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PRP: Taming Estroch pt.2

Continuation of part 1!


Aug. 18, 2020, 4:30 p.m.

Hosted By


GM'd By



Drake Sirius Amalthea Pasquale Evaristo Neilda Lexir Raja Ilira



Outside Arx - Mourning Isles near Estroch - Estroch

Largesse Level


Comments and Log

When we last left our intrepid adventurers, they headed to Elune and along the way had a little meeting, wherein Marquessa Iseulet presented the group with three points of interest and were given the opportunity to choose what to tackle first.

They've chosen to investigate the wreck of the Mourning Star, beached in the Dreaming Shoals. After a very quick rendezvous in Elune to pick up supplies and drop the Marquessa off, Evaristo has been given command of the Manticora and they've begun to sail east. The weather is fair and sunny with a favoring wind.

Our Captain has chosen his route, hugging the coastline and traveling south of Soleila Isle - and everything is fine. As a matter of fact, just perfect. Until it isn't.

Rounding a bend in the straight (straights don't have to be straight!) they can cast their gaze to their right and witness clouds tumbling down the escarpments of the southern mountains of Estroch. There's a strong fohn wind bringing down rain in the mountain tops, veiling the summit with dark sheets of precipitation, cloaking it in shadows.

Neilda looks up from where she's doing something with ropes - there's always something to do with ropes on a ship - and whistles. "Shit, boss, that's some /weather/." She... may have an entirely different vocabulary when on a ship. It's fine.

Somewhere on the ship's forecastle, between a nestle of grubby ol' coils of ropes and many a barrel, is Sirius Valardin. There, with his telltale nauseated look that has become an integral attraction of everyone's vacation to Estroch as long as they've shared the trip with him. On one hand he holds a pitcher full of water, in the other a mug. From time to time, he pours himself a drink, yet the ship's movement and strong inertia means he spills most of it unto himself on the way up to drink. "I wish it'd rain fire, end this nightmare once and for all," he mumbles in not simply answer, but reaction, to Neilda; and his words are extended with an emetic, gut-churning exhalation of revolt.

Captaining the ship seems second nature to Evaristo and he's taking some time to get to know the crew too, keeping an eye on how they work, and getting a feel for the whole team. In fact, when he is in charge, his demeanor changes - he has a commanding aura about himself that rarely comes out, and he's quick to make decisions, or adjusting course. He's got several lookouts posted, and one in the mast too - it's imperative to keep track of the depth, so there's a small team doing this too, constantly shouting back depth numbers. "So it is," he calls back to Neilda, turning a look at that incoming wind and rain. He calls out several quick commands - lower one sail, just keeping one - or they'll be struggling to keep the course, with the strength of the wind and the need to avoid running aground.

Pasquale moves closer to the rails on the forecastle ship to peers up at the tumbling clouds. "Wishing away our good fortunes already Sirius? Its just rain and a bit of rough water." And terrible visibility but mentioning that to Sirius would be like screaming we're all going to die. "Beautiful really. I hope you brought a good hat."

Drake is no captain, but he does anticipate there might still be a need for him later... if things get dangerous. He's at least not entirely unaccostumed to travel by boat, but he keeps out of the way of the real experienced sailors. As they round to see the rain in the distance... Drake squints toward it. "It's ominous out there," he says. "I rather like it."

Amalthea has no clue how to man a ship, watching any lackeys pull and release strings of the sails, spinning the wheel, deckhands running amock at the command of those around her. Unlike them, she clearly wants no part in the storm yet, sliding off from a barrel and using her trembling hand to support herself she heads for the cabin below snaking out her journal.

Neilda on the other hand takes orders like a champ, and clomps down the length of the ship, filling in the gaps and getting shouty at folks who - with a mixed-up crew comprised of people who don't ordinarily work together - look enroute to a collision or six. Every job accounted for, every hand to a task, and her own among them.

Sirius need augur his ears to even get a grip of his current state of affairs- of looking down, at himself, to lay self-deprecating judgment into his disheveled state before looking up to Pasquale, his head upturned in the manner of a supplicant. Almost, it seems, like he's hoping Pasquale came with a knife to address the matter of his enduring mortality. "There's no _beauty_ here, my Lord; and this is certainly no "rough water" alone. There's some pelagic horror, I know, living beneath the waves. Watching. Stirring. Hoping we capsize. You think I'm making this up? Ha-ha-ha. Ask any, I say; ask any Islander."

