Braving the Kitezh Shadowpath

[rassafraggin]

Ruby isn't sprawled over the Storm Cannon today. She's not even poking and prodding it, or using it to do stretches. Today she's more interested doing a little size comparison. In her hands is a very large /thing/ with a handle and coils, that resembles the ship-mounted weapon. Very seriously, she's standing up there on deck, holding the strange two-handed pistol in both hands and literally measuring it against the Storm Cannon while the wind tosses her hair about.

The day of the Grand Voyage has begun with the creeping of dawn over the Lower City, a few dozen minutes after it illuminates the upper. Due to the raised terrain surrounding the port environs, the golden light descends in increments down the sheer cliffside to the northwest, illuminating the engineering supports of the Great Lift. Finally the veil of shade recedes from the ugly city sprawl, of condemned and rebuilt neighbourhoods alike, the struggling commercial districts. The port administration and new harbour represents the best of the restorations, of pride and hard labour with lumber and stone. The novel shine has worn down in the space of a few months, however, and it's business as usual at first light. The Wave Dancer occupies a pier assignment to the east, close to the boondocks, where the long-time idle ships as well as various nautical freakshows and rejects are moored. This might be a deliberate move on the part of the port authority; the Dancer is a comely brigantine, and extravagantly equipped with Storm-forged accessories, and a honorably-commissioned privateer vessel for Rebma, and yet... she has garnered a reputation for being haunted, cursed, weird, and that's all aside from the odd and often troublesome passengers she tends to attract.

The crew is stoic about it. In fact, they talk about a time when the Dancer used to be sent even further out to the Boonies, so this station in between respectability and suspicion is a damn sweet improvement. The uniformed men and women are out in force after coming back on board from their last Amber shore-leave for quite some time. A headcount ensures nobody is AWOL, then the teams disperse to their scheduled duties.... one of which apparently is to gather 'round Ruby and ask twenty-one slobbering questions about her mini-Storm Cannon.

Ruby feels a bit more comfortable around crew. In a sense, it's a welcome change from the kind of fancy parties and odd discussions with Lords and Ladies. Unless there is someone of higher rank, she doesn't feel a need to adopt a defensive posture. Not to say she isn't up for stances of a sort. But she doesn't feel the immediate need to justify her existence on deck, even though, funnily enough, she holds no rank other than troublesome passenger. Ruby has sense enough not to go whipping the weapon around or making 'pichoo' noises, and she seems pleased with the metal and copper thing which hangs in a loose grip before her waist. "...So it be 'eavy. Cause tha be good. If it too loight, it break. Loight things ain't to be trusted...'cept if they be made 'o cream or boys-o-tha-cabin. HAW." So, apparently it's an answer to a very technical question. She doesn't let anyone hold it. No no no. That'd be like handing over a new toy because obviously no one will would play with it right. "Aye...any 'o you seen tha Missus or Mistah?"

"Right here," says Merri from beyond the group, having spotted Ruby in the middle with the ease of another tall person amongst average-heights. He is no more officer or crew than her, of course, but ingrained habit dies hard even after a year out from under his first matedness, which must have helped a bunch during their mock-stint as his pirate crew. The deckhands part ranks and cast another longing glance at her spiffy new toy before hurrying away to the last-minute preparations. Walking closer, Merrisol rolls the last vestiges of sleep-stiffness from his shoulders and back, and gets his Minosian on with a crisp white shirt, fawn breeches, and gold-quilted vest. His transitions between heritage looks are abrupt, without any commonality in tone, style, or colour. Even his personal behavior seems to change in some ways. At least his hair stays pretty much the same throughout. Trust the hair. "Good morning, Ruby. What's the hubbub.. oh." His eyes drop, then the tilt of his head in full, raptor-ish!, as he zeroes in on the objet d'zap. "Hullo. That's a storm pistol. Ruby, you made this?" He straightens up thoughtfully, then pivots to look at the Wave Dancer's own cannon. Ah-haaaaa..! He's sussed the resemblance.

Ruby quirks lips up into a pucker, having been surprised and immediately wrong-footed with the fact. Not that she was saying anything that could be overheard and misconstrued. And nothing even horribly gossipy about the tall Captain either. She assesses his state of dress and can't wrap her head around the theme apart from the type of garments. "Aye...This be tha bub-rub." she summons a grin and adheres it to her face. Her fingers insert themselves between coils and clasps, stroking it obscenely, and generally almost getting her digits pinched and stuck. "You wouldn't believe tha stoof tha Marty done provide when 'e thumbs oop wreck-ing-quisitions. Not tha I needed mooch. Aye, so I made it. Not egg-zactlah whut I wanted tah start oot doo-doo'n...Ain't sails'r silk'r whatsit...orbs. This be me inter-est, roight? You know what it be? 'Ere...you not some wee one, give squeeze. Moind tha guard, you ain't protected." And with that, she tosses the unpretty thing over for Merrisol to catch. Heads up.

It's the ship's crew what holds the best gossip, everyone knows that. Merri probably spared Ruby from being subjected to a bunch of rich, juicy conjecture over his absence on deck. Office work.. ahuh huhh.. say no more! The throw of the specialty weapon startles him in turn, and it bounces off his chest before falling into his lifted hands. Whew! He shoots her(!) a belated glance, then carefully readjusts his grip on the handle. Big hands, but not as long-fingered as hers. It's still manageable, however, and he keeps his trigger finger lifted away from the guard in any case. "This.. there's more to this barrel than one other designs I've seen," he observes appreciatively, lifting it to sight down the complexity of springs in tubes in barrels. Less pistol, more handcannon. "Does it hold more than one charge..?" he asks slowly, ready to be incredulously impressed if it is so.

Ruby shakes her head, and hair, side to side. "Nah. I ain't aboot tah fiddle with common sense'r test me luck. I mean, one shot be all a gal needs, aye?" She does consider it however. She really considers it hard. "Mebbe...If'n you 'ad more'n one strapped togethah." Danger! "I ain't no tinkah. I ain't sly or book. Be sumpthin I picked oop from Minosian sorts...An it be aboot as far as I gonna git frum things you kin swing. Arrows'n stoof...just ain't fair, roight? Dead roight." She hooks her hands on her hips and watches how Merrisol holds and familiarizes himself with it. "I didn't stop until it looked roight. And me 'and...well, 'ands loike ours, they ain't meant for crossbows'n whatnot. And it looks bloody nasty so big'n stoof. But loike I said, if'n there be ways tah improve...I ain't tha sort. Need tah talkie-talkie with smart folks...loike yew. For instance. Loike it?"

Wulf's appearance had been at the very first fingers of dawn. Three ships sit out in the harbour, waiting for some kind of sign from the deck of the Wavedancer, one that perhaps he's already taken care of. The jotun carries with him, a grand total of seven (for it's a lucky number) barrels of mead that have been donated from the three longboats that sit out in harbour - the flags of 'The Norn' 'The Forsetti' and 'Hrafn' fly in the dawn's first light. He's quiet when he steps aboard, ignoring the hustle and the bustle as best he can, to deposit those barrels in thier netting, to be stocked and stowed away. One huge hand lifts to the skies, a spray of brilliantly glittering snow shooting from his palm, high into the sky, changing to the colours of the rainbow bridge, to tell the story of which ship the kite crews are supposed to follow.

Climbing the stairs from below decks, Maggie is wearing her jaunty captain's hat today. Tri-cornered, curved upward, the brim shadows her face while leaving her hair free to float flame-colored, in the air.

A murmer begins and one fellow; Anderson by name, calls smartly, "Captain on deck." For a moment the bustle pauses as salutes are lifted.

She answers them in kind, smart, efficient, crisp. Nodding to Anderson, she makes her way to him, "Status report, please." Her tone is as brisk as her salute, though there is an underlying warmth that sings of delight.

He smiles, then nods and stands to attention. "We will be ready to sail with the tide, Captain." And, judging by the look he has in his eye, they had better be.

"Good. Carry on, Mr. Anderson." She salutes and he returns it. Turning from him, she makes her way down the deck to where the guests are congregating. Her brows lift when she sees the snow-rainbow rising form the mead-delivery person's hand. Striding toward the group, she calls, "Good morning. We will breakfast once we are on our way." She shadows Merrisol a smile, then broadens it to include Ruby and her wonderful pistol. Going to want a closer look at that... soon. Figuring out who Rainbow-Snow-Hand must be, she heads his way first. "Welcome aboard. I am Captain Flame." She is! Just look at that hair. And the flag the mast proudly displays has a single red-orange flame dancing on a field of green. Extending her hand, she adds, "When we head into Shadow, your ships will need to stay close. Will that be a problem for them?"

Merrisol nods over the instrument. "Visually speaking, it's the sort of threat to stop a man in his tracks," he points out, "Even if it doesn't have any extra firepower over the plainer styles I've seen. Have you test-fired it yet?" He pivots to one side and levels the barrel, directed over the rail at nothing in particular. Bzzzap! Ptchoo! Aw yiss, lookin' cool, Merri. Lookin' dangerous. The hushed exclamations of crew alert him to the Jotun's arrival, and he glances over his shoulder in time to see the snow spraying up amongst the rigging, and leads his gaze down to Wulf. Hastily, he hands the pistol back to Ruby and says sidelong, "It's a terrific piece, Ruby.. Maggie will adore it.. in fact, I'd like you to build one for her size. We'll discuss it later in private." Aha.. he too can form a secret girl club. Or something. He turns and moves in that direction now, catching sight of Maggie with a quick, warm smile to her. He trails along in her path to greet Wulf as well, with a nod. "There's an alternative to shadow navigation, Captain. The shadowpath.. I've heard it still does lead to Kitezh, even in its dying state."

Ruby digs her fingers into crevice and coils of the weapon, curling until she's got a good grip. Holster. Needs a holster damnit. Ruby eyes the guard and then offers Merri a quick nod before considering materials and resources. She lays eyes upon Maggie, and then finally Wulf. Her features become quizzical. With deliberate slowness, she goes to join the three souls.

Wulf's attention drops from the sky, when the sound of singing drifts clear upon the water -- scores of voices, all singing in the Kitezhka tongue, mens and women's both, in a lull and sway that seems to blend with the ocean's crash upon the shore. Smiling to himself, the giant lowers his hand, turning about on the spot to survey the crew under cro-magnon eyebrows, peering icey eyes out at faces galore, almost none of whom he knows. The Captain therefore, earns herself a straightening up of the fellow's hunched posture, bringing him to his full and glorious, towering height. "Wulf is Kite, fire-hair Captain Flame. His people sing the waves. They will be close and the edas and sagas will follow your wake." The booming voice comes out quietly as it might, heavily accented. "Wulf wants to know where he might sit? Perhaps..." He points one hand that's bigger than most people's heads, to the bow of the ship. "...that way, kith and kin might see, if he must send a new signal?"

The ships are a good deal distant, but activity /is/ happening there. With the song comes the scurry of 'ant' activity upon the deck. The 'Hrafn' is easily the largest of the three longboats, but each is a double-oar, not the largest size that can be made, but comfortable. The tall, broad masts stand proud, their rectangular sails catch the wind by some dint and angle to follow the wavedancer, when she launches, /against/ that which blows from the sea to the shore.

