Carelessly left adrift in the middle of the Nyella Ocean was a small boat and within it were three battered forms.

The sun beat down on her harshly and she groaned. The pain returning to assault her at full force as she regained her consciousness. Her head lolled against the bottom of the skiff and she curled into herself tightly, ignoring the way her metal braces burned imprints into her skin. Long hair unrestrained lay splayed all over everywhere, Rhoda struggled to shift into a somewhat upright position.Moving was made difficult by the way her wrists were tied tightly behind her and her ankles beneath her. Rhoda grimaced at the uncomfortable chafing. With rapid blinks she forced the fuzz out of her sight and focused on what was before her. The tears in her tunic. The gentle slap of waves against a wooden hull. The prone forms of her last two crewmates. A broken sob pierced the emptiness around them and the fog concealing her memory of last night lifted. The knot on the back of her head throbbed angrily.The alarm bells sounded a second too late. Rhoda responded a minute too slow. Even if she had been earlier, she doubted she would do any good. Compared to the others her combat prowess was embarrassingly lacking. In the throng of the commotion, she found that many of her mates had already fallen to the blade of unknown assailants. She battled hard, but crumpled quickly enough, her warning shout cut short. The image of the Captain and Bosun cornered faded to black.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and hesitated before nudging the man nearest to her, hoping to the Gods that they were not dead too.

Vincent grumbled to himself, annoyed by the poking in his side. His eyes began to slowly open, the sun hurting his eyes. He could only squint, given that his hands were bound behind his back. He must of fallen asleep, or of been knocked out. He didn’t know which, but what he did know is that he could use something to help with the headache. His muscles ached and his body felt like it had been beaten. Slowly he brought himself to a sitting position, not the easiest of feats with bound hands.

He let out a sigh as the skiff rocked back and forth with the small waves on the ocean’s surface. Not many of his possessions made it out of the ordeal with him. He only had his tunic, trousers, a few lock picks, and a small grappling hook that was already in the skiff. Saddened he remembered all of his lost treasures aboard their now stolen airship, it frustrated him to no end. The more he thought about this the more angry he had become. Of course he was somewhat saddened about his fallen comrades, but his riches were everything to him. He had worked hard for them! Vincent took a deep breath, trying to quell his disgruntlement, but his face could not hide his emotions.

After a few moments Vincent looked over to who had kicked him, it was the physician. He looked out to the boundless ocean, beginning to understand just what kind of situation they were in. Stranded in the middle of nowhere, with little to no supplies. Vincent’s eyes widened for a moment as realization hit him, but he had to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help in this situation. He looked back to the Sylph “Rhoda…check and make sure the captain is alright.” they were going to need her healing abilities “I will find a way out of these ropes.” or so he hoped he could.

Looking around for anything with a sharp edge, he recalled the grappling hook he had spotted earlier. VIncent made his way towards the sharp hooks, and began to slowly cut away at the rope that restrained his hands behind his back.

Whisky and women - good song and good company - and The Gale, grounded with a belly full of loot. It was the celebration of a score large enough to earn them all an early retirement. It was an affirmation that all the money in the world couldn’t keep her crew from the sky: simply because it was where they belonged.

A single sob ripped Vicente from his dream.

Heavy lids fought to expose irides the shade of forest moss. He tried to beat his way through what felt like the familiar squall of alcohol and dehydration weighing down against his senses. Water, the single word echoed in his throbbing head. His eyes drifted shut.

Voices pulled at weary lashes. It wasn’t a hangover. The memory of being boarded suddenly rushed behind his eyes. Men and women alike had died: his men and women. A groan formed through gritted teeth. He needed to get back to his ship. He needed to get back to The Gale-

“Motherless goat sucker,” he winced at the feel of his bindings digging into his wrists. “I’ll hang you from you gods damn-Cross!” The sight of his Bosun brought a bit of decency through hope. He realized now that his bare chest and legs, clad in simple trousers, lay upon the deck of one of The Gale’s emergency skiffs.

“Cross, lad: what-,” his words were run aground at the sight of the Miss Aeliseh curled up on the deck. His cheeks puffed up as a hard sigh spilled out from his lungs. He knew he didn’t need to tell his Deck Officer to help the lady first. He was a scoundrel, but a good man at heart. Or, a pragmatic one: his body began to register the thrashing he had taken the night before. It was an East Wind’s luck that she were aboard.

