(2023-01-21) The Northspear - Day 02: No One Has Lashed Themselves To Anything

Details

Author:	Luridel
Summary:	The Northspear continues its journey. Halliday predicts the weather. (Stormy.) Oranna predicts the weather. (Stormy.) Bran wagers against the storm and loses twenty-five silver to Ben. Ben tells a storm story. Oranna tells a Stormbreaker storm story. Ismene reveals that she has smuggled her kitten and her sprite darter along in a bag. ~6500 words.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

Arc: Season 9

The next morning sees the Northspear making steady headway through deep blue water now turned to choppy slate by the gusting wind. The dawn that rises in the east, while the white moon is still high overhead, is spectacular — and spectacularly red.

Lireen Cloudskimmer, who was NOT up half the night drinking, appears on deck while it is still relatively sparsely populated and stands for a time watching the spectacular dawn.

Halliday Bristow is standing at the ship's prow in her high-collared gray coat. Her cheeks and nose are pink in the chill. The sunrise colors, rose and orange and red, gleam in bright reflection in her pale, wind-whipped hair. She leans forward, smiling, her kid-gloved hands clasping the rail and her eyes half-closed.

Erixa emerges from belowdecks in what looks like some kind of woolen workout clothes. She begins to jog around the deck in a large… maybe not circle, but deck-shape.

Lireen's attention is pulled from the sunrise by the movement and sound of hooves. "No' a bad idea…" she murmurs to herself, and then takes off at a similar pace (despite her short legs), a bit behind Erixa in her laps.

Halliday turns around to watch the morning joggers bemusedly.

Lireen is clearly in good shape for a woman with so much gray hair, as she seems hardly winded by jogging at draenei-speed. Her cheeks get rosy from the chilly wind, but otherwise she shows no sign of discomfort.

Erixa notices the footsteps behind her. She glances back and waves.

Halliday looks at the sunrise, looks at the rail, looks at the joggers. Should she be… running? Is this what we do now? In Cobalt Company?

She takes a tentative step away from the rail, considers her dainty-heeled boots, and does an experimental trot to the other side of the rail. Nope, yeah, she's good. She turns to resume looking at the sky from over here.

Lireen gives a hearty wave to Erixa and a thumbs up!

Bran eventually drags himself out from belowdecks, looking cheery despite the bags under his eyes. He spots Halliday at the rail and heads over to greet her as though they were the best of friends. "Lo there, Lifeboat!" he bellows. He also gives a wave to the joggers. He does not seem inclined to join them.

Halliday blinks at him. "Do you — me? I'm… Lifeboat?" She looks down at herself, and then at the dwarf again. Is she a lifeboat?

"Aye, aren't ye? Spotted ye two mages as I was boardin'. Yer who's sposed ta get us outa here if we hit ice or what have ye."

"Oh! Oh, yes. That's Lucy and me. We're the… lifeboats. But we're not boats, actually. We're portals?" Halliday wrinkles her brow. Is that the… metaphor? How do metaphors?

"You're Bran," she tells him. "The dwarf." She smiles kindly. You see? This is how you identify people.

"Well, perhaps nae the dwarf, but I am a dwarf," he concedes. "Look, there's another one, righ' there!" He points to Lireen, jogging. "An' at least one other sleepin belowdecks, bless her ailin' heart. Nae sure wha's wrong with her exactly, but I aim t'find out an' help. So what's yer story, lass?" He turns inquisitive tropical-blue eyes on her. "How'd ye get mixed up in all o' this?"

"Oh," says Halliday. "I'm a mage. With the Kirin Tor? I'm from Southshore. My family is in shipping but I was sent off to be a mage because I'm very talented. But I know Ismene Callis from Southshore, her family shipped all their cider with mine. And then after I went to Dalaran and it was destroyed I went with Jaina Proudmoore to Theramore and Hyjal. That's where I know Lena Coit and Lord Colson from. And then I ran into Ismene again last year and she told me about Cobalt Company and Lena Coit and Lord Colson are also in Cobalt Company so I decided it was a thing I ought to do as well? So I did. I'm in Cobalt Company now." She pauses. "My name is Halliday Bristow."

"Lo, Halliday Bristow. I'm Brannagen Stillwall, but Bran as ye said before is fine. So ye were in Dalaran when it was destroyed, were ye? Or nearby?"