Absently, as if he's just remembered there's a lot of barrels there, one mighty meatslab he calls a hand waves in that direction. "For crew. Wulf's brother, he makes." And possibly steals the honey from raiding, but we will not go there. Right? Right. "Also, have fish. And salted mutton. Wulf's vater stock well, ja?" nodding to Merrisol, he tries a very awkward smile on, for the man's words. "We will sing, Merri man. We will sing and the song will follow."

Lowering her hand, Maggie tucks it into a pocket, her expression warm with a kind of incredulous glee. Nodding, she gestures with her other hand, "Please. Help yourself. May I call you Wulf? Or do you have a Captain's name?" Though it is a Minosian tradition, it might have been adopted by others, right? Sure. Turning a little as Merrisol and Ruby approach, she calls, "Good morning. Ah, good idea, Kerf. We can take the path and see for ourselves what shape it is in. Oh... Mouse has started breakfast, I understand." She looks as though she might wax rapsodic over whatever it is that the lanky culinary genius has prepared when a brightly colored foxbird wends its way down to perch on her shoulder. Surprise flits to her eyes as she accepts the note it provides. Opening it, she reads and chuckles, "Uh. Excuse me for a moment? I need to pester a cousin." Looking up, she adds, "I am going to see if Quinlan wants to join us."

As the foxbird flits away again, Maggie reaches for her pouch of cards. Opening it, she pulls out a slim deck and begins to riffle through them. Finding the one she wants, she steps into the lea of the near rigging and concentrates on the image it contains.

Merrisol cricks his neck, absently rolling it a minute turn one way, then the other, while he regards the giant. The raised tonal voices coming over the water reaches his ears and he slowly wheels to face the harbour bay and soak in the singing. A chilling sense of incompletion grows in him, although as discussion continues he is drawn back in to nod agreement with Maggie's decision to try the path instead. He looks up and up again, interested to learn about the Kitezhka travel rituals, although it turns to fish, mutton, and nicknames all too soon. Merri man. Enh, it's close enough. "These are generous gifts, Wulf.. we should relay our thanks to your brother.." he says thoughtfully, again eying the lofty height of the Kite, and rolling a look out to Sea. "I imagine you have all tasted Minosian rum before.." he murmurs, then looks after Maggie on her trump call briefly. "Erm.. the bow is good and raised, but it's full of rigging, might be awkward at, ah, full-size. Much clearer to aft," he points out to poop deck, where the wheel is located. Are you.. did something happen? You're back to being.." Merrisol accordions his hands outwards for emphasis. "..quite large. Or, is it by your own choice?" He notes the number of barrels that made it aboard in one go. Useful.

Ruby tilts her head to the side as the singing is carried along the waves. Her brows try to knit together. But this is as nothing compared to the full-on frowny face when Maggie gets a special delivery via very odd messenger. Something tells her that Maggie's about to pull in someone and she backs off a few paces to make room. She gives Maggie a small nod. She gives the barrels a nod as well. The very large Wulf does not get a nod. It gets a 'look'. Merrisol's questions echo some of her own unspoken ones. Miss Silence offers yet more of her unclear 'look' to the tallest of those assembled.

"Uh, no, is... is fine. Wulf is Wulfgar. Wulfgar too long, so mutti, brudern and schwestern call him Wulf. Little Wulf. He is no captain." Despite being the only one on the Wavedancer, he's the one that can be easily seen and do signals that can also be easily seen, it would appear. THus, he is here. And Merrisol. Aaaah, Merrisol, hearing that music on the water, it has the giant looking at him in an oddly perspicatious manner, for the huge simpleton. "Merri man, we will sing with you, when we are in the halls of the Thane of Thanes. It will be good." Is assured and with a nod. "Rum is good, Wulf has sometimes had. Are welcome..." with a nod to the barrels and a look of mild confusion as he seems to grasp that he might have done something wrong, considering his hand and the broad palm of it critically, then the poop deck, with a slow nod. "Wulf got frustrated with moving things slow. Also... Mutti and Vater, they accept. Is hard. But can easily see Wulf. He is tense." A slightly confusing response, but that's what it is.

Maggie nods to something said yonder, "Wulf it is, then. Thank you." She is standing on the deck of the Wave Dancer, or some other neatly trimmed brigantine ship. A very large someone might be seen over one shoulder while hints of Merrisol, Ruby and very early morning sunlit water might be glimpsed. "Quinlan. Hello." Her smile is warm, though she tilts her head to one side as though listening to something. Her focus is not shattered, nor even terribly shaken. "We are about to embark to Kitezh. We are assisting Wulf and his folk to get home and looking at the Shadowpath at the same time. Want to come along?" Lifting her hand, she nods a smile to someone for something. There is now enough room for someone to come aboard. Though her attention is clearly focused on the card in her hand, she offers, "Thank you for the gift, Wulf. And thanks to your brother. I am sure that the crew will be glad of a change of pace."

It /will/ be good, but only if Merri lipsyncs. Or maybe they'll all be too drunk to notice how terribly he sings. No. Nobody can be /that/ drunk and still be alive. Then again, certain blood lines do tend to come back in a week after death, so what do they care? Steady on, Merrisol's Mind. Stay on target. "Wulfgar, that is.. very good to know you have your family's support. Your mother - mutti - is aware she carries Jotun blood, then?" Merrisol looks around at Maggie expectantly, as Quinlan might appear at any moment before her. When it doesn't happen immediately, he glances at Ruby instead. The looky sort of look she's giving the giant Kite is noted, and he traces it in a direct line upwards. What now..?

Ruby seems to come sort of decision. And what has been decided is to go below decks and make sure everything is ship-shape in her cabin before things get shadowy. Things should be stowed, secured and less likely to roll about if things go produce-shaped. A thrumming monotone note tries to escape her throat and she turns about to go deal with her kit so she can be back in time to observe Shadowpath-related stuffs.

Wulf fails so epically at following his cues. More, when looks are Looky looks of peculiar quality that do not always lead to comprehension. One should not try and understand a Skaldi, they are by nature, rather enigmatic types and talk in riddles. And occasionally put tattoo'd eclipses to your eye and mumble strangenesses. Awkward! He nods at Ruby's lookery, then watches her slipping off down the decks to make sure nothing resembles an orchard fruit, turning back his heavy head on Maggie in her conversation with.... thin air... and Merrisol. Mostly Merrisol. Safer to be Merrisol, which is possibly, potentially, maybe a first! "Am thinking... thinking mebbe that she did. She thought mayhap, little Wulf was just big, but kept eye on. Vater, less so, but Wulf is son and of the blood, ja? Is complicated. Wulfgar." He tests his full name out, as if that was a greater honour, then nods slowly. "Welcome," for the barrels etcetera. Almost conspiratorially, he leans all the way down to Merri's ear, to 'whisper' words. "She tell of saga, of old time before Ragnarok, that she... she is of the line that started war. Jotun and Kitezhka war."

Maggie stands nearish to Wulf who is larger than life, or at least larger than Merrisol and that might be the same thing for Maggie. Ruby can be seen ducking down into the hold. Sailors bustle by on various tasks. The time is nearing when they will weigh anchor and set sail. A glance is turned toward Merrisol and Wulf at the whisper, though she does not let her attention waver. "Quin's going to be coming with us." A nearby sailor pauses, then nods and alters to head below. A cabin will be put to rights for the mage's use and Mouse will be informed.

On cue, Quinlan appears, lightly holding Maggie's hand. Geared for travel, too, with a nice warm (and rather nondescript) cloak, his white oak staff, and his bookbag. He lets go Maggie's hand to give a sheepish little wave to everyone. "Hi all."

Merrisol lives on in blissful ignorance of his being The Safe One, here. He receives Wulf's speculation with a wistful nod, remarking with a touch of irony, "Mothers do tend to take notice of how big and unwieldy their child grows from year to year. " There is the more somber part, the half-and-half-blood dilemma and a father's pride, but he is silent to that, unable or unwilling to offer pithy commentary. His eyes roll upward, scope widened to accomodate the breadth of Wulf's head as the giant stoops. Flutter, goes his hair, parting awkwardly on the one side for the duration of the rumble. Despite the visual humour, he listens attentively and lets out a commisserative sigh. "Well.. it," he starts hesitantly, then shakes his head and just goes ahead, 'whispering' back. "It seems to me, Wulfgar, your existence isn't a reminder of war, as much as it is proof that peace can be reached between the two races." Something more is needed.. a look, but not a looky look. He tries a couple of pats to Wulf's shoulder while it is in range, then turns to note that Quinlan has in fact arrived. "Heyyy. Quinlan, have you met our guest and guide for his people over yonder.." He gestures over the rail to a trio of longships sitting in the bay, their square sails run up. "Wulfgar. Wulf, this is Quinlan, he's a Pathian mage and a skill shadow navigator. Between him and Maggie, er, Captain Flame that is, we should find safe passage."

Maggie releases Quinlan's hand when he is stable aboard ship. Turning, she notes again the intimate distance between the jotsun's head and Merrisol's. Tilting her head slightly, she notes the part and unfamiliar 'look' that gives him. A twitched smile is offered as she hears the subject of the quiet conversation. Mothers. That gives her pause and a frown settles briefly between her brows as a thought struggles to the fore. Blinking it away, she lets Merrisol handle the introductions. Catching Mr. Anderson's gaze, she nods. He moves off, passing orders to lift anchor and catch a freshening wind away from the docks. Once that is taken care of, Maggie returns her attention to the others, "We will be out of Amber's waters soon. Do you need to signal your people again, Wulfgar?"

Quinlan gives Wulfgar a careful look as he's introduced as a mage - possibly checking to be sure the reaction isn't negative. And then looks around. "Croweded quarters, again?" he asks pleasantly.

Wulf nods his large head. "Am hoping," he murmurs, at a foghorn volume. "New Kitezh, new Kitezhka, new life. Old things are remembered, but new things are for new sagas. Ja?" -- With the introduction made, the frost giant nods down to Quinlan, no attempt made at all to shake hands. He doesn't seem to do that -- "Hullo. Am Wulf." He points out over the water, at the distant sound of song, then nods to Maggie at her inquiry. Both hands this time, lift to the sky and he shoots snowflakes out in a twin jet that turns a vivid red and sparkly, angling the two lines of manifest ice together like a giant compass point. The scurrying activity of ants on the other three kite ships seems to angle in that direction also, after a few minutes.

Merrisol smirks at Quinlan, understanding the context of the query. "I suspect you'll be fine staying upright," he opines, still massaging his ear from the decibel fail. "Ruby's on board, too.. but I think that's about it for the guest roster." Speaking of the big gal, "I should go have a word with her." He nods to the present company, lingering over Maggie, and starts to make his way to the stairway hatch, but he turns back upon hearing the *shhaaaash* of falling crystals, and notes the presence of coloured snow with some astonishment. And here he'd thought that bear sculpture's yellow scarf had been achieved in a more... classic.. manner.

Maggie shrugs, "Oh... probably a bit. Ruby has a cabin downstairs. I am having one prepped for you, Quin." She pauses, her voice tapering off as Wulf signals his kin. Watching the ice form, she smiles a quiet smile, quelling an itch in her own palm. Sidling Merrisol a glance that lingers, then skates off over to where Wulf's other ships scramble to draw into line. Or at least head in the right direction. The smile turns inward for an instant before she inhales, "Excuse me, all? I want to check with Mouse to see if we need anything before we get out of range." As if. Turning, she heads for the stairs down. When she reaches Merrisol, she renews that glance for the span of steps it takes to pass him. Reaching the stairs, she decends in a quick-step that takes her down into the bowls of the ship in no time.

