Less Talk, More Action

[rassafraggin]

Judging by the quality of the light, the sun must be somewhere between very early morning and mid-morning. Not yet even half way to noon, the light glows above the storm wall, shadows long as fingers reaching for the land and the ships at sea. Maggie, decked out again as a hired hand with her hair hidden beneath a kerchief and cap is once more at the prow of the ship. Leaning out a hair, she is sniffing the air from the land, once more seeking to identify that illusive something that marks magic or magics. Her hands grip the railing a bit more tightly than before, though there is no chance that she will be pitched overboard.

Merrisol returns to the ship from his conference with the other two Captains. "They are going to range out and see if they can get an advance sighting of the tenacious Captain Flame, as we are pretty much sitting ducks here where the stormwall cuts into both ends of the coastline," he reports bemusedly. It's true enough, the Wave Dancer is boxed in and needs to know which direction to run. "We have a few hours before they get back to me on that, so I'm going over the side and getting closer to the shoreline to get a lay of the undersea around this stretch."

There's a mirror somewhere on this ship, guest cabin unless it's been moved, and now the guest cabin holds a mirror, and a petite Rebman as well. Ryika makes her way up onto the deck, just in time to hear Merri say 'going over the side' and smiles. "I have good timing."

Maggie looks up at Merrisol, her expression still half lost in the concentration of practice. "Uh." Screwing her eyes shut for a moment, she nods as she opens them again, "Right. Okay. I'll... Get on that, then." Pausing just as her hand moves toward her pouch, she tilts her head a bit, "Oh." Her attention steals down toward the water, then back up as Ryika comes up on deck. The petite Rebman is given a smile and a wave, "Welcome back. Oh, Robert wants to see the other artifact. Probably best to take him to Alhambra to see it rather than bringing it here." Leaning against the railing, she adds, "I'd like to go with you two, if you don't mind. Or, I can stay aboard and play relay with trumps in case things get hairy."

Merrisol unsuccessfully suppresses a chuckle at Maggie's response. He takes off his Captainly red waistcoat and hangs it off a peg on the main mast. As Ryika chimes in, he directs a smile towards her and sweeps an arm invitingly towards the port side, which faces the coast some 500 meters off, anchored well away from any shallows. "Both of our Feldane guests seem to have gone to ground," he observes. "But we're going to need a Mandrake rep, too. Quinlan and Maggie have been catching the whiff of a magic-based contagion off in the direction of the land. If it's a viral epidemic on land, it may mean the undead hordes here aren't the kind that Feldanes are well-equipped to deal with... the dead with trapped souls. They might be 'living' dead." Yeah, he hadn't been aware these distinctions were so important. "And along with the infectious quality, it means we're not going on shore until the life and death Houses bang their heads together over it." As he gets to the rail himself, he gets his shirt and boots off in short order while saying to Maggie, "Quinlan can pull us back to the ship."

"Robert is welcome in Alhambra anytime. Probably safer to head there, certainly." Ryika nods in agreement to Maggie and then looks to Merrisol. "Oh how.. /lovely/." She wrinkles up her nose. "I'm not in a rush to turn into living dead, or undead. Or any variation between the two." She wanders over to the rail to peer down at the water. "What are we looking for, in specific?"

Quinlan steps up on deck, still in his hair-and-face-hiding Alhambran robes. He looks like he's just woken up. "Evening, all."

Maggie nods to Merrisol's explanation, adding a wry smile to Ryika, "Yeah, neither am I. Dead in any form just does not sound fun." She adds a quick, "Ah, right. Quin or Robert. I think Robert has my trump at least. He might have yours too, Kerf." With that reminder, she kicks off her boots and reaches to pull off her shirt. Maybe she has been in Rebma for too long, for the action is smooth and relaxed. It does dislodge the kerchief she wears covering her hair, but the crimson and flame of her locks does not come spilling out. Instead, the hair is a deep russet brown. Looking over her newly bare shoulder at Quinlan, she waves, "Hey. We're going for a swim. Want to come?" Only when she turns to face the others is her bikini top evident. Not as nearly-nude as it seemed.

Merrisol hoists himself up to sit the rail. He nods to Quinlan's reappearance, then almost tips backwards over the side involuntarily when he gets a load of Maggie's new hair. Buh-wuhhh? He grips the bar more tightly.. for renewed leverage. Then.. "What, Lord Robert has mine?" That almost as disturbing. "I..." he continues on to Ryika, gaze wandering her way. "Mostly we'd be looking for evidence that the mainland's population is fed fresh bodies from shipwrecks, and if Maggie and Quinlan are with us, they can determine whether this is a scent they are getting off people, things, or places.. meaning, is the land itself cursed, infecting the people who make contact." His gaze cuts to the side once more in the most delayed double-take ever, then Merri bemusedly raises up on his hands and twists to face the ocean side. He stands, patting his pockets to make sure his accessories are secured, and prepares to make the leap.

"Well that's a disturbing notion. Awesome." Ryika has no qualms about stripping down to Rebman style clothing, without the benefit of a bikini top. She hops up to settle on the edge of the railing. "Alright, so a great big see what we can see with the grand potential for zombies and or dead things. Lovely. Any salvage operation here?"

Quinlan shakes his head. "I'd fry," he says. "And focusing on the spells not to, would take the fun out of it." He blinks at Ryika. "Salvage operation?"

Maggie shakes her head, "I don't know, Kerf. I was asking. I can give him one of you if you want me to." The look Merri gives her hair wins him a half-hearted chuckle, "I thought it would be easier than trying to hide the color all the time." She does wait for Merrisol to finish debriefing the de-briefed, or de-topped Ryika, then moves to the railing after the two. Hoisting herself up onto the railing, she looks down into the waters, "Um. I don't know, Ryika." Once seated on the railing, she slips off her jeans and drops them back onto the deck. Bikini brief that match her top were hiding beneath the slacks. "I don't recall hearing about salvage here, but most ships avoid these waters, so that might not mean anything." Looking up and over toward Quinlan, then to Ryika, "Er... For shipwrecks? Or...?"

"That's what I'm asking. Are we expecting ships here, and if so, are we aiming to get bits up from them. 'No' is a perfectly valid answer, Minos is still a glorious mystery to me, and the waters around it all the more so." Ryika grins at the three of them and before waiting all that long for an answer, pushes off the railing to head into the water.

Merrisol pauses over the idea of zombies in the water, human-form or otherwise. Turning, he quietly returns to the deck and goes to the weapons locker for a selection of hunting knives and a fishing harpoon for himself. "I expect if we spot something worth hauling back, we likely will," he says to Ryika, distributing weapons to whoever is wanting some stabby protection. "Maggie predicts no Minosian ship would come this way, but that doesn't account for travelers from outside. Still.. it doesn't hurt to look." It might, though. He revaults the railing to sit beside Maggie, looking down at the dissipating ripple left by the gung-ho little Rebman. With a gesture to indicate that he'll see to Maggie's survival needs once they go in, he bounds down into the drink.

Quinlan smiles. "Have fun," he says. "I'll watch for bursts of distressed bubbles."

Maggie accepts one of the stabbies and looks a bit chagrined as there isn't really a place to sheath it. Nodding agreement to Merrisol, she almost follows him overboard but pauses to look back at Quinlan, "Are you sure? There might be cool stuff to see down there..." Her brow lifts and she nods toward the water with its double ring of ripples, one marking Ryika's plunge and the other Merrisol's.

Merrisol plunges a dozen or so feet under and inhales the water experimentally. As the air bubbles flurry and dissipate around him, he takes stock of the undersea vicinity, spotting Ryika winnowing along, and then turning his gaze upwards to catch Maggie's entry. He maneuvers to meet up with her slowing descent, and delivers her kiss with a welcoming smile. "Good idea on the colour," he says once she's safe to respond. "Can you... change it back easily, when the time comes?" What a thing to be concerned over when there could be all sorts of sea ghouls up ahead? "Uhh, nevermind that.. can you still sense anything from this angle?" He gestures in the direction of land.

Speaking of sea ghouls, and magic of all sorts...as the two captains go overboard, Quinlan settles up in the bow. Taking a meditative pose, the mageling focuses on...the magic. Listening, scenting for signs that their presence has triggered...well, *anything*.

So far as anyone can see, the water is clear of any sort of undead and seems to have a fairly healthy population of fish and other normal sea life. The magic can still be sensed from here but more the magic of the stormwall than anything else.

Maggie returns the kiss with a bit of gusto, but without lingering. Her laugh completes the magical water breathing spell, or maybe it is just good fun. "I can change it easily, yeah. No problem there. Just use a..." But he says to never mind, so she neverminds. Closing her eyes, she inhales the water, filtering it for magicalness. Nodding, her eyes and chin lift toward the stormwall, "Sort of. It is different. I can sense the storm's magic, but not the contagion. Which might mean it is not the land. Or, maybe that sea water kills it." Pausing, she adds, "Wouldn't /that/ be something?"

