At Gunther Gunnarson's weapon stand...
Sigmund, seeing an opportunity for some cheap bolts, affirms his willingness to spend ill-gotten gains to purchase ammunition.
"1 copper per twenty bolts? Give me sixty, then. I don't think that I'm going to use all of them, but, well, I can't ignore this offer."
"Naturally! Sixty bolts, here we go."
He separates sixty bolts from the quiver and wraps them up in the standard Gunnarson parcel, handing it to Sigmund and taking three coppers as payment. Sigmund thanks the man and goes back to the ship as Gunther resumes the packing up of his stall.
Sigmund returns back to the ship, finding that the Artiste and the captain are still conversing as Erin appears to be slowly transmuting the mast into the same material that the hull is made of.
"... but isn't THAT a bit of a ROUNDABOUT WAY of going about it?"
"Certainly, but such is the way of bureaucracy. They're clever buggers, you see."
"... I NEVER WAS ONE for the BUREAUCRATIC SONG-AND-DANCE!"
Also among the returning people is Scott, who is having trouble with finding clay jars and requires gold to grease the wheels of supply in order to match the demand.
"Could I have some of MY OWN MONEY to purchase clay jars in order to execute proper pyromaniac warfare?"
The Artiste stops conversing with the captain for a moment and looks at Scott.
"Sure. Have one. Not like we'll need money where we're going."
He presses a single gold coin in Scott's hand which he retrieves from the box. Scott takes the coin and heads out to town, searching for a potter.
None of those around, though. At least none that are open at this hour. Hm, perform breaking and entering or go pick apart the Ulubelle?
In the woods outside of Shriekpot...
Niklas shrugs at the loss of the cats, then heads back into town, looking for a random building to invade.
He finds a rather large warehouse in the port area and walks right in. He looks for a kitchen for a while, but realizes that there really isn't one. It's a warehouse, after all. Also, he's pretty sure he heard something move right behind him, an ever so light step he can't help but find a bit familiar. He looks back, noticing a shadowy silhouette disappearing behind a tall wall of boxes.
At a tower in Shriekpot...
Kevin looks at Mark uncertainly, unsure about what one should do in such a situation. Mark, however, has a plan. He knocks on the tower. The woman pokes her head out of the tower as Mark begins an interpretive dance asking for clarification, but the woman says nothing. She merely drops a large bag out of the window on the ground. It lands pretty softly, and looks to be secured with a rope.
In the kitchen of the ghost ship...
Morton begins to muse aloud once again as he inspects the strange stuff he just made.
"Curious. Almost reminds me of the... surely not, it was bark I put in that water, right?"
He takes a spoon and plunges it into the mixture. It looks to be of a tar-like consistency, and it flows extremely slowly. Also, it appears to have a peculiar texture, most certainly not what one would expect of tea. It is an extremely dark reddish-brown in color, and smells a little bit like... mold, he thinks. Though there's something else as well. With that out of the way, he rubs a bit of the stuff through his fingers. It appears to provide more resistance the harder he presses it, and there's a slight feeling of it crumbling as he rubs it between his fingers. Also, it leaves a stain that is nothing short of awful.
"Most unusual."
He then licks his fingers. They taste awful, with a hint of terrible. Some of it is probably due to the goo.
"If heat seems to thicken it, perhaps I can make it thinner then with the cold..."
As he muses, he consults his tea-making supplies, coming to the conclusion that he has enough spring water to make about one more full pitcher of tea. The same cannot be said of the paste, which he has run out of. As for the actual tea leaves, there's plenty of those. More than one person could probably hope to drink in two months unless they were some sort of tea-crazed lunatic.