Quinlan nods. "Good to know," he says, and considers his options re: gear-stowage. "Nice to meet another giant, too."

Wulf nods to Quinlan with a gawmless smile, oblivious to the surprise of Merrisol. He makes his way up onto the poop deck then, building an odd leanto of ice to shelter from sea-spray there, out of the side of the ship and parks his load. He intends it seems to stay above decks and for good reason! The journey will be interesting, that's for certain.

Quinlan rubs the back of his neck as people depart. "Well. This should definitely be interesting."


---____----_____------_____-----____----___---


A number of hours after leaving port, Wave Dancer sails smoothly on a mostly westward heading, with Amber's mainland a grey smudge on the nothern horizon. Making for the coordinates of the Kitezh shadowpath's starting point, the ship is allowed to cut through the Rebma Triangle, as one of that realm's privateer vessels. The privilege cuts the journey duration by eight or so hours on average, demonstrating the strategic benefit for seafarers to be favoured by the Rebma Throne. Merrisol has signaled ahead to secure permission for the three Kitezhka longships to accompany them, so long as they stay close, and 'The Norn', 'The Forsetti', and 'Hrafn' follow with their rectangular sails full and the clan's voices raised in mystical song. The 'Hrafn' is easily the largest of the three, but each is a double-oar, not the largest size that can be made, but comfortable. On the aft deck and making himself fully visible to the longships' captains by sitting on a tall chair fashioned from pure ice, Wulf is a true giant at approximately 11ft height.

With the wind at their back, aided no doubt by either Maggie or Quinlan or both, the Wave Dancer and her entourage glide along across the sea. While she did spend time with each of her guests earlier, once the voyage got underway, Maggie left the group to take care of her own duties. Orders were sent around from Captain to First Mate to crew in controled, sort of understated efficiency that is leftover from the former first mate's tenure. Standing on the forecastle, eyes focusing on the horizon, Maggie seeks the first navigational point indicating that they are nearing the entry to the Shadowpath. After crossing the Rebman Triangle, she leans forward, "26 degrees north by northwest, Mr. Anderson." The course correction is called down the ship to the bow where Wulf sits and the wheel is. The adjustment is made and the ship angles slowly away from surface fog out over open water. "Steady as she goes." That, too is passed along as Maggie leaves the forecastle and quick steps down to the main deck. They will keep this heading for a while, it would seem.

Sol is perched somewhere up high, pint sized frame no hazard to the wigging as her hair dances wildly in the seabreeze as she watches the horizon quietly. Tiny feet dangle dangle in the breeze and she looks on with idle curiousity now and again with the activity on the ship.

On the main deck around amidships, Merrisol leans at the starboard rail, partaking of not just seabreeze but spray as well, waterdrops glistening on his clothes, skin, and hair. His attention is tilted to observe the vessels that follow in easy formation, listening to the music that can be heard upon the air currents. His look is faraway and solemn. With just the right slip of his gaze, he catches sight of Sol's bare feet and legs, and tips his head back so he can regard the petite Kite. As far as the passenger list goes, they've probably never had such a range in heights.. from barely five feet to well over ten.

Sol looks down and calls, "Mr. Merrisol! Any idea where we are? I had thought I could guess but alas I cannot!" her hair dances wildly about her face.

Merrisol turns along the rail until he is almost sitting upon it, and keeps his gaze squinted upward, a smile now lightening his features. The timbers creak a bit as the course adjustment is completed, and afterwards he calls loudly enough to reach her lofty position, "We have reached and passed the point where the far western mountain range of Amber can be sighted directly to the north. From there we have turned from following parallel to the coast line, for the Kitezh shadowpath is further out to Sea, where the land is not visible on the horizon at all!" He looks around as though to verify their angle to the distant shore himself, and catches sight of Maggie returned to the main deck, and sends a smile her way as well.

Sol hrrrms softly. "So there is much further to go." She looks down again, tiny hand shoving wild curls out of her face, "I am in your captain's debt for agreeing to do this thing for Kitezh."

Merrisol reaches up to catch hold of some ratlines that web up from their right fastenings by the rail, but not to attempt a climb up to where Sol is. She is light, he is not. "We should not talk seriously of debts. When I think of the times you have given your time and energy.. even your life, Sol," he adds the last part more quietly. "Besides, we were there as well during the purging of the old realm, and some of that responsibility falls to Maggie and I to see that this bright and shiny new Kitezh grows strong."

Sol smiles to Merrisol, "Thank you for doing this thing, Wulf's family has waited a very long time, they even had to face some hazards out of the watchful gaze of the gods. Their homecoming is an occasion of...overwhelming joy." she doesn't seem troubled of the talk of her death, smiling as she admires the strength and resiliance of those they shuttle.

Quinlan has found a comfortable - well, for him - spot in the bow, which affords a good view ahead. When, that is, he glances up from his notebook, in which he seems to be jotting notes about something or other. There's also a sketched - but likely already out of date - map of Kitezh from the last time he was in the area, and the route thereto and from.

"Is that why they have been singing ever since setting off from the harbour? For joy?" asks Merrisol, head tilted additionally to the side now, as well as back. "I wasn't certain.. it sounds rather more sober at times. But yes.. Wulfgar says we are in for a celebration when we do put to shore in Kitezh. "

Sol shakes her head, "they are singing the song of kitezh, it will guide them home, shadowpath or no. " she beams brightly, "A party! Finally!" She smiles wryly, "I love celibrations!"

Quinlan smiles as the coversation reaches him; were anyone peering over his shoulder, there among the notes is a list of lyrics. Which gets amended, it seems, as his understanding of spoken Kite gets better.

Merrisol listens, looks surprised by the answer, and considers the boats moving along in their wake. "If that can get them home, what has prevented them from doing it sooner?" he asks cautiously, with a glance towards the aft deck, for the reason might be a sensitive issue. He's looking at Wulf, though. Quinlan, gone the other way, has managed to evade his notice for the moment.

Sol smiles wryly, "The home they sing of is gone." she answers readily, "The sing out of tradition but this trip is not possible, at least not until they arrive, without your help."

Well that makes perfect sense to Merrisol, so he just nods a few times. "And the gods.. have they all come back?"

Ruby emerges from below decks, dragging her feet until her head is in the open air, at which point she adopts a more brisk pace.

Quinlan is tucked up in the bow, with one of his notebooks and a warm cloak; Sol and Merri are talking more midships.

Sol blinks and peers at Merrisol oddly, "The gods, like the rest of my kind, have perished. The Aesir is the embodiment of their energy."

Merrisol may have heard some version of this answer before, but apparently had not fully comprehended it. Now he is silent a moment, thinking. "But.. he is set to replenish the Valkyries with your help. The Jotun line lives on, in Wulfgar. And Gerard says the Vanir have returned as well. There must be a way to restore the Kitezhka Pantheon.. or can Kitezh have legends.. the nine realms of the underworld.. without gods to occupy them?" he queries upwards.

Once Ruby gets two feet firmly atop the top of the deck, she also immediately swivels around to stare back towards where Wulf is no doubt probably still being large and very visible. Ruby's chin angles up and she turns to slowly plod over towards Merrisol and Sol. That gives her the briefest of missteps before forging onwards. Self-consciously, she peers about at other members of the crew and how they do. Depending on line of sight, she may have spotted Quinlan, but she doesn't alter her path just yet, instead focusing on joining the duo of vastly differing sizes.

Sol's eyebrows lift, "I follow the wishes of my Aesir, I do not question his wisdom. PErhaps you had best asked him. I am a humble servant of the will of the gods, only the Aesir knows their will."

Quinlan seems...well, rather pleasantly tucked up in the bow, cloak wrapped around him and a curiously complete lack of wind in his hair. Or fluttering that cloak. The constant breeze of a sailing ship in motion seems to be going around him, leaving only such warmth as winter sun and moon offer. It lets him write in his notebook without worrying about the pages being blown about with wet ink.

Merrisol takes the reply with a single considered nod. "..Ah. Forgive my pestering, Sol. I do tend to think of you as an authority on all matters Kitezh," he smiles apologetically. When Ruby comes closer, he notes her with a tilted glance, but on a horizontal axis. In both her and Sol's case he finds himself looking up. "Hullo Ruby. We're not that far out from the shadowpath now. At our present pace, accounting for the mean speed of all four vessels of course.. probably less than three hours. "

Ruby sniffs and tries to create some sort of triangle with Sol and Merri. She dredges up a small quirk of her mouth for the tall fella. A grunt. "Oh grand. Grand. Roight...tha path. Gots a wee hair in me nose tremblin aboot tha. Wanna see tha good." And then she turns a more restrained look for Sol. Guarded. Her lips twitch, as does a muscle under her left eye. While she doesn't strike some sort of aggressive pose, to say she's awkward would be closer to the truth. She's just dying to ask her something and is conflicted. "Lay-dee Sol."

Merrisol nods once, "Yes, I do too. It's broken and possibly irreparable, but still leads the way to Kitezh somehow." He looks up as Ruby addresses the wee slip of a Kite, but she has gone monkeying up to the crow's nest, and does not heed the big woman's call. Is it possible to butcher the name Sol?


---____----_____------_____-----____----___---


A strong breeze bells the Wave Dancer's sails and sets her pennants and flag flapping. Even the single flame on a field of emerald seems to dance and sparkle with the wind's attention. Skimming the surface of the sea, the ship seems to embody the joy of life on the open waters. Or, perhaps it is that the ship is infected with Maggie's inner fire. The Captain has been relaxed and riding an emotional high all day, it would seem. Climbing up from below decks, Maggie is holding a card in front of her eyes, talking and walking at the same time! However, when she reaches the upper deck and a flatter space, she pauses, "Come on through, Amy. We are about to enter the Shadow Path to Kitezh. Since we are leading Wulf's ships home, we thought we would take a look at the path on the way." Lifting her hand, she offers to pull her cousin on through.

Speaking of Wulf, the giant Kite has been camped out on the poop deck of the ship the entire time the voyage has been going on. A large lean-to of ice provides shelter from the sea-spray, but otherwise, he's been sat upon the deck, occasionally standing up to give a course change signal to the kitezhka longboats that follow the Wavedancer across the surf. Currently, the huge fellow is stood at the very stern of the ship, with a length of rope in hand, leaning back against something caught in the wake of the ship. Slow, as if by the measure of a glacier's movement, he hand-over-hands whatever it is that's being towed by the brigantine. Occasionally, the long nose of a swordfish will breach the surface and quicker hand-over-hands are done when it does so.

Always, the kite ships are in flagging distance, the songs of their passage floating to the ears of the other crew, changing occasionally when new verses are added to the sagas. Clearly, the skaldi are paying close attention to the 'compass' and their guides.

Amy is in her quarters, apparently painting. Which means she's dressed casually, more or less. She answers Maggie's trump, as she's putting away the paints, and then she smiles. "Sure, but I'm dragging a Feldane along with me," she says. One hand reaches for her usual rucksack - ready to go at all times - and it gets slung over her shoulder. Then she reaches a hand for Matthias. "Hang on, hotshot, we're going for a ride," she says, amusement lighting up those purple eyes, before she reaches to take Maggie's hand and ... Rainbows.