With the onset of a journey, Ilira busies herself as a hand to Evaristo's crew and an attendant to the seasick, flitting tirelessly from mast to mast. A shadow rolls above and her eyes lift, drawn away from the knot at her fingertips. With a slight frown, she finishes her work and rises smooth to her feet. "I'll go assist with the sails," she murmurs to the captain as she turns.

And then, the sea opens up, revealing the tripoint where the three seas come crashing and mixing from their respective directions. One, a crystal clear blue, one a deep sapphire, and another a foamy green. Where they collide, brown sand is kicked up and forms currents under the surface that are visible from their vantage point on deck. Here, the winds are funneled down and slap the water and catching the sails of the Manticora and taking liberties with the mass of wood and canvas. It also results in a choppy sea, but still may yet remain navigable.

For now.

Ilira checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 20, rolling 26 higher.

Neilda checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 20, rolling 3 higher.

Evaristo checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 20, rolling 40 higher.

Pasquale checked wits + sailing at difficulty 20, rolling 20 higher.

Sirius checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 20, rolling 9 lower.

Pasquale looks to Sirius as if wondering if he's gone entirely insane. "Says the Valardin to the Islander." A small shake of his head and he abandons the space near Valardin to instead help with the work being performed by the crew. Fitting into the operations of the crew as if he does this every day. Coming near to Ilira's position he inclines his head to the confluence "Quite a sight isnt it?"

Evaristo and his crew of First Mates steady the ship and concentrate on not letting the wind whip them about. It wasn't easy sailing, but it definitely wasn't /treacherous/. They manage to keep it from steering them too close left or right, staying true to Evaristo's course.

But Sirius. Oh, oh Sirius. That bundle of ropes he was sitting on turns out to be somewhat important. The sails catch the wind and pull on them for slack but his weight has made the rigging loose. Sirius can hear a steady 'zzzzz' growing louder and LOUDER until TWANG--

Sirius checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 10 higher.

"Oh... that's special," Evaristo says, a hand shading his eyes as he squints out towards that remarkable force of nature ahead. At one point he's shouting for all the crew to run to the LEFT side of the ship as the current and wind tugs at the ship, and the sail is turned against the wind to help make sure it doesn't tilt too much - but, it's also not a crazy act, it is calculated and like this has been done before. The crew, several consisting of experienced sailors themselves, make sure this work. "ALMOST PAST IT!" he shouts encouragingly. "... wait what's that... oh CRAP," he says and he is already starting to run towards Sirius. He'll be too late, however.

Neilda checked wits + sailing at difficulty 15, rolling 18 higher.

Drake stays out of the way of sailors, but near the front of the ship, watching ahead as if that were somehow helping. It's at least... not hurting anything, though his eyes on the horizon and weather mean he doesn't notice Sirius coming into some trouble.

Sirius feels the rope tightening round his ankle and about ready to SNAP--

Ilira checked wits + sailing at difficulty 15, rolling 45 higher.

Neilda is probably precisely the sort of idiot Sirius abhors; when she sees the tripoint and its froth, she whoops happily, hair flying about her head with the wind until the dousing, dimples deep demonstration of her delight. But that sound - that sound is not the sound of happy weather events, but of something gone wrong with a rope, and she's darting that way, just so much closer where she was positioned. And she stomps on it, grabs it, wraps it double about both arms. It's not a pretty fix; it's just meant to staunch the problem until Ilira - hi Ilira! - shows up to fix it properly. She grins hawkishly at Sirius' emo face.

Amalthea comes back up to the deck, somewhat, she seats herself by the door to the cabin with a satchel over her shoulder. She doesn't interfere, but, keeps a close eye on Sirius and the three rushing over to him.

Sirius, too busy appearing disgruntled and obstinate of Pasquale's sudden departure, doesn't quite hear the 'zzz'ing at all. Oh no -- he, instead, looks off to the Malespero Lord with a tight and disdained expression. "Fine, leave me here, you traitor. Can't you see your expedition leader requires--req--... r-..." and that's when he hears it, words lagging with realization. He feels it. The binding around his ankle shoots back like a whip and Sirius rises. Oh, how he rises. He clatters side to side off of a wooden balustrade on his way up, into some more ropes; into some netting, even.