"I left with Jaina Proudmoore," says Halliday. "Just before it was destroyed. When we all went to Kalimdor. They were coming, so we left."

"Oh, es tha' right? I was in a whole other part o' the world a' tha' time, so not too clear on the timeline. What do ye think o' Proudmoore, then? I've nae had the pleasure."

"She's a very good mage," Halliday tells him. "And she likes to help people? And look after them. She is responsible."

"Tha's good t'hear, given the amount o' power she commands. Ironforge has pretty good leaders too, I'd say. Tha's good, tha' kind o' stability. Lets a person focus on more important things than politics."

Ace is up! She’s up. She waves at the joggers but instead busies herself with a series of held stretches that cover mobility from head to heels, laughing when the ship’s motion makes doing one stretch or another more challenging.

Bran gives Ace a wave as he spots her, but once again seems disinclined to join the physical activity. This may be a habit, and may account for his rather slighter-than-average dwarven build and uncalloused hands.

Halliday will just stand here with Bran on the people-holding-still section of the deck. "Are you excited?" she asks him, and gestures at the sky.

"About the voyage? Or the weather? Sure is pretty. And I'm an explorer, so goin' somewhere I havena been before in me life… it's irresistible. I wanna learn everythin’ there is t'know about Northrend. You?"

"Oh, Northrend will be interesting. I've never been there before either. I meant the storm, though." Halliday beams.

Bran peers at the sky. "Wot storm, lass? Sky's pretty as anythin'."

"Oh no the color means that there's weather coming!" She beams some more. "This ship is properly sturdy, though. I mean I've never been on a ship like /this before, it's terribly noisy and I think I prefer sails, but it seems very sturdy. It will break right through ice, they say." She pats the rail. Good ship, nice ship.

"I've never ridden out a storm a' sea!" Bran says delightedly. "Should be excitin' indeed. Ye ken really tell tha' from lookin a' the sky?" He squints up at it. "I suppose I'm too much born and bred underground t'have a real handle on weather patterns, but I learned somethin' new an' that's always good. If yer right, tha' is. Wanna make a li'l wager on it?" He grins.

Halliday blinks and then purses her lips thoughtfully. "I don't think it's nice to gamble when you know you're going to win?"

Bran laughs uproariously. "But tha's when it's most fun!"

Ace takes up her hammer and straps extra weight to the head, and buckles the same onto her shield. Then she starts doing attack and defense drills, but slowly, maintaining perfect form as she moves through each drill, resting in between. There’s muscles. They’re rippling.

“This is way harder with a whole ship bucking like a spooked ram.”

Erixa finishes the jogging and stops on the deck nearby to stretch. She gestures to Lireen as an offer to join her.

Lireen gives Erixa a friendly wave, but keeps jogging past.

Bran is briefly distracted from his wager proposal by rippling muscles. Eventually he decides to combine his two trains of thought. "Hey Ace! Care t'wager on whether there'll be a storm a' sea today?"

Ben emerges from belowdecks, straightening from his stoop as he steps out onto the deck. He stretches hugely and looks around, blinking in the light. He has plainly not shaved, and his hair could charitably be described as 'windblown', save that he has not been in the wind for several hours. He's wearing only a light linen undershirt with his workpants and boots, and carrying his sword.

He rubs his eyes blearily and looks around again, bemused. His manner suggests maybe someone should take the sword away from him before there is an accident.

"There's a storm?" He squints at the sky. "Oooh. Red."

He eyes the industrious Lireen, and then Erixa and Ace.

"The Lifeboat Lass says there's gonna be. Wanta go in on a wager?"

Ben cocks his head and considers Bran. He grins. "Yeah, okay. I get to wager there is gonna be one, yeah?"

He lifts a hand — the hand without the sheathed sword in it — to Halliday in greeting. She offers a prim nod in return.

"Aye, the lass is too sure of et t' go in. But I'll bet against it if only fer somethin' t'do. An' if yer wrong ye'll have good weather t'ease the sting o' given me yer silver."

"Fair," says Ben. "How much silver?"

"I'll leave it up t'you. Coin isna much of a concern fer me given the things I've turned up on Explorer's League missions an' how few an' simple me own wants tend t'be."

Ismene comes on deck carrying a small basket with a large round pillow over it. She finds a small spot near Ben and Bran against a barrel on deck. Offering a smile to both, she drops her pillow and sits, legs curled to one side.