Lingering at amidships, Merrisol has joined the regular crew in wearing a sturdy rain poncho fitted to his size, in anticipation of those shadow squalls and rough environmental transitions, on the purportedly dying Path. Yes, he is part-Rebman, but this apparently doesn't necessarily endear him to the kind of chilly water that pelts down from the sky or sometimes at a more sideways angle. Oh, to be Stormborn. Rubber-soled boots for gripping the deck are in evidence, but otherwise he is traveling light at the moment, and possibly only half-clothed underneath. Ah, to be Rebman!

Glancing from stem to stern as he monitors the crew actions as guided by first mate Anderson, Merri pauses over the odd counterweighting motions of the huge Kite until he ascertains it's not a man overboard situation, judging by the lack of hullabaloo amongst the deckhands working yonder. The rainbow effects the other way draw his attention and then his steps to greet Amy... and the surprise guest, too.

Matthias allows himself to be Trumped along, looking around upon arrival, and noticing the floor's angle become less of a constant. He half-bows to Maggie with a solemn expression. "I'm Matthias Feldane. Thanks for having me aboard," he says.

Tugging Amy through after being handed her friend, Maggie's smile warms to a grin, "Welcome aboard, Lord Feldane. I hope you are not prone to seasickness. I understand that we are in for a wild ride." And doesn't she sound gleeful about it... Motioning toward an approaching crewman she calls, "Ms. Hoseia? Would you please get rain gear for our guests?"

The sailor pauses and glances over the two. Her teeth are bright in a dark-skinned face as she nods a grin their way. "Aye, aye, Captain." Then she is off below decks to find slickers to fit the two.

"It is good to see you, Amy. And it has been too long. Come on, both of you. Quin is about somewhere and Kerf and Ruby are aboard and you should meet Wulf. He is the leader of the Kites we are taking home." Is that a significant glance she aims at Amy? Maaaybe... "We are nearing the path's entry point. Should be there in a moment or less." Catching sight of the giant Kite's activities in a reverse scan of the ship to Merrisol's, she blinks, "Uh... So... Fresh fish for supper, perhaps?"

Ruby carefully makes her way up a bit of rigging. Very carefully. Until she's about a few meters up and having the wind buffet her body and make her hair wag about. It's not secret that half the time that she's hanging around and enjoying the open air, the other half is spent being a bit of a creep. To call it lurking would be the wrong word, but at that higher altitude and leering or staring at other members of the crew, what she's doing is people-watching. Wulf's attempts at what appears to be fishing get a great deal of attention as she lets her wrists entwine themselves in coarse rigging and her toes pinch and curl around the same.

Amy leans in to give Maggie a quick hug. "Captain Flame, this is - right. Matthias, this is Captain Flame of the Wavedancer. I'll introduce you less formally later." She turns to Maggie, to add, "And it'll be good to see Merrisol and Ruby again. And Wulf? Ah, excellent." Four months! she's got four months left of freedom! And she's clinging to that, at least so it seems. "Fresh fish sounds wonderful. If we make it through in one piece, I can always augment with some more fish, if needed."

Wulf hauls upon the line a few more times, in a swell of the boat. Truth is, he's using that trough and crest to his advantage. "NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGG!" comes through gritted teeth as a marlin, albeit a small one, comes flying through the air and lands in an outstretched catcher's mitt of a palm, tossed to the deck with floundering and flapping. The kite punches it in the head, which seems to do the trick of quelling resistance. The winds whip at his braids and his cloak as he looks up, tucking his fingers into the gill of the fish and hauling it up. "Wulf saw them breaching. Is bad luck to kill shipfish, but not these. These taste good!" Grinning, he hauls his catch up, a good seven footer.

Quinlan makes his way up onto the deck, apparentl just out of curiousity. Or possibly the smell of fresh fish. Fresh fish are *tasty*. Crowds? A bit more of a surprise, it seems, as he pauses at the sight of All The Everybody. "Uh. Hi."

"Not usually a problem," Matthias answers Maggie, the left corner of his lip twisting into a wry half-smile. "But I take it this won't be an ordinary voyage. I guess we'll find out." He sidesteps to make sure he isn't blocking anyone from greeting Amethyst. "And please," he adds, to both Merrisol and Maggie, "Call me Matthias. Matt or 'hey you' work, too." He looks to the huge fellow with the fish. The fish that is longer than he is tall. Then he spots Ruby hanging above them - and the slighter man just arriving on deck. "Quite a crowd," he murmurs, retrieving a cigar and a match from a pouch at his belt. A quick slice along its end with his dagger, a strike of the match, and he is standing comfortably out of the way - making the most of any pre-massive-storm time.

Merrisol is near enough now that he includes himself in the quick introductions with a simple, "Merrisol," to Matthias, before smiling warmly at Amethyst. He doesn't know where they both were before Maggie pulled them through, of course. He turns at the great NGing in time to see the giant grab the swordfish out of the air and punch its clock. He stares at the struck pose for a couple of beats then nods appreciatively. "Hullo Quinlan," he waves to the emerging mage. "You might want to get into your green suit for this next stretch," he suggests.

Maggie leeeans a bit to one side to watch Wulf's rather astonishing and impressive treatment of the fish. "Well. Yes. That will be really tasty. Um. If you want to take it down to the galley, Mouse and his crew can get started on it." Looking up then, Maggie smiles as she spots Ruby. Lifting a hand, she waves, then calls, "Let us know when you see a distortion in the air to the lea side of a tall rock jutting up from the water. There used to be a gnarled and twisted tree leaning into the wind. I... Last time I was by this way, it was leafless. Okay?"

Wulf bobs a nod, smiling to Merrisol and Maggie, looking up at Ruby and down at the new arrivals. "Thani Amethyst..." he offers toward her, then is suddenly rather nervous about his position, up there on the poop deck with the marlin in hand. He casts a look about at crew and rigging, Ruby-the-Skald in particular, then takes the fish to the side of the deck, a dagger taken to hand to gut it right there, spilling the entrails over the side with a wrench of the internals. He makes short work of cleaning the gills out also, before slinking down onto the main deck and somehow looking sheepish about squeezing himself down the stairs into the bowels of the ship. Anyone close by, can hear the humming from his throat, before there's splintering of wood.

Amy glances over to watch Wulf, and she smiles. "Or not, since I think that's got us covered." She then turns to Maggie, curiously. "I want to see what this path looks like, since I promised to help fix it." That's said softly, but sincerely. "Taking stock was sort of my first step, but I'm kind of - boatless." She waves to Quinlan quietly. "Hey, all. Introduce yourselves to Matthias if you don't know him already, right?" she calls out. Wulf gets an approving nod. Ruby gets a tilted head glance, and a half wave.

Ruby tenses and swivels her head downward to observer the growing collection of familiar faces. Her forehead becomes lined when Amethyst is amongst their number. She's surprised, definitely not expecting her to appear so soon since their last chat. What was /that/? Whiplash central as she lurches over to observe Wulf 'waboosh' the fishie to wherever afterlife the wriggly things go. The corner of her mouth quirks like a demented joker as she witnesses the quick dispatch. Before she can find out just how well Wulf can hollow the fish, she's peering down towards Maggie and her request. Her tongue curls up flatly against her top lip and she gives a quick nod after digesting what she's to look out for. She hollars down, "Aye!" Her voice comes a bit hoarsely, not having said much for so long, the inital squawk from her voicebox a bit raspy. Twisting her forearms into another revolution of hemp rope to stabilize herself, the veiny nightmare trails along her limbs stand out in sharper relief. Her eyes squint to avoid tearing up too much in the wind as she peers for a hint of their target destination.

Matthias is trying to stay out of the way of hard-working sailors, which Ruby seems to have just been drafted to become, whatever her intent in climbing up the rigging. Drawing a bit on his smoke, he says to Quinlan, "Matthias Feldane. I don't think we've met." He pauses. "Want a cigar before everything goes crazy?"

Quinlan tilts his head. "You may know my brother, Robert?" he asks. "Quinlan du Naji. Not of Feldane, mind. Pathi. And thanks for the offer, but no. Uh. Are we going to be heading into really bad weather?"

Merrisol moves up next to Maggie after the navigational specifications are handed out. His hand, revealed from within a fluttery flap of poncho, settles against her lower back for a few moments while he informs her he'll be assisting on the main deck as well. "With this many cousins on board, will it affect the temperament of the shadow storms, do you imagine?" he wonders aside.

Maggie winces when she hears the wood crunch and turns a glare toward where Wulf went below. Inhaling, she holds it for a moment before releasing the breath. "Remind me not to send him below again, okay?" Can't have the giant of a man destroying support beams or... anything... right? When Merrisol moves closer, she leans a bit into Merrisol's touch, her smile quick and warm. Nodding approval of his choice to assist, she centers her gaze on him for a moment. The question is given some consideration before she nods, "I imagine so. But, whether the storms will be greater or lessened I could not say. If things work as they should, the passage should be easier with so many of us here." Sidling a glance over toward Quinlan, she inclines her head his way as though deferring to the expert.

As the ship moves closer to the designated opening to the path, the winds pick up. Swells surge beneath the ship, tossing her just a bit more roughly. It is still the touch of a semi-friendly puppy with a new toy but there is a threat to it.

Amy moves out of the way as well, given she's not a sailor. She drops her bag over out of the way against the wall, and tilts her head a bit, as she listens to the experts, and the conversation. "I don't know if this qualifies as a usual scenario," she says, quite definitely overstating the obvious. But someone has to say it. "Should be an entertaining ride at any rate." Yeah, for some very odd definitions of entertaining. Extreme sports, anyone?

Ruby lets herself hang back from the rigging more fully, trusting more in the idea that it will hold her weight now that the lines are really squeezing into her flesh with a sweet bite. Her feet similarly attempt to provide a little extra bit of fulcrum so she's leaning at more of a diagonal slant. It helps when the water gets rougher. It also helps to try and rid herself of the blasted knots from sleeping in a new place. Yeah, that's the ticket. Not to show off. No no no. Well, kind of. Ruby squints her eyes and grimaces as she eyes the edge of something that looks angular enough to be rocky. She blinks again, clearing away the squirt of moisture that her tearducts helpfully try to lubricate her drying eyeballs with. Her hair scourging and lashing at her back by the wind, as if she were receiving punishment for something. Her voice cuts through the air, "Cap'n! This dizzy-torsion, roight? Fingah 'o rock. Aye, an there be'ah Bog-twisted tree, loike what you said. Patch 'o wrongness."

Quinlan hears the word 'storms', and gets a sort of resigned look. "Right. Should've seen that coming. Uh. Just a mo..." he slips back belowdecks. Scarecrow's got modesty. Not a surprise to anyone that's met him.

"Kitezh shadowpath," Matthias says to Quinlan. "Ah, thanks," he says, as a crewmember comes by with the rain-gear Maggie ordered be brought from below for him and Amethyst. He doesn't hasten to put it on, taking his cue for when to panic from everyone else.