Tothering onto the tether still, the rope snags with his weight; tersion, torsion and compression all three giving him a brief chance to draw Culdrake and cut through the binding in one quick, frantic sweep of his blade. A good five meters of distance the Valardin "nerd-idiot-emo" then falls, landing strictly on his face. A hefty thud, with the accompanying inhuman sound of someone's nose plate cracking, and then the rest of his body follows: knees and arms and things all sprawled out across the deck, Culdrake clattering down the stairs from his hand and into the main deck, lodging itself into the floor. Sirius is, momentarily, not Sirius anymore.

There's a moment when Evaristo is just STARING at this improbable event - and then Sirius is dropping down, and he lets out a bark of laughter instead, before he shakes his head and moves back up to the captain's spot near the wheel. He grins at Ilira and Neilda who saved the rope, and then calls out for sails to be raised again as weather conditions improve.

"Chaos is the rawest form of beauty," Ilira smiles to Pasquale as she shimmies up the length of a mast to the ropes above, a few lean twists and tugs of her fingers pulling the sails into place. A glimmer of amusement lingers in her gaze as she flickers a grin to Neilda, dimples mirrored, before the snap of the line dispels any revelry. She drops, cuts across the deck, and flashes to work with the tangle around Sirius' ankles a breath too late. In lean fluidity, she moves to catch his fall with a snag of his wrist in one slim hand. A harsh jerk breaks the momentum, just enough.

Drake is startled away from looking at the weather, to turn back and look at this, as Sirius is unceremoniously treated to a different point of view on the situation. He fights back a laugh himself, but... "Genuinely, is he all right?" he calls back over.

"He will be," Ilira answers Drake, stifling her own laugh with a smirk aside to Neilda.

"He will be," Ilira answers Drake, stifling her own laugh with a smirk aside to Neilda.

Oh, our fearless leader. That's him. On his face.

Thankfully, the loose rigging is indeed secure - the sail keeps its wind thanks to the quick and efficient efforts of Neilda and Ilira.

And progress is made. Whether by face or ship they travel onward, toward the mouth of the crystal blue sea, turning more north, the channel opens up more? and more, practically opening its arms wide to welcome them! And that's when they see their first glimpse of Salomene. What once was perhaps a glorious, beautiful city wrought of the same pale white stone as Elune has been reduced to its most basic, skeletal figures. Gestures, really - a hundred phalanges breaching the churning water's surface barely hint at structures and spires. Flotsam and jetsam have collected over the course of a century, dispelling the crystal quality of the ocean here.

One wrong move, and the ship will be snagged on a hidden metacarpal.

Ilira checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 15, rolling 32 higher.

Sighing loudly Amalthea hobbles over to Sirius and motions at Iliria, "If- If you're gonna help, let's ah, get him up?" Her trembling hand goes to unfold the flap of the satchel keeping it shut, tugging some rope from a button then opening it before reaching out her firm hand for the prince. "What hurts?"

Ilira checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 30, rolling 45 higher.

Pasquale checked wits + sailing at difficulty 30, rolling 17 higher.

Evaristo checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 30, rolling 18 higher.

Ilira checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 6 higher.

Neilda checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 30, rolling 3 lower.

Neilda checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 12 higher.

Evaristo checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 1 higher.

Pasquale checked perception at difficulty 15, rolling 21 higher.

Drake checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 8 higher.

Amalthea checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 3 higher.

"You alright there?" Evaristo calls out - but he's distracted now and doesn't wait around - he's spying forward and frowns seeing that city. "Sail down again," he calls out, "we're going to creeeeep slowly past. You two!" he shouts, calling out, "join the depth checking team. Two more scouts, check for debris that doesn't move with the waves, that means trouble!"

A limp hand is all Ilira gets. A limp hand, an arm invariably claudicated by the fall, and a body that's yet unanswering. At first. Then comes a sniffle, yes. After, a soft, grating inhale that goes through throaty channels plugged by a conflagration of blood and saliva, one he spits out upon turning his head left onto the floor. No teeth are contained in it. "What the hell happened? All I could hear was some idiot laughing," he then asks, reviving, pushing his other hand as a fist to the floor in order to force himself up, off of the ground. Each arm shakes by the elbow on the way up. His clothing's front is soaked by the excess of water on deck he braced into, so he pulls at it with prickling fingers, peeling it off of his skin in discomfort. Once he turns to Amalthea, it's with his nose entirely split at the center in different, crooked directions. There's a cut at its center, too- a small window into all that membrane and pasty noseness. "My face is numb, can't feel anything, but nothing hurts."