He waited patiently until it was his turn to be freed. A wordless nod of thanks was an afterthought. The wild blue taunted them from above their desert of salt water. A vacant stare came to occupy his gaze. A moment ticked by as the shock of what had happened slowly dug its fingers into shoulders. Finally his right hand moved of its own accord in order to pop open a small panel in the skiff’s bulkhead.

“Bosun Cross… are the sails in working order?” His eyes failed to lift from their lifeless perch as he spoke. “If you would be so kind as to hoist the main, and unfurl the jib-,” He looked down at the compass and map his hand had produced without waiting to ask its Captain for permission. “I believe we ought to tack to port: we head West.” He finally looked up at the other two. There was a resolve that seemed nearly unreasonable - bordering the lines of driven and broken - in its somber tone.

“There’s nothing of it but to go West.” There was no way to know exactly where they were, but they would hit land or die trying. “I would ask of your injuries, Miss Aeliseh.” His words addressed her, but his gaze did not. His right hand made a small, flippant wave. “However, a good Captain knows his physician knows more than he. Mr. Cross, the main, if you would.”

That same hand moved to man the rudder on the skiff’s stern.

She watched in relief as the two men began to stir. Vincent being the first to fully come to. She simply nodded at his instructions. Mind still dazed, reeling from the entire situation. A softly mumbled thanks fell from her as per reflex as he went to work on her bindings. Finally free, she allowed herself a moment's time to rub at her raw wrists and ankles. A pained hiss escaping with each touch. 

She eyed the few of her belongings that fell into the boat with them. Her staff a few feet away was split into two uneven sticks with jagged ends. Rhoda rose slowly and steadied her footing. The rough rocking beneath her making her uneasy. She picked up her small bag and quickly eyed the remaining contents. It wasn't much, she frowned and stepped over to her captain's side. Amazed at the way he and Vincent could jump straight into action like that. How they could just so easily roll with the punches. 

Rhoda wiped away the damp streaks trailing down her face and schooled her features. The wrinkles marring her cheeks smoothed and sculpted her face into one of apathy. She would, they would, have time to mourn later. 

A soft green glow cloaked her hand and she went to work. Fatigue ebbed at her bit by bit. She preferred not to use spells that did not correspond with her nature, but at the moment it was all she had. There was no medical equipment on her, or anything to prepare her herbs, this was the most effective and only option. Rhoda grazed Captain Vicente's bare skin and took note of how the cuts and nicks swiftly closed. As he addressed her, she raised her eyes to meet his but was instead met with nothing. His empty gaze off to the side made her heart clench. She looked away and finished up, "You'd be correct."

The wind picked up ever so slightly as she made her way to Vincent. Appraising his physical damage with a sharp eye. "From what I recall yesterday, we weren't terribly far from the Canelux coast"
 

Unable to contain his laughter Vincent began “You just woke up from being beaten unconscious and you are already barking orders at me.” he yelled at the captain in jest. He slowly stood himself up feeling like a toddler who had barely learned to walk. His legs wobbled as the waves tried there best to knock him off balance “They must of done a number on me.” he muttered noting his balance and the cuts on his body. His head was dizzy but he was able to stay standing, though he wanted nothing more than to sit down. “Orders are orders” he grumbled doing his best to check the sails.

No tears in the sail and everything else seemed to be in working order. “I suppose they wanted to give us a fighting chance, I guess they weren’t too bad of guys after all. Everything seems fine captain!” he jested, though insensitive it was. His heart wasn’t made of steel but this was no time to break. This was the time to put themselves to action and stay calm. In other words it would be best if they could push what had occurred to the side until reaching some sort of civilization.

Slowly Vincent made preparations for their new course to the west. Finally he was able to take a breather and sit down, waiting for Rhoda to come to his aid. Finally she came to examine his wounds, Rhoda would find he had a few cuts, some deep but nothing fatal. He had minor bruising on his face, most likely from when he had been knocked out. It made him wish his lights would of been out after the first hit to his head.