Merri shifts his weapon to a safer hold in his left hand, away from Maggie, as he scans more carefully and ascertains that the ecology at this range is thriving and healthy. He keeps track of Ryika in his periphery, but nods to Maggie. "It would, but as Quinlan said, it's magic so likely doesn't follow natural logic." He glances up beyond the surface distortion to catch a hint of the robed figure settling into a 'watchful' position above. "We'll go in closer then. Let me know the moment you get a different reading," he requests, and levers his angle into forward stroke, meaning to catch up with li'l Miss Headstart.

Maggie's upwardly tilted gaze turns to find Quinlan on the bow of the ship. A frown begins, but she nods to the reminder, "Right. So... What. Shall we look for illogical solutions or unnatural logic?" More softly, the amusement behind the query showing, "I'm probably good at those, Kerf." Looking down, she shifts the dagger to her far hand, "Oh, sure. I'll let you know if I smell anything new." Angling a bit, she swims off after both Ryika and Merrisol. "It is beautiful here. It is good to see that whatever is happening on land has not hurt the wildlife here." As far as she can tell, anyway."

Unnatural solutions and illogical logic, more like, but Merrisol manages to keep that to himself! "Alright.. so it doesn't seem like the landmass itself is the factor here," he hazards, perhaps prematurely. Closer still, then, until the ship is more distant than the shoreline. Merrisol checks on the presence of marine wildlife, extending his senses to pick up disturbance or behavior out of the norm.

Maggie nods, agreeing with the assumption, "Does not seem it, no." Angling down a bit, she aims for the ocean floor though she does keep enough distance between her and the sunken ground to avoid even stirring up the sediment below. Down there she inhales water, sifting it for trace elements of either sort of magic. Letting her nose be her guide, she turns in place before swimming back toward where Merrisol is. When she nears, her gaze flashes back up to where Quinlan must still be, then down to where Ryika swims along.

Merri goes in ever closer to shore, but after a while it's too obvious whatever is being sensed as affecting the region inland, does not exist underwater. While it follows that the beach is probably also safe, Merrisol stops any of the inquisitive team from going that far without a Mandrake/Feldane combo escort. Best to return to the ship and work on their personnel roster some more.

Maggie does, indeed wish to go on up to shore, but steadier heads prevail. With a sort of longing look shoreward, she turns and heads back to the ship. Using one of the lines, she climbs back aboard, dagger held carefully between her teeth just like a real pirate! Reaching deck, she takes the dagger out of her mouth and moves to her clothing to find a bit of dry cloth to wipe it down before surrendering it to be replaced in the weapons locker.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Wave Dancer is still lurking along the coastal waters of the mainland, the angular strip of unknown territory that exists between two separate walls of thick, dark, roiling stormfront that come in on angles after ostensibly looping the entirety of Minos' island masses. The two ships that had been shadowing the Dancer have gone elsewhere for the time being, and probably quite glad to part ways with the eccentric Captain who insists on hanging around the accursed waters off an accursed land. It's afternoon and some of the group have come back to the ship after an exploratory swim under the surface.

Merrisol climbs up last and returns to the bow where Quinlan is meditating and/or monitoring the status of the mainland from an aura-sniffing standpoint. "It's not the land," he reports, settling at the rail to drip-dry. "It's about as not-magic and dead-free as one can hope for underwater, and we went as close as we could to the shore without actually emerging from the surf."

Robert paces slowly up from below, finally tasting the air above deck as the Feldane had been ensconced firmly below since he vanished with the skull. Indeed the silk wrapped object is brought back above deck and presented to those on board without fanfare. "Good day," is greeted in gruff Kite tones as he nods to the assembled group.

Lisette has not trusted herself to swimming in these waters, instead remaining firmly aboard the ship - though she has produced a collapsible telescope from her baggage, with which to survey what can be made out of the shore (and, at times, those intimidating storm-fronts). "Possibly an irrelevant query... but how was the sea life? Are these waters empty, or...?"

Quinlan's grin is hard to see behind concealing Alhambran robes, but it's in his voice. "Good afternoon to you too, Robert. Any new luck?"

Merrisol looks up and around, seeing Robert, then Lisette. He stands back up, straighter. "Hullo, Lord Robert, Lady Lisette. I found nothing amiss with the critters.. the ecology was about as expected for a coastal region." He glances back at Quinlan. "Have they been informed of your findings with the magic present inland?"

Robert shakes his head as he offers the skull to Merrisol. "No new findings. Exactly as it was before. I know bone inside and out for various reasons." He shrugs and looks about them, judging where they are by dint of sea and sky. "You've all been exploring? What news is there?"

Quinlan nods. "Merri and Maggie explored below the water, with Ryika. I've been scenting the magic. There's a magical contagion on the mainland."

Merri picks the shell out of Robert's hand and looks it over a couple seconds, then closes his fingers over it and pockets it for now. He picks up the discarded shirt and pushes his arms through the sleeves, nodding along with Quinlan's summary. "At Whitehold, how do the Feldane guardians deal with the undead trying to break in? Are there souls present within to exorcise?"

Robert frowns at the question and then takes his time to answer it. "Mostly by repelling. So far as I am aware. You must understand I have only read the reports that cross my desk on such matters. I have no hands on experience of the place. Laying to rest requires some preparation, effort. It's hard to do in mass numbers."

Quinlan mmms. "Does laying to rest work with or without a spirit present?"

Merrisol looks at Robert in silence for a longer moment, though the question in his gaze gets put aside for now, while Quinlan pursues the current line.

"I cannot claim to understand the more advanced techniques," Lisette says ruefully, "but the ones of which I am aware require the... person providing aid to the spirit in finding its rest to be in its presence. I //might// be able to apply some large-scale assistance in that regard, to physical undead - such as the zombies. But I frankly don't know if it will work on them or not."

Robert shakes his head. "Laying to rest shows the spirit through the Door, more or less. Mindless undead we just tend to cut down. It's a more efficient means of dealing with them. The Door is trickier in some aspects.." Thankfully he doesn't start going into details. They might be here some time if he started in on that.

Quinlan hns. "Do your records indicate what type dominates on the mainland? Mindless, or spirit-bound?"

Merrisol's brow lifts at Lisette. "That sounds like a personal risk to your own life, you're offering, Lady Lisette. I've witnessed what Lord Michio Feldane did to connect with a powerful spirit and guide her over," he says carefully. "Nevermind the result is not a sure thing.. I would rather we didn't resort to that." He listens to Quinlan's question, and chimes in, "And this contagious aspect Quinlan and Maggie have scented.. have there been any incidents of your people at Whitehold.. uh.. becoming infected?"

Robert frowns, "As I am aware it would be the mindless variety. For someone to animate and maintain an army of sentient beings would take more power than I care to dwell upon. What is the contagion you speak of, brother?" He shakes his head to Merrisol. "My wife's favored method is to grab swords and cut a swathe through them, I should note." He sounds amused at that. "No, no incidences of infection."

Quinlan nods toward the mainland. "It's there, but not in the water, or in the storm," he says. "Magical contagion. Some magical effect, that spreads like a virus. I would tell you more if I could, but that's all I can smell from here. It made us wonder if maybe the contagion somehow animates dead flesh, or if it renders living beings mindless. It would explain why your House has had so much trouble here."

Lisette nods to Robert. "If I can significantly wound one of them, I should be able to lay it to rest. I //might// be able to extend that to a greater number in one go... but it will require preparation, and might not work at all. I frankly don't know."

Merrisol adds, "And no evidence, at least in this region, that the numbers are bolstered by outsiders coming in by way of shipwrecks or misadventure. How long has Whitehold stood against them, and the population hasn't been noticeably whittled away through.. well, attrition of sorts? The population, if not receiving fresh blood from any source, given the unpopularity of the whole mainland with the rest of Minos, might possibly be very old, and yet slow to decompose. Is that possible?"

Robert glances to Lisette. "If my brother is correct about there being a contagion then we really do not wish to set foot there. More magical reconnaissance is needed." He volunteers Quinlan from the looks of it. "Animating undead, making abominations from undead? These things are possible with some training. Slowing decomposition? Also feasible. But it is a very large scale effect and something that has vexed the House for some time. As for attrition? Who truly stands in opposition? We do all we can and merely maintain a strong hold against it."

"A self-maintaining mass of undead," Quinlan muses. "You know, it wouldn't take a *particularly* insane necromancer to think that would be a good idea. An army that automatically replenishes itself over time from the bodies of those that come to fight it, no energy required on the part of the necromancer? And it would go on forever."

Merrisol is looking straight at Robert when Quinlan says 'particularly insane necromancer', but it is utter coincidence. Robert doesn't even cackle, that he knows of. Merri points out, "They're holding the town successfully, there can't be more defender losses than there are on the undead side. Attrition. At any rate.. if you're stymied with regards to their age or origin.. what about The Sundering, as a starting point? The ancient legend of cataclysm, of Minos shattering. We don't know a whole lot of helpful facts, but we do know our storm goddess is from pre-Sundering era, as is the Storm-blooded line.. Rilga's line apparently. Now add that to the supposition that the shape of Minos today with its living islands and dead mainland, and the idea that the storm seems to have originated /from/ the mainland. That's one hell of a compelling association."

