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[mainiac]

Natalie very calmly pockets the slightly edible piece of biscuit she was halfheartedly eating and walks to the side of the room that is now higher on shaky feet.
"If anyone doesn't know how to swim, now might be a good time to speak up."

[Dwarmin]

At that moment, the door to the hall is kicked or blown open, letting in the rain and wind-a solitary sodden female figure stumbles through, closing it behind her with some difficulty. She lets out an a squall of excited, energetic laughter as she turns to the table.

You all recognize her as Captain Catherine, the owner of this fine vessel-a slight woman with a thick black hair worn in braids under a bandanna-arched eyebrows and a small nose given her a cunning, haughty look. She's beautiful in the way any dangerous animal is. She carries both a long dagger and a pair of ornate pistols openly on her belt, even brazenly.

She retrieves the metal cup from the floor, takes a seat, and props up feet on the table to hold herself in place. She takes out a small bottle of what is no doubt liquor, and takes a liberal dose-knocking it back with gusto. Only then thus she seem to notice all of you.

"...You greenlanders seem a bit tetchy. Ya ain't afraid of a little rain, are ye? This is hardly a squall line! We're in for alot worse, afore it gets any better. No worries, though-worst case scenario...we sink to the bottom of the cold sea and the Merfolk make tiny flutes from our bones.

Zagyg protect us all, right?" She says with a grin and a chuckle. She picks up a cheese wheel from the far side of the table and begins slicing and eating it with her long, tapered knife.

[My Name is Immaterial]

"How comforting, captain," Earl says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

[Dwarmin]

She flips her knife and points it at Earl, perhaps in an unconsciously threatening gesture.

"Ye didn't pay me for comfort, Mr. Earl. I'd have of remembered if you had of offered." she bites back, laughing. She flips the knife back underhand skillfully, going back to the cheese.

"Catherine's Luck has always held out until now. The day it doesn't, I'll be the one most surprised." she says with a smirk. "...In any case, we're not too far from some sort of land. Not quite sure which island it is-all a bunch of rocks this side of the world, not a quarter of em named, and charted. We're making hard course for it right now. Figured I'd be a gracious Cap'n and tell ya-since I might toss all you black luck bearing lubbers off my boat and be in the morning wind. Might be we're in for the New World quicker than you all anticipated-head first." She knocks back more of the bottle with obvious amusement in her eyes at your plight.

[Flying Dice]

Ker blinks once, then continues to stroke whatever it is he has under his cloak. After a moment, he draws it forth, a hand-carved flute, and begins to play. As he plays, his eyes soften and his muscles relax.

[Dwarmin]

Ker blinks once, then continues to stroke whatever it is he has under his cloak. After a moment, he draws it forth, a hand-carved flute, and begins to play. As he plays, his eyes soften and his muscles relax.

Ker feels his mind rolling back in the years as the music soothes his wild soul.

...

You had no idea what music was until your seventh year-when you had spied a two-leg female singing prettily near her stone-heap and smaller two-legs. You had warned your brothers away, though you had hoped to take the soft-meat-white-furred four legs in their stick-heaps. The men of that place had always had become more numerous lately, and they had thunder-tubes there.

The music followed you and found it's way into your dreams, though.

...

You obtained your first instrument during your eleventh year-the two-legs carried these long music tubes, you had saw. Shiny gold, like metal. Soft. They blew into them with the air from their lungs, to make a loud noise during their hunts-while it startled your pack often, but it only drew you to the hunters quicker....it was an ugly, hateful sound. A sound that said the hunters were coming to kill, to murder, to burn. And yet, you were always thoughtful. Wondering if a bad thing, might be able to be turned into a good thing.

You studied the device after you took it from it's previous owner, knowing that you were different than your brothers-you could make something of this like yourself, smaller, delicate-beautiful. Like a male two-legs could have an ugly voice, a female two-legs could have a beautiful voice. Bad to good. Worse to better.

You had no metal to shape, so you decided to make one from wood...a few careful scratches from your stone fang a day, between your hunts...

...

You got better over time, as you improved your instrument through trial and error. Your pack seemed to enjoy the music-you played a comforting tune as 'Dappled-hide-in-midsummer-heat', who was always afraid of storms (a thundertube had nearly killed her when she was a pup) sheltered by your side, shaking and whimpering. 'Rolls-in-cool-mud' (playful to a fault, but undeniably brave) had been badly wounded by an Owlbears claws defending the pack, when you had tended his wounds, and played gently for him to help him sleep through his great pain. He survived, though. It was a joyous occasion, that day...since then, music has always brought you contentment.

...

