing them to be unruly; they drift up and float about her one moment, then press against her shoulders and face the next. Through the fabric: the suggestion of long lashes, a delicate profile in shadow. Yes, the veils are annoying, but as a lady of good family and noble blood Lukesa Falisci will only be without them when she is dead (or sequestered in her father or husband’s rooms)—and so she is absently, constantly, patiently smoothing them down and untwisting them.

Although Lukesa's maintained an air of reserve on the ship, a dark figure of solitary romance, anybody comparing notes would conclude the Vodacce noblewoman has been surprisingly social. She likes to hear stories or things read aloud. She likes when the crew sings. So many scattered conversations, just between you and me-type things, where she is curious but warm and seems prepared to be surprised or impressed in a way that invites both things: surprise me, impress me, be yourself.

She divides her leg-stretching time between gazing at the sea and studying her fellow shipmates. They're so interesting, you see. What groups have people fallen into? Occasionally she searches the deck for the pin she usually uses to keep her veils in order, which is shaped like a pretty little spider of silver, a pearl for a body, a black garnet. It’s probably been tithed to the sea by now, drat it. But she supposes the sea should get its due.

Somewhere the noblewoman's bodyguard(s?) lurk about, or they're laid low with seasick. The deck is freedom: she takes a deep, deep breath of sea air. The ship pitches. Her stomach twists. Els is reading, which pricks Lukesa's metaphorical ears up, and she listens with half-an-ear while asking Someone (Anyone) on deck not completely absorbed by the tale:

"Did I hear someone say that we are to make land by dusk?"