Welcome to Gaia! ::

Otter had been about to say something more when the ascetic cut in but even the threat didn't turn his smile. He may have had something to say to that as well but Trimley moved on from it and probably for the better.

At least they seem to have a decent sense of humor Otter considered as he watched the little group that had formed around the table, The tin cans anyway. And the boy has decent command, knows when ta shut up a banterin. He glanced over the mages, stepping slightly aside and turning to take in the whole group as Trimley spoke to the two consigned. He arched a brow at the slap marks on the whistler's face behind him. Interesting bunch his smile curled as he let his eyes drift over the young man's weapons and shield then moved on to the twiggy recluse standing off from the group but watching. The smile faltered slightly as he took in the bandages and concealing robes. Leper, disfigured, outlaw? So many reasons to hide, none of them good.

Then the shman's prodding voice cut his study and invoked a wicked grin for it. "Wouldn't call it complaint rightly, ma'am. Just an observation. More often than not Lady Luck's a fickle beast with a nasty sense of humor. I prefer not ta tempt her." He flashed an equally 'sweet' smile featuring a few gold capped teeth. "But I am considerin tha voyage, iffin my observations don't disappoint."

Trimley opened his mouth to begin, then paused, and finally glanced toward his pipe-smoking companion in deference. The ascetic answered simply: "The Cerulean Sojourner, aboard which you all will be, does in fact house a room designed to manage the more... unruly aspects of magic. By that note, I would highly discourage anything risky as death is still irreversible and we would certainly appreciate your aid in the coming trials."

His eyes flickered sidelong toward the Prince. "You forgot the boat."

"Oh, yes! So foolish sometimes..." Trimley scratched the back of his head. "You will be boarding Cerulean Sojourner, the mighty blue ship before you. I should have clarified sooner."

A new conscript signed as he spoke. Trimley addressed Fyrin at the conclusion of his explanation. "Thank you... Fyrin is it?" He pronounced the name fie-rin, emphasis on the first syllable. "Did you hear my explanation of what is to be expected or shall I repeat it for you?"

"And why should a woman tempt Lady Luck more than a man? Is she a lesbian?" Selene smiled. "Perhaps I shall barter Lady Luck unseemly favors in her chambers to have the wind at our backs. I think that would be a fair exchange. After all, fate takes us all eventually, does it not?" she concluded, putting on her most mock-serious face. The lack of eyebrows only served to enhance how silly it looked.

"You know she just might be" the 'pirate' purred at the she-knight's crudeness with a stifled laugh then straightened a bit for the general's scolding.

"Well, yer scribe just walked off with tha leper soo. . ." he trailed off with a shrug but a part of his attention was still watching the wrapped man in the corner of his eye. He'd been listening to the conversation around them, taking it all in, and filing it away. He hid it well though, preferring to be seen the rough and rowdy fool than something possibly more a threat.

Fyrin complied. This was the sort of attention he'd hoped to avoid. Evidently it had shown up. Deception hadn't ever been his strong suit, really. He just needed to keep the truth under until they were already at sea, really. Or maybe this wasn't going to be a Q&A session. Maybe it was. Maybe he'd ask Fyrin to cast? It was pretty easy to pretend not to be a mage of any sort.

A drop of sweat soaked into the bandages on his forehead. He was overthinking. This was just... something. He'd be fine, if he just played it straight and cool. After the ascetic hobo he went, wondering what this man could possibly have in mind for him.

Erick ceased his whistling and scratched his chin with his free hand anxiously. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. Impetuously, he began to shuffle about in place.

"Say, what's the hold up? There ain't that many people here. How long's it take to scratch a few names?" He said impatiently. He had not actually been waiting long, but the gravity of the near future had finally struck him, and his anxiety was building.

Dullahan nodded to Simon. "Try to keep it mellow. I like the ship just the way she is, and I think everyone appreciates a ship that stays afloat."