"Let's say —" Ben spots Ismene and flashes her a smile, then clears his throat. "Uh, maybe just, like, twenty-five." The Financial Planner has entered the chat.

"Ismene!" calls Halliday, and rises on tiptoe to wave.

"All righ' then! Twenty five silver et es! Who else wants in? Foul or fair weather t'day, place yer bets!" Bran's cheery voice rings out over the deck.

Oranna Stormbreaker emerges from below decks as Bran's yell carries, and she rubs at her face. This is very clearly not a morning person. She blinks blearily at the water, before moving over to the others, a yawn threatening to break her jaw. "There's gonna be a storm," she mutters to Bran.

Befound is nowhere to be seen. Which doesn't mean much, potentially.

"Hello, Halliday," she says, leaning to see her 3rd friend, smiling. She sits upright again in case the boat does a wave-thing and pitches her sideways. From her basket, she pulls out an unidentifiable piece of fabric, catching some of it expertly in an embroidery hoop.

"Sooooo, ready t'put yer silver where yer prediction is?" Bran beams at Oranna. "Twenty-five silver t'go in with Ben's?"

"Leave 'er aloon, ye haverin' bawbag!" calls Lireen as she jogs over to Oranna's side. "Es 'e botherin' ye dear? Harmless I think."

"Oh aye," Bran says agreeably, nodding. "Parfectly harmless bawbag."

Oranna almost smiles — there's a pull up of her lips, and her eyes go a bit softer. "Ach, no. Bran's an old friend. Ne'er been a bother ta me." She looks out at the ocean. "I'll no' be bettin' though. Seems unfair. It's a sure thing. I can feel a storm comin' sure as anythin'."

"That's what I said," says Halliday, nodding firmly.

"Lifeboat Lass 'ere said the same theng, aye. 'F'et were me, I'd always bet on a sure theng."

"Oh, aye." Oranna nods at Halliday, brushing a few fingers around her eyes again, yawning. "Halliday here's righ'."

Ismene finds a pre-threaded needle stuck into a round-ish wool apple. "Halliday knows weather. Especially sea weather," she says, going back to work on what seems to be random pale blue flower petals.

Halliday nods again. Naturally she is.

"Sure thing's the best bet," Ben says, grinning back at Bran, and then, "G'mornin', Miz Oranna." His smile fades as he searches her expression again. "Sleep okay?"

Oranna shrugs. "Good morning, lad. Slept fine, but woke up early an'…" She gestures vaguely to the ship. "Couldna get back ta it, so I've been wanderin'." She rubs at her right arm over the leathers covering it as she takes another considering look around. "Migh' have been th' weather that woke me. No' tha' I can do much about a storm on a ship like this, Stormbreaker o' no."

Ben crooks Oranna a half-smile. "Well. Won't hold you to it, then." He pauses, raises his eyebrows. "You need somethin', you let me know?"

Halliday comes lightly across the deck to settle beside Ismene, rearranging the skirts of her elegant coat and dress beneath it in ladylike fashion. She leans over with to examine Ismene's project with frank curiosity. "What are you making?"

She holds her project up. "A shirtwaist," she says. "Something for summer. Bluebells and daisies with some green leaves here and there."

Oranna nods vaguely at Ben. There's a shift of something on her face, a thought about what she needs, that sends her face into a look of pain, but she turns partially away to try to cover it, as she sets her hands on her hips, looking out at the water.

Ben's own expression creases, the shadow of a wince, and then he turns away to look over at the Workout Crowd. "Hey, Erika. Ace." He props the sheathed sword on his shoulder and jogs over to them.

Lireen slings an arm around Oranna as though sheltering her from a physical draft. "Lotta water between us an' there, aye?" she says in pleasant, motherly tone as she looks out in the direction Oranna is looking.

"Aye," Oranna says, inhaling a bit of a shaky breath, but she nods repeatedly. "Like it was with Kalimdor, first time o'er. At least it's cold water this time. Befound's comfortable. Dinna think she's e'er fully forgiven me fer takin' her ta th' deserts. Like ta be fewer hairballs o' protest on me pillow from this trip." It's a weak attempt at a bit of a joke, and it shows, but it's obvious from her expression the hunter is trying.

Lireen gives Oranna a chuckle to acknowledge the attempt at humor, followed by an encouraging smile. "She's a good lass an' overdue some proper comfort!" There is possibly an Additional Meaning here.