Stepping away with a nod over the uncertain responses, Merrisol pivots to return to midships at a steady stride over the tilting and dropping deck. Hearing Ruby's strident report of the anomaly in realspace(tm), he looks to see the heading indicated, and turns to join the crew adjusting the mainsails for the maneuvers. He wouldn't expect the officer stationed there to give over supervision, but waves it off if attempted. Just a pair of able, strong arms to hold the tension on the ropes until they are resecured. The waves aren't much worry at the moment, but he keeps an eye on both rails, as losing anyone overboard while slipping across shadow dictates tragic consequences.

Maggie does not anticipate panicing. She tilts her head upward when Ruby announces that they are nearing the entrance, "Right. Thanks, Ruby," she calls up toward the woman. Adding, "You might want to come down from there before too long." But when? Well, when Ruby is ready, naturally. "No hurry yet." Looking foward toward the distortion, Maggie looks momentarily grim. Turning, she catchs sight of her First Mate, "Prepare for bad weather, Mr. Anderson. Tie down everything that hasn't been."

The man salutes, "Aye, aye, Captain." Turning in his heel, the man strides off. The orders start to be relayed and saliors skuttle off to do as they are bidden. It is not quite a batten down the hatches moment, but close enough that the crew begin attaching ropes to the masts fore and aft. These will be subsequently attached to their belts or harnesses should things get bad. The nearer the ship sails toward the distortion, the rougher the winds become, the higher the waves rise. It is possible that the distortion comes from air and water being drawn into the rend in reality that marks the opening of the Path.

When Merrisol walks off, Maggie watches him for a moment, then blinks to refocus on what is going on. The officer does offer to give command to the former First Mate and gives the man a grin when it is refused.

A ripple effect begins, like pink and blue reflections on a poorly made mirror or glinting refractions from a child's birthday cake. These grow, swirl, then the ship sails past and they are in. In an instant, the sparkles shatter, the shards of color expanding into swirls that look more like frosting than sky or ocean. Surely that can't be how it is supposed to be. Can it?

Quinlan emerges onto the deck...in shimmery and gaudy-as-hell greenish stormsilks. But at least he won't have to worry too much about lightning strikes. And hey, shadow navigation!

Wulf remains below decks. It's possible that he's giving new and interesting recipes for swordfish down there!

Matthias shrugs into his poncho as and moves back from the rails, preemptively grabbing on to one of the ropes.

Ruby nods down towards Maggie and starts to swirl her wrists around in small sharp movements, the rope dragging across her skin and making temporary friction-burns. Her feet take up the slack of supporting herself and then she's making her way down, hand over hand, getting herself off this exposed position and freeing up the rigging if it needs to be made secure. She curses, hampered in lowering herself with proficiency while observing things getting weirder and weirder.

With a good view of the close waves over one rail, Merri's eyebrows perk at the near waves, their seeming sludgy consistency, as though the ship had been added to an acrylic painting to which heavy, too-loaded brushstrokes were applied. "Definitely not right," he says to no particular sailor, and since they had been serving aboard this boat same as him, during the last use of this Path, there is general agreement. They would have remembered if this was one of the Shadows along the prescribed route.

Skyblue lightening crackles across the sky. It sears the pink and blue shimmers. They turn purple and rain from above in large splatters of what passes for rain here. The wind catches them, smearing purple wetness in irregular streaks across the Wave Dancer, her rigging and crew. Another crash of lightening, orange and overly bright splashes lemon yellow after-images everywhere.

Quinlan whistles low. "Shadow-storm," he says. "This close to Amber. And still impressive." He doesn't seem to be thrown about much - but then, being a mage, he may have temporarily fused his sandals to the deck.

Once she's on the deck and has the soles of her feet painted purple, Ruby raises a forearm to try and shield her face. Definitely not normal. And what she overhears Quinlan calling it does nothing to reassure her. The lightning makes her hunch and flinch, where in the past she might have noted it with passing interest. Gripping the rail in one of her fists, she stares fearfully out at the phenomena.

"Kinda like Squidmas! You 'member Squidmas?!" yelps a deckhand, and Merrisol nods, clapping the man on the shoulder. They both get paint-bombed by blue spatter, but he helps the sailor up before setting off for the opposite rail, dripping a blue trail across a palette of other shades upon the deck. Coming up beside Ruby, Merri lays hold of the rail as well in one hand, and uses the other to slick blue mud out of his hair. "It shouldn't be this wild just coming out of Amber," he obviouses.

Ruby twists her torso and head towards Merrisol, spatters of strange hues tracing the contours of her features. "Squidmas." she mouths and then adds some force to her expelled breath, making things more audible. "But we be alroight, roight?" Her teeth are barred into some defensive snarly look. She wants to grab a fist of his jacket and shake until more reassurances fall out. She tries to get a sense of what's going on, but fearful to even try to quest past normal more familiar boundaries. Shadow stuff. Pattern stuff.

Quinlan says to Ruby, "Close your eyes and feel. You can sense the stuff of Shadow twisting around us if you focus on it."

The ship surges forward through the purple rain, a baleful red moon struggling to pierce pink and orange clouds. A flock of flying fish soar overhead, mouths open to catch glowing bugs that wriggle and slip down their gullets into transparent stomachs. The resulting glow-fish flip fins to the prow of the ship as though to act as guides or illumination.

Maggie frowns, concentration growing on her brow. Not right. Too close to Amber herself. This storm... should not be. Yet, it is still contained by the Shadowpath. Yes, indeed, this will be a wild ride. Unless... Her frown deepens and she turns abruptly. Walking across the heaving deck as though traversing a gently swelling field she takes the stairs to the forecastle two at a time. A glance is turned to the crow's nest but she decides against that climb. Her gaze sidles to Merrisol, Ruby, Quinlan. Then it flashes over to Amy and Matthias before sinking to where Wulf earlier vanished. Squaring her shoulders, she positions herself at the forward edge of the forecastle, leaning just a bit against the railing. Her hair whips around her, then streams behind her as the wind shoves them forward faster.

Lightning crashes nearby, the flash of light starting out orange but flipping through green and crimson before settling on pink. In that split second the sand-tan sea has grown calm. Rain pelts down in shards of grey while the sails flounder for a few seconds.

Merrisol whips a glance between Quinlan and Ruby, and sidles back from the woman so she can have that space to feel the workings of the Pattern in this odd stretch of varigated Sea. Seeing Maggie making for the forecastle, he starts that way as well, frowning as she goes all the way to the forward rail. He's at the stairway when the weather shifts to something more tame and desaturated. "Did you do that, Maggie, or..?"

Amy settles where she can watch, out of the way near Matthias. The rain slicker is put on, as it is brought over, hood and all, so that the short woman is now more or less a duck. She's quiet, but she's watching, her senses as open as can be, sensing the pattern around her much as Quinlan or Maggie are doing. And as things come to a pause and stillness, her eyes widen softly. She glances to Merrisol at his question, and then back to Amy, head tilting curiously.

Hands squeezing the ironwood railing at the edge of the forecastle, Maggie tilts her head up and back then forward again. Nodding once, she speaks to Merrisol, "Yeah. That's me. I... thought we needed a breather. But, it's... not easy, Kerf." She releases the wood to lift one hand up to run her fingers through her hair. It does not make the hair more orderly but it seems to kind of calm her nerves. "That was not what I expected at all." Clearly. Her eyes seek his, then float out over the deck, checking to be sure that all of the guests and crew are accounted for. "Just... judging by how things feel? Things will get weirder before they get better."

The hatch leading below decks creaks against the winds and the rain, flung open, then flung shut by the aforementioned, after having released a blast of cool air from below. There's a bonk and a distinct, rumbling "OW!" from it. The second attempt has a large fist putting itself in the way of it being closed again and Wulf struggles out from below decks, seemingly too big even when small, to get down there easily. Into the wild weather, he swells up, staggers and with a snort, ices his feet to the decking. "Wulf think this get weird..." is noted. Although the man is entirely not capable of sensing anything to do with pattern, the strangeness of it has him making odd warding gestures, his cloak whipping about him and bannering off as he turns deep-set eyes to the sky. "Aegir is angry," murmured.

"It's not all that weird. yet." Amy shrugs a bit, as she watches the icy Wulf, a hint of amusement on her face. "So, Maggie - is this the start of the shadow path? It's almost like it's coming - undone. Does that make sense?" She pauses and then she chuckles softly. "Actually, I bet if you were to chart it, it's not exactly the same spot, and maybe it's not quite following the same pattern as previously." Someone has at least been doing some research, it seems.

The ice that builds up around Wulf's feet fits with the rain falling. Meaning... The ice that he emits is greyish chunks of semi-geometric shapes that fit together in crystalline constructs that follow the logic of this place. The end result is ice, to be sure. It does stick the man to the deck, indeed. It has ridges, pointy bits and an overall rounded shape reminiscant of a geodesic dome. A rumble of thunder underscores Amy's words and Maggie nods, "Oh, I know. But, it is weird when compared with what I expected on entering. It does sort of feel as though it is unraveling. Not... that I am all that surprised, considering the place it went is no more. With Kitezh's rebirth... Well. Anyway. Onward?"

Merrisol nods as he receives Maggie's reply, reaching up to brush away some of the newest manifestation of geometric rain from his hair and poncho. He backs up on the forecastle and sits the rail while the sailing is smoother, one hand wrapped around it as he leans to regard Amy and Matthias. "It brings to mind Quinlan's description of the Pathian Shadowpath. It.. has no fixed position, apparently, but moves through a series of points, as far as I can gather. So one or more nodes are untethered between Amber and Pathi." He pauses, and agrees with Maggie, drawing up his hood and standing. "Let's keep going."

Wulf's eyes shift downward to his feet, when something doesn't quite /feel/ right and there is a moment. A moment where the brain is trying to process what it is seeing and hasn't quite caught up with the eyeballs yet. Wulf is not the smartest of cupcakes in the entire store, either and he yoinks one foot up off the decking to watch the ice tumble free, geometrically. There's a yelp and a pinwheel of arms too, attacking the ice with well... more ice which comes out looking much the same. There's a whimper and his right arm becomes a gigantic ice-hammer, used to smash the other ice that is all /wrong/. And guess what? It's pixelated as much as the rest was. The cursing in Kitezhka is quite epic, when he realises this and remains glued, dumbfounded. Guess what the SNOW looks like. Snow. Duh. It's already geometric.

It's the thing that is new to those not used to ShadowWalking. Or running. Amy ignores the geometric ice, not really disturbed by it. She nods as she hears Merrisol, in agreement. "I think we have to, for various reasons. We need to get where we're going - but - do we have all the other ships with us still?" She actually moves to look, and then looks over at Maggie. "When we brought the ships over on the original group with Viktor, Gil and I helped Uncle Gerard, but we didn't really use the shadow path - Uncle Gerard went around. Still, we could help make sure those other ships don't get lost, and that the fleet stays together?"

Ruby is quite new to Shadow walking and so is gawking at the additional strangeness with a jaw that is clenched tightly shut. Her facial muscles undulate along the hinge at her jaw. Thankfully the calm that Maggie has allowed or provided is a welcome one while she adjusts. Nostrils flaring she finally looses her teeth enough to hiss as she moves up alongside Maggie, Merri and Amy. "Can /we/ doo sumpthin? Othah than keep'n brains'in? This feels bloody wrong."