Neilda checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 7 higher.

Pasquale doesn't look back towards Sirius until that deadly hiss of ropes grabs his attention. He twists, looking for the source, just about in time to watch Sirius be hauled up from the deck. A step is taken towards the event but by the time his foot has touched the ground Neilda and Ilira have already hurled themselves into action. He winces at the crack of Sirius' impact and looks over to check that Amalthea is on her way. She is. And so he does nothing except turn back towards the water, scan the horizon, and start checking for hazards.

Amalthea cringes watching him pick himself up, denying the help her lips curl back exposing her pearls while her tongue clicked against them in distaste. Seeing the middle split where it's caved in from pressure, her tongue lays on her bottom lip and she bites it while her nose crinkles in. "Yeah, y-you don't look right either..." Amalthea tries not to snicker, her firm hand reaching out with her palm facing the sky, digits crawling inwards to beckon him. "Come sit down, I-I'll see what I, ah, can do."

The sea rises and falls, and here the current suddenly /halts/ and the ship finds the ocean it was once sailing smoothly upon falls out from under it and the prow takes a dive. Meeting the water, most everyone could brace for the inevitable thunderous wave that crashes over the deck.

Unfortunately for Neilda - SHINY RUINS LOOK! have her attention and she hadn't seen it coming.

To be fair however, most everyone's gaze was trained on the ruins - the polished white stone coming clearer into focus as they approach on the swift wind that's urging them forward. Thankfully they still had that, as the current had been broken by some undersea structure they must be approaching.

Crunching and crackling can be heard as the hull of the ship parts the debris before them and again the swell rises, rises, rises - and suddenly dies - and they all see it. The stone that was once perhaps jagged is now well worn and covered in barnacles and muscles and oysters, snagging enough debris to both camoflauge it and create a raft of seaweed, netting together branches and foam, keeping it slightly more still than the rest of the debris round their ship.

Ilira dips her head to Amalthea as she helps Sirius gently up. "I'll leave you to your expertise," she smiles, then flashes away to attend a drooping sail. She closes her hand over an overhead rope and swings up, one foot braced on the rail as her fingers dart to untangle a few ropes and regain tension. Leaping off, she flits to another mast and swipes a bucket to dump excess water, then shimmies up to the wrigging. She works lithe, each gust of wind and creek of the lines handled with fluid efficiency. Her dance across the ropes brings her to the bow where she hops down by Evaristo's side. She gazes on the tumult, more in thought than wonder, though a corner of her eye lingers firmly on the activity of the rest.

Evaristo has taken over the wheel now - and it probably doesn't help anyone's balance that he now spins the wheel hard to turn the ship. He's shouting out loudly meanwhile, to turn sails so the wind will help balance again. Even if they're not sailing very fast, the ship groans in protest. He gives Ilira a crazy grin, white teeth flashing. "Haven't had this fun sailing in ages!" he admits. "Look at those ruins! I wonder what hides beneath?"

Drake was indeed watching the ruins as they rose up into view. His eyes scan over them, looking for any signs of danger, of trouble. "Do you suppose that's our destination then?" he calls over to Evaristo. "I'm about ready to get back to land where I can be of better use exploring. But we WERE looking for a shipwreck... were we not?"

Now, Neilda is a capable sailor. Very capable. She is also prone to wild flings and treacherous love affairs... with ruins. Oh, ruins. She LOVES RUINS. It is her ruin. She's got one arm looped in that rigging and is leaning her way over the side, mouth open wide in a rounded syllable of awe at the creepy fingers. HER FAVORITE KIND. Thank the gods for the kind of reflexes that activate when her guts drop out before her good sense picks out why; she gets a whole mouth full of sea-water, and her feet miss the drop of the deck, ungrounded, but every muscle in her tenses; the arm looped up in that rigging is clutched close as she scrambles her legs under her, finding footing on a slick deck, and spits out a sediment-swirl of brine. "Auuuugh," she says, and spits again. Maybe... maybe right there is not meant to be. She drifts toward the boat's center-line, tries to keep a sharper eye.

Ilira scathes Evaristo with a look. "Would you stop being cute?" she hisses as one hand holds the balance of a rope, "One already smashed his damn nose." Despite herself and the chaos, a girlish grin of thrill and dimples quirks across her face as the deck drops and sways, her little squeal muffled by the crash.