Oranna sets her hands over her arms across her torso, more like she's holding onto herself rather than crossing her arms over her chest, and she looks away to the right for a moment. "Mm. Aye, she's a good lass an' she…" Oranna breaks off the thought to shift to, "Ye e'er been this far north afore?"

"I havenae!" Lireen admits. "Truth be told, I'd never left dwarven lands afore I went doon south t' wallop some bandits in tha' Stormwend mine. But it feels righ'. All me bairns're grown, no reason t'stay."

Ben has joined Erixa and Ace in doing Vigorous Things on that side of the boat. His Vigorous Things involve more pushups and situps and whatnot than stretching — IDK, Ben, maybe look into that — and he has not yet proceeded to Vigorous Things involving the sword, which is currently set off to one side.

Halliday is leaning a little uncomfortably close over Ismene, watching her stitch like Mizzy is penning some inscrutable hieroglyphs Halli is determined to translate from context.

The wind is more than a little frisky, toying with Ismene's hair, her fabric, the end of her thread. She doesn't seem bothered, and even hums a little as she works. The blue makes little pieces of petal, never a whole one. When she runs out of thread, she measures off another piece the same color and continues in a new area, repositioning the hoop as needed.

Oranna nods again. "Afore th' Company, I was th' same. Ne'er traveled much. Now I've been near…everywhere."

"I believe et important, seein' as much o' th' world as one can, havin' as many different experiences as one can." Lireen calmly turns her head so that the wind is blowing her hair out of her lined, freckled face instead of into it. "As ye need a variety o' foods t'nourish the body, ye also need a variety o' sights an' perspectives t'nourish the soul. It's why it was such a tragedy in my eyes, when the clans broke up like they did. It was good fer us t'bicker over this an' that day t'day, be reminded there was another way o' doin an' thinkin' abou' thengs."

"Oh, aye," Oranna agrees, staring at something in the distance of the horizon. "I've learned a lot about th' world in th' past two years. Met folks with thoughts I'd have ne'er had, ne'er known ta think of. Kaldorey, and Draney, an' humans from all different walks. Some I'll ne'er agree with in full, an' others ha' changed me mind on some, but…" Oranna blows out a breath. "It's been worth th' pains of it here and there, ta know 'em."

"Aye." Lireen gives Oranna another one armed squeeze, and pats her shoulder firmly. "Truly spoken."

"Maisha stayin' down south, then?" Oranna sniffles a bit, although she doesn't seem cold. "I didna see on th' ship, but I was a wee bit tired yesterday. Was afraid I'd miss th' boat, an' woke up too early." From the look on her face, 'too early' might mean 'six hours before it was time to leave.'

Erixa continues to do vigorous exercise things with Ben and Ace.

"Maisha's stayin home," Lireen confirms. "Plenty t'do fer Cobalt a' home too. Sure is nice havin one o' mine folla me to Cobalt though. Not used t'seein' little ones day t' day after they've grown."

The wind has gradually but noticeably picked up, and borne with it a rolling blanket of heavy cloud. A fat raindrop splots onto the deck, and then another.

"Ach!" Bran cries. "Looks like I owe young Hazan twenty-five silver."

Ben pauses and squints up at the sky. "Ain't a proper storm yet," he decides, and then flashes Bran a grin. "But yeah. You are gonna."

Mizzy yeeps and bends over her embroidery, then begins stuffing things madly into the basket.

"So what do we do?" cries Bran over the rising wind.

Lireen puts an arm around Oranna. "Should we head below deck?"

Mizzy rises, grabbing her pillow. "What's the alternative?" she says. "If you stay, lash yourself to something. That's what pirates do in all the books, they lash themselves to things."

"Aye, probably fer the best. I'll no' want ta get in th' way o' th' sailors," Oranna says, looking at the crew. The worry line between her brows is deep.

As if on cue, a giant snow leopard head peeks from around the corner of the entrance to the lower decks. She stares at Oranna. Oranna. The cat requires attention. The ship is not interesting. It has been smelled. She's smelled weirder.

Lireen keeps an arm lightly around Oranna as they head toward safety.

Bran on the other hand seems reluctant to leave the deck, gazing excitedly at the oncoming cloud bank.

Ben has collected his sword again and propped it on his shoulder. It is hard to know whether his shirt is damp at this point from Vigorous Action or from the rain that is now making itself comfortable in earnest. He, like Bran, continues to stand on deck gazing upward.