Nodding to Merrisol, Maggie concentrates. She lifts one hand in a vaguely abstract gesture and a wind picks up. The sails fill once more, belling forward. The purple smears of rain have turned into the crystalline water and fallen away. That is one way to keep the deck clean... As the ship surges forward, Maggie tilts her head to Amy's words, "They're with us, but if you would not mind assisting? That would be great. It is a bit of a strain stearing through this and holding them close. I'm fine with help. Truly." Offering her petite cousin a grin, she nods again though this time to Ruby, "Yes. Yes, you can help. Find the Pattern and hold it in your mind. Uh. I... doubt you've traveled this path before, so... If you would not mind concentrating on things like... smooth sailing and... And..." She frowns.

Ahead the tan water shudders, crystalline spalshes arching up from the surface as a massive, towering tentacle spears toward a sky gone pink with puffy, bulbous clouds all racing to clash together above. A fracture of lightening lances from cloud to cloud and a roil of thunder collides with a sound like boulders cascading down a mountain pass. The tentacle's end splits into eight thinner members, that each split into eight more. This grasping arm reaches, not for the Wave Dancer, but for one of the trailing ships.

Maggie's frown deepens, "Going to try and shift away from that. Might have to fend it off while I do."

Merrisol tromps down the stairs, bouncing the last one due to Wulf's pounding away at the strange fractal stuff around him. He absently files away some of the Kitezhka colourful phrases for later, while striding across to see to the disturbed giant. "Wait Wulfgar, it'll transmute into something more manageable in a.." Then? Crystal tentacles. Making a damn liar out of Merri. He turns, glaring up at the tower as it breaks apart in the transition and flails off after a longship. Merri glances at Wulf, and sets off to the stern, calling to alert the crew assigned to man the crossbows.

Ruby looks like she's about to ask for a little more clarification on thinking positive thoughts. She's shaking her head from side to side and about to mention how this one is her first in memory. The shaking gets faster when she tracks the tall tentacle breaching and about to play with one of the other ships of the convoy. "Fingah 'o Bog! Aft!" Breaking off at a lope that's almost on all-fours, she scrambles her way towards her gear belowdecks.

Wulf's huge hands clutch at the railing on the side of the deck, giving up on the ice and the snow that was not behaving as it should've. The wind whips, the water cleans down, all this is strange and unusual to him - but then sometimes, when you regularly find things to be strange and peculiar, because such is the nature of life, it's easier to just let it slip by. "SPAWN OF JURMANGANDR!" This is bellowed into the wind at the appearance of the tentacle, that then splits down the octarine. "MERRI-MAN!" Hollaring, it seems is what must be done. Muttering and mumbling in old kitezhka, he rumbles and careens up to the poop deck, climbing right up to the point where he can see the turbid seas over the back rail and his father's ships fighting against the winds with it. And possibly -that- thing! The giant's lungs, not very good at singing but he croons along anyway, usually, start hollaring the edas and lines of the saga into the howl, the sound almost lost as the ships return those lines and beyond. Then, one huge hand anchors to the rail, the other leans out over the ocean spray as far as he can reach and he chants a /different/ prayer. This one is to Tyr, to Hod, to the first of the Frost giants and the saga of lineage -- it'll take a while, but the sea to the side of the ship -does- start to freeze and grow, slowly!

Merri ducks his head as Wulf thunders by, howling. He veers off and favours the critter-side of the ship as he lags behind the giant in approaching the aft deck, and gazes down into the waters of this new puffy pink kaleidoscope environment. If there is indeed a creature attached to the bundle of tentacles, he eyeballs its size and attempts to ascertain its nature, whether predatory, curious, or, like the racing pink bulbs, playful! And then influence it accordingly through projected mood patterns of threat to repel, placidity to lose its interest, or chastisement to calm.

RPG: Merrisol declares that he has the Animal Empathy (ANI-EM) gift. Use '+gift ANI-EM' to view the gift description.

Quinlan peeks out on deck. This is notable to any others by the sudden sound of "A Shoggoth On The Roof" playing without any musicians being present. SOMEBODY is evidently wholly creeped out by random tentacles.

At Wulf's command, ice forms in the grey seas, the crystalline structure all curved angles and jutting spikes. The tentacle brushes across the top and pauses. Eight sets of eight apendages quest around the surface as though it is something utterly new. Perhaps it is. Eight sets of appendages curl into eight bludgoning ends that swing at the growing ice barrier between it and the boats behind the Wave Dancer. About the time the bashing begins, it pauses again. Slowly, the appendages relax open again and the tentacle slips back beneath the waves. Perhaps it is soothed by the sounds of A Shoggoth on the Roof... though it is far more likely that it is responding to Merrisol's attentions.

Once the songs of Wulf's brethern are again heard on the wind, Maggie nods and focuses her concentration on the job at hand once more. The ships flit forward away from tan seas with enormous whatsises beneath the waves. They slip through a narrow tunnel of pitch-black water that rises around them, blocking out the sight of the sky. Withing the water, eyes large and small stare out at them from blue-green bioluminescent bodies. Some are clearly fish like those in Amber's deep seas while others are sparkling outlines of amorphous masses farther back. The tower drips water all along the deck, soaking the sails and sending rivulettes over the sides. Muttering, Maggie shakes her head and the tunnel is gone. Spring-green sunlight shimmers on orange seas as far as the eye can see.

Ruby hugs the wall where things get narrower and shoulders her way into her cabin, making the door bang back against hinges. While she nearly gets entangled by her hammock, clawed hands thrust down between more stowed gear for her hand cannon and starts tugging viciously at it when helpful netting snags a coil. Tearing the restraints she begins to make her way back topside through the quickest route, clutching her weapon like a newborn babe and her expression putting the fear of Bog into anyone in the way. She pops out of a hatch and heaves herself on deck once more, eyes wide and bulging like the fishies under the water.

Merrisol watches the water persistently while he takes the stairs up to get a better view of the three trailing ships as well, glimpsing the ice forming and growing beside the one ship. "It's not aggressive, not hungry, Wulfgar," he says aside to the giant. "Your people will be-.." Then the limbs batter at the hunk of iceberg. "..fine," Merri finishes, with just a tad less confidence. He leans over his own bit of rail and refocuses on the point where the tentacles recede into the fathomless depths. Some of the critter's brain clusters in the limbs themselves, but all in all it remains a mystery what causes the creature to cease investigations and recede.

Quinlan shakes his head. "So he's just giving his squishy bits an airing and a shave?" he asks. "Or are icebergs like sticking your tongue to a flagpole?"

Wulf's hand falls when the tentacles retreat. Not before then, not before the helpful explanation of the Merri-man - the frost stops forming around his hand then, letting the ice-chunk drift off to cause havoc in shipping lanes elsewhere. If someone fiddles around with history, he may have been responsible for the sinking of the titanic, you neeeeeeeeeeever know. "Sometimes, Mutti says, that things can hurt, even when they do not mean harm. Curiosity, sometimes is bad, ja? We not for eating, they sometimes break mast and breach hull..." Perhaps there was going to be more discourse there but THEN there's the tunnel of water coming up. "Odin's blind eye!" is exclaimed as this is funneled through, the jotun staring up and along and back, with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open. He points. "Fish." Straight UP. "Skyfish."

Ruby clambers up onto her feet and then makes for the nearest guard rail to observe what she's missed, clutching her pistol in one hand. The dramatic change and fact that they nor the longboats are in splinters is a relief. She heimlich manuevers herself in the abs against the side of the vessel somewhere near Merri and Wulf and stares about.

Peering after the last of the critter and noting the Sea's turning black and curling funnel-like around them, Merrisol pivots to the front just in time to miss it all blinking out in favour of what looks like a good place to harvest orange juice. It's pleasant enough, but Merrisol looks concerned as he gazes over the length of the ship to where Maggie is attempting to keep them on the Path. Or, if not /the/ Path... at least /a/ Path. "Yes.. sometimes curiosity can do more harm than good, Wulfgar," he says, watching Ruby more carefully as she leans out over the rail. "Sol said your folks could learn how to sing a new route to Kitezh, by taking this journey with us. It may not be a very pleasant song overall, this time around. No doubt it will be perfected through several such journeys, over time?"

Quinlan looks around. "Mind you, there might be some top notch beaches on this part of the route."

"The kith and kinain of Wulf already sing new verses of the saga. They have been singing the whole time we travel, it is great and mysterious..." Wulfgar offers this, for the simple reason that it just slips out. Someone asked and the majority of his brain is occupied with wondering if they're going to fall off the edge of the world next, down the great waterfall! Or up it. He cocks his head, listening to the winds and the voices of the crews behind them in the longboats. "Through the eye of the ocean, where the fish glow," he translates "...somethingsomething... AUGH!" This is in annoyance as he looks back toward the longboats with a lemon face. "...Snori is adding about his bravery in manning the oars! Oh, wait... they are manning the oars!" -- which means what, exactly? Who knows. Probably it means they can keep up?

A series of smallish islands hove into view on the port side, crimson sand glittering and sparkling in th e sunlight. They stretch up from the shoreline to vanish beneath the shade of trees whose broad, spindle-edged leaves shade untold depths. The cackle-crow of some Shadow beastie echoes over the water as the island chain falls behind them. A breeze, carried by some errant caprice brings the scent of watermelon mixed intoxicatingly with kiwi and guava with walnut overtones. Faintly, a whisper of caw0caw ends in the hushed whisper of gibberish and then it is gone. High above, a school of brightly spotted sun-dapple fish whirl and shimmer through the air. The movement is echoed below as fluffy emerald clouds cast shadows up onto the hulls of the ships. Maggie's hair wafts out and up, circling her head in a corona of wavering flame. Trickles of fire spark from the tips and float back and down, skimming past the deck and over the side like bubbles in another Shadow. After about half a second, the ships flip shedding bright pink, frothing water that smells faintly of strawberry pop back into a sea flecked with sugar-coated gumdrops the size of houses.

"Dun't undah-stand." Ruby practically whines as she's nearly bent over the rail like some sea-sick landlubber. Her nostrils twitch at scents both familiar and foreign, sights odd and oggle-worthy, sounds beastly and banal. One hand vices the rail and the other, still occupied with the pistol, acts as a counter balance. "Nevah learn this. Be grow'n anothah toe b'fore this. Anothah fingah aftah tha. An a bloody tentacle from between me...Whut /tha/ fff-" She eyes the things in the water, daring them to do something worse.

Merrisol listens, more and more of his attention turning to Wulf, his brow furrowed when it is revealed that this Snori likes to ad-lib. "That literal? And so will there always be a monstrous squid come lurking about when your kith and kinain sing this part of the saga?" he considers doubtfully. The question is curious, but hopefully not the negative-consequences kind of curiosity. And then they are traveling upside down. Maybe. Merrisol startles into a poised stance, ready to act on the new sensory info... but downgrades back to yellow alert status, since nobody around him seems to be drowning or flailing off into the depths, or heights, as more creative perceptions might interpret. But then why is Maggie's hair floating? Perhaps there is magic afoot similar to the altered gravity around the Rebman capital city... "It's fine - we're all fine," Merri says aloud to Wulf, Ruby, and anyone else who might be starting to lose it, and moves in Ruby's direction... just as the sky becomes up again, with the requisite mind-buggering sploosh. Had they truly been traveling capsized, then? Is it time to go mad yet? "Just hold on, Ruby," Merri grips the forgemistress's forarm for a second. "Put that away for now, yes? " He nods at the stormpistol, then sets off to the main deck while explaining, "I'm going to up front to see what's going on. I.. don't see how these transitions are getting us any closer to Kitezh." As opposed to Cloud Cuckoo Land? "It was my suggestion that we try the Path, and it may be time to reconsider... if it's not too late to, I don't know, turn back or slide off it."