"Its on the other side of the ruins." Pasquale calls back to Drake. He looks as if he's going to add more but that is when he spies the incoming wall of water. Practiced, and knowing full well that its not sailing if you dont get wet, he just twists his body to reduce the impact point, lowers his head to protect his face, and braces for the impact. Drenched but still upright at least. He lifts his head again as water drips off the brim of his hat and then laughs at Neilda's crab impression. "Alright there Neilda?"

Sirius slinks off alongside Amalthea, an arm draped across his stomach. It's only on the way there that the hurts once hidden beneath his adrenal fears begin to surface, showing as bruising and pain across various points of his body hidden beneath all that droopy, airy cloth. "I'm starting to feel it," Sirius says, hanging onto the board beside him until the chair's found, and he's finally seated with one pained hiss of disdain. "My face's on fire." Amalthea he stares at with the rage of the infirm; and back he leans, loosening against the mishap of clutter behind him for some measure of discomforting comfort. "Can you set it? Do it. It's the third time this happens to me, at least this time I was unconscious. Briefly."

Evaristo checked intellect + sailing at difficulty 15, rolling 19 higher.

Before Neilda's gotten rid of -all- of that sea-water, she replies to Pasquale with a spout of it directed his way. The grin that follows after is unsubtle. She's fine.

Evaristo checked command + leadership at difficulty 15, rolling 16 higher.

Evaristo's grin is soon wiped off, just having time to wink at Ilira and make a quick assessment of the crew's state, before his eyes widen. "EVERYONE TO PORT!" he shouts, "NOW!" Once more that wheel is being spun. "Ilira, help me with the wheel!" he asks her and the ship... it starts groaning again. He has to basically make the ship tip itself slightly - there's something there that will be impossible to sail over but if he can JUST get it past AND make the ship list to the side... it's doable. But this has to be a team effort, or they're doomed.

"All will be well," She says truthfully giving him a kinder smile in return to the bitter boor of his scrutinizing. Amalthea would guide him down to the cabin to avoid any off-the-deck incidents, helping him sit down she finds the table to set the satchel on, sticking both of her hands in to sift through it. One cloth and a bottle, are all she pulls out, for now, gripping the glass with her shaky hand roughly so that it didn't rattle against the wood while her firm hand uncorked it. Pouring a little onto the cloth she closes it and returns to stand in front of him,

"If you've already had yo-your nose set before... Please, don't scream." She lays the sodden fabric over his nose, clasping her palm over it simply so that the alcohol seeps from it tickling his skin as it glides down over his lips. "Oh an- and keep your mouth shut." Both hands now at his nose, she removes the one wiping him down and then puts two fingers on both sides of his schnoz. "Hey," She tries to get his attention with a sweeter calling of his name, "Sirius," And on his name - Amalthea pushes it, attempting to set his nose!

Right. Behind the ruins. Drake is still looking for it... and then there's a shout that everyone has to run to port. It takes him a SECOND to remember which way port is -- right, the left! (not RIGHT the left but ... the left... oh just run the way everyone else is running!) He glances back a second later to see that Amlathea is already tending the injured. The adventure hasn't even properly started yet, and --
Right, running.
... To the port side.

Pasquale chuckles again as he takes a single step to avoid the fountain of sea water cast his way by Neilda, not that it was ever in much danger of hitting him. Luckily he's already on the port side. So when the order comes he doesn't actually move more than a half foot or so towards the rails.

Neilda was /just port-side/. UGH. Ok, though. What the captain wants, the captain gets; she sprints back to port, and for good measure, re-loops her arm. That was nice insurance.

Ilira checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 34, rolling 21 higher.

Pasquale checked wits + sailing at difficulty 34, rolling 31 higher.

Evaristo checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 34, rolling 21 higher.

Neilda checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 34, rolling 1 lower.

Drake checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 15, rolling 7 higher.

Amalthea checked intellect + medicine at difficulty 40, rolling 25 higher.

Running? Running is for the able, and the unwound. Sirius is neither- Sirius is hurting, in pain, and in a matter of three seconds, his frenzied shrieks spill across the poop deck as Amalthea wrenches his nose back into a semblance of normality. It's hard to tell, however; it is bloated red like a shroom growing out from his face, full of little freckled dots now showing with the blood spooling within it. "Go, go--go lean port-side. Hurry," he gasps at Amalthea after reeling in his howling, reaching out to prompt her off with a shove of the hand to her chest. Weakly and inadvertently inconsequential, but it suits his current desperation.