Halliday, meanwhile, has risen with Ismene. "Oh, I wouldn't lash myself," she says. "Not in this coat. Going below is definitely the safest. If you hear splintering noises, let someone know!"

Mizzy tries to stare at Halliday in alarm and hurry toward belowdecks at the same time. She bumps into the door. Or hatch. Is it a hatch if it's in a bulkhead? She can't remember, but she does slip inside and head down.

Oranna heads for the nearest relatively open space under the deck, likely the mess or something, where a person can pace restlessly more than a few steps at a time.

Lireen watches Oranna pace, but herself sits calm and still, seeming unconcerned by either the weather or Oranna's pacing.

Ben glances back; his hair is now being plastered to his head. He realizes that, apart from Bran and the diligently swarming sailors, he is alone out here, and possibly in the way of the sailor swarm. He ducks his head and jogs back for the narrow stair down as well.

Oranna's pacing seems in part to be calming the hunter, or at least keeping her distracted from the sense of the storm around them. Befound trots alongside like this is very normal for a time, until eventually the large cat deliberately gets into the hunter's way and sets a paw on Oranna's boot. Oranna. The cat has not been fed in [time]. This is too long. Fix it.

Oranna sighs, and brushes a gloved hand over her hair. "Oh, aye. Aye, sorry, lass." Oranna fed Befound recently. It's probably not even time for more food. She reaches into a bag of dried fish anyway, to hand over to the snow leopard taking full advantage of her hunter's distraction.

Befound takes the fish. She's not even sorry.

Bran has to be forcefully escorted belowdecks, his flaming red hair and beard drenched to a dark brandy shade. He settles himself in the same space as Oranna and Lireen, making occasional cheerful speculative comments about what's going on above.

Lireen doesn't really seem to notice him one way or the other, her tranquil gaze following Oranna. She seems content not speaking at all.

Oranna's face looks like she's going through every single possible absolute worst outcome of the storm. And then possibly beyond that, as though she's considering also what the worst possible outcomes are from THOSE worst possible outcomes. She glances at Bran several times. Some of the comments seem to send off another spiral of possible Worst Case Thoughts.

Befound eats her fish contentedly, watching Oranna with a bored house cat's vibe, as though her hunter's anxiety spiral through all possible universes is entertainment.

"This is rather a dull little room isn't it?" Lireen says after a moment. "Not much t'look at. I wonder though, Oranna, d'ye see one thing about it that's a li'l unexpected?" There's the quality of a game about the question that gets Bran immediately looking around the room, but Lireen's tone suggests that it's no big deal, no big hurry. When Oranna isn't looking at her, she gives Bran a forestalling little head shake.

"Ah, wha'?" Oranna doesn't stop her pacing, but she glances around again. "Unexpected?" She's looking harder now, and there's a look of growing anxiety on her expression. Is there something weird in the room? Something that shouldn't be there?

Befound huffs and lies down on the rug, settling her head over on top of her own tail like a pillow.

One of the shamans has decided that the best way to cope with rain is to be semi-incorporeal. A ghost wolf is alternating between pacing the joggers and making speedy little circles. Spooky?

The ship rolls gently but distinctly, the ironbound hull grumbling. The hiss of the rain is indistinguishable belowdecks from the wash of the sea, but through a porthole a flicker of lightning is there and gone.

Oranna looks at the ghost wolf, and then back to Lireen. "Oh, ah, tha's jus' a Draney. They can do tha'." This is not the unexpected thing in the room. Is it? It might be. Could it be?

Oranna looks out the porthole a breath before the lightning flashes.

Ben appears in the doorway of the mess. He's wearing a dry shirt and vigorously toweling his hair with his former, not-dry shirt. It is springing into a sort of upright mess even despite its current length (or lack thereof): It looks a little like he's emulating Nunuzac's usual hairdo but with Curl instead of Electricity.

He is grinning and wide-eyed. "Thunderstorm? Never rode one of 'em out at sea before." He crosses to stoop and peer out the porthole in case of more lightning.

There is more lightning. He laughs a little.