“Caneleux? Maybe my sticky fingers will be of use to us” he said again chuckling.” he had always prided himself on his illusive skills. “We will have enough money soon enough if we ever make it to land.” he said without realizing such words could scare their physician. “I mean…we will make it…probably.” he stated with a dumb smile.

Something akin to gratitude smoothed the edges of Vic’s mind. Cross was behaving admirably. The Bosun was a bit younger than himself. Perhaps that was where his own resolve came from. He tried to imagine how he would have taken all of this at that age. Marvin, Shelley, Kim, the names gnawed at those once smoothed edges as their faces rolled by behind his eyes. They were all Vincent’s age.

A deep pull of air caused the Captain’s nostrils to flare. Silence stayed his lips. The eerie feel of cool water wrapped in a warm flame resonated across his wounds. He could see the soft glow of the Sylph's hands from the corner of his eye. He didn’t need to turn his head to know she was doing her best to follow suit and suppress her own emotions. In a way, she was behaving more human than either the Captain or the Bosun.

“Yes,” he responded. “I don’t think we’ll have a hard time finding you work, Mr. Cross.” A grunt sounded in his chest as he adjusted himself to keep the skiff on course. The wounds had healed, but their sore memories remained for a time. His eyes spent time bobbing between the compass, the map and the bow.

“And, you’re right, Ms. Aelish: thank you for reattaching my head to my shoulders.” His free hand lightly stabbed its index finger at the map. “Allowing for drift… we might be a day away from The Pirate Haven Vilpamolan.” His eyes lifted from the map to give Vincent a nod. ”Or, two days from Perditi Cemetery.” He couldn’t help but make a face the sound of the name.

I’ve enough dead people in my life, thank you very much. His own silent, morbid bit of humor caused his head to recoil as if someone else had said something offensive. He quickly shook it off and looked to each of his Officers. “It will be The Pirate Haven.” He turned his eyes back to his map. “This wretched boat is motivation enough to get us back into the skies, and I think we can start to put the pieces back together there… this - all of this - wreaks of treachery.” He studied the deck a moment, lost in thought before looking back to Vincent. “Someone at that haven is going to know something.”

The sun had already hung high before their limbs and their sails had been set free. Day rolled into night and The Captain and The Bosun took shifts between sleep and navigating the sea. Vicente insisted Rhoda sleep till day, claiming she was the only means of keeping either man healthy and sane, should they be even further from land than he hoped. Whether or not he was being practical or stubborn in his sentiments towards old fashioned morals was anyone’s guess.

Somewhere through the night, when the temperature of the land had fallen and the wind went slack, Vicente lowered the main, lifted the rudder and manned the oars.

The soft swish of water rippling against the skiff’s haul was gently punctuated with every row. The melody of Dusty Rose played in his head, repressing the low burn of the muscles in his back. He moved the oars in time with the invisible instruments. He watched the entirety of the sunrise while his crew slept. The ocean were as flat as a pane of glass. There was something worth respecting - the contrast between the chaos of the previous night and the empty tranquility of that new day. He turned his head over his shoulder to cast his eyes across the bow.

Something low began to form on the horizon.

He quickly traded the oars for his sight glass. The wooden handles each slapped the deck in turn. Silent curses berated himself as he tried to move quietly to stand on the bench he had been rowing from. The glass was extended and just over the horizon he spotted dry land. A wide grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Reveille, reveille, reville, mates.” His words were spoken just above a casual volume. If his oars hitting the deck hadn’t woke his officers, then that surely would. The tingling sensation of adrenaline coursing into his limbs and down his spine caused him to plop back down onto the bench. Determination set his brow as each hand commanded an oar. “The Gale’s Lament,” he said, in a low voice meant only for himself. Determination set his brow, posture and pace as they continued towards land.