Quinlan frowns. "I'm not sure we're on a path. That shadow-storm seems to have done something of a hefty number on the region. We shouldn't be getting things this weird this close to Amber."

Poor Ruby! It's not really all that much better for Wulf, only he's giving it a good go of things. A tunnel of the sea he could wrap his head around and now, listening to the slightly faltering songs of the ships behind them all, the general puzzlement of the kitezh sailors can be marked also. Shadow-shifting is so -strange-! Verily did we sail along the gumdrop sea, upside down to the smells of tropical fruits! Mightily we heaved our oars through... strawberry sodapop! On our way to the great... beyond dumdeedumdeedum. The jotun kite is looking more than a little lost and stares at Merri as if to glean some kind of sense out of this. "It makes no sense," he murmurs, but does not elaborate for now, about whether a squid monster is going to end up in the odes. Probably not, if the generalization is what's worth snot. The skalds will probably recant the songs with some of the adlibbing -removed-. "Nnnnngguh!" Both hands go to his head at the disorientation and then? He blinks. It's like the upside down and back to front and topsy turvey jostled it all into place. "Alfheim. The floating strangeness of alfheim. By the great Glacier!" Okay, so, maybe not entirely with it on the scale of things, he hustles from the side of the boat and stares for a moment, fingers flexing and unflexing, mouthing to himself because it may be an aid to memory. Then he holds his hands out infront, scurrying as best someone of his size -can- scurry, up behind Maggie. He attempts to do a three-dimensional sketch in snowflakes in the air, which doesn't really work terribly well, until he moves his head to attempt to gain perspective on it. "No, no, no..." adjusting, the giant starts to make an odd map in ice. "Through Nifelheim, in the depths, into the bounds of alfheim, beyond, there is the ice of jotun, which all of it touches Kitezh... here... /Here/..." trying to express a world-tree knot mythos, in physical form, to lead to 'Midgar'

Quinlan interjects, "Hang on, Wulf. Lemme get over to you." He does, in fact, scoot quickly over toward the Kite giant. "Okay. Draw with your finger. Three dimensions is fine. I'll make sure it shows." And if Wulf obliges, he'll find his finger trails purple and quite stationary smoke. Mapping in three dimensions!

Counseling impressionable Jotuns is apparently not Merri's forte, and the man steps aside as Wulf gambols past him and the stoically labouring shipmates again, along the foot traffic lane from aft to fore. Merrisol increases his own pace and follows, determinedly, although he slows his pace back to a reasonable stride when it looks like the giant only wants to express his ideas with a dainty ice diorama. And not spine-mangling hugs or clocks to the head. Merri nods appreciation of Quinlan when the mage intercedes to help make visual sense of the map, then steps up to stand close to Maggie again. "Do you feel we are still following the old Path, in any sense, Maggie?" he asks quietly. "None of this is familiar.. and seems like we're going to some outlandish realm, such as Terra-Ki or the places Martin sometimes takes us." He glances around at the Candy Sea, head tilting thoughtfully while he backtracks mentally over Wulf's yarble-garble.

Consternation fills Maggie's glance as she darts a look across to find Merrisol. He at least gets a rather tight smile though it is broken when Wulf heads her eay. At first, bewilderment grows as he seems to be summing their journey up in stranger-than-... Wait. He is giving a summary of their journey. Sort of. Close enough for Shadow work. But, his notion of where they should go next is lost to snowflakes and ice. Her gaze slips over to Quinlan then as the mage arrives and begins translating an ice map into a Quinlan special. Merri's question distracts her, but that's okay. It will take the two time to build a map she can recognize. So, she clears her throat and tilts her head to one side, "I... feel that we are following the essence of the old Path, Kerf. But... I don't know if we are on the old Path. If... that makes any sense at all." A glance slips to Quinlan, then over to Ruby as she explains, "I could barely grasp the Path at the outset. Just fragments and shreds. At first, I tried to weave them together, but that did not work very well. Now? I sort of feel like I'm... following someone else's trail through the wilderness, always looking for the next stack of rocks or ribbon on a twig that marks the way. Or... like I am translating a..." She frowns a little, "... a set of inherent instructions known deep in my bones into something I can... sort of almost taste." Which can't possibly make sense. Can it?

Amy frowns a bit, at the conversation. She has been quietly watching, helping as she can, concentrating on keeping the fleet together, so that Maggie can concentrate on where they are going. "When we came through with Uncle Gerard, we ran into nothing like this," she observes.

Wulf's large head lifts to Quinlan's call; his finger, thick as a pork sausage and just as meaty, extends. It's confusion at first, then biting his bottom lip, it's giggles as his finger traces lines in the air. Soon, after fishing around in the depths of ice structure points, he's tying them in a route which seems to not quite be exactly -straight-, through and/or past the various realms, some of which are below, some of which are above, some of which seem to encompass all of them at the same time, to the bit in the middle. "Is like it is broken, but is also connected. The midgar serpent is wends from root to the sky, binds it all together, death at the bottom, living at the top and in between..." he flails his hands, trialing smoke which just flips off, because it's not part of the map. "But Kitezh, is not where it was. It is where it /is/. But all these, they are ... they are where they are trying to be. Am not knowing how to show it the way, am not good at ... " gesturing at Maggie as if this explains everything. "...have been to Kitezh though, have /seen/ it. Maybe, is good enough..." murmuring, he wiggles fingers again and starts to place runes upon the strange diagram and the pathways, to show what to look for on the way to the 'middle' as best he can. The OLD saga is all jumbled, after all! In the heart of it, is Anguz, the universal rune of the Aesir themselves. "Where milk and honey are. Where the sea and sky and ice are. Where the wild is."

Quinlan - for now - says nothing. He's busy following the giant's finger and keeping track of what is and is not 'map'.

Merri returns from his thoughts and looks attentively at Maggie while she explains the dilemma, and only by this close listening does he succeed in comprehending the gist of her troubles. "All right. So it will.. eventually.. show you the way," he nods, then pauses to watch Wulf's diagram come to life in midair. The oral part of the description is not even as easy to follow as Maggie's was, but Merrisol latches on to at least one statement. "Part of the difficulty may be that /you/ have not been to this new Kitezh yet," he remarks to Maggie, then goes back to studying the map and waiting to hear if it is useful for the current navigation challenge.

Maggie leans against the railing, her eyes closing for only an instant that feels like an eternity. She hears Amy and can but acknowledge within that it is unlikely that anyone has seen anything like this. A wavering uncertainty fills her. Has she gotten them all lost in Shadow? Is that even possible? A sinking sort of resignation fills her and she lowers her head for a moment. Her hands grip the ironwood and twist a little. Not to twist the wood, so much as to release tension. A scudding sort of sound emits from the rail and she releases it rather than damage it. Then, the moment is gone along with the uncertainty. She is Captain Flame. She is daughter to Brand, the Mad Prince of Amber. If her jounrneys through Shadow are a touch deranged, that does not make them invalid. Right? Right. This is naught but another jaunt, really. Turning, she sees Quinlan and Wulfgar working on that map and pauses. Listening, she hrms and nods to Merrisol, "No doubt. However..." Tilting her head to the other side, she frowns a bit more as song from the ships behind them couples with Wulfgar's words. With a mental twist the notion ties in with the map and she begins to laugh. "Ah. Right! We follow the serpent's spine through." Reaching up, she claps Wulfgar's upper arm as she can't reach his shoulder. Facing front once more, she laces her fingers together and presses her palms outward. Knuckles crackle and she shakes her hands apart. Onward. Almost. "Amy? If you know the old sagas about coming to Kitezh, I'd really appreciate it if you would sing them. There are some relevant verses."

Amy isn't Random's daughter for nothing. She chuckles softly, as she starts to sing. Though she might have a different rhythm to her song at first, it twists and turns into the old songs of Kitezh that she's been learning, letting the words ring out - and that is a definite ringing out. Perhaps the other ships can hear her as she excercises her lungs, sounding almost as though she has a megaphone. But certainly she does not; those stentorian tones come directly from the five foot nothing blonde woman. Loud when she wants, oh yes. Her tongue lashings might actually be feared. Or at the very least deafening. Still, she has her hands out, curved a bit, as if bringing all the ships together into a hug of protection, and her singing doesn't take away from that.

Quinlan is...definitely not a singer. And he knows it. But he does have a lovely pennywhistle he can play, which should at least keep songs on key if people start joining in. Kite song can take you places.

Indeed not, with the rise of Amy's voice, the songs from the ships that follow them lift, almost like back-up singers. The oars of the longboats plough the water, in rhythm. Wulf adds his own deep bass boom to the words of the saga, more like a bass guitar to Amy's melodies and he leaves off trying to trace the shapes on the map. The captain already has the idea because the call of following the path of the Midgar serpent? That received an enthusiastic nod from the giant. Whilst the song rolls out, he tries his best ice-diorama on for size, coloured and tinted so it looks like coloured glass. He is not a brilliant artist, by any stretch, but in the middle of the three-dimensional map, a harbour can just be seen coming to shape, his face contorting (and him missing a few lines of the eda, with it to humdeedumdumming) in a natural dip in hills, great trees behind it and MOST important of all, a great hammer imbedded in a hillside there in miniature, surrounded by a shrine.

Merrisol exhales into a quiet smile to see determination grow from self-doubt, and steps backwards to the rail to give Maggie room to work. When the musical accompaniment starts up, he doesn't join in that instant, to thereby doom their course all to the farthest chaotic reaches of Shadow. He might hum quietly with the chorus if the song is catchy, however. He retreats to the main deck to keep Anderson informed of the newer truer course, which will still require them to stay on their steely shadow-trained toes. There he remains to help out with the mast stations.

Listening to the outpouring of music, Maggie smiles. Turning, she traces the route held within the map of ice and frozen smoke. Lifting her gaze, she seeks each in turn. Merrisol, first, though she finds him down on the lower deck. Lifting one hand, she touches three fingers to her lips and sends the vicarious kiss sailing after him. Then she finds the others; Wulf and Quinlan, Amy and Ruby, Matthias. As the saga rises, carried by Amy, augmented by Quin's pennywhistle, Wulfgar's deeper tones and the chorus from behind, Maggie lifts her arms. As though that was a signal from a cosmic conductor, the water beneath them swells, the wind rises. Pressing her hands forward, she guides the elements bodily. Exultation flares within and that joy is echoed in thunder that echoes laughter and lightning that sings of fireworks popping and crackling in the clouds above. Light flashes pink, blue, orange and finally a white so pure it tastes of ozone and snow.

The ship picks up speed, dancing on the coursing waves like a leaf or a skitter-bug daring disaster on the raging back of a tsunami... or a gnat on the shoulder of a world-encircling serpent.