"Cap'n Jo just did a whole science talk on 'lectricity and lightnin'." (Harness Lightning: DON'T)

"Oh, aye?" Oranna looks again at the lightning. It's not technically in the room. Does this count? Should Oranna be looking outside the room as well? Her pacing picks up a notch and she gets closer to the porthole. "Had an cousin who tried ta do somewhat with lightning once. Dinna think it did wha' he wanted…ah, he, er. Y'know." Died. Her face says he died.

Ben grins over his shoulder at her. "Known a fellow at home who got his boots blown clean off," he says with something weirdly like pride. "What was your cousin tryin'a do?"

Oranna shrugs, slowing her pacing down. "Ne'er knew. Had a whole set up with a wheel o' cheese, couple o' flasks, an' a string o' laundry line with bits o' foil. Couldna tell ye. It was afore I was born, oh, some…hundred fifty, hundred sixty years ago."

Ben raises his eyebrows. Ohhhhh, right, Dwarf Time. "Cheese," he says thoughtfully, and peers out the porthole again.

Lireen just continues sitting tranquilly, eyes on Oranna.

Bran interjects, "I was under a tree got hit once."

Oranna gives a helpless little shrug. "Dwarven sharp. No' even mild." Who can understand this mystery.

Oranna turns, the pacing stopped for the moment, looking at Bran. "Aye?" She looks him over like maybe he could possibly still be injured from this.

"I mean I reckon sharp would be…" Ben tilts his head thoughtfully. He glances at Bran. "Yeah? When it got hit? How was it?" He asks this the way he might ask how Bran enjoyed a new tavern in town.

"It was amazin!" His eyes sparkle. "Sound like a Titan hittin' another Titan with a Titan-size fryin pan. Half the tree jus'… fell off, other half caught on fire. Then after a minute like it had t'think on it, bunch o' branches come crashin down t'the ground all at once!"

Oranna mutters something under her breath about Titans. The word 'imaginary' might be in there. Could be 'managery' though, given the muttering, hard to say. "Did ye shield yerself then?" She asks audibly, still looking at Bran with concern as though he might only, just now, succumb to his wounds from this lightning tree.

Ben's eyes round. This story is rad.

"Aye, bit too late, but soon enough t'keep all the branches from hittin' me. Caught on fire a bit, broke me arm when I fell, but tha' was easy enough ta fix. Good thing I was just walkin by an not sittin right under et!" He relates this all enthusiastically, as though it were a particularly raucous party.

Lireen gives him a mildly irritated look, the sort that suggests he just wrinkled her freshly made bed.

Oranna, perhaps revealing just how well she knows Bran, relaxes visually at this account. Whew. Just Bran being Bran. "Ach, well. A' least there was tha'."

Befound huffs, and fixes him with a feline stare for a moment before she resettles on her tail, closing her eyes to pretend to sleep.

"What's yer best storm story, Hazan?" Bran grins at him. "Or you, Grandmother?" He looks to Lireen. "Or anyone?" He gestures sweepingly to anyone nearby.

"En't yer grandmother," Lireen says mildly. "Got bairns younger'n you I wager."

"Okay, well, I told Leroy already, but that wasn't me," Ben says, and considers. "Had a storm one winter that — I grown up right on the coast, yeah? Used to be a little harbor and all, not too far. Got a lot've storms off the sea, 'specially in the summertime, late summer?

"Anyhow. Fellow south of us called Demont, he did cattle. Big place, acres. One winter — I was, I dunno, eleven? Twelve? — we got hit with a hell of a storm, middle of winter. No one expectin'. I was bein'… uh. I was… up to the loft in our barn, when it was on? Could feel the whole place rockin'."

The ship pitches again just at that moment, and Ben is obliged to put a hand out to catch himself on the wall. He laughs again.

"One of the barn windows blown clean out. Anyhow, there's me, up high and lookin' out at this whole mess, thinkin' it's gonna tear the whole damn barn up, and then I can see…." [Dramatic pause, round eyes] "… the sea. Like, the waves. Batterin' right up the sea cliffs there, you know? I mean, all the way up, like it was tryin' to climb up to us.

"And then I watched like half Demont's back acreage just crumble down and wash away. Cows an' all." Moment of silence for the cows.

Oranna has a moment of silent horror for the cows. Those cows did not ever come back home, did they, Ben. Did they. When will the cows come back home.

Ben looks very solemn. Cows are lousy swimmers. He scrubs at his hair again with his damp shirt. "Lost a shitton of money, there. Demont did, I mean. Land and cows?" He whistles and shakes his head. "Moved out not long after."