Hands hovering over the bosun's face, she watched as the discoloration faded and his fair complexion returned. She rolled her eyes at his antics patted his cheek. Not hard enough to count as a slap, but not gently in any sense of the word, "Done."
She spun on the balls of her feet and wobbled as the boat rocked. Firmly planting her feet, she looked to the captain. Eyes narrowed at the joke made in poor taste. 'Yeah…' she agreed in silence. She trusted in their captain enough to believe that he would get them safely to the infamous Pirate Haven. Even in their raggedy, sorry excuse of a boat. Dragging nimble fingers through her hair she braided it back to keep it out of her eyes. Rhoda considered the implications of what the captain suggested. Maybe it was naive of her not to consider that first. An act of treachery. How much more likely would that be rather than a simple and random act of violence? They were attacked. Looted. Humiliated. Common actions of common criminals. It could simply be that their crew was at the wrong place at the wrong time and some people decided to take advantage of the fact. But the idea that this could have, was in fact, a concerted ambush was somewhat jarring. Not that their crew on Gale's Lament were of the noble sort. They had their fair share of dealings in dark alleyways, and people whose toes they've stepped on without remorse. Rhoda furrowed her brow as she tried to pinpoint the blame on a singular person.

The sun dipped beneath the curve of the ocean and she thought to herself that it was not nearly as beautiful as watching it from the sky. Night overcame them and a yawn escaped her. Not very conducive to her argument with the captain that she could stay up and help man the boat as well. She settled down with a petulant pout and allowed sleep to take her. It was not long after sunrise that they arrived on land. 

Rhoda was the first to step onto the dock. Despite her immense relief at being on solid land once more, the scowl on her face said anything but. Fixing a hate-filled glare on any passer-bys that dared to throw them a wayward glance, she shouldered her bag protectively. Her last bit of silver could get them a room at a decent inn tonight. "What's the plan?"

Vincent winced when Rhoda began healing him. Something about the process felt odd to him, the feeling of the wounds closing almost the same as when they were created but at the same time it dulled the pain the further it went on. “Such an odd feeling…” he muttered to himself. In the end he would much rather have the wounds be mended, and there was no more efficient way than this. Rhoda’s hand was coming towards his cheek, he again closed his eyes for a moment and reopened them when the slap never came, instead it was a simple pat on the cheek. When she was finished he began to stretch his arms and legs, trying not to wobble with the boat. “Thanks Rhoda!” he gave her his youthful grin. 

Not shortly after, night would fall and Vincent would get his rest, until the morning came. Not long after the morning sun rose, they spotted something in the distance.

Looking towards the land, a smile came across Vincent's face, he really couldn’t wait to see what the ‘citizens’ of the pirate haven had to ‘offer’ him. It would be just like the old times before he met the captain, stealing, looting, working the odd jobs he use to do. He seemed to be in a state of bliss. Thinking of the old days almost made Vincent happy that they lost their ship, but he quickly shook the thought from his head. The captain let him steal…to a point, though there were rules that he had to follow. These rules were things Vincent didn’t quite understand, don’t steal from the clients, don’t steal from the orphanages…hell, the captain almost made him give some of his loot to a homeless beggar once, if it hadn’t been for Vincent threatening to leave the crew the captain would of never let it go!

“A fresh start, eh? Think I can build us a fortune again?” he laughed heartily. He felt energized, though only hours ago he was barely able to stand. Rhoda’s magic sure was handy, even when accompanied with unpleasant sensations. 

Finally, the skiff had reached the dock. “I can’t believe we didn’t die out there!” he said, though his voice was oddly cheerful. Though in good health, they were quite fatigued. “I think that is a good idea Rhoda!” Vincent didn’t want to use the little silver he had, so he would let her buy them a room for the night. “You have always been so generous!” he jeered. Vincent’s eyes began to wonder, looking at the belongings of those around them. He couldn’t wait to snatch them for himself, he was almost giddy.

Though the sun was just starting to rise above the sky, the day was drawing to a close for the tiefling called Jörmingandr. She'd been active since dusk, so she still had a few hours of activity left, but work was done for the day so she had settled down to enjoy a drink if mead while winding down. The inn where she was staying was right at the docks, it made for a somewhat noisy place to lay your head down, but it also meant she could take in the sight of the ships coming and going, as well as the people they brought with them. 
  
As she sat down on a bench right outside, her back resting against the wall of the building, she sighed deeply. The air was laden with various smells and scents. Some were pleasant, spices that are being loaded or unloaded onto a vessel, the wooden scent of a newer ship, food being cooked somewhere. As for the others… Well, gutted fish and sweaty workers were not among the worst, and enough said about that. She kept the stein of mead level with her lips, almost resting her head against it, letting the sweet aroma fill her senses instead. 
  