OOC> Maereina says, "Just for the record... Mae has informed both Ryika and Maggie that the storm-blooded aren't just descended from Rilga. :)"

"Why must you insist all necromancers be insane?" is teased of the younger Fiona-child. Robert shakes his head. "Power would be the issue, even to maintain an army like that you would need some sort of raw base power." No cackling, not even a whiff of it! "And yes, there will be some attrition around Whitehold, but not much. It is a heavily fortified area. Incursions into the mainland are rare events. As for when? My history of Minos is also lacking, the Sundering would be a good starting point. And also do not forget that depending on the ground conditions bodies may not decay. There are certain soil types which preserve rather than destroy flesh."

Quinlan nods. "And there *is* a power on the mainland," says Quinlan quietly. "Along with the contagion-magic. The same power that's in the storm wall, actually." He gives Robert a little smile. "I don't think all necromancers are insane. But if one of 'em thought up a self-replenishing undead army? That one definitely qualifies for the suit with the long sleeves that tie behind the neck."

Merrisol turns to lean forward on the gunwale, gazing upon the land for the umpteenth time. "So.. magical scouting to have some of these unknowns addressed. What do you need brought back.. a soil sample.. an assortment of bones?" He looks at Quinlan. "What you're sensing akin to the stormwall.. could it be the stormwall? We still don't know how far inland it extends. It could very well reach around both ways and the ends tie in an attractive bow," he grumbles, then shakes his head and suggests, "Let's determine whether this contagion exists within the storm itself, and then use /that/ as our pathway in, if not."

Robert turns his attention to the land briefly and nods. "I would have been very surprised if there wasn't. I know the amount of effort such a thing takes." Maybe he's tried! He nods to Merrisol, "If such can be done, then it would be a good idea to examine all the options." There's a low laugh of the concept of a bow. "If they have time for that much detail then I shall bow before them."

Quinlan shakes his head. "The power is ancient. It might be what *drives* the stormwall. But I don't think it *is* the stormwall." He tilts his head. "I can try flying in and staying either within easy return range, or to high places that would take a while to climb to. I could *try* to bring something back. Honestly it might be more dragon turf."

"A theory I discussed with Merrisol was that there might perhaps have been more than one pre-Sundering deity," Lisette puts in. "After all, an event that can shatter one god could presumably shatter another. But if the power in the storm-wall is the same as that which drives the undead, perhaps no more than the one shattered deity is required, as a source of such energy."

Merrisol nods slowly back to Robert. He considers Quinlan's suggestion doubtfully, though, and glances over at Lisette to address her remarks first. "Conversely, as the magic of the stormwall and its source is not the same flavour as the contagion magic.." he notes, "then we could be dealing with two separate powers, Lady Lisette. One that wants to be noticed, it would seem. The other.. perhaps trying to shield or suppress the discovery of the first." He pauses, then looks back at Quinlan. "What is an easy return range? We could try to sail in closer than this." They could..?

Robert glances from one to the other and on to the third with a nod to each. "If you will excuse me I need to trump someone and discuss what I have learnt so far. If I could examine the heart 'bone' within the next day or two as well, that would help."

Quinlan nods. "The storm goddess we spoke to admitted as much, but it's good to know she was being honest," he says.

Lisette nods to Robert, then sighs softly, before offering a rueful smile to her remaining companions. "I confess that I feel rather out of my depth. I apologise that Robert could not provide a better-versed Feldane to assist. But I'll support your investigations however I can."

"It was a perfunctory sort of admission, yes," agrees Merri to Quinlan, after nodding to Robert's quick departure to Trumpcallland. "Though if her powerbase is being harassed by zombies that are thrall to another deity, you'd think she'd be more forceful about letting us know. So it's either not another god at work here, or they are working together to protect the source of the stormwall." He turns to look more directly at Lisette. "We're all a bit out of our depth here," he says reassuringly, even if it isn't quite accurate. They are /way/ out of their depth, more like. "Thank you for your willingness. Shall we make another foray, this time by shoreboat?" He looks from her to Quinlan. "See what you can trawl up from the land for study.. and get closer to the stormwall where it hits land, I think. I still want to know if it's safer to enter that way." Aside from the gale-force winds and anvil rain, he means.

Quinlan nods. "I think we want a secondary aerial survey by a mandrake dragon carrying a feldane on their back, mind," he says. "But I can give us a quick map with magical impressions."

"The... contagion. What do we know about its reach, or how long it takes to, ahh, take hold of someone?", Lisette asks.

Merrisol defers Lisette's question to Quinlan. "I'd be happy to ask Celeste about it, but I lack to means to contact her from here."

Quinlan hns. "Amy?" he asks. And to Lisette, "All we know right now is that it exists."

Lisette nods slowly. "Then... let's proceed with caution. Even if it 'just' reaches over the whole of the land... what does that do with relation to the area covered and uncovered by the tides? Or to water containing soil washed out to sea? Or..." She shrugs. "Given how potent this seems to be, I agree - we should be cautious while we can be, and only take risks when we have to."

Merrisol nods, "I'll see if I can raise Amy." Bad choice of words, given the necromancy talk, but he doesn't seem to notice as he steps away from the rail, gathers up his boots, and excuses himself for the time being.

Quinlan smiles. "All right. And I'll do an initial survey whenever you're ready."

Lisette peers off into the distance, frowning pensively. She looks to and fro between the storm walls... then slightly shakes her head and refocuses upon Quinlan. "Well, so far as I can see, one bad idea that just occurred to me doesn't apply. It doesn't look as if the storms have an undead component to them. I can see just the one ghost out on the fringes of one wall at the moment."

Quinlan smiles. "Well. That's a plus. Nothing dead in the air, I hope?"

Lisette squints, cocks her head, then points out towards one of the storm-fronts. "Just the one, out there, at the moment. Can't see anything near the surface of the water, either, but... just because I can see ghosts doesn't mean I can see through the sea. Don't know what's at the bottom of it."

Quinlan mms. "Dead in the air is trouble for me," he says. "I may just have to hope I'm faster."

Merrisol comes back around, having redressed himself for bad weather. He brings a rain slicker about Lisette's size, and something for Quinlan in case he didn't bring his disco outfit. There's a coil of the longest rope he could find in the hold, and he has wrapped his chained weapon around himself in the usual fashion. A number of empty sacks are tethered together to serve as sample containers. "There's nothing undead in the water," he notes. "We looked." Off in the background, a crew is working to lower the shoreboat by derrick arm, into the water on the port side.

"Glad to hear it. Very glad," Lisette says dryly, shrugging into the waterproof protection, attempting to settle it in place in such a fashion that it doesn't entangle her sword too badly. "Which... does suggest that the zombie horde really don't get their hands on too many victims, at least hereabouts."

Quinlan smiles. "Is that a hint that I need to shed the hair-hiding gear in favor of something more weather-worthy?" he asks. "Are we sailing into the stormwall?"

Merrisol shakes his head. "The Wave Dancer isn't.. no boat can get through. Not the ship, and definitely not a rowboat. The Wave Dancer is not even going to the edge.. seems to affect the Stormblood aboard in a bad way," he says uncomfortably. "From land, however, the three of us might be able to fight our way along. And you can try to in flight."

"Isn't the land where we //know// the contagion is?", Lisette asks dubiously. "I wonder... does it reach into Whitehold? I wish I'd actually //been// there..."

Quinlan nods. "We know it's there, though we don't know if it reaches into Whitehold."

Merri looks at Lisette. "We don't know it's the soil at all. Maggie didn't scent it coming from the land while we were under the surface, and there were no zombies that we could see underneath, although we lack that sight. I have a way with animals, particularly marine critters." Like Aquaman! "And they were not polluted or ill, that I could tell. You have sensed one soul near the walls.. that may be the source of contagion in that direction. Quinlan, you'll be able to determine that once we get in closer, I think?" He considers Quinlan's Alhambran duds. "Feel free to duck into a cabin.. I need to let Ryika and Maggie know where we're going. I'll meet you both by the boat ladder."

Lisette nods, though she looks somewhat dubiously apprehensive. "Let's try to be as sure as we can before we risk anything. And I'll see if I can see anything more as we get closer."

Quinlan smiles. "That's the hope?" he says, optimistically. "And that it doesn't affect the living. Fingers crossed."

Merrisol pauses on the main deck. It's like she /knows/ he is about to willfully put folks in terrible nerve-wracking hands-on danger. "Right. We'll take the greatest care," he nods up to Lisette. He looks so self-assured when he's in Go mode.

* * * * * * * * * *

This is such a bad luck move, one deckhand is muttering to another, as they adjust the tension of the derrick now that the shoreboat is bobbing on the water below. The only good thing about it is that both Captains aren't going on this away mission.

"No, the other good thing about it is it looks like I'll be doing the rowing myself," says Merri wryly as he comes up on them.

They offer muttered apologies, but a tall steely-eyed Amber-born woman steps up to volunteer to go along, if only to bring the boat back to the ship after delivering the team to shore.

Merrisol nods to her, and secures his gear before climbing down to the boat.

Quinlan has shed his Alhambran robes in favor of the bright green stormsilks that make it look like he's got secret superhero aspirations. But hey - they protect. In one hand he's got his leather-hooded staff. "I'll see what I can, and then create a map for you when I get back," he says. "I'll overlay what I can smell on it. Ready?"