Drake checked dexterity + sailing at difficulty 34, rolling 11 lower.

Sweeping the water from her hair, Ilira glances over her shoulder to check Pasquale and Neilda. "The two of you shou--oh.. fuck." Potentially a quip, her words cut off as the wave rises and falls, flooding. She has her hands on the wheel before Evaristo's command, feet braced against the deck as it lists beneath her. With a steady touch, she manipulates the ship with Evaristo, turning the course to her will. Blown by wind, the full spill of her curls flows out at her back.

Amalthea's face goes entirely red as she's shoved, unable to balance herself steadily with her trembling hand she bumps into the doorway she stumbles towards before grabbing ahold and trudging up. Calling back, as she's somewhat panicked to the situation, she would warn to Sirius - "I'm not done yet! H-Hold the clo-cloth to your nose, even if it hurts!" Like a deer in the headlights her pale crown bobs up and down to the stairs.

Amalthea checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 10 higher.

Drake checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 25 higher.

Sirius checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 14 higher.

Neilda checked dexterity + athletics at difficulty 20, rolling 14 higher.

When you put that much strain on the wheel and the ship, holding it is paramount - hence four arms, two people, will do it easier. Evaristo might be athletic, but it's more lightly running across rooftops, not so much lifting heavy things, but together with Ilira the two do manage to keep the wheel in that position. "BRAAAAACE!" he shouts out, cause if this doesn't work they will come to an ABRUPT stop. "HANG ON TO SOMETHING!"

Drake may not totally understand this boat business, but bracing himself or running to places are both things he can do. He runs to the port side, plants his feet, and holds onto the side.... He can't help but look to make sure the ladies are also at least in position, checking to make sure that everyone is braced as instructed. It seems as if they'll all make it, though, so he just holds on as the sea churns.

All of Sirius Valardin goes up into the air, yes, gravity losing its hold on the ship as it cavitates into the air by that rising, crashing wave and soon following beyond its gravitational pull is the Prince, that then clatters to the floor once more, only that this time on his back. Narrowly, thankfully, avoiding falling overboard. His low of his spine screeches audibly alongside the drop, and he skitters across the floor by sliding through the foam of water before crashing underfoot of the starboard railing with shoulder and cheek. "Hold onto something!" He shouts for Amalthea, he himself clinging and bracing against the banister with nails scraped into the wood.

A lot of things happen at once. The whole, entire crew both above and below deck rush to the side of the ship and grab the nearest thing that's nailed down or tied up and hang on for the dearest of lives. Evaristo and Ilira manage to turn the wheel so sharply and catch the wind at such an angle that the ship groans like it was literally Sirius being forced to attend a gala.

There are some, however, that don't make it to the side in time. It was like being trapped in a nightmare, struggling with all of your strength to tread water but just being frozen, trapped in a battle of willpower of their bodies versus gravity.

They may not have pulled their weight in the turn, but the ship just, just barely makes it, skirting the line between upright and capsizing, casting the deck at a sharp angle and throwing some off their feet - but they manage to stay aboard, even as the exhasperated ship creaks and protests under the effort.

Then, gravity begins to abate and the ship begins to right itself in the water with a great splash of waves.

To be clear, this is likely hell on Sirius' seasick stomach.

Neilda really likes that one bit of rigging, legs resuming their scuttle with open air as she muscles up on the rope, griting teeth, -trying- to bring some ounce of her weight to bear on the ship's tilt. It doesn't -do- anything - but at least she isn't in the water. At least she isn't in the water. At least she isn't in the water. Oh hey. There's -nobody- in the water. "I want this -whole crew-," she says, and laughs in a scrap of triumph.

A grip like steel clasps Evaristo's wrist as the ship tilts, Ilira's strength warm. Her fingers curl in, as much for comfort as traction, while her other hand holds steady on the wheel to correct the press of the wind. Her shoulder rests against the captains with the lean of the deck.

Drake is just grabbing onto the railing at the side of the ship. It occurs to him that perhaps he didn't make the run quite in time (THIS side is the port side, right. (by which, he means, left)) and that was simply his own lack of sailing knowledge. But at leat he didn't tip overboard... nor lose his lunch. He is, however, a bit wet... seawater just splashed everywhere. In relief at the fact that everything is fine, from his perspective, he lets out a laugh. "Exhilerating, actually! But let's ... not repeat that!"