Besides the bench she had put down her bow, but the string had been removed earlier. The air was damp from the presence of the ocean and walking around with the bow strung at all time seemed a fine way to ruin it. Even so, she wasn't unarmed. Carrying some manner of weapon ready for use was almost as natural as breathing was at this point.
  
While she took a sip of her beverage she let her odd coloured eyes wander over her surroundings, the early sunlight making both her eyes and hair seem on fire. Some people met her steady gaze briefly, but most of them looked away hastily from their unnatural glow. Most of them probably couldn't identify what she was and even if they could, they weren't the type of people who'd openly go after her.  But then there was something that caused her to do a double take. From the crowd of strangers, stepping out of a small boat, there was a familiar face. There was no name for her to connect to that face and it had been a little while, but there was no doubt in her mind. Three people had just arrived and one of them she owed a debt. 

She wasn't trying to hide the fact that she was watching them, but in the end the docks were a busy place and one lone person watching wouldn't be that obvious. At least not at this distance. A slight smile tugged at the scars on her face. It didn't do much to make her look friendlier, but on the other hand there wasn't anything that actually made her look hostile. Not that that usually stopped people from getting the wrong idea. 

For a moment she let her eyes travel up to the sky, a speck much further up was circling around the area. No one was paying it much attention, it was too small to be of note to most. She turned her attention back to the three newcomers who had caught her attention. 

She leaned forward a bit, lowering the stein, her forearms resting against her knees. This was… Unexpected. Now, the main question was what to do about this. Debts ought to be paid, always, that was something her mind had decided long ago. However, for that to be possible there needed to be an in for her to take action. If anything, he might not remember her and even if he did, she was not about to explain that she felt a need to repay him for anything. So what should she do then? Her eyes watched the trio as she contemplated this. They didn't exactly look like they were in the best condition. For now, maybe following them would be an option, unless she was approached.

She took a large swig from her drink. Maybe this day had only just begun after all. 

Captain Vicente took a moment to knuckle the small of his back after standing upright. His eyes traced each of the lines that had cleated their skiff to the weathered dock. That same dock reminded him that his feet were as bare as his chest. A shake of the head was all he could offer before he and what remained of his crew made their way topside to land. 

“Boots, shirt, coat, rum - a bath…” His list trailed off once they made it to the harbor’s highest point. The main drag laid before them. Hawkers lined the street before it snaked out of view. This was not by any means Vicente’s first visit to The Pirate Haven. They had their laws, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an opportune place to acquire just about anything a crew could need at discount rates.

“Mr. Cross,” he finally said, addressing his Bosun without removing his eyes from the drag. “I’ve enough coin to make myself decent again. Enjoy your shore leave,” he slightly tilted his head towards the younger man. “Find out what you can about our old lady,” the phrase had been used in the past as a covert signal to mean The Gale’s Lament. “Keep your head down - yes, I know you know how,” He delivered the last bit with a low voice and the dull beginnings of a smile meant to disarm any sense of condescension towards his deck officer. “They might not be so kind as to set us adrift in a skiff if we run into them again.”

Vicente allowed Cross to ask questions before settling on a point for later rendezvous.

“Ms. Aelish,” he turned to the physician once Vincent had gone. “If you could be so kind?” He suddenly registered the defensive posture and scowl she’d adopted. His arm gently swept towards the main drag. “I’ve never had much a head for fashion,” something close to a sour expression caused his nose to wrinkle. ”My mother always dressed me…”

A moment was allowed to tick by until he finally barked a sharp laugh. “Please,” he turned to face the street of peddlers with both fists on his hips. She needed humor - they both needed humor - to help bury what had happened to their ship and crew. He wasn’t a man overly in tune with the finer nuances of emotions and sentiment: but, that they needed to be distracted was plain.

“They don’t call me The Finest Dressed Captain To Ever Sail The East Wind for nothing…” He looked back down to Rhoda. “…I know, literally no one calls me that.” He offered her a toothy grin. “But, do need clothes. Would you accompany me?” In the back of his mind he assumed she knew it was an order, and not a request. He couldn’t allow his physician to wander around a place like The Haven alone.