Merrisol offers, "Do you want to be tethered, like on Antika..? Or shall I just keep your trump ready. Make sure to see whether the wall, or near it, is safe passage, as it seems to be clear of zombies at least." He shares the row with his shipmate and makes good time towards the shore, although they cut forward motion and dock the oars fifty feet out. "Except for that one wandering soul," he adds.

"Keep in touch via trump, yeah," says Quinlan. "A tether would just lead anything that gets me, right back to you guys and the boat. Not a great idea. I'll try to steer clear of the one soul."

Merrisol nods, and gets that particular trump out of his deck, stowing the rest again. "We're close," he notes. "Is anything clearer from here?"

Quinlan shrugs. "Let me get airborne and we'll see what happens from there." And with that, the mage takes off into the sky. No crouching jump, no whoosh of wind. Just more or less vertical movement, up and over the mainland, getting a good look around.

Merrisol has the trump card out but gives it a minute so Quinlan can focus on his ascent and become a shiny green wonder in the sky, watching the mage's course directly with his own eyes.

Speaking for the benefit of Merri, so he can get an idea what Quinlan is seeing, the mage says, "Cities. Old, dying cities. Zombies in packs. The contagion-scent follows the zombies. The ancient magic is farther inland, the source of it anyway, but there's traces of it everywhere here. Shall I head farther in?"

With Quinlan now on trump contact, Merri is looking at the card slightly below eye level while he stands sure-footed in the boat as it bobs rhythmically in the coastal tides. He doesn't make any moves otherwise to distract Quinlan, only saying quietly, "How far are you? All right, but keep a mind to your backtracking. Where are the two storms heading?"

"Not *too* far in, yet," says Quinlan, pausing to look back. "The stormwall stops abruptly at the mainland. Doesn't go in at all. Definitely a magical effect."

"Strange.." Merrisol murmurs, "Yet you can sense something of the storm's type scattered everywhere on the mainland. The source of it is where we want to get to.. yeah?"

Quinlan starts flying toward the source of the ancient scent. "Heading that way now."

Merrisol can only get a sense of the sky around Quinlan's position, and relies on his verbal reports.. intensely curious, but increasingly concerned the further his friend travels from shore. "Quinlan. You'll turn back once you pinpoint it.. agreed? We need your brother and Lisette, and the others." He sounds a bit like he's trying to convince himself of that necessity, actually.

"I don't think I can get to the source without getting too far in," says Quinlan after a while. "This is looking increasingly like a *major* expedition, Merri. Like, 'at least one of every house and a lot of people that can fight and at least a few that can heal and use ranged attacks'. That kind of expedition. You can reach the first city in a few hours of hiking, I think - but the cities are also where the zombies are. And the source of the ancient magic is a LOT farther in than that."

Merrisol gnaws his lower lip in preoccupied thought. "If that's the case, concentrate on map accuracy, Quinlan. That will be vital to any land campaign strategy here. Safe zones.. defensible structures.. viable resources. If you can get close, though, then we can bypass those cities by trumping to you, or anyone else with a good airship."

Quinlan smiles. "Well. I have an initial survey. Get the parchment ready, and I'll make an illusory map for you to write down on something more solid. Heading back now."

Merri smiles back, relieved. Also, still in Go mode. "Lord Robert had a want to study a bone or three. Could say a lot about how long these cities have been dead." He considers. "That lone soul closer to shore, that Lady Lisette spotted, near where the stormwall ends. If it could be contained that would make a good candidate for an interview, do you think?"

Quinlan shrugs. "Asking the wrong expert," he says cheerily. "But if it's by itself then *maybe* yeah, it can be caught and questioned."

Merrisol nods, filing aside the idea. "Take a look behind you, will you, Quinlan? Are you being followed back to the shoreline?"

Oh... yes. One of the zombie packs seems to have noticed the flying tidbit and be trailing him.

Merrisol frowns at the report of Quinlan being noticed by a pack of the ground-schleppers. "Try to lose 'em? I'll go see if I can get that lone zombie, 'alive'," he says, deciding on the opportunity. "Just don't sling them my way.." He directs his cohort to row closer to the stormwall before he takes the rope and sacks he brought with him and leaps over the side into the water to first swim, then wade to shore.

Quinlan mmms. "Fireballs have the disadvantage of being very *visible*," he points out. But he does try to lead the pack off, away from other zombies, so that if he can fireball this lot, the fire won't attract more.

Merri nods, "Good hunting," but goes out of trump contact when he puts the card away and heads for shore. Weirdly, he sees nothing hanging out around the shoreline where the raging weather abruptly ends. "Must've wandered off since," he mutters, and gets back in contact with Quinlan after studying the phenomenon of the storm wall's end. "It's not there anymore.. or it wasn't a zombie after all. Have you incinerated your lot?"

"Amazingly enough, zombies are not usually known for their speed," remarks Quinlan. "Leading him off away from others so sudden flaming zombie corpse doesn't attract too much attention."

"You didn't see the Kitezh chaos-y undead warriors in action then," smirks Merri. "I'd better leave you to it. It would have been a bad idea to bring one of them on board the Dancer anyway. We'll need to find a quarantine boat if your brother is going to have chats with these remains."

Quinlan looks wry. "Yeah, I tend to find other places to be when the fighting heats up. Just really not my thing." He looks below. "Ah. Good." There's a bright light, for a moment, shining from below; one mage setting zombies aflame with the hottest fire Arcanis can call.

Unfortunately, Quinlan can see right off that another zombie pack did in fact notice the fire and are moving toward the coast.

Merrisol gets a glimpse of Quinlan's making-fire-face, then lowers the card to see the flash and carpet-bombing effects off in the distance from where he stands. Eyeing that direction, he sets off at a more rapid pace along the shoreline.

"I was afraid of this," sighs Quinlan. "Be careful if you can see that. The zombies could see that too."

The trump connection is dead, then back, like a necromantic yo-yo, as Merrisol lingers on the beach, switching from the Quinlan bird in the sky, back to the image on his card. "Get them to follow you back inland, and I'll trump you out of the airspace?" he suggests. "No more bonfires, either way."

Quinlan nods, and starts flying inland again. "Fair enough. Don't want to lead a flaming pack of them to your boat."

"Doesn't appear like they care to get wet," Merrisol points out, waiting to see if Quinlan's baiting gambit is going to pan out, before he holds out his hand. "What happened when you roasted that first lot? Did it kill the virus?"

Quinlan makes a face as he takes Merri's hand and is pulled back to the boat. "I think so," he says, but doesn't sound terribly positive. "Still...it's a definite you aren't going to want to send up anyone you don't have a trump for, as a scout. Cos a dragon would have the same problem I just did, of leading zombies back to camp."

Merrisol claps Quinlan on the shoulder once he's through, and releases his hand. That was niftyyyy. "That shouldn't be a problem with our current lot, but we'll mark that in red when it comes time to pass it on to the big-wigs," he observes, wading back to the shoreboat. Once Quinlan alights, Merri takes the oars from the brave volunteer crewmate, and they quickly set off for the ship again. "Maggie's a better illustrator.. she can transcribe your illusory map to parchment.. and has done it before, I believe."

Quinlan nods. "You'll be interested in what I could see, I think. Zombies and all."

Merrisol scans the visible shoreline for any shambling throngs, but seems the disappearance of the Unidentified Flying Oberspawn has stymied them for now. "I'm still trying to imagine what these dying.. dead.. cities are.. what manner of culture existed here ages ago."

Quinlan smiles. "Well. This is what I could see." And he creates, in miniature, an illusion with all the details he can remember, of what he saw on his flight.

Pulling the oars, Merrisol checks his angle of approach on the Wave Dancer, gets them turned, then passes rowing duties back to the crew woman, Ms. Geribaldi. He sits and tilts his head while he adjusts to the aerial view turned a vertical angle for viewing. "Oh," he mutter-sighs, absorbing the scaled down details. "Archaeologist's paradise.. except for the gangs of undead cannibals." The boat draws alongside the ladder, and Merrisol turns his attention to securing the mooring ropes. "I'll see you on deck. I imagine your brother is going to want to see that map, very badly."

Quinlan nods. "Agreed. And Maggie." He gets up, and then flies up off the boat, to land on the deck.



The risen moon touches the ship and glows palely over its graceful curves. That is really about it in terms of lighting, while the Wave Dancer is in stealth mode - with zombies to the left and bounty hunters to the right, who might be drawn to yellow lantern light over water. It should be morning, after a sound night's sleep, but instead, it's shadowy dark and restless on board. A small scouting party had gone to shore, crazy bastards. The mage had been seen floating high above the mainland, moving in until he was just a green speck. The (current) Captain had left the safety of the rowboat and swum to shore, actually setting foot on what was popularly held to be cursed ground. At one point, a bit of the mainland got carpet-bombed. But they had returned that evening, intact and unchewed.

Merrisol comes up on deck after a mandatory collapse period, and sits writing in a journal, under moonlight. He needs the light to write, yes, but it is probable he has also thought to show himself out and about to reassure the crew that he hasn't gone and 'turned' on them, since getting back.