Amy's concentration is solid, even as she sings. There's the song, the ships, and the wave dancer, along with the shadow bits that are manipulating, moving, warping. She grins at Quin's pennywhistle, giving him a quick salute for the musical addition. Wulf's voice added, and the singers from the nearby ships adds dynamics that a rock star might kill for. Amy takes it in stride, perfectly content as the center of attention, at least musically. She keeps the song on an even keel one way or another, while she fights to keep the ships together, through the snapcrackle of the lightning and the thunderous laughter. Her gaze rests briefly on Matthias, and then over to Merrisol and to Ruby, as she unconsciously follows Maggie's gaze. And then Amy's gaze goes to the captain, the Flame of the Wavedancer, watching her cousin exhort the ship, the elements and the pattern to do her bidding.

Ruby hunkers down near the rail guard turning her face so that her milky eye takes the brunt of the vista opening up around the ship. Her lip curls at the eerie way that voices complement each other and make the little hairs on her neck and shoulders want to quiver to attention. Ruby makes a worried sound in her throat and increases her hold onto the nearest thing nailed down. For the briefest moment she tries to do what Quinlan and Maggie have suggested earlier. Trying to picture the blasted pattern in her head to see if it can be superimposed onto the cauldron of sensory overload. She beings to reach for it, but just as hastily jerks back from the attempt, not wanting to dangle mental toes or fingers into unknown waters.

Wulf's voice continues its bass rhythm. In the wind and the thunderclaps, the swell and trough of the song from the kite ships snatches at the ears. He, cloak whipping in the winds and frozen in many places, takes a stance in the middle of the poop deck, icing himself bodily to the wooden planks themselves, to prevent being stormtossed. After his moment of cosmic genius, or lack thereof, he offers nothing more but the words of the old saga.

Quinlan is in the crow's nest. In stormsilk, and able to fly, he's probably safer up there than anyone else would be. And it means he can see, while being out of the way of crew that are actually working.

Merrisol's hood has fallen back, his flickering hair a ready indication of wind direction as he joins the crew sail operations on the main deck. He turns a look over his shoulder when all the voices and instruments raise in harmonious song, Amy's vocals soaring over them. It's a Kumbaya, Kitezhka-style! The meaningful exchange of glances does not escape his notice, but it's Maggie he looks to most and tips her a wink before getting back to work.

Is it that the world tips? Or is it that the ocean shifts? The Wave Dancer rushes forward, swooping down from the towering crest of an enormous wave. Skating the edge of disaster, she runs before the leading edge of a monstrous storm. Flickering lights within the clouds could be soccer balls for Wulf's jotsun brethren. Back and forth the lights flash, illuminating the darker places behind the clouds. The rumbling laughter follows, wild, free, hauntingly delighted.

A turn at the bottom of the trough sends the ship flying from a purple sea to orange waters flecked with yellow foam and then out over an ocean as blue as forever, though still not the azure purity of Amber's oceans. Beneath the ship, the hazy impression of a scaled hide warmer than summer, colder than death, flashes and is gone.

All of a sudden, a big glowing sparkly golden arrow points the way. Not exactly dead ahead, but its direction is impossible to misconstrue. And from the crow's nest, Quinlan's shout is heard remarkably clearly: "Land ho!"

Wulf seems to be roaring in kitezhka, loud enough from his vantage on the lead ship, to travel back to the boats that follow. It's a strong language, but when roared in a bass tone, it doesn't really help with translation!

Ruby hunches closer to the side of the ship, trying to curl into a more compact position in case things get rougher or the horizon plays switcheroo. Her mouth opens to better feed the bellows that have replaced her lungs. The lightning flashes reflect upon her glistening white teeth that want to bare themselves to the strange storms and changing seascapes. If only she had more arms, maybe she could slap palms against her ears. As such, she's in serious danger of bending her pistol of metal out of shape, the way she's got her fingers curled around it. This is the first time, in a long time, that stormy weather has ever made her anxious. She jerks her chin up and stares at the glowing arrow.

Amy glances at Wulf, somewhat impressed. And hey, she's learned enough Kite to be able to follow, that's something else. She tries to echo Wulf's words now, hoping that her own singing of them will help to smooth the way where they're going. She makes a mental note to follow up on that, on the sagas of Kitezh and how they work, especially when things continue to get a little weird and then there's the big arrow pointing to land. Maybe not quite where expected, but certainly there. In sight. So long as it's the right place, that'll be awesome!

The storm sails fluff and ripple as the helmsman and officers coordinate to take the Dancer out before the storm, gathering the wind and riding the on downdraft of every sloping wave. Trimming the sails when she must to keep the group of ships in close formation. The crew are veterans at the shadow-travel game thanks to the missions and whimsies their Captain takes, steeling their senses against all but the most bizarre and disturbing spectactles. Murmurs rise in speculation of this midgar serpent when a scaley behemoth is sighted passing beneath the ship when the waters run to more normal hues and temperament. Merrisol returns to the forecastle once the Wave Dancer is full-sailed and heading in the direction indicated by the arrow. Taking a deep lungful of the crisp ocean air, he leans the rail and studies the landmass as it grows on the horizon. Of course, nothing about the coastline looks immediately familiar.

Clouds that roil still in the sky part and golden sunlight slants down and down to sparkle on the waves that aid in pushing the Wave Dancer forward. Glancing up at the arrow pointing the way, Maggie smiles and waves acknowledgement to Quinlan. She does not give orders to follow that lead for Merrisol is down with the crew and Anderson knows Quinlan at least by reputation. The ship turns in the way that ships have, edging from one heading to the next in a gradual arch of intent. As her hand falls, Maggie pauses to brush a lock of hair from her forehead only to find her skin damp with sweat or spray. Or both. Seeking a kerchief in a pocket, she draws out a square of cotton. Shaking it out, she uses it to dry her skin. Merrisol is offered an almost impish smile, though she turns to see how the others are faring. "Everyone okay?" She can see the other three ships back there and that is good. Hopefully no one fell overboard... Then she looks to those with her. "Thanks for the help, all." When she spots Ruby, Maggie steps that way and offers her a hand up, concern growing in her gaze, "First one's always awful, Ruby. You okay?"

Growing on the horizon, purple still in the distance, a landmass begins to take shape. Mountains, valleys or rolling hills dipping down to a coastline... Mysterious in the shroud of distance and the exhallation of the ocean, the land is certainly big enough to be significant.

The kite longships, a little worse for weather, keep pace with the Wavedancer now, their crews hard at the double-row of oars to mach what the brigantine can manage with her sails alone. The wind though, does seem to favour them.

With the call of land in sight, Wulf unglues his feet from the decking and finishes the last line of his song, though there might well have been more, had there been a call for it. This, in order to hurry excitedly in steps that make the deck thunder, to view landside of the shadow-treading vessel. He squints along the shore, shielding his eyes from the light and spray of sea, but doesn't seem to recognize anything, yet. "Well... is big. Maybe, Captain Flame find new land of sugar?" He jests.

Ruby eyes the offered hand with some reluctance. It's a shame she was spotted in all her cowering glory, because now she's going to have to make up for it. She grits her teeth together in what she hopes looks like a reassuring grin. Her tongue flashes for a moment, sporting the indent of three of her teeth. It's retracted quickly and she tries to make it look like it's business as usual. She removes the hand from the guardrail and flaps it in the air between herself and Maggie. But she doesn't take the offer of getting pulled up, as badly as she may want it. Ruby starts to uncurl and put strength into her lower extremeties, which feel like they've gone charlie-horse numb sometime during all the transition. She slowly gets to her feet. "First one mean there be'ah second one. An then third ones. Loike meals..." she stammers. "Foine. I'm foine. Foine foine." She leaves behind faint imprints of her fingers in the wood nearby.

As Wulf stops, Amy's song also comes to a halt. And the land ho has the short blonde moving onto the deck. While all eyes are on that distant land, perhaps they don't notice the flash of heat that heralds the shapeshift of a Dragon. Moments later, there is a bright, sparkling purple dragon winging into the air, bugling. First with curiosity, her wings taking her faster than the bigger ships constrained by wind and waves. And then she circles, bugling again, this time with gleeful triumph. And then she swoops down low enough - not exactly divebombing the ships, but low enough to be heard, megaphone voice and all. "Kitezh it is! We did it!"

What does the sound of three long boats and one giant equal? A very loud roar of success!

Merrisol has changed out his weather gear for his regular ship wear, Minosian in tone, but if that is a problem for turning up in the Kite harbour, he'll find out soon enough. "That was fine, inspired work, Captain," he says to Maggie, smiling. "That the Kites could be instrumental in guiding your hand is an achievement worth noting as well. Gerard didn't believe they would be able to help with the forming of a new Shadowpath.. perhaps he was mistaken."

If Ruby's finger was anywhere near the slid-back trigger of her weapon, there'd be a new hatchway in the decking by now. The feel of heat and buffet of air from transforming wings is her first clue that she's about to get a face full of additional stress. The sight of an actively flying dragon is something else altogether. Tentacles, Icebergs and dragons, oh my. Every TopGun flyby of the ship has her flinching her shoulders and feeling like a mouse at midnight, in a forest, surrounded by big-eyed owls.

"Wulf is happy!" Exclaims the giant, for there's a damn good reason to be, grinning up at the purple dragon in the sky with a monolithic smile. "We sing the old edda only, we would not have found, without the skill to twist the serpent beneath us." Which is an interesting way of viewing a shadowpath, perhaps, BUT! Without any pre-empting, he strides over toward the redheaded captain and makes to clap one huge hand on her shoulder. "When we make harbour, there will be MEAD! And rejoicing!" -- damn straight there will be.

Quinlan comes down from the 'yay we arrived and not in several pieces' high, to realize he's in the land of the big burly warrior men, while being tall, skinny, dressed like a drag queen pondering a spandex-superhero transition, and a big staff that just about screams 'magic user'. The expression that briefly crosses his face has been previously seen on the faces of many a just-about-to-be-locked-in-his-own-locker kid before him. "...I'm going to change out of this," he says firmly, and slips belowdecks.

Maggie blushes as Ruby declines the help. Maybe she should have realized that her newly discovered cousin would want to keep things under wraps. Stepping back to give the other woman time and room to right herself, she nods, "Oh, there will be more. Sure. We'll have to get home, after all." Yay? Turning heel to toe she returns to the railing, leaning beside Merrisol. Surveying the ... Wait. A dragon? Looking up into the sky, she centers on the beastie, then looks for Amy on the deck below. then up again in a sort of vertical ping-pong kind of head tilting and she grins at the announcement. Lifting a hand to wave, she calls, "Thank you!" Leaning a bit toward Merrisol, she smiles up at him, "Thank you, too, Kerf." She pauses for a moment as though considering another title. He wins a singular smile instead or in addition. Looking up as Wulf arrives, she does not mind the shoulder pat, though tightens one hand on the railing to avoid being accidently flung to the deck below, "Sounds good, Wulf. I'm a fan of mead." Distracted by Quinlan, she grins at him and nods, "K. See you later, Quin. Thanks." Then? She calls down, "Anderson? Take us into the harbor, please. These folk are home."

Maggie returns her focus to Merrisol and ponders for a moment before shrugging, "I... Well. As you pointed out earlier, Shadowpaths are maintained by odd rituals. I don't know that those rituals have to be performed by Shadow walkers. It is worth investigating, I think."