"NnnnnngnnnaAAAAHHH!" Evaristo says - he's leaning back hard towards port, hands gripping the wheel with everything he has, with Ilira right there to take on much of that burden. It's not that long but it feels like an hour, when the ship almost SNAPS and rights itself with more groaning and protesting; some ropes snap from the strain, someone is shouting about a leak down below - manageable however - and Evaristo is swinging the wheel once more in the other direction now so they'll right themselves up and not keep listing. "EVERYONE STILL ON BOARD?!" he shouts.

Pasquale moves to the aft when the ship begins to right itself, automatically adapting to the changing circumstances as everything goes back to proper. Leaning over the side he does a quick check. "Looks like it."

Ilira's touch lingers calm against Evaristo as she glances to Pasquale, the others. A smile shimmers in relief. "Yes," she affirms.

"Still onboar--" he begins to say, but Sirius' voice is cut off as a barfing package punches through the duct of his larynx and, on his flinching reaction of keeling over it, overboard. In his hurry and desperation, his cloak unravels and droops from his head, and one of his tomes and a dagger and religious imports fall into the water in a uniform clatter he doesn't even notice, forever lost in that abyssopelagic depth. Wiping his mouth clean of that residual mushed-up, half-digested food Sirius steps off of the poop deck, down and into the main section of the ship to start turning upright all that's been tilted over, retching a lot along the way.

Unfortunately, such a warning comes too late for Amalthea. She didn't make it very far just popping up from the Cabins she wobbles on the deck to and fro desperately clinging to what balance she found. "Oh!" Amalthea bumps into the staff of a sail, a solid thud as her back hits it and out she yelps. Quick thinking, she throws back her arms to grab the pole while gasping from potential winding, easing herself down with a terrified expression. The medic herself, already sickeningly pale, somehow has color and threatens to retch.

The ship is spat out of the other side of the ruins, leaving the towering giants in their wake, casting a long shadow across the deck giving them each a momentary respite from the sun until quite suddenly the wind dies to a breeze and the ship slows down, caught in a doldrum - but it gives them a moment to reassess their surroundings.

Above, the sky has cleared up and the sun is shining bright, the clouds left in the channels far behind them. The debris falling behind them reveals their crystal clear depths once again and quite possibly the strangest of all sights yet: movement.

Any experienced or seasoned sailor might mistake it for a school of fish moving under the surface of the water but it doesn't shine or shimmer silver - or any of the subtle tropical colors of fish nor adhere to the flighty patterns of the typically finned creature but rather iridescent ribbons of color that move sensually through the water. Some moving fast and others move slow - some are rising and some are falling and at each subtle change, the color shifts beneath them. It's almost as if they have been spat out ontoa rainbow.

In the distance mountains, but also the shape of a ship that has run aground and is resting on its side like a helpless whale - all skeletal and turned black with age.

Neilda checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 1 higher.

Evaristo checked perception at difficulty 10, rolling 14 higher.

"Well good, cause we might have to do that all over again if we go back the same way," Evaristo says cheerfully. "Now we got practice!" He leaves the wheel to the first mate once more and moves over to the side, to peer down at the strange display below, and then over at the ship in the visible distance.

Drake walks to the edge, leans over, looking at the water. Its sudden crystal clarity is a big contrast to the tipping depths of earlier. The colors... he doesn't know enough to assess why they are wrong, but there is something off about them. Eerie, but beautiful. And then there is the ship....

The ship. It looks older than he expected, somehow. Drake runs toward the bow to try to get a better look at it, first pushing wet hair away from his eyes, then shading them with his hand. "Do we take a rowboat out to board? If we get much closer, we'll run aground of what it ran aground of. I imagine."

Neilda eyes the pretty sand in the water with absent interest for a moment. "Don't suppose anyone's got a jar," she says. There's a look at Sirius; whatever sample is likely pukecontaminated, but. Things like 'having jars' are for the nerds. She heads forward, eyes the black ship.

Sirius doesn't even need to look down to the water, no- he divines it off of the wonderment in the many people looking down and gazing into the incongruent aberrations of color fleetingly rising off of the surface water in its many lights, instilling a shudder to the quaver of the sea. "I told you about the sea monsters," he tells Pascuale passingly with some snark while on his way to Neilda, unceremoniously putting a leyden-type jar in her palm with some... resentment. "This proves nothing." the Prince says, for some reason.

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