Fear not, for there's a couple of Feldane's on board. Should anyone have turned they would have been rapidly dealt with! Or so the theory says, anyway. Never can tell with the practitioners of the dark arts. Robert finds himself stepping out on deck again, tasting the salty air by filling his lungs and rolling his shoulders.

Here, there, its hard to tell where Ryika is going to be at any given time. She emerges from below decks, bringing with her a steaming carafe of coffee and a collection of mugs. She looks up at the sky, watching it thoughtfully for a few lingering moments.

Perhaps drawn by the aroma of the Rebman's burden, Lisette trails along behind Ryika, the pallid woman looking even less filled with energy than usual. She has, however, got her telescope already clasped in one hand just in case there's anything ashore requiring urgent attention.

Merrisol looks up, settled near the rail of the raised aft deck to be generally out of the way of traffic, but still in plain view. His gaze zeroes in on Robert, on the main level within conversation range. Since the man appears to be in one of those sensory zones, Merri instead looks further and catches sight of Ryika, then Lisette. He raises a hand in greeting, sitting up in his deck chair, and gesturing to the other seats currently free, as fair trade for a mug of coffee.

Ryika pads over to claim a deck chair and gives a little shiver. "I always forget how chilly it is before the sun gets up.. or really just i Minos in general. I swear, I'm going ot start leaving warm clothes next to my mirror." She settles in the chair and starts pourign coffee for whoever might want some, Merrisol first. "So what did I miss?"

Lisette moves to claim a chair adjacent to Ryika, glancing to the other woman for permission before leaning forward to help herself to coffee. "Some... explorations that were rather dramatic to watch from here," she says dryly.

The night-fogged landscape is just one big mass of pitch dark for the visually-impaired, that is.. the normal folk.. to be illuminated only by lightning from the stormwalls and those occasional mysterious emanations that one might uneasily chalk up to a trick of the mind. Those who see dead people would, of course, notice much more. Still the nearest and most obvious presence is a ghost by the fringe of the storm where it butts against the mainland.

"Good morning, Ryika.. Lady Lisette." Merrisol nods, standing as they arrive. He pulls out of his red waistcoat and offers to engulf Ryika's shoulders with it while she pours. "It was to be a preliminary recon, though Quinlan ended up going further as opportunity arose, and we had to shake off some mobs that ended up following his flight back to shore. Fire.. not such a great idea when you're trying to keep them away, it turns out," he reports, settling back into his chair and taking the cuppa when it's ready. "Also.. trumps are very useful for getting them off the scent." He takes a quick throat-heating slup, sighs, and sets the mug down to pick up a roll of map parchment from the deck where his journal now rests discarded.

"Thank you, Dad." Ryika murmurs with a touch of a teasing tone as Merri settles his jacket around her shoulders and she rewards him with hot coffee. Lisette too, for that matter. She claims a cup for herself, watching the steam rise in the cool sea air and arches a brow. "Flying zombies? Please say they were just chasing a flying Quin on the ground. Trumps are handy that way.. yes. Did you find anything interesting other than highly persistent and flame retardant undead?"

"Quinlan has a habit of going further than he expected." The gruff voice of the Kite interjects as he turns his attention away from the ghost he can see to the living people here present. There's a low snort at the mention of trumps and a shake of Robert's head. Cheating! And this from a royal. "Did you find anything of value out?"

Lisette peers outwards, squints... then frowns pensively as she takes a long sip of her coffee. "I think there's still just the one ghost out there. About where the stormfront brushes against the mainland." She nods in the relevant direction. "Could //potentially// try having a word with it.... But how //did// they respond to fire? Were they drawn to it? Or just wholly unbothered by it?"

Merrisol doesn't stand up again for Robert, royalty or not. Probably get sneered back down, even if he did. He takes another quick sip from his mug, sets it down, and unrolls the parchment onto a fold-out frame, securing the corners. Else he'd have to hold it down with coffee cups and he really wants his. "...It was a ghost you sensed, huh." He nods to Lisette. "No wonder I didn't see anything there then, when I went over to fetch it. And they burned, alright.. the others. Grounded zombies, yes, Ryika. He didn't notice anything airborne, thank goodness. But the fire attracted a larger mob and Quinlan was obliged to lead them all off before they got close to the beach. Last thing we need if we're going over again soon. He managed to get a visual record of his aerial view, enough to form a passable illusory map, which Maggie has transcribed onto parchment." Merri frowns as he maneuvers for a good angle of moonlight under which to place the map, which is a bit long-range in nature, but shows a good wide north-south strip of mainland beyond the coast.

The illusion had been photo-realistic, but the map is more of a quick, clear illustration. Details of ruined cities in decay, tracts of wasteland, hills and marshes, indicate possibly days of travel time over land. Overlaid in a tinted wash are spots of gold, which the legend says is ancient magic source. A red-tinted wash covers more of the area, and indicates large concentrations of undead magic contagion. Farthest north, the details thin out, but the presence of both red and gold are well saturated.

"Well that's handy at least. If they're attracted to fire, then we can use that as a distraction to draw them away from where we actually want to be." Ryika curls up in Merri's coat, snuggling with her coffee as she listens. "No big red informational signs saying 'and here's the relevant history of Minos and why we've a pissed off goddess', hmm?"

Robert paces over to near the table, in order to lean over Merrisol and peer at the map. Creepy necromancer behind you! Run away little Rebman! He glances to Ryika. "I need to see the other relic you hold as soon as possible. I am lead to believe bringing it here would not be advantageous."

Lisette flashes a somewhat sleepy smile of greeting at Robert, before nursing her coffee more tightly. "Do you know //where// it is that you hope to reach? Or is the exact location something we need to find out as well? I'm just wondering how many strands of research we should try to pursue, alongisde the examination of the... artefacts."

"We don't exactly know that something bad will happen if we bring the heart back to Minos.. for example, the storm goddess zeroing in and blasting the ship. We could try it... later." Merrisol doesn't like Robert standing behind him, nope, but he just frowns extra squinty at the map, and points vaguely towards the thicker red-gold blob that is in the relative nothingness of map detail at the top of the page. "It's way over here, Quinlan says, the ancient power source that is akin to the magic of the storm.. perhaps fueling it? Unsurprisingly, it is also utterly swamped in the contagion magic. As far as he could tell, the virus exists where there are zombies, and does not, where there are not." He sits back, coffee mug poised, and looks at Ryika. "If you would return to your home in Alhambra at your soonest convenience, I can hand Lord Robert through to you, Ryika. Lady Lisette, you wanted to get closer to that soul.. I will see you to shore and keep watch while you work."

"Field trip!" Ryika declares at Robert's mention of wishing to see the artifact in Alhambra. "Field trip to somewhere warm, you don't need to ask me twice." She moves to uncurl from her spot on the chair, and reluctantly offer Merri his jacket back. "For the record, I am find with diving to go visit a maelstrom under water, but I am not getting zombied. Or I'd really spectacularly rather not bring zombie plague home. Because that's the /last/ thing Banyan needs is freaking /zombies/." She snorts softly and gestures. "Who all is coming to Alhambra? Just Robert and I?"

Robert arches a brow as Ryika all but jumps at the chance to get out of here. "I find nothing wrong with Zombies." Which is also not really what you want to hear the seneschal of House Feldane saying. Really. The other eyebrow joins the first. "Banyan?" For even he has heard of that. He shakes his head and looks to the others. "I do not think it necessary that any one else joins us, I merely wish to look at the heart and then return."

Even Lisette arches a brow... before offer Ryika a smile. "We'll make sure to keep the weather nice and cool for your return," she assures the Rebman. "But yes, this sounds like the outline of an initial plan. For my own part, I can't promise that the spirit out there won't be actively dangerous - let alone offer assurances that it might help us. But if it has any semblance of a mind left, I should be able to speak to it."

Merrisol levers forwards and stands, receiving the red coat and dragging it over one shoulder instead of putting it back on. Won't be taking that crimson target to shore. Robert's declaration filters in but is dismissed as a necessary perversion of weird creepy /old/ Feldanes. He glances at Ryika and even though he already knows about her and Banyan, he still catches a breath inward while she speaks protectively of that other-realm. "Trump me when you are in position then," he tells her, more warmth returning as he gives Ryika a comradely smile. He looks inquiringly over at Lisette. "Admittedly I'm used to life with ghosts, but these ones tend to shut doors you're trying to use and steal heat from stoves rather than act out violently." He picks up the map once people are done looking, and his journal, and goes to put them somewhere more secure.

"I have no real issues with zombies, although I dont wish to /be/ a zombie." Ryika explains a touch to Robert with a flash of a smile and a lack of explination upon her Banyan comment. Her desire to go elsewhere might have something to do with her bare arms and the fact that the tiny Alhambran/Rebman is woefully underdressed for Minosian weather at the moment. "Trump in just a couple minutes then, Merri." She slips below deck and is gone, taking her coffee cup with her. Off to sun and sand and warm. Mmmm. Warm.

Robert shakes his head at a number of things but is also soon vanishing beneath with the Rebman. Alhambran. Her!