Ker comes back to the present, feeling as if the spirits of the brothers and sisters have gathered around him once more-sheltering him with the warmth of their heavy fur coats, when his thin two-leg skin was not enough to keep out the cold. He smells the good scents of clean rain and fresh earth on their fur, and is content.

Even in this floating-bad-smelling-wood-heap on the never-ending-waters-that-burn, he feels they are with him.

[UXLZ]

Listening to Ker's music, and his features having returned to their normal placid state, Ispil speaks to the captain, thinking about what he heard earlier... ""Metallic popping sounds a common occurrence, captain? An unworthy and inexperienced lubber like myself might think those were a bad sign. A sign that, maybe, this ship is beginning to fall apart at the seams."

He tries to focus himself once more, still having great difficulty on the horribly swaying ship. He realised that he should try to avoid annoying 'Lady' Catherine, but he thought that if she hadn't noticed the rivets popping then perhaps it was best she knew. Besides, they were all at her mercy anyway. Hopefully the place she was intending on kicking them off the boat at was actually inhabited, otherwise things were likely going to take a bad turn.

The ranger could probably be trusted, he didn't seem like someone who'd bother with being deceitful. The Halfling obviously had some sort of crazy ideas up her sleeve, and Earl... There was something not quite right about him. He had no idea what it was, but it felt weird.

Maybe he was just paranoid...
Maybe he wasn't.

[My Name is Immaterial]

Earl decides that the best course of action is to not confront the captain, and shut up.
He gives a polite applause for Ker's solo, made a bit awkward by the fact that he still has one arm wrapped around a beam for stability.

[Dwarmin]

Listening to Ker's music, and his features having returned to their normal placid state, Ispil speaks to the captain, thinking about what he heard earlier... ""Metallic popping sounds a common occurrence, captain? An unworthy and inexperienced lubber like myself might think those were a bad sign. A sign that, maybe, this ship is beginning to fall apart at the seams."

The Captain snorts to show her disdain for the very idea.

"She's just stretching herself out a bit, is all. Ye ain't ever lost a bit of boot leather on a long march, or had a hole in your pocket? Did ya die of it? A ship can lose a bit o' sailcloth, or a dozen bolts without much harm done. Stop yer fussing, lubber.

You were probably hearing the boiler, anyway. She's in a real bad mood tonight. Why don't some of you mangy lot go do something useful, and shovel her some coal? That Bitch certainly eats more than I do..." Catherine helpfully suggests, propping up on her elbows and sitting up from the table.

She hacks an unladylike wad of spittle on the deck, and heads back out into the storm.

[UXLZ]

"The boiler...?"

Ispil mutters to himself, unsure of what to do.

[Dwarmin]

"The boiler...?"

Ispil mutters to himself, unsure of what to do.

The monk puts some things together in his mind.

INT Check 10+1=11

He recalls that most ships these days are run by steam engines-he's not sure how they work exactly, but apparently water is boiled, and then the steam then generates power somehow, which turns the...something something...make the ship go fast.

The boiler is heated by a Fire Elemental, he knows-it was big news awhile ago, hard to miss if you know how to read. Hardly twenty years ago, the Elemental Accords had been signed-Ipsil remembers from his studies it was an agreement between many Princes of the Elemental Plane of Fire and Mortal Kings, to use their 'subjects' as fuel for the machines of this era. Before, Elementals had just been captured by Wizards and more or less enslaved, which had let to alot of tension...there was almost an inter-dimensional war. Exciting stuff.

One of the icons of this agreement was that Elementals had to be constantly fed if they were to work, though they could in theory run forever with their connection to the plane. Still cheaper than fueling a ship the normal way, however-there are steam ships that run on simple mechanical engines, but they're much more expensive than the the cheaper elemental engines. Ipsil has read that barely anyone used those anymore.

[My Name is Immaterial]

"Anything to get my mind off the storm.'' Earl wanders off to feed the boiler a little.

[mainiac]

"Well, I didn't expect this to happen so quickly but it's obvious that we are going to die.  There is a law that is currently referenced on ships, Archmage Murphy's law.  It says that if you dont prepare for a bad event it will certainly happen.  Our captain seems to have ensured every possible thing will go wrong.  Oh well, I always wondered what life would be like on the bottom of the ocean."

"I'll come with you, Earl.  We might as well appease the boiler together.  My name is Natalie, by the way.

[Flying Dice]

Ker shakes his head, muttering to himself. He watches Earl and Natalie leave.

[My Name is Immaterial]

"Nice to meet you, Natalie. Are you a mage? It's not common to hear normal settlers quoting magical theory, at least where I'm from."