Trimley raised his gaze to Otter, inquisitive. Underneath, he was irritated. Before asking how to spell it, Erick interrupted the train of thought. The Prince addressed him first to give his mind time to cool. "If you can write, sir, there's no need to wait." He gestured to a quill and currently blank sheet of parchment. "Simply jot down your name and hometown."

Now, for the privateer. "Are you still playing games? If so, the time for that has since passed."

Fyrin was led down the jetty, past not only Valiance and Dawn Reckoning, but also Cerulean Sojourner. The strode all the way to its end, far from curious eyes and ears. "What's beneath the bandages?" the ascetic inquired, eyebrows arched with interest.

At the top of the steeply inclined boarding ramp Selene and Simon would be greeted simultaneously. Sea-faring folk tended to be romanticized in story and legend as tall, thick men with insane bravado and a heartwarming gruff charm. Sir Ian Sojourner was that image personified, and the two newest passengers knew it just by looking at his winning smile. How interesting.

"Welcome 'board!" he nearly shouted with an energetic baritone. "This way!" As they were led onto the main deck, it was quickly evident that while this ship was larger than most it adhered to a very standard layout. Anyone with the slightest experience aboard any waterborne craft would have a general feel for its layout. As they had boarded the Sojourner from the port side, Ian led the conscripts to their right toward a stairwell just wide enough to fit two barrel-chested sailors if they each turned sideways in passing. They passed three sailors during their descent to the ship's hold and each time the man would give an acknowledging nod to Ian and give him the right of the way.

Upon reaching the final step, a doorless portal stood just five feet ahead and just beyond it was a small table with a man using it to support his exorbitant belly. He grunted at seeing them then returned to inspecting his nails.

Ian headed left just a few paces and gestured toward the prow of the ship- to left of and beyond the stairs. They would see the majority of the hold was defined by a series of aisles delineated by poles and leather strappings linking them in rows. As beds would not and could not compensate for the rolling of the wild seas, these hammocks would serve as their places of rest. "Pick a hammick," he said, showing off the accent one earns spending too much time around pirates and sailors. "Think 'bout half're still open, b'don' 'spect gettin' any near t'stairwell. Chores don' start 'til tomorrow, so feel free t'look 'round."

From where they stood, it seemed it was quite a ways to the 'bow' of the hold, but it wasn't likely they'd have to go that far for a hammock. True to Ian's words, the first ten of each row was already occupied. Beyond that claimed territory was spread out rather randomly, an occupied hammock marked by objects of possession: cloaks, weapons, mementos, and the occasional book. If the soldier and mage moved along, they would see another stairwell descending below the first. Scrutiny might also reveal an unmentioned and previously undetermined doorway on the starboard side of the ship, directly opposite the stairs. There also seemed to be a good deal of space toward the fore that was utilized for tasks and materiele beyond sleep and 'comfort.' Ian took his leave, back to greet future passengers; Simon and Selene were free to move about as they pleased.

Trimley's eyes scanned the text. His fingers let the quill fall aside. Even Dullahan's brows were raised, his countenance curious and skeptical. "That's..."

"That's my father's hand," Trimley interjected. "If I may," he reached out to take the declaration so that he might better inspect it. The words were clear, the seal accurate, and his father's signature unmistakable. And yet, it was so strange. The Prince had never once heard his father tell of privateers nor had rumor of such activities reached his ears or the ears of his many servants. It struck a sour chord in the Prince-King's mind, so at odds with his understanding of the noble and courageous King he had called Father.

He passed it back, still mulling this new information over. In the meanwhile, Trimley switched back to an older topic. "I don't appreciate your games. If you can write, write your own name. And if you want to wave the King's declarations in my face, you could just come out and say it instead of prancing about the topic."

"If you're not here to enlist, I suggest you leave. I have more important matters to attend than your petty self-gratification." Dullahan rolled his shoulders, armor tinkling expectantly. He knew how this could go two ways and one of them involved his axe and the privateer's face.