"For myself, I think that desiring to avoid becoming a zombie is something upon which most should be able to agree," Lisette murmurs, polishing off her coffee. "So... do we go for a chat to the ghost now?"

Merri downs the rest of his coffee too. "It'll be close enough to daybreak by the time we make shore," he nods to Lisette. "And brighter there than here since the stormwall isn't blotting the sun." He considers the hot carafe and the potential time for another dose, when Ryika dings him in the head. "There she is," he grunts, and gestures Robert closer to make contact. "Thank you," he tells Ry. "Do call me if there's trouble with the heart." After cheating Robert through, Merri departs to get a team to prepare the boat for launch again. He brings his tougher excursion gear with him as he returns with the same raincoat for Lisette, now with a proper side-slit for her sword.

Ryika is in a lovely very Alhambran study when she trumps Merrisol, with a silk wrapped small item upon the desk. She pulls Robert through to the place and gestures. "Examine to your heart's content. Can I get you anything?" She appears to be ready to leave him to it, and do a couple other things herself. At least briefly.

Robert is indeed ushered through the trump and away from one Rebman into the arms of another. Woe! He shakes his head to the offer of sustenance. "Thank you, but no. I merely wish to examine this to see if it is the same as the other." Which is what he does, his attention is soon fixed on the heart object.

Lisette offers Merrisol a grateful smile. "It seems that I need to get myself some proper sea-faring gear again. I haven't had any for a while. Still... let's see just how drenched I can wind up. I've never tried anything //quite// like this before."

"Can't imagine a life primarily bound to land, myself" Merrisol admits, wrapping his torso in chain and looping the weaponed ends over his shoulders to hook for ease of access. He has the boat packed with rope and canvas bags, in case it should be possible to collect samples off the island. Going down the ladder first, he waits to hand her in before manning the oars to row them to shore. "What haven't you tried before, quite.. speaking to a spirit?" Notice he asks this after they are already well on their way.

Ryika ensures Robert has handy access to paper and pens should he wish, and then vanishes off into the rest of the house. She's really not gone all that long before she's returning to the study dressed entirely inappropriately for Alhambra. She won't, however, freeze half to death in Minos. "How's it going?" She asks quietly.

Robert is just straightening up from examining the object which looks decidedly unpoked and unprodded in the extreme. Whatever he just did it was by look and possibly magical sight alone. "I am finished. We may return to the ship now, if you please." The cold! The wet!

"Venturing out to the very edge of a supernatural storm, to talk to a spirit of unknown origin and nature... in a situation where if things go wrong, the //good// outcome is that I manage to struggle ashore onto a cursed wasteland over-run by an undead army." Lisette cracks a grin.

"Certainly." Ryika passes Robert a trump of herself, a loaner to be certain. She makes sure the artifact is wrapped up and put away safe, staying in Alhambra. "Call me in a couple minutes. It doesnt take long for me to travel." She turns towards one of the mirrors in ehr study and after a moment, simply steps through it and is gone.

Robert stares after the vanishing woman and merely waits for a time to use the trump before he joins her.

Merrisol's smile is flat with the effort of steering and rowing himself and Lisette expediently through the water. "We're not going into the storm.. not even near it. If it doesn't rebuff us spinning, it'll capsize us for sure. We'll approach the edge by its land side." Meaning, they /are/ struggling ashore onto a cursed wasteland over-run by an undead army. He... perhaps didn't explain this thoroughly before launching.

Ryika roams out on deck to watch Merrisol and Lisette rowing to shore, leaning on the railing. She glances to Robert a moment. "Y'know, it seems almost mean to wait here while they do all the work and thenjust trump over."

"Does it?" Robert wanders over as he watches the pair rowing away. With no sign whatsoever that he's going to hail them. Nope, he's waiting.

Lisette lifts her brows, chuckles, then shakes her head. "Ah, well. At least we have a whole range of secure escape routes ready-prepared, eh?"

"Oh. Yes," Merrisol says, nodding too slowly and studiously. Bad at lying, and not even trying! "Huh.. they're back already." Since he's got his back to the shore, he can see the two figures standing at the rail, and recognizes Ryika for certain as one of them. "I suppose it was just another bit of carved shell after all," he grumbles. The sea lightens as the shallows are reached, and Merrisol goes over the side to drag the boat onto the sand. He seems willing to do it alone, but won't object if Lisette splashes out herself before they hit solid beach. "Whatever this magic contagion is, the undead have it, not the land itself," he reminds helpfully. They are a good hike down the coast from the roiling howling weather mass, and it's easier from this angle how the effect simply ends, where the tide laps the land.

High boots have their advantages, and Lisette seems quite willing to assist in making sure that the boat doesn't get pulled out to sea and strand them. "I still don't know how effective I might actually be against any of the embodied undead," she says ruefully. "But... let's see." She switches her gaze, looking for the ghost she's here to pursue - and scanning around for any others that might be visible from this new vantage point. Or drawn hungrily out of hiding by the presence of living souls, of course.

"A little, but I'm a terrible rower, so not so much." Ryika comments to Robert as she watches. "Any thoughts on .. all of this? Any of this?" She gestures generally around, to Minos and beyond as she waits for the other pair to get themselves settled upon land.

Robert shakes his head in answer to Ryika's question. "I am not generally a man who launches into suppositions without making a good study of the evidence. And I have had little time to gather any of that."

Merrisol nods by the side of the boat. "I'm going to take a short look around and make sure the area's clear," he tells Lisette quietly. "We'll be out in the open by the edge there. Do you see it?" He takes a coil of rope in a sack along with him and tromps across the beach, approaching the dunes quickly with his long stride, but getting noticeably slower and lighter about his step as he gets close enough to peer beyond the rise, inland. It's still a ways to the spot where Quinlan torched his admirers, but positions of the roving bands have altered overnight, as hints of disturbance or live prey lead the mindlessly hungry astray.

Lisette points towards the stormfront. "Over there. The whole place is... inclined towards death," she answers Merrisol before he sets off. For her part, she peers pensively in her indicated direction for a few moments longer, before setting herself into motion.

"There's not a lot of evidence to study, it makes for a lot of suppositions, and discarded theories." Ryika comments and then nods as Merrisol and Lisette seem settled enough. "Shall we join them?" She digs through her trump deck to extract Merri's card and consider it.

Robert nods. "That would seem a wise course of action. I should still like to speak with the goddess at some stage as well."

Merri turns slowly to catch sight of Lisette in his visual periphery and backs off down the slope of the dune to trail her, getting ever closer to the towering stack of turbulent atmosphere. He naturally does not see what the Feldane is looking directly at, but as he sidles closer, he attempts to stay out of her sensory sweep. "Inclined towards death..? How's that.. where the dead have trodden, suchlike?" he wonders once he can speak at a quiet conversational level. At that point, he gets a trump nudge, thankfully nothing like an inopportune cellphone ringtone behind enemy lines. "Yes, go ahead..?"

"I... if I look at a living thing, I can see how close it is to death," Lisette answers, too distracted to register that Merrisol is no longer likely to be paying much attention to her. "It's not exactly pleasant, so I tend not to use this... sight very often. But this whole place... it feels closer to death than it should. That might just be because there's been so much here, and so little alive. But he..." She points again. "Looks like a sailor. Might still be able to tell us something. And I might be able to help him on his way a little. Maybe."

Ryika smiles into the trump contact. "Bad time? Robert and I are back, if you'd like us to join you over there."

Robert merely places a hand on Ryika's arm as he watches her trump Merrisol. All the better to join the group.

Merri has the slight advantage of not being the party who must focus on a card, but he's still not great at seeing two places at once and not falling down a rabbit hole. He mostly hears Lisette's explanation except where it overlaps Ryika's question and becomes yarble-garble. He mostly stays put, shaking his head at Ryika and blinking a little when Robert joins his mind. Bad touch. He studies Ryika. "Both armed? Both dressed top to bottom.." He means her. And.. he just gives Ryika another look, as she specifically said she didn't want to get zombied. Well. That just won't happen, then. He waits for them to confirm that they are ready, then holds out his hand.

For once, Ryika actually is armed! She's a sword scaled to her size upon her hip with her, and she's dressed warmly and everything. "Yes, Papa. I dressed warmly." She smirks a touch at him and reaches for his hand.

Robert looks from Ryika to the image in the trump and just smirks. "I am always armed," is pointed out as he waits.

Realising that Merrisol is back in contact with the others, Lisette comes to a halt to await their arrival. Might as well have back-up before poking a spirit, after all.

Merrisol brings Robert through, and then Ryika. That makes four living folk standing on the beach in the scattered showers of the bizarrely restricted storm front. "So.. a sailor, you said, Lady Lisette," he says, after releasing Ryika and backing off a bit for a clear line of sight to the inland dunes. "Lingering next to the beach.. specifically the storm. Storm-blooded, perhaps..?"

Perhaps a little disturbingly, in the distance they can see signs of movement on the land. Funny thing about line of sight is that often if you can see something, it can also see you.

Robert steps with caution through the trump, glancing up to the storm wall and about the place with a frown on his features. "The heart is the same as the skull," is noted to Merrisol and the others as he puts foot on beach and takes note of everything.