What a story, Ben.

"What a thing!" breathes Bran as though he can see the cows washing away, vivid as can be.

Oranna fidgets with her hands for a bit. "Well, ah, it's no' really my story ta tell, exactly. Well, I guess, ah, it is? Sort o' my story. No' personal-like, ye understand, jus'…well." She clears her throat as she goes a shade of pink. "Jus' tha' it's th' name. O' my clan. Stormbreaker. There's a story ta it, of course." Because of course there is. Dwarves be like that. "I-I could tell it, if ye'd like."

"Aye!" Bran and Lireen say simultaneously, in very different tones.

"Yes'm, yeah, please." Ben moves to make himself comfortable on a bench. Storm stories!

Oranna licks her lips, and then takes out a flask of water, drinks some, and sets it back. "Ach, well. First thing ye need ta know is I'm sure it's been embellished. I'm jus' no' exactly sure where, so I can only tell wha' tale I was told." She clears her throat again, cheeks going pinker. "Well, ah, it goes somewhat like this: It was Thundermar who started it all. Amarantha, who was my great-great-great grandmother." She frowns and counts off the greats on her hand quickly. Yeah, seems right.

"Well, she was out an' about, doin' wha' we did. Ah, she was probably a Wildhammer. We merged up eventually with th' Bronzebeards fully at some point, but as far as I've been able ta tell, she was like ta be….a-anyway. So, there she is an' she sees a storm gathering on th' horizon unlike anything she's e'er seen afore. Great circle of wind, reaching from the sky ta the ground, impossibly tall, and headed straight fer th' clan. An' so, rather than run away, she runs ta it, to do somewhat about it." Oranna pauses. "My mother always said tha' she could 'sense' th' elemental in it, tha's why, but I dinna how much tha's really….ach, well. Anyway."

"She gets there and she sees in the center, an elemental, some sort o' wind spirit gone mad, and she charges in. But! She gets caught in th' wind, flung about with all sorts." Oranna spins her hands in the air. "An' she battled her way ta th' center, jumpin' from bits o' wood an' cattle — " Oh, no, the cows. She pauses for a moment of silence for these cows. "All th' while workin' ta th' center. Finally, she dropped down, throwing her sword ahead o' her, ta land on th' elemental, cleavin' it in two in a single strike, banishin' it…"

"Jus' a breath away from her clan's home. After tha', they called her 'Stormbreaker.'"

Ben leans back and whistles again appreciatively. "Damn, miss."

"Whoof!" Bran exhales, impressed. "Much better name than mine, ef even half tha's true."

Oranna blushes a brighter color, casting almost a faint glow of red as she mumbles something, but she offers up a sort of smile. "Aye, well. Ne'er been sure o' th' cows in particular, but it was how my family always told it."

Ben nods solemnly. Probably were cows. Usually cows.

Lireen smiles a little. "I've nae story as such, but I do love a good storm. Gryphons dinna fear them one bit, an' perhaps it's just luck, but lightnin' has never touched me when I was on the back o' one."

A ghostly howl arises from the excitable shaman, directed up at a particularly angry-looking stormroil that briefly flickers overhead. Nunuzac materializes more fully, stands upright and drops a portly little crystal-spiked grounding totem. Just for precaution, surely.

In place of her staticky hair puff, her head is an oversized upright globe of red knit that encompasses it all and wobbles here and there, white pom bobbing.

A nearby sailor, scurrying to do something or other, scuds to a halt in front of Nunuzac and hollers at her. "Miss, you need to—" He cuts himself off mid-bellow as he spots the totem. He seems to recognize what it is somehow, as he changes thoughts midstream. "—do that!" he hollers. "You need to do that! Nice work!" And with that he scurries away.

The ship pitches again and the porthole is entirely curtained by water and foam for a moment, the sky washed away. The wave passes and the flickering clouds are once more visible.

Ben gets to his feet. "I'm gonna go check on Ismene," he says. "And maybe put my head out on deck, see f' they need a hand."

"Thanks fer the tale!" Bran calls after him.

As with most of the cabins, the Hazan cabin is tiny. Mizzy's tinier. She has wedged herself in the scant space between the dresser (nailed to the wall and floor) and the bed (likewise), and barricaded herself with pillows. She has a Cressidha bag clutched in her arms, possibly in the belief that it can double as a flotation device.

