Duties, Decks and decisions

It has been at least a few hours since Merrisol vanished into the rainbow shimer of trump magic. Back to Rebma and duty. While other things were going on, Maggie slipped aft to lean over the railing and stare out into the painfully silent waters. Knowing full well that she should bloody well shake it off and go help, she still lingers long back there.
When she returns to the busier parts of the ship, her expression is clear, pleasant if more closed than is generally the case. Looking around, she slows her pace until she can get her bearings.
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Pathfinders Assemble!

The Grand Salon has been commandeered for the purpose of the Pathfinders tonight. Bathed by light from the bank of windows, a large table has been manuevered into place. There aren't any chairs nearby, so that folks can meanders around said table freely. It is dominated by a large map of the sea lanes to and from Amber's waters. Rough guestimates on directions towards sea-paths are noted via markers and figurines. Smaller parchments of lesser shadowpaths are also there, positioned near the transit points to Amber's dominion. An assortment of jigsaw pieces emptied from cosmological puzzle boxes.

Ruby is there looking over the large table. A studious looking scribe is nearby, in a heated discussion about finances. The parchment he holds bears slashes and circles, his attempts to do some accounting while speaking with another merchant who sells provisions for long journies. An assortment of other adventureous looking sorts linger at the edges of the room while they gobble like turkeys over past troubles and present concerns.
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