"So, by being here, have we just painted a great big target upon ourselves?" Ryika asks as she watches the momvement off in the distance. She lingers close to the group, not rushing off to go investigate things. "I'm sort of impressed, and worried, that it's not actually storming."

"I fear we have," Lisette confirms to Ryika - though she glances to Robert for confirmation. "Shall we all move closer to the sailor, while I try to engage him in conversation? Or would a skirmish line up here make more sense?"

Merrisol nods to Robert in grim acknowledgement. Now he has to get used to saying shell instead of bone, again. At least it's a little less morbid that way. It is of little comfort right at this moment, with the certainty of gristly company joining them on the beach at some point. He watches the distant movement thoughtfully. "Get closer to the influence of the storm, would be my suggestion, to start. Mask our scents? Though perhaps 'she' will become aware of you, if you do. You wanted to commune, yes?" he says over his shoulder to Robert, while he watches to determine the pack's direction and rate of travel. "Quinlan was able to.. initiate.. a limited sort of mutual communication with the goddess, at one point. Prior efforts weren't working out, but then it just happened. He had the skull on him at the time. But then it happened again later when he didn't have it, so.. worth a try, either way?" He shrugs, and starts to range out from the group. Maybe it's him the gang has noticed.. he's the tallest here. "Let me see if I can lead them away from yourselves and the boat?"

"So you are telling me to walk up to the wall and hail the goddess?" Robert asks as he looks to the thing in question and then yes, goes sauntering off in that direction. Someone lacks any sort of sensible fear from the looks of things. He doesn't go too far, lifting his head and voice to shout at the wall. "Hail and well met!" Because what else would a Kite say to a goddess! Well, beyond challenging them to a... "Would you care for a drink?"

Since is Robert is outside the direct influence of the stormwall, he seems to get no response unless one happens to notice the slight bulging of the storm in his direction.

"Quin tried flying.. a lot of people tended to just yell at her. I'm not quite sure why she took a shine to Quin. Hopefully it runs in the family." Ryika comments as she watches Robert's tactics and then looks over to the gang. "I might /have/ a sword, but i'm a whole lot better at running than swinging it. Just for the record."

Lisette pauses... staring at Robert for a few moments, before shaking her head and moving closer to the storm as well - though her chosen target is, hopefully, a //lot// smaller in power. As she gets nearer, she switches the focus of her vision, so that she can properly see the deceased sailor.

Merri stares at Robert as the Feldane goes sauntering off to proposition the goddess. "She hit /Quin/ at first, too though," he comments to Ryika. "Stay with Lady Lisette.. she isn't as familiar with the line of questioning we would ask." That gives Ryika her 'out' from going zombie-baiting with him.

Robert is not a-feared. He spots the bulging and approaches closer, pulling a flask that dwells beneath his cape, which is thrown back to bare the flask to the advancing storm. "I am Robert Feldane, also know as Robert Red-letter, Robert the Red, Seer of ghosts. Among my many names and places I have been. I would have words with you, should you care to share my mead and speak with me!" He's not shy about it, neither the storm nor the approach. Cocky bastard.

The ghost sailor seems to be dressed as a common sailor might not as a captain would.

At the mention of having words with the storm, a ball of hail comes flying out on a fairly accurate trajectory at Robert's head.

"I think Robert can manage a smack or two better than Quin did." Ryika comments about a microsecond before the hail decides to illustrate nicely. She starts a bit and then sidles over closer to Lisette to 'protect' the woman, or more likely, offer suggestions on questions.

Lisette is quite frankly happier with her assignment than either of the other options. Just so long as Robert continues distracting the storm-goddess, rather than infuriating her into unleashing a hurricane.

The sailor, she attempts to attract the attention of - even going so far as to offer him a polite half-bow. Then she activates one of her (marginally) more advanced blood-traits, and infuses her voice with the right sort of power to let it carry clearly to the dead. "Greetings. And apologies for one of the living presuming to trouble you. Can we talk, for a time?"

The sailor merely nods to Lisette in response.

Merrisol glances again at the others to fix their positions relative to the storm and the boat further up the beach, creating a triangulation of where he needs to be in order to be the tastiest thing around for a mile. He catches a glimpse of the storm chucking a hunk of ice at Robert, fails to suppress a semi-sympathetic half-cough half-chuckle, and then hurries off to reinitiate that bothersome line-of-sight at the crest of the sand slope. Once he's got some attention he sets off away from the team.

Robert gets clonked on the head by some hail and looks decidedly non-plussed at this. "If that is your opening shot in order to gain a drink? Then you have much to learn about the warmth and hospitality of this Kite." He shakes the ice off and takes a sip of his flask. "Tis a pleasant vintage, good to warm the heart and loosen the throat in order to facilitate conversation. So I ask again. Will you come share a drink with me?"

Ryika is half keeping an eye on Robert and half keeping an eye on the half conversation she can hear with Lisette. She winces at the smack from the ice. "She really isn't one for sensible conversation." A soft half mutter before she's looking to Lisette talking to.. nothing. At least as far as the Rebman can see. One Rebman, two Feldanes. This isn't goign to end poorly at all.

Lisette's approach is rather different to Robert's. "I wondered if it might be possible to help each other. I can make no promises... but as you can tell, I can see what most of the living cannot. And I wish to learn about this place. Can you tell me what happened to you, and how long you have been here?"

The storm rumbles dangerously. A faint mist begins creeping off the storm in Robert's direction.

Robert lifts a hand to the roll of the mist, his fingers moving in a style that beckons it closer, to examine him if it so chooses. "Come now," is teased at the thing heading in his direction. "Surely you do not fear a simple Kite?"

The ghost sailor nods, "Not been here all that long. Me captain tried to make an end run around the storm by skirting the mainland coast as it were. Near broke the ship it did. I ended up thrown overboard beneath the storm. Couldn't no one get to me. I swim well enough but no one can swim forever and it wouldn't let me go. Drownin's a right terrible way to go, lass."

It's a tennis match, really. To watch Lisette and Robert. Ryika glances back and forth between the two, although her efficacy at helping in either case is questionable.

The mist continues its slow crawl across the moist sand then begins to curl itself around Robert, growing thicker and thicker until there's really nothing left for Ryika to see.

Robert emits a low chuckles as he finds the fog curling around himself. "Now now, a lover's embrace and so soon? You blow hot and cold. I don't know whether I'm coming or going," is joked to the fog. Well he's still alive!

Once the mist has curled around Robert, it begins to retreat toward the storm and he finds himself being dragged along with it... by something.

"Oh that's just not good." Ryika comments as Robert is engulfed in the mist. She leaves Lisette to her polite chat and goes to attempt to break up the lovers, or at least make it a threesome and reach into the misty foggy something. "Robert?"

"I appear to have an invite to go parley," Robert jests, sounding not the least bit worried by this. "Should I vanish remind Quinlan that he has something important of mine."

When Ryika reaches into the mist, she is violently flung back. Apparently the storm doesn't want her tagging along.

Down the beach, Merrisol checks on the zombie herd and stops short as he sees the general plodding direction hasn't veered as hoped. He gets a couple of free-thinkers going his way, but. He turns to his trump deck and tries to contact Ryika, while with his right hand he unhooks his glass harpoon and hook, and lets the loops fall loosely from his trunk.

Lisette nods to the sailor. Perhaps foolishly, she trusts her House superior to have some idea of what he's doing, and thus endeavours to block out the frankly rather scary developments occurring nearby. "If you wish to move on, I can perform a rite that will allow you to do so," she offers to him, trying not to wince as Ryika is repelled.

Robert is not fighting being dragged off, for better or worse he's simply.. riding out the storm. And swigging whatever the hell it is he has in his flask. Either way he's quiet.

Ryika runs fairly well, swimming she's aces at. Flying? Ryika is not very good at flying. She's really bad at landing and as she lands in a heap of ooof and knocked out breath, of /course/ she ends up with a trump call. Because they only happen at the most opportune times. Her answer to it isn't 'hello', but rather a simple. "Ow. What?"

The storm continues to drag Robert along at a slow pace in retreat as the sailor nods, "Bloody boring here. Sounds better than what I've got." And then Robert is suddenly soaking wet as the rains and winds of the storm wall swirl around him, tugging this way and that.

Robert bides his time and indeed being wet. He's a Kite. They're used to being all sorts of unpleasant things, wet is the least of his trouble. "If you want me to shed clothing then getting it wet is not the way to go," is the droll Kite commentary on his predicament.

Robert is abruptly shoved backward, just out of the storm then tugged back in.

Robert can't help but laugh at the treatment he's been given, shouting back into the storm. "I too can play rough!"

Merrisol says helpfully to Ryika, "No good, they're still heading your way. Finish up and get back to the boat." He plays out some chain in his hand, using the harpoon as a lead weight that he spins with movements of his elbow.

Ryika notes to Merrisol as she gets herself up to her feet, brushing herself off. "The storm decided it wanted to keep Robert. She's fond of him? Or something? Anyhow, he's gone in the mist. I'll try and collect Lisette though."