Ben opens the door cautiously and puts his head in. He remembers to duck this time. (Mizzy has already healed several head-lumps.) "Hey, Mizmainy?" he says coaxingly. "You okay in here, kitten-cat?"

He spots her narrow corner cocoon of pillows. Clearly she is not okay in here. He steps in to the cabin, stooping, and shuts the door. "I'd ask can I join you in there but it don't look like there's room," he says, and settles on the edge of the bed. "There's some people in the galley talkin', if you want to sit in company. Bran, Miz Oranna, so on. Or you want me to see if Sil or Lena or Miss Halliday's around? Keep company?"

Ismene looks up at him like he asked her if she wanted to go surfing in a volcano. "This ship is sinking!" she informs him.

"I don't like to contradict a lady," Ben tells her gently, "but in fact it is not. It is just… bein' a boat in a storm. I mean, it is built to roll around a little, yeah? Otherwise you'd lose a ship any time there's weather and nobody'd never get anything shipped nowhere. And this is a dwarf boat, so you can't tell me it ain't tough as hell." He studies her. "I know it's uneasy, though. You recollect that Miss Halliday and Lucy are here to get us home fast if anything goes sideways, yeah? And Miss Halliday plainly knows her ship shi— her ship shit?" He ponders that phrase a moment. "Anyhow. If it was all goin' to hell for real, I reckon she would be happy to let us know that, and she and Miss Lucy'd be pullin' open portals right now."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you enjoying this?"

Ben raises his eyebrows at her. "You bein' uneasy? No, missus. Never. The boat ride? Yeah. I mean, apart from the ceilings. An' I always did like a storm." He shrugs a little apologetically. "You also know I am gonna look after you, and that I am responsible for Cobalt's people on this ship, and if I thought for a minute you or them was at risk, I'd be callin' for Miss Halliday and Lucy myself. I promise you are okay, Miss Kitten. I promise. Whyn't you come out of there and let's see who we can find?" He leans back and offers the pillow-corner a hand.

She clutches the bag tighter. "I'm going to stay right here until everyone sees sense and abandons ship." When the ship groans and rolls in the waves, she eeps and ducks her head. A ball of Mizzy.

"Okay," says Ben agreeably. "I'll stay too a while, till it settles. Where's my knittin'?"

Muffled, she says, "I threw it in here with Hattie and Mariestraza."

"For safekeeping."

"Fucken— you have got Hattie in there?" Ben stares at her. "For safety? You are in a hell of a lot more danger than the ship just now, ma'am. Can I have the knittin'?" He leans back on the bed toward the pillow corner and extends a hand again. Cautiously, now that he knows he's extending it in Hattie's direction.

Wounded, Mizzy looks up at him. "I couldn't leave her at home. She'd be lonely!" She opens the bag and fishes around inside it, then hands him a pile of wool thread and knitting needles. "If it's any consolation, my embroidery didn't fare too well, either. I just threw everything important in a bag and, well… I don't fall all tucked in like this."

"It is sweet of you that my knittin's important. I'm just gonna sit here a while and do that, then, if it's okay? Unless I am bein' a bother, in which case I will go knit in the mess where the others are."

"You're never a bother," she mumbles. "But you are distressingly cheerful about storms at sea. I should never have given you those Pirate Boy books."

"Where would we be if you had not?" Ben grins at her. "But yeah, there you go. I am all your fault."

He settles back comfortably on the bench bed and arranges his knitting. He doesn't close the cabin door, in case of passing friends. Or maybe hasty evacuation. Depending on whether you tend to see the glass as friends or evacuation.

The ship heaves and rolls, and now comes the sky-filling roar of thunder as the clouds flash and spark, electrically violet and white. Rain slashes down on the wind. No one has lashed themselves to anything; all but the most crucial have had the good sense to go below.

On the narrow bed in the cabin, Ben has fallen asleep with his knitting on his chest. He snores gently.

From somewhere on the ship, immediately after a particularly deafening crack of thunder enough to make even a reasonably seasoned sailor consider a change of trousers, comes an exuberant "WOO HOO!"

Somewhere in a very small cabin, there is an incredibly shiny gun and an equally shiny cat. Oranna will eventually sleep. Probably.

Beside the narrow bed, braced between it and the dresser, Ismene huddles within a nest of pillows and waits and hates her stupid husband who can sleep through Certain Doom.