Barring interruptions, Lisette intends to set about her laying-to-rest. Not least as a means of avoiding worrying about what in all creation Robert might be up to. Or going through.

Quinlan emerges on deck, yawning. "Did I miss anything?"

The storm drags Robert so far in that he begins to slide down toward the water at first.

Robert merely braces himself against what might come, calling out into the storm. "If you wished to swing me about could we at least get a hammock? Then might curl up and be comfortable with it!"

Robert is shoved back and dragged back in yet again.

Ryika waits anxiously with Lisette and her ritual ritualling, keeping an active eye out for how long they really do have to get back to the boat before zombies.

Fortunately, zombies are fairly slow moving and these were far away when they began moving toward the group so there seems to be some time yet.

Quinlan finds the ship empty! Woe! Looking around, he finds signs of camp...way off there. Joy. He heads below, gets into the stormsilks, grabs his staff, and flies off to join them.

Merrisol nods to that, reconciling himself to the loss of poor Robert. No, wait. "..Lord Robert knows what he's doing." Sort of. "All right, Ryika, you're still okay where you are for now, but when she's done, back to the boat. I'll see if I can get an older sample of dead person while I'm here. Don't wait for me on shore, I have trumps." He ends the call abruptly and tucks the card away. He moves in closer to those stragglers split off from the pack, adjusting his angle, and... "...What now?" he asks, focus sliding. What, that's not Ryika. "Amy.. hi!"

"We could just talk?" is suggested by Robert. "Keep this up and I might 'treat' you to my singing voice. And trust me I have many things but not a drop of sirens blood among them."

When he suggests talking, Robert is tugged forward then pushed back to the spot he was standing in.

To the image of Amethyst, Merrisol says, "It is.. slightly bad, the timing," Merrisol frowns in concentration. "But I still do want to talk! I've been trying to reach you, Amy."

Robert pushed and pulled every which way by the women in his life! "If that is talking then I need a translator," is noted drolly by the Kite. "I'm told my baby brother spoke to you before, so I'm assuming you can communicate with me?"

The storm tugs Robert forward then pushes him back again.

To the image of Amethyst, Merrisol detects a certain tone but only says, "I'll call you right back, Amy, promise." He lets go of the connection, and refocuses on his goal, which has gotten closer. He's been even closer to zombies than this, however, and they had swords. Finding his target, he lets the harpoon fly to meet the first one head-on, with skull-crushing force.

ANd into this, Quinlan lands, staff in hand. "...You left the boat to start the zombie fighting?" He looks around. "Uh. Without a Feldane?"

Ryika /had/ two Feldanes. Now she only has one. Who is busy being Feldaney and ritually and doing something Important. Which is making Ryika watch Quin and Merrisol in the distance and then back to Lisette and her ghostly friend and then back to the zombies and try not to look hideously impatient. Try. She periodically glances to the storm, to see how the seduction's going.

"Well this is not ideal." Robert shakes his head and looks up again. "Is there any way I can aid you?"

The storm tugs Robert forward yet again then shoves him back to his marginally safe location.

The first zombie flops back from the ranged strike and settles for being un-un-dead. Reeling the instrument back across the sand, Merrisol glances at Quinlan and mutters, "Your brother is getting the Stormy treatment, last I heard. Should have told him about the Right is Yes, Left is No game, come to think of it. Lisette is dealing with a spirit. Look," he points beyond his other zombie to the herd currently moseying gradually over to the end of the storm wall, where the others are situated. "Trying to turn them aside but they don't like me as much." It's very sad. And him, so lively.

Robert frowns as he's shoved, still shrouded in that mist that surrounds him. "The skull? Do you need that?"

The storm drags Robert forward so hard he almost ends up in the water before being puched back into place.

Quinlan grins. "My brother tries hard to hide it, but he's a bright guy. He'll work it out," he says. "Want me to set fire to zombies? Or we can try lightning. Or blowing them into each other."

"I know you may like it rough, I like a little girl and take." Robert might be heard remarking as he's punched back into place. Kites are tough! Kites are sturdy. Then again this one is damn well Oberon blooded. "The heart? You need that?"

The storm tugs him forward and pushes him back yet again. He may begin to feel a bit like he's getting whiplash.

Merrisol pauses, taking a moment to flick skull shards and matter to the side, and eyeing the other zombie on the move toward himself and Quinlan. "Nothing that would attract even more.. we'd have delayed waves hitting the beach that way." And he's not talking about the Sea this time. "Wind might work. Give them a scent to follow?"

Robert grunts as he's shoved about and nods. "I will do what I can to get both to you. I give my word as a Kite on that. But now I need to withdraw and aid the others."

The storm shoves Robert out, ripping the flask from his hand in the process. He did offer her a drink right?

Fortunately, it seems that when one has a rather uncomplicated and wholly-cooperative spirit, the rituals involved in laying a ghost to rest are not *unduly* time-consuming. Lisette shakes herself free of her near-trance state, looks around... and double-takes more than once as she attempts to absorb what's happening.

"Typical woman, shoving you around and stealing your drink," Robert mutters to himself as he looks around and tries to spot the others. "Hooooo!" is called out through the whistling winds around him as he turns to locate the others. "Captain Merrisol! Fetch me the skull!"

Quinlan nods to Merrisol. "I've had time to think of some ideas. Let me try using them as blunt instruments on each other." Which means, apparently, using powerful gusts of wind to pick up zombies and hurl them at each other, as if they were flotsam in a hurricane.

"Oh bloody hell." Ryika mutters as she hears Robert calling for the skull. "Yeah, I'm letting Merri deal with /that/ one." She looks over to Lisette. "You done? All good? I'll even take just less bad at the moment."

Robert steps quickly from the winds as he can and takes out a small piece of paper and a pencil, scribbling a note quickly. All the better to tell people what he commands! He then holds it aloft, and a bird of celtic knotwork braves the storms and swoops off to Quinlan.

Merrisol winces as Robert howls across the beach at them, stepping back from Quinlan while he works on bowling the group down into an awkwardly flailing field o' zombie parts. "Fetch... it's on the blood ship," he growls, stepping to one side and slinging his harpoon at the last nearby undead so that it sails over the blighter's shoulder and overreaches by a few feet. When he yanks it back, however, the barbs plunge into the zombie's head from behind and it is hauled forward into the dune, where it rolls bumpety bump onto their side of the sandbar.

Lisette nods quickly to Ryika, managing to drag her attention fully back to the here and now. "He wasn't part of the problem - just the victim of an ambitious captain's risk-taking. Fortunately, the only one from his crew, it seems, but... he's at rest now. Do, ahh, you think we should help with the fighting? Or stay well back?"

"Nooo. no no no. Back to the ship, cause if we're back there, then hopefully Quin and Merri and Robert will all join us, and then we might work out if Robert's brain washed, or has a better plan for the skull." Ryika explains, without explaining, as she heads for the rowboat.

Quinlan looks over as Robert makes his declaration. "Uh. Did any one remember to fill him in on why we haven't done that?" he asks carefully.

Lisette nods agreement to Ryika. "I've got your back. Even if a couple get close, I should be able to handle them easily enough. It's battlefield-scale work I've not experimented with..."

Merrisol has to think about that. He pries the harpoon free from the corpse with a sickly crack. "He's been given a great deal of information.. but we've never been asked to /give/ the skull to the goddess. She wants it buried, and needs someone to do it for her." He looks so see Quinlan's handiwork with the wind-tossed zombies, then heads for the beach. Looks like the rowboat is still there, although the women are there, at least. "Tell your brother we'll reconvene on the ship? Hey.. Quinlan. Are you sensing magic contamination on this? Or me?" he asks, holding the harpoon up for inspection.

"I can wave my sword at them, and then they'll laugh and eat us. So I'm aiming to keep our distance." Ryika grins to Lisette and waits by the rowboat for Quinlan and Merrisol. She uhhs softly to Quinlan. "I figured you guys had explained all that and everything to Robert, and he was just compulsioned. Compulsed? Seduced? We can go with seduced by Stormy." She looks between Merrisol and Quinlan at the question of contamination.

Quinlan sniffs at the offered harpoon. "A little. But it's fading. I don't think it's something the magic knows to latch onto."

"The goddess wanting the skull buried sounds new to me," Lisette puts in. "But I've not been around for at least some of the discussions."

Merrisol nods to Quinlan, gazing at the shatterproof glass, naturally champagne coloured, but with flecks of viscera still wet upon it. "Hm. So it might be magic following organic rules, after all?" He glances over at Lisette, and nods to her. "Then we'll get you up to speed on the ship. Let's head out." He stows the weapon in a canvas bag and lets it hang over the side until they can get back and have Quinlan give it another look before declaring it perfectly safe.

Ryika settles in the rowboat, ready to soothe the sea as needed to be able to get back to the ship and have a kibittz over .. well.. everything.

Quinlan settles in beside her. "This is going to be an interesting trip."

Lisette's quite happy to stand guard over the others, until departure is needed. She may not profess herself to be //much// of a Feldane, but it seems that she's willing to risk a brush with zombies.

Merrisol fetches Robert to bring to the skull, instead of fetching the skull to bring to Robert. He rows them back to the ship